The Empty Storm (Chapter 1?)

(This is poorly written, so apologies in advance.)

William awoke in a bed, lacey white sheets hiding the room from him. There was a cat sitting at the foot of the bed, and it sleepily eyed him as he sat up. He had a bandage on his head, and touching it stung fierce. The cat stretched out its back like bending jello and pawed next to him, sniffing at him. He gently patted it, and it hissed and spat at him, clawing and biting his hand and dashing off before he could react. Cringing and holding his hand, William James slid off the covers to the bed and made sense of his surroundings.

He was in a cramped room, full of books and stuffed animals. The bed was shoved up against a wall, with a mesh window overseeing the city outside. A radio blared quietly, reporting a storm warning for area codes.

He stared out the window, looking over the city. "What happened last night..?"

"I'd like to know that, too." said someone behind him. William whirled around to see the young woman from the brief few seconds he'd been in the street. She looked a little worse for wear. "My name's Amy. What's yours?"

"Williams. William James." He said.

"Okay.. William. How are you feeling? What do you remember?" Amy asked. The cat from earlier peeked out from behind her legs, purring softly.

"I'm okay, I think. My head feels weird, but it doesn't hurt. Last thing I remember is the street.. and before that, the.. cold. The darkness." Williams eyes went quiet, and he stared off into an unfathomable distance. "The storm." He pulled himself out of his strange reverie, and looked at Amy.

"The.. storm? It wasn't raining when you appeared. You know, I could have sworn I was looking right at you when you... fell. You just sort of.. came out of nowhere, but.. not. Like you were sort of always there and suddenly we could see you." Amy said, her voice quiet and afraid.

"That doesn't make sense." William said.

"No. But.. what was it like, from your perspective? Did you just spring out of nothing?" Curious, fearful eyes looked at William.

"No. I mean, yes, but there was something before that. The storm. I was on my way home in Pasadena, and-" Amy's eyes widened. "What?"

"No, finish your story." Amy insisted.

"Huh? Well.. the storm happened. It was like a really bad hurricane out of nowhere. The sky got really dark, and there was an earthquake, and.. there was screaming and howling. I was right there, when it happened. A vortex in the sky and earth.." William sat down on the bed suddenly, breathing hard. "Things.. my dad, I don't know if he.. I don't know how I got out. I just ran, and suddenly I was here."

Amy was quiet for a while. "This was yesterday for you?" She asked.

"Yeah. ..Why?"

"Well, for starters, this is Baltimore. Follow me." Amy said quietly. She left the room, and William followed her down a small hallway to another room, where there was a small bed and a computer desk. She opened up a browser and googled "Pasadena tragedy". News articles and images filled the screen. A little alarm beeped in the lower right corner of the screen.

"Pasadena was destroyed twenty years ago." Amy said. "A freak storm.. they said it was a really bad geomagnetic thing. A force of nature. The whole place was levelled."

"..no.." William stared at the images. The ground look like it had been torn apart into neat chunks, lifted or deposited within the earth.

"No one ever really found out what happened. Everything and everyone in the area was just sort of.. gone. The whole area is supposed to be really haunted, too. People hear things. We've seen things.. they say it has something to do with the magnetics messing with our head, but I don't think anyone really knows. The only team sent in to study it didn't come back. The government's closed it off until we understand what happened."

William sat down on the floor in a stupor. Amy looked at him for a while, and then looked out the window. "So you can't be from there. You wouldn't even have been born when it happened.."

"I am." William said, blinking. "I am from there. I swear. I grew up there. It can't just be.. gone."

"You took a really bad head injury. Maybe you're just remembering that stuff."

"You said you SAW me appear out of nowhere."

"..yeah. I can't explain that. I think I believe you.. but I don't know what this means."

The beeping alarm was all the sound in the room for a minute. William gestured at the computer. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, that? It's a weather alarm. It looks like a storm has.. actually wait." Amy clicked the alarm through to a warning.

EMERGENCY: TROPICAL STORM IN PASADENA AREA THAT APPEARED LAST NIGHT UPGRADED TO HURRICANE AS OF 15:00. THOSE IN AFFECTED AREAS, GET TO THE CLOSEST STORM SHELTER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND STAY AWARE OF NEWS AS IT IS UPDATED.

"Oh." Amy said. "That's us."

William had a dread feeling in his gut. "We need to get outside." He said with a shaky voice. "Right now."

"Why?"

"Just do it! How do we get outside?" William insisted. Amy stammered, got up, and showed William the way out, where he stumbled into the streets.

From their vantage point, they could see all the way to the other side of the city. A great mass of clouds was approaching the far end of the city, shadowy and violent. Silent gusts of wind blew against him as he stared into the distance.

Amy followed him, holding her arms in the wind. "It looks like the storm's coming in fast. We need to find a storm shelter."

"There's no point." William said. "It's the storm. It's here. It's HERE!" He pointed his finger. "Look. Can't you see it? Can't you feel it?"

Amy stared into the approaching clouds, and felt a pit of despair in her stomach, as if though she was looking at a blade flying for her heart. "..It's just a storm. A bad one. Look, come with me."

"It's the SAME storm." William said.

"..twenty years apart?" Amy said.

"Yes! No! I don't know! It's the same storm. I can feel it. It didn't stop."

"It hasn't been storming since twenty years ago!"

"It has for me." William said. Above them, the clouds rolled over. A faint rumble began to shake the ground. "It's the same. This is how it started." In the distance, buildings shook, cracks formed. A powerful force whipped through the air, blowing past Amy and William. A structure collapsed, sending plumes of dust and smoke into the air. Distant screams.

"We need to get to a shelter." Amy said, looking between William and the storm, fidgeting her fingers.

"The pictures of Pasadena.. There's no point." William repeated.

"If this is the same storm.. nothing was left in Pasadena. What are we supposed to do? HOw do we escape?"

William turned to look at Amy, looked at the storm, and then bolted. Amy took off after him. Behind them, buildings began to tumble. Water and wind gushed from the docks, surging through the streets. William ran past a building as a funnels of wind lanced from the sky and smashed into it, ripping foundations up from their roots and tossing cars into the air. A gas station collapsed into the ground besides them.

The road cracked and rose upwards, forming a cliff that blocked William and Amy. A wave of water was coming at them from behind. Amy grabbed William. "Whatever you did, do it!"

"What?!" Water was licking at their shoes, surging forward from the crashing storm.

"ESCAPE!" Amy screamed.

Something tugged inside of William. He closed his eyes and screamed, grabbing Amy and pulling it out from himself. Cold smashed into him as if he had been launched through ice. Cold, silence. The same as before, he thought. Amy was with him. The city of Baltimore simply rushed away from them through space.

The ground rushed up at him, and he collapsed in a dead field with Amy beside him.

The Empty Storm (Prologue)

On a beaten, heavily forested road overlooking a wide river, an old van trundled home. William James sat in the back seat, arms crossed, head leaning against the windowpane as he stared out in apathy. He could see the river through the trees, and the weathered and expensive houses on both sides of the bank. The sky was gray and lifeless above, with the occasional dark rumbling accompanying a single drop of rain against the window pane every now and then. The branches above were silent and still as the van trodged along underneath them.

His father was giving him the tired old speech again. He couldn't go on through his whole life like this. Listlessness didn't put food on the table. Plenty of other people had jobs they hated but they did them anyways for the few hours of life they got at the end. He'd first heard the speech when he was twelve. He'd spent years doing things for the sake of feeling alive. It hadn't worked. He wasn't sure he'd ever feel like his father said he was supposed to.

Today was the seventeenth iteration. He'd stopped listening around the tenth iteration of the speech. His father had stopped caring around the twelfth. The radio was on, blaring white noise underneath his father's voice. It was all just white noise to him.


Thunder cracked from the sky, and William's eyes darted over the sky for any sign of lightning, but could find none. He resumed staring at the river, but the river growing rapid and turbulent. He focused, looking up and down the length of the river with his eyebrows furrowing, confused. There were small waves forming. The docks off the houses were starting to come apart. A wooden pillar ripped away from underneath one and began floating downstream. He looked back to the sky, through the motionless branches. There was a dark spot forming in the clouds, and a thickening layer blanketing everywhere he could see. A long whisp of a cloud peeled away from the forming masses, turning back towards the dark spot forming. More followed, forming a slowly circling mound.

Hairs began to raise on the back of William's neck, his heart pounding. Something was wrong here, he could feel it.

The thunder crashed from what felt like all around them, the tremendous booming shaking the van. The noise did not completly fade away, a continuous rumble remaining, growing. The seat was vibrating with the noise as it grew, overtaking the radio, drowning out his father's voice. His father stopped talking, pulled the van onto the side of the road and got out, staring up at the forming mound in the sky. The circling clouds were widening until they appeared like an upside down vortex, the center at the highest point.

Part of the river start flowing backward against the current, forming a frothing wave that crashed and dissipated. Another tiny vortex formed in the center of the river, growing larger with each moment. William slid the van door open and walked around to the roadside to stare at the sight of the river, unable to hear his father over the thunder's never ending rumble. The docks of the houses near the river broke apart violently, chunks of wood splintering and dissapearing into the forming maelstrom. He stood transfixed by what was happening.

A hideous scream broke the terrible rumbling noise, coming from the woods all around them. It was a scream unlike any animal ever heard. It was like a woman's scream, but without anything human about it. It sent chills through William's bones, freezing him to the ground. He couldn't breathe. The space around William grew heavy, as if though the very air itself was pushing against him. He struggled to even gasp.

The shrieking faded. He clutched at his chest and sucked in air as he found himself able to move again, leaning against the van. His father was grabbing at his heart, eyes bulging. He screamed for William to get back in the car. Something was different now. William felt it. Something was tugging at him on the inside, like a heartbeat. A vicious wind was picking up at last, blowing his hair every which way. Rain battered him, coming at him from every angle. He jumped back into the open van and shut the door as quickly as he could, curling up against the seats. The van's engine started up again and began to speed away. William couldn't take his eyes off the water.

A rumbling in the ground began to match the rumbling in the air. The water vortex's center suddenly dropped as if the ground beneath it had given way, forming a true spiral of water dipping into the depths. The banks beside the water cracked and launched upward, houses and all, forming tremendous cliffs over the water, obscuring the river from view. The remains of the docks snapped away and fell with the crumbling earth. There was a lone unfortunate figure on the very edge of the newly-formed cliff. William wondered what the person could see from there. His eyes were pulled upwards as the clouds spiraled away as the water head. He watched dumbstruck as the center of the cloudy vortex shot upwards and upwards until he couldn't see it anymore.

The shrieking came back. It was much closer this time. He looked around in terror, pressed against the van's insides. The van lurched and jumped over a bump in the road and slammed into the muddy bank, tires squealing loudly and digging themselves in. His father gunned the engine and tried to manuever them out of the mud, but it was useless. William shrunk back into the seat, clasping his arms around himself, feeling a shivering cold creeping into the car.

A low, primal growl echoed from the forest bank nearby. The growl was the most singularly upsetting thing William had ever heard in his life, even with the shrieking in the background. It was a sound of nightmares, a monstrous thing, feral and deep. His father stopped dead in his efforts to gun the engine, looking nervously at the bank. William's eyes turned to meet the source of the growl.

He couldn't scream. He couldn't breath. He yanked the door to the van open and ran onto the road. The air felt heavy and got heavier with every step. He strained. He ran. He had to escape. The pulsing within him beat faster, faster, faster. It was behind him. He could feel it. He had to get away, away, away. He ran. The force inside him felt as if it were yanking him forward uncontrollably. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt a tremendous rushing sensation, legs running on nothing, wind and ice tearing at him.


He was still screaming in his mind when he crashed into the side of a wooden shack. Pain struck his head and he stepped back, blood trickling down his forehead. It was a small wooden hideout, and he was in the middle of a forest of dead trees and dead leaves. He looked to the sky and saw clouds moving in what must have been an enormous vortex, such that he only saw a single edge of it. Confusion and chaos reigned in William's mind. A low growl from the forest interrupted his thoughts with renewed terror. He stopped thinking and bolted, desperately. He turned around a tree and felt as if though he'd broken through an invisible wall of ice.


He crashed down onto the hood of a parked white car, which began blaring its alarms loudly. He felt numb all over, as if every muscle in his body had fallen asleep.

What just happened? He thought, and it hurt to think. He quickly tumbled off the car hood and onto the pavement. He could breath again, he felt light. People in suits and dresses were staring at him. He was on a downward sloped street in the middle of a city he didn't recognize. The sun was shining. There wasn't a cloud in sight. He got up, stumbling, and managed to wander into the middle of a street while frantically looking around him when a girl screamed, piercing his stupor.

"LOOK OUT FOR THAT CAR!"

William James jerked out of his confusion for just a moment, long enough to see there was a red sports car coming down the street, and he'd stumbled right into its path. It was too late, he was going to be hit. He closed his eyes and held his arms up, bracing. He felt the pulsing beat within him suddenly start up again, every beat painful, strained.

A few long moments later, and William wondered why the car hadn't hit him yet. It was hard to open his eyes, but he worked them to a squint. The car was still there. It was moving rather slowly. The driver was caught in slow motion, frantically braking at a snail's pace. He tried to lower his arms, but it felt as if though the air was made of iron. He tried to strain towards the side, to move his body. The beating inside of him was hurting. It was slow, but surely his limbs were moving through the air. But the car was getting closer.

He thought to himself he could perhaps get out of the way in time, but the more he strained, the more it seemed as if though he could only move as fast as it did. He would never make it in time. He had the idea to jump instead, reckoning maybe he'd land on top of the car's hood. He tensed his knees, prepared to jump.. and all at once the beating inside him gave out with the most intense feeling of relief. The car braked straight underneath him as his jump gave him inches to spare from the hood, and he managed to land on his feet. He didn't manage to stay there, immediately falling backwards onto the street, landing on his rear.

A young lady ran up to him and quickly grabbed his arm, dragging him off the road, looking at his bleeding head wound. She was talking to him, maybe yelling at him. He couldn't really hear her. He stumbled to the curve and retched, pressed against the car he'd landed on. Someone was pulling him away, and he let himself be guided through a door and into a house. He managed to make it to a couch before he collapsed, and the last thing William James saw was the face of a girl looking concerned into his eyes, speaking, probably asking questions. He closed his eyes and let sweet darkness take him.

The Stormsidi (Chapter Three) (UNFINISHED)

She was falling, very slowly, through a thick fog. It was so thick, it felt like great ethereal pillows, giving way as she silently passed through them on some great descent. All was dark, and sensations played upon her skin like distant memories. She was vaguely aware of things nearby, watching her.

There was a sound that echoed, so faint. A ripple that pushed through the fog and through her body. It seemed to dissipate the fog, scatter it. Another sound. She felt at once as if though she was rising through water that had no temperature or taste.

Her eyelids opened a sliver, and looked around weakly. Everything was blurry and distant, and seemed to be larger than it was in the seeming of distance. She was in a private bedchamber, with walls of clean marble and an open window letting in the light. There were white curtains around the bed. Someone was sitting on the bed beside her, wrapping a bandage around her stomach. Her face was like an angel, light shining around it. The Princess. She saw the girl's eyes moving, her face tightened, and she spoke quietly.

"Don't move. You need to rest. Don't try to get out of this bed." Her voice was soft, but iron. Her face lightened. "You've been hurt very badly, and your body needs time to heal before you can move." She finished tucking a bandage in. "Can you tell me your name?"

The girl could say nothing, and exhaled very softly. She did not respond to the question. Her eyes looked afraid. The Princess looked slightly annoyed. "Do you remember what happened?" The girl shook her head. "...do you know who you are?" The girl shook her head again. The Princess made a concerned face and sighed. "Can you speak..?" The girl shook her head. "Not surprising, given your wounds.. It could be something in your head, or.. something might damaged."

There were bandages all over her body, the girl realized. Her legs, arms, chest. Her neck burned. There were bandages on her throat. Everything hurt. She wanted to go back to sleep and fog, where everything didn't hurt quite so much. Something must have shown in her face, for the Princess smiled faintly. "It's alright. I'm the Princess of the Valraedi. We've got my personal doctors here. You don't need to be afraid."

The girl exhaled softly, and her eyes began to lose focus. "My name is Aerika.." The Princess quietly said. The girl's eyes focused on the Princess' face. It was a very pretty name, the girl thought. Her hand slowly rose up and touched Aerika's face with her fingers, and then she fell back into the fog.


Over the next four days, the girl drifted in and out of conciousness, unsure of her own realness and that of the world around her. She could see people and places. An angry man, yelling at someone she couldn't see. A man in an officer's uniform, grabbing her shoulder. A man with salt and pepper hair, replacing her bandages. An empty, cold apartment. A young maid, spooning her things that tasted disgusting.

On the fifthy day, she was awake for long enough and strong enough to sit upright. She was brought food on a silver tray. Two bowls of hot soups, bread. It was warm, and it made her feel more real. Her body ached less, but her throat hurt as much as it ever did. She cried, and she wasn't sure why. It just hurt. When she was done crying and eating, the maid returned with a napkin and dabbed her face gently.

"Was it good?" The young maid asked. The girl nodded her head. "Is there anything you'd like to request? We can make most things."

The girl thought about food and recipes. Did she know recipes? She felt like she did. Lumps of meats and distant smells called to her. Were they memories? She thought of eggs. She wanted eggs. She opened her mouth, but the sound caught in her throat and nothing came out. It hurt very much, and she coughed hard.

"Are you alright?" The maid asked. The girl touched her throat. Concern turned to pity on the maid's face, and she patted the girl's leg. "Oh, I remember now. You can't talk. That's perfectly alright. Well, don't worry. Our chefs can make anything taste wonderful. You just rest." She picked up the tray and turned away from the girl.

Eggs, she thought. I wanted eggs. She felt very sad and tired again. Her eyes closed, and she rested a while. She could feel the fog rolling in, but it was so much weaker this time. It was not claiming her. Not just yet. She did not feel cold. She only felt the pillow under her back, the thick purple sheets on her skin. She allowed herself to simply exist for a while.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a door opening. It was the salt and peppered man. Now that she was awake, she could see him in focus. He wore a gray suit, white gloves. He walked beside her bed and sat in a nearby chair.

"You are awake." He stated. "That is good. We were growing worried about you." He watched her for a while, as if he thought she might start speaking. He had gravity to him. "Can you understand me?"

She nodded slightly.

"Good. Good.. We have a lot to talk about. Don't worry-" He rose a hand, shaking his head. "-we'll start slow. Just the important things for now. My name is.. well, you may call me King. I am Aerika's personal servant. You were very badly hurt a few days ago. You're very lucky. We have the greatest healers in the kingdom on our staff, and even they had trouble with some of your wounds. Some of them.. may never properly heal." He eyed the girl's throat bandages. "If anyone but Aerika had happened upon you that night, you'd be dead right now. Very lucky."

As the girl processed this, the man stood up and walked beside the bed. "Don't worry. You do not owe us anything. Aerika is.. very kind, isn't she?" He smiled, looking off wistfully. "As her mother was. She's tasked us to help you recover totally, and I'm going to see to it. Do you understand?" The girl nodded, but faintly. The fog was rolling in. "You can trust us.." His voice echoed until it was distant, and then dissapeared.


A few days and several warm and eggless meals later, she was brought a thin white gown. It felt good to have something on her skin besides bandages, though those remained underneath. It was time to try moving around. They peeled back the covers and helped her swing her bare feet off the side of the bed. She slid off and onto her feet, and swung her arms wildly until she was caught. With the help of the maid and the servant, she managed to stay upright.

Tingles shot up her legs. She was wobbly, and for her first dozen steps, those two were beside her, waiting to catch her if she fell. She was like a child learning to walk. Thought it was hard at first, she quickly felt embarassed it had ever been hard at all. Walking. Of course she could walk. She wiggled her toes, and jumped in place. Upon the impact, she almost collapsed, but King was there to catch her.

"Careful, now. Don't aggravate the wounds. You're still healing. Just focus on doing normal activities." He said gently, pulling her to her feet until she could stand on her own again. It made sense to the girl. She wanted to see her injuries. She looked at the doors in the room with a focused, curious face. "What is it?"

The girl clenched and unclenched her thighs, making a nervous face. "Oh, you need to.. the bathroom's right over here. I'll let you have privacy, but if I hear anything, I'm coming in, understood?" The girl nodded, and walked inside.

The bathroom was as rich as the bedroom. Marble tiles, a large shower-bath. She took care of her business, washed her hands, and was startled by her reflection in the mirror.

Is that really me? She wondered. The girl in the mirror was pale with nearly white hair. She pulled a lock of hair in front of her face. She'd never really thought to look at it until now. Behind the hair, she focused on her own eyes. They were grey, light silver. Why did she look like this? She wasn't normal, she considered. She looked like a doll left unpainted. Her hand touched her own face, and the girl in the mirror did the same. She was real. This was real. She touched the mirror, fingertips meeting.

She looked bruised in places, especially where bandages used to be. Light scars, faint pains. There was a strange sense of longing in her as she looked at herself. A far-off pang in her heart and head. How could she look like this? She lowered her hand, and was surprised to see the Princess where her hand had been covering up the space behind her. The girl whirled around, embarassed at being caught in the act of self-inspection.

"Hahah, I'm sorry for startling you! I was coming to visit and they said you'd been in here a while. I thought I'd check up on you. How do you feel?" Aerika asked. The girl smiled in response. "Better?" She nodded. "You still can't speak, can you?" The girl looked taken aback, and looked at the floor. She gently touched the bandages and rubbed her throat.

Aerika touched the girl's shoulder and squeezed it. "Don't lose hope. It was the worst wound.. it'll take some time to fully heal. Stay confident, alright?" The girl looked up at her. She wanted to thank her, to thank her for saving her life, for her kindness. The girl leaned forward and hugged Aerika, surprising the Princess. After a moment of consideration, and a quick glance at the bathroom door, she returned the hug with a gentleness, and patted the girl's head. The girl cried quietly, and Aerika stayed with her until she stopped.

The Stormsidi (Chapter Two)

Something went wrong. An explosion of light. Men screaming, the popping of bullets. Someone dropped against the ground.

The silhouette of a girl lay against a cement wall, raining pounding. There was pain in every limb. Everything hurt. Her throat burned the fiercest. Flashes of light pushed across a blurry vision. Feeling. She could feel cold, wet cobblestone underneath. The dark walls stretched upwards into the sky. Everything hurt. Someone was kneeling over her, touching her, trying to save her.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, like a slow, gaunt drum. Her eyes followed blood on the ground. Was that her blood, she wondered? Everything felt so small, cold and weak. She was covered in so much red. Her hand was laying in the blood. It was small and pale. Why was it so small and pale? Her fingers were so thin.

She rose her hand and stared at it. Someone took her hand and held it firmly. They were speaking. Their hand was warm, and the warmth spread through the girl's body, but it only made the reality clearer in the contrast.

She was dying in a dark alleyway, rain pounding on her face from an unfeeling sky. SOmeone's face was above her, trying to talk to her. She could hear nothing. There was another body beside her. A knife was in its chest. Bullet holes, too. The eyes empty of life. Staring at her.

The woman was bleeding too. No, not the woman, the girl thought. The princess. How did she know that? She was bleeding badly, and holding her hand. She was speaking, but the girl could not hear. She is so young and pretty, the girl thought. She found herself hoping that the girl did not die. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. They were talking, but she could not hear them.

The rain washed over her face and turned the world to black.

The Stormsidi (Chapter One)

Beep beep beep beep BEEP BEEP BEEP. The alarm grew in intensity and pitch, blinking violet strobe lights. An award for greatness in the service sat next to a picture of a young woman. A man stirred in his bed, a cold bed without sheets or pillows, and rose as if from the grave. He stumbled to the window, where the rain pounded on the glass, and the distant thunder drowned out the beeping. Exhausted, crystal blue eyes searched through the torrent for meaning or beauty.

The Vandraedi was a city of stone and steel, built with cobblestone and paved with cement. A city of ancestors, slowly being replaced in the foundations by the advent of the steel and smoke. Beauty slowly being replaced by efficiency. It was built on low hills, and slanted streets were lined with simple stores, open doors and stalls. A river ran through it. Towers stood above it with dark windows and concrete barriers.

The man put on dark clothes in the dim light of his apartment. It was scant, with few luxuries. A newly bought couch he hadn't used yet. A fridge stocked with enough food to last him a week. He pulled on a dark leather overcoat and wrapped it around him tight, slid on a pair of shades, and pulled open the door. A letter fluttered to the ground, having been wedged into the door. He knelt and ran his fingers over the edge, peeling it open. Another notice that his apartment was going to be claimed and auctioned shortly if he didn't make payment. He hadn't paid in a year. He didn't need to. He knew people. People he was going to see right now. On the back of the paper was a series of letters and numbers. It was a code that only he and one other person knew. He stuffed the letter into his pocket and walked out, closing the door behind him, unlocked.

He took back alleyways and walked along the grass path that bordered the river. Black and gray umbrellas walked past him. Stony faces and eyes cast down- only those with business outside would be outside on a day like this. A vendor was selling umbrellas, but he walked past it. He didn't ever admit to needing things.

He found his way to a stone bridge over the river and stood under it, pulling out a wet smoke for a quick break. When he was sure no one was looking, he ducked into an open drain pipe.


Men in leather coats patrolled the underground bunker, machine guns at the ready. More ran here and there, rushing into the dark tunnels. The dark man pushed his way past those, past iron bars and swinging lights towards an underground warehouse. Guards held him up outside the door and demanded his identity- he rose his rain-stained head and glared at them, and, recognizing him, they let him pass.

Boxes of weapons, rations, and papers. Maps of the city lay rolled up loosely against the walls, while a larger map was pinned open and marked. Young men and women talked quietly in the shadow of ammunitions. His arrival quieted them. Some stared, others turned away and in hushed voices hurried away. There was a man with bright hair and eyes in the middle of the room, going over a map with an aged advisor beside him, nodding and gesturing. The younger man was speaking.

"..and if we take Kaupstef Square, we'll have good access to the shops and be able to protect them. Once they're under our protection the economy should level out, but- Ah, you've arrived." The men turned to the dark man. The older man looked nervously to the younger man. "Our informant! This is Ein and I am Zwei. Of this sector, anyways. We got your message from the middleman. You're early! Always liked that about you. Sleep well? Ah, don't shrug at me. I've seen your place. Don't know how you manage to keep it that cold, with the wages you get from the Palace AND what we pay you." The younger man took a breath. "Speaking of which.. said you had something important?"

The man nodded, and walked forward to the map between the two. He pressed a finger wetly to an intersection, an alleyway in the middle of a market square.

"The royal target will be passing through here. Ten o'clock. They're switching safecastles. That's all I know."

The bright-eyed man stared at the location, then took a marker and drew a quick red circle around where the man's wet fingerprint was laid. He placed his hands on the table, studying the map quickly and intently. "...damn. It's not much.. but it's more than we had to start." He turned to stare hard at the dark man. "You sure about this? She's going to be there?.. alright. You there!" He called out to another man. "Go send a messenger to the Homekastal. Tell Valdyr we've got a location on her tonight at ten." The man saluted and ran out.

He began to turn and pace back and forth. "Alright. I don't think we have time to gather the men for a full assault. They'll be too well guarded. Even if we set a trap.. Damnit. Valdyr's going to let me have it if I let a chance like this slip through my fingers." He stopped, tapping his chin with his fist. "Unless.. you. Our inside man.." Zwei turned to look at the dark man. "That operation a month ago. You took down the Chief of Security effortlessly. Made us look like amateurs. Think you'd be able to pull off an assassination attempt on the Princess herself?"

"..I'd die before I got close enough."

"Yes, that'd be a problem. Maybe we can GET you close enough. What if we set a trap.. for the royal target?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"It's easy. We stage an attack, pretend we're fighting you. You're in deep with them, they think you're one of theirs. They reach this spot, they see you fighting us, they'll react. Fight with you or try to rescue you. They won't abandon you to us. They'll trust you. Maybe not. Maybe let you get close enough to kill her. Maybe not- but if they take you with them, you can keep doing your work for us, but closer to the heart of our enemy than ever before. It's a victory for us either way."

The blue-eyed man looked hesitant, but overall approving. The older man, Ein, spoke. "There's a small flaw in your plan, Captain."

"Yes?"

"The Princess doesn't like men like him. Dark men... she's perceptive. She'll see what he is when she sees him. Just like Valdyr. Maybe she won't know what exactly, but she won't trust him."

Zwei frowned. "Hrm. She shares that, does she? Don't think she'd trust him if it was just him fighting alone?" He turned to the dark man, an appraising look on his face. "Then we sweeten the deal. Change the game." The dark man's face  rose inquisitively. "I've got a ..stage trick, you could say. And a doll."

"What? That's- highly- Where did you get-" Ein sputtered.

"We'll discuss that later. But I think this is an opportunity. A rare opportunity.. Listen, here's the plan. This bit of magic's a bit complicated, so you've got to follow the directions precisely. You're going to take the doll with you."

"I see where this is going. Sweetening the pot.."  A group had begun to gather around them. They smelled the blood in the air, the energy gathering.

"Exactly. Maybe she wouldn't trust you- but.. this might tip her over. You'll go in with the doll. Maybe give her a good stab, make her look wounded. Perform a bit of a stage magic just before the target gets there. She'll scream a bit. And the Princess' heart is just going to break. She'll trust you... and we win." The captain grinned. It was the grin of a cat, content with itself. "It's all down to you.. my friend." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Are you up to it?"

His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he looked to the older man, who shrugged and murmured, "It's a good plan.." The dark man nodded. Excitement began to build in the people around them.

"Then today, the peoples of the Vandraedi are about to take a great step closer to true freedom. Today, my friend, the revolution draws the knife close to the heart of oppression. Victory is at hand!" There was cheering. The dark man did not cheer. He did, however, offer an insincere smile. Talk broke out in the group, and murmurs of premature celebration. "Go and prepare. We'll set the operation time to be when the sun falls.. see us then for the extras."

As the dark man turned and began to walk away, the older man leaned in close to the Captain. "And the doll..?"

"Ah.. heh." The captain merely smiled as the man walked away. "Let us talk details, now, you and I. We need to make this trap as convincing as possible.. and I have just the idea."


A middle aged man in a crisp officer's uniform was leaning against the wall as the blue-eyed man approached the doorway out. "Leaving so soon?"

"...yeah. Need to get things ready. Need weapons.. and my work uniform."

"You didn't mention when you wanted a meeting set up that it was somnething of this caliber." The middle aged man's eyes were hard, staring through him. "You should reconsider your involvement in this."

"I can handle myself, Bru."

The man was no longer leaning, and pressed forward. "I know. Just.. you're going after the Princess. You know this is a suicide mission, right? What are you trying to prove by doing this?"

"..I'm not trying to prove anything." He looked uncomfortable.

"Okay. Than why are you doing it? You're just an informant. Let someone else handle this."

"I'm THE informant. You heard him. I'm the man for this job. No one can do this but me."

"I heard him.. and I don't think that's what he said." The other man sighed and turned to continue, but Bru pressed a hand onto his shoulder. "Listen to me! Don't do this. You can still get out. Trust me." The man brushed his hand off and pushed onwards. "Why won't you trust me?" Bru spoke to the man's back.

The man looked back. "You know I don't trust, Bru."

"You're not alone in this, M-"

"Don't." There was a long moment of silence between the two. "I want this."

"You seek death."

"We're acquainted." The man walked away.

White crystal dreams

The city is dark and rainy. I am a man in a dark trenchcoat, with dark blonde hair and perfect blue eyes. I am a spy in the resistance of a city-state kingdom in revolt. Men in leather jackets and machine guns rush past me as I spoke with a man. There is a plan to kill the Princess of the city. I know where she's going to be. We're not going to kill her at that spot- too well guarded. But there is a plan to infiltrate. To injure me and pretend I have been attacked by the resistance as they come upon me. I am a good spy, I think, and they will think I have merely been attacked. With any luck, the Princess will take me with her to her new safecastle and I will be able to work from the inside out as never before. There is a problem- the Princess does not like men like me. It's possible I might simply be sent elsewhere.

We devise a plan to use a spell or device to physically transform me, and at the same time use a duplicate. The duplicate will be mindless- I'm going to take an injury and then kill it. Theofore, the Princess will see that I have been attacked by a dark-looking man and am injured, and hopefully this will enhance my chances.

Something goes wrong.

I'm not entirely sure what happened. Maybe one of the spells was cast wrong, or someone interfered. I'm in pain. Everything hurts. My throat burns. The wet, cold cobblestone beneath me. It's dark. But I can see through bleary eyes,  the Princess is kneeling over me, trying to save me. I'm bleeding badly. I'm a young girl. My hand is small and pale. I hold it up to stare at it. Someone takes it and holds it. Their hand is warm and the warmth spreads through me, but it only makes everything out clearer in the contrast. I'm dying in the rain in the dark alleyway. The dark walls stretch upwards into the sky. My broken body lies beside me. A knife is in its chest. My eyes are empty of life, staring at me. The princess is bleeding. She is young and pretty. I find myself hoping that she doesn't die. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. They are talking, but I cannot hear them. I black out.

I wake up in a private chamber of a safecastle. Someone is attending to me. Talking to me. I can hear her. My eyes blink open. It's the princess. She's changing my bandages. She tells me to stay down on the bed. She asks me what my name is, but I can't tell her anything. I don't say anything. I'm not sure I know what my name is. She asks me if I remember what happened, and I shake my head. She asks me if I know who I am, and I shake my head. She asks me if I can speak.. and I shake my head. There are bandages on my throat. It's possible something was damaged, possible it's mental trauma. No one's sure. She says her name is Valerie. I think it's a very pretty name, and I touch her face before I collapse into unconciousness again.

People help me. There is a man, especially. A butler, a bodyguard. An old man with tremendous gravitas but incredible gentleness. I am fed and clothed in white clothing. It is a few days before I can get out of the bed, and I manage to walk into the bathroom. I am pale, nearly white-haired with light silver eyes. I am definitely not normal. I look like an unprepared doll that someone forgot to colour. I touch my face, and then the mirror. I have bandages over my neck and all over my abdomen. There is still some pain. A kind of distant pain, in my heart and head. When I lower my hand, the princess is there. She asks me how I feel, and I smile. She asks if I feel better, and I nod. She says that I still can't speak, and I touch my throat and I suppose I look sad, because she touches my shoulder and tells me to remain confident. I don't have any way to communicate my thankfulness, so I hug her. She is surprised, but she hugs back gently.

I don't see much of her as I recover.  Not being able to talk is a blessing and a handicap. Not many people seem able to understand me, but they enjoy my facial expressions. Without my memories or former personality to guide me, my appearance and my new freedom allows me to act very gentle and "cute", and people seem to take a liking to me. It is a very free feeling, to be able to act as I want, to not speak and simply express things. They speak to me freely. The butler especially spends a great deal of time around me, keeping me moving and helping me recover. He asks me questions now and then, if I know what happened- but the answer is always no. I am no longer sure I DO know what happened. The memories are there, but hazy. And hazier each day.

I am kept within a specific portion of the safecastle, unable to explore beyond the boundaries. It is not so bad. I am brought warm food, I am allowed to sleep in the private chambers, and there is a courtyard outside that is always wet with dew. I make friends with the lowly people as best as I can. It is a new life. A good life.

One stormy night, as lightning flashes outside the stone windows, I am asked to come to the chambers of Valerie. I no longer wear bandages around my neck, and she touches the skin curiously. There is a faded scar, pale and sharp. She asks me to try to speak, and I manage some weak sounds, but it is painful and I stop. She is upset that I'm hurt and worries that my trying may have aggravated the wound. I feel very light headed and woozy, and I cough up blood. Everything goes slightly blurry. I am guided into her bed and allowed to remain there. It is an enormous bed. She talks to me as the lightning flashes, about things. She is worried, and hurt. There are forces beyond her control in the world and she cannot protect everyone. She wishes she was stronger and loved by her people. I take her hand and hold it a while. She smiles at me and thanks me. I fall asleep.

When it is morning, I pull my eyes open. The princess is practicing some kind of martial art in the bedchambers, in her pink and blue nightgown, with bandages on her hands. It is a strange sight. She thrusts her fists forward, practices stances. I get up slowly in my white nightgown and begin to mimic her. She is pleasantly surprised and slows her movements down so I can learn them. We practice in silence, her teaching me through example, me learning through mimicry. When we are done, the butler is there. Somehow he has entered without my knowing it. She is satisfied and happy. He guides me back to my chambers.

I practice alone the next day, and I do not see her. I do wish to practice with her again, but her chamber is guarded from the outside at all times, and even I am not allowed near. In the dark of the night, a man appears. A security chief, or something of similiar rank. He is in charge of protecting the Princess. He does not like me. He suspects something. He asks me questions I cannot answer, and I do not answer. He is not like the others- he presses me when I cannot answer. I shake my head no, and he asks why. The only thing stopping him from being more aggressive, I think, is the fact the wound on my neck is visible- it's possible I might genuinely be being silent because I cannot speak. He, however, thinks I can speak and choose not to.

He grabs my shoulder. It hurts. I can't protect myself against him. The butler- Gerald is his name- appears as if from nowhere. He doesn't say anything, but is simply standing behind the man where he once was not. The man notices he's there without looking, and lets me go. Gerald firmly states that I cannot speak, and cannot answer his questions. The man leaves without saying anything, sighing. Gerald gently calms me down and tells me if I could speak it would mean everything to a lot of people. The despondent look on my face moves him and he gently hugs me, then leaves me.

I cannot sleep for the rest of the night, and I walk outside as the sun rises. I begin to practice the martial arts again, barefoot in the dew. Although I cannot see it, I know that Valerie is practicing it in her room. Gerald quietly remarks to her that I am practicing outside, although he has not looked out the window. Valerie looks, and sees me. She is touched that I have continued to try to practice despite not being able to do so with her. She calls out "Ariel!" (for she has named me after a fairytale, in leiu of my having my own name) and waves, and I wave in turn.

She comes down to join me, and we practice together again. The sun rises, and we are silhouettes.

From this point on, I spend a greater amount of time with the Princess. I am allowed further access to the safecastle, and I can even walk with a guard into the open streets during the day if I so wish. I help clean and I take care of the garden and water. However, more importantly, I take care of the Princess. I am considered a handmaiden and more or less treated as one. There some who do not like me, and many who do not understand me. But most are fascinated, and at least enchanted.

Valerie has a training regimen. She is learning close combat fighting. There is an obstacle course she is being commanded to run by Gerald, one day. I am spying on them, and when she begins, I run down to Gerald and past him. I leap onto the climbing tower and begin to climb as well. Gerald, upon seeing me, only laughs. Valerie as well is happy and is filled with competitive spirit with me on her tail. She wins easily with time to spare, and comes to watch me as I topple off a tightrope into a muddy lake below. There is laughing, and she comes to help me out. I pull her in instead and there is much playful wrestling.

I venture into town to purchase sweets and bread, once. I am also being allowed to buy new clothing of my own. While walking, I run into a man in dark leather clothing. He bumps into me and apologizes, then stares at me as I stumble by. He knows me. I was supposed to do something. I stare back at him like a doe in headlights. His gaze is angry and intense. I turn around and I see an alleyway. A dark alleyway, with walls going up forever. It is raining and I am bleeding. I collapse, and must be carried back.

When I wake, there is an argument being held. Being carried back in broad daylight was very bad for stealth. I am accused, and being defended. In the end, the accuser, the security chief simply walks away from the argument. I open my eyes and look questioningly at Valerie, who sighs. She tells me not to worry about it- that she trusts me, and that it is her say what will happen to me. She touches my face and moves my hair away. She asks me what happened.

I exhale and touch my eyes, then the bed. My eyes are cast upwards, and then I reach out and close my eyes. She takes my hand and holds it warmly. She knows that I relived that moment of death. She knows I am hurting, and she stays with me as much as she can during the day. Gerald watches over me when she is not there. He talks to me- tells me about Valerie. Some things she's already told me and he doesn't know. Some things are about himself. He is an uncle, and would be King. Possibly IS the ruling king, since Valerie is not of age to be Queen, but the reality is that she gives the shots and he works behind the scenes.

I want to know why they trust me. Why? I do not deserve that trust. A part of me knows that I have betrayed them since before we ever met. I don't know how, but I know I have done wrong. It is hard to make things connect. The return of the dark man pulled stitches across the borders of my memories-pulling a forgotten, dark life back into the light.

Life returns to normal once again. Valerie and I practice much more often now, and more physically. Our morning training often involves repetitious exchanges of stances and counter-stances, without hitting. We are taught judo and train with each other. At one point our spar dissolves into a light wrestling match and I somehow end up straddling her, and Gerald tells me to go for a grapple. I sort of lower myself onto her and gently hug her, and there is a quiet moment of "awwww" from the people watching. She is smiling. Then she flips me onto my back and counter straddles me, and there is a tense moment. She leans down and presses lightly against me. I tie my hands around her neck and smile at her. For a few seconds, she and I are the only people in the room. Her eyes are bright and blue and beautiful. She is happy. We remember people are watching and the training ends for the day.

There is a big dinner to be held. I am to be formally introduced to a lot of important people as a new handmaiden and bodyguard to the Princess. I help make food until it is time for me to be introduced, and then I come out from behind a curtain. I am wearing a very beautiful dress and I am barefoot. People are amused and curious about me. Many people try to talk to me, but food is called before a painful scene of my inability to respond is forced. The princess has called for food to head off this. As we are seated, I see a flash of a dark man in the kitchen doorway. He is dressed as a chef. Is it me? No. I almost seize up, but I manage to avoid causing a scene. Our food is served, I don't touch it. Valerie touches my thigh underneath the table and looks at me concerned. I grab her arm and look at the food and shake my head vigorously. There is fear and panic on my face.

She knows what I am afraid of. What I know. The food is poisoned! Or drugged. She asks me in a hushed whisper, and I nod. She looks stricken. There are sounds of groans and panic from the far end of the table. She'd already snuck a bite in before they were served. She begins to drift and I catch her before she collapses. Gerald, too, is stumbling and trying to remain awake, but the drugs in the f ood are too powerful for even him, and he is forced to his knees, unable to act.

Men rise from the tables. There is sound of fighting in the distance. The safecastle is being attacked. The few people who have not taken their food yet are quickly forced at gunpoint to have a few bites. All except me. The dark man in leather walks out of the kitchen with more men. Tables are thrown aside. I am alone before them. I take a protective stance in front of Valerie.

I am to be congratulated. They weren't sure I was still with them after what happened, but my scene on the street was a perfect way to keep my cover and allow them to track the guard back to the safecastle, knowing I was with the Princess. Now it was time for me to step aside. I can say nothing. He gauges my reaction, and says a word. A name. I am clearly effected and relax my stance, taking a step forward in a sort of daze. My hair darkens, and my eyes close. When I open them, they are blue. There is a power within me. It cries for a voice.

I deny it. My eyes turn back to silver, and I resume my protective stance. The man is unhappy, but appears to genuinely care and show concern. I am not reacting the way I should. He knows something is wrong. He orders his men to put down their guns and capture me. They try to melee me, but I use my newfound martial arts to knock them around. They grow frustrated, brutal. I take hits. The man barks at them to not use force, but time grows pressing. There is blood on the floor. A man tries to grab the princess desperately, but I kick him away. He falls to floor screaming.

They have no more time. The man in charge levels his gun at me and orders me to step aside. I shake my head silently, the world blurry. There is a flash of gunfire. I am bleeding again. I collapse on the floor. There is blood spreading before me.

Once more, I wake up in a bed, but only briefly. Gerald is there. A man steps into the room with a force of men and orders me to be removed from the bed and taken with him. There is shouting and yelling, but it is done and I am dragged slowly away and down.

I am in a cell. I am wounded and in pain. I curl up in a corner, legs against my chest, arms around my legs. I don't know what's going on and I'm afraid and hurt.

Valerie is outside the cell. She is distant-sounding. The Security chief has reason to believe I am a spy and traitor. I shake my head vigorously. She wants to believe me. I know she does, and she says so. But the chief has evidence. I cannot defend myself. She doesn't want to believe.. but she can't do anything. Her voice is quiet and cold. She feels betrayed. She is considering that I might be a lie. In my heart, I know she may be right. I can only silently begin to cry. She turns and begins to walk away. There is a force within me that screams.

I cry out. "Valerie!" My voice is so clear. So pained. She stops in her tracks. I can see a force rolling through her body, trembling. Ariel?, she asks.

I drop to my knees, clutching my throat, holding onto the bars. Fire surges through my body. Pain. I can't stand it. Valerie is there, kneeling with me, touching my face through the bars. She is crying. My eyes are going cold and distant. Ariel, she says. Stay with me. Stay with me. I cannot. I fall onto my side on the cold floor of the cell.

She orders me released immediately. The guard protests. There is fire in her voice that I have never heard before. The guard cowers and obeys. She picks me up herself and carries me back to a bed herself. The chief barges in, angrier than he has ever been before.  He calls her stupid and naive. I am a fool. They don't know what happened, they have people claiming I am a spy, and have only my SILENCE to prove my innocence.

Gerald appears from the doorway, looking old. He quietly says that he was awake to see what happened himself. He says that I was not simply shot when I was no longer useful. I had been spoken to, given the chance to walk away.

Triumph reigned in the chief's face, and despair began to creep into Valerie's eyes.

Gerald took a deep breath, and told them that I had chosen to protect the princess despite facing down a dozen guns. That I had fought and fought, sacrificing my chance at life to protect her, until one of them had shot me, and it was my efforts that delayed them enough until the guards could arrive. My sacrifice saved the princess, and I lay dying in the bed for it, and the Chief would not speak another word of my loyalty if he wanted to ever speak again.

The Chief had nothing to say to that, and only turned and left the room with a shocked expression on his face. Shock and fear, in such an angry, decisive man.

Ariel, she said. She held my hand. I looked upon her face. She gently leaned forward and kissed me on the lips, and then held me. I held her in turn. For now, everything was going to be okay. She pulled away to smile at me, and then gasped.

One of my eyes was a clear blue.

Xanas, Editted

A lady walked up to the bar and asked the bartender for a glass of ice cold water. Most ladies, Jackson would just ignore, but this one caught his attention. He stared after her as she walked to the corner of the bar, near the window panel.

She was a woman of youth, tall, with a slender torso and slim, small hips. She was built like a nordic goddess, Jackson marveled, marble and soft. She carried weapons; an oak bow and arrows to match. Her outfit was made of blue and violet colours, and exposed her arms, abdomen and small yet eager chest. A winged, metal headband framed her small ears and face.

She carried herself straight, regal and free. Jackson was a man to stare, and she seemed to invite it. She presented herself as if she were proud of her fairy attributes. She was flashy, in a cute way, a blue glint of beauty in the urban air. She wanted to be seen.

But her gloves and boots were layered with sharp, metal edges, that could cut, draw blood, and kill efficiently and quickly. They were wrapped tight around her limbs, which hid training and muscles underneath that fair flesh, and there was no doubt those arrows could pierce.

Yes, Jackson thought to himself as he fingered his shiny and very illegal ray gun. This girl was a huntress first and nymph second. She'd already spotted him staring, smiled at him, and in her confident, shy expression when their eyes met he saw a readiness to throw him through the window pane.. and an invitation to talk, if he wanted. The bartender whispered into her ear, and she stared at Jackson with what seemed interest. He had a chance. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and coughed discretely to see if he reeked of liquor (he did not), then sauntered over.

"Hey, you lookin for someone?" He drawled. "Cause I just might be packin what you need." He knew it was stupid the moment he said it, but he knew that if they'd laughed, he had an in.

"Really? You just might. You're pretty cute, but I usually need a little more than that." Her voice was soft. "I heard you've got a special gun that can do magical things." Whoa, score! Jackson thought. She was smiling at him with that shy, flirty smile. "I'd like to see it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jackson said. "A little forward there, aren't we?" He was getting way too lucky, and he knew it, but he was just going to run with it.

She stepped up close to him. She was tall, for a girl that slender. Her face was fair, and her eyes sharp. She spoke clearly, "I want to see your gun." He could feel her hands touching him. One of her hands was on his neck. The other was on his hip, moving around. She was gettin a little close to his holster. Oh, hell, he thought. It's a little early in the day for this, but go for it. He slid his arms around her and grabbed her ass. His fingers moved through the see-through, frilly half-skirt that covered her; the cloth was fine to the touch, not rubber like he expected. He was surprised by how ROUND it was.


Jackson wasn't sure what hurt more, the impact through the glass or the sidewalk outside. He was cut up badly, but he'd had worse, and those mutagens were already closing up cuts around the shards of glass still stuck in em. A dozen stinging sensations rang out from his body. He needed to thank Frankie for that mutagen operation the next time he saw him, he thought. He struggled to make the world stop spinning, and palmed the ground, looking for his gun. His eyes were glowing green with that damn mutagen. He hated when they did that. Where were his glasses?

Her knee was suddenly on top of his chest, pinning him down. He grunted and grabbed at her knee, onto to stab his hand on her boots. He screamed and pulled his hand away, blood spreading onto the pavement as the girl slid her hip over his belly and pinned his torso down with her knees. If she wanted to, she could jab those edges right into his belly.. He stopped fighting, holding up his hands. "Hey! Hey! Sorry!"

The girl held up his gun, turning it over. It was a strange design; DeFrank had claimed it was from an alien world. As far as Jackson knew it was just a shiny silver gun right out of the 50's idea of the future, but the few test shots HAD shot bolts of light that burned right through the targets. That little baby had cost him a pretty penny, so he wasn't too pleased that the little lady was manhandling it. DeFrank owed him a favor for dealing with that private investigator, but warned him if that the gun found its way out of his hands, Jackson was as good as a dead man. "Who sold you this gun?" She asked.

"I'm not telling you that." He said. She punched him in the face. "OW! Lady, enough with the violence! People are staring!" He didn't know if that was true or not, but she didn't bother checking. Instead, she found the settings on the gun and inspected them.

"This gun's a modification of a Rikti pistol. Where'd you get something like this?" Her lips were tight. No smiling now.

Shit, he thought. If she wasn't bluffing him, she knew more about the damn thing then he did. "Not telling."

"We'll see. What are the modifications to the pistol?" She tightened her legs around his torso, squeezing him. He cringed as she began to dig into his skin. His poor shirt. He pressed his hands against the outside of her thighs, trying to relieve the pressure in return.

"Don't know what you're talking about. My pistol's all-natural." He half-chuckled out of habit. The lady raised her fist, but paused. She smiled, and shook her head just the littlest bit, and didn't hit him.

"Is that so?" She relaxed her grip on him, sitting atop him. "I'll have to see that." She pressed one of her hands into his chest, leaning down with a sultry grin. "Tell me what this thing can do and I won't cut your hands off. Can you regenerate that?"

Jackson became acutely aware his hands were still pressed on her hips. He took his hands off. Shit. DeFrank was going to kill him. Unless.. "...it's a normal pistol. It has some kind of biomechanical thought.. alloy registry. I'm the only one that can fire it. Maybe that's from the Rikti."

"So if I were to shoot you, it wouldn't work for me?" She slid one hand onto his shoulder and leaned down, pressing his gun into his other shoulder. Her face was very close. He could see faded white marks on her lips.

"No! It'd explode and kill us both!" He sweated heavily, watching her. Several long moments passed. Her eyes stared into his. He felt like he was being pierced by arrows right into his soul.

Finally, she relaxed, and so did he. Then he found himself being lifted off the ground as she dragged him bodily into the nearest alleyway, and pinned up against the wall. Her very sharp wrist blades were pressing into him. He grabbed hold of her arm, pulling to no avail.

"Easy, easy.." He breathed hard. "We don't cut throats over... questionable gun modifications do we? I haven't done anything. Haha.." Well, that was a lie.

She seemed more annoyed then anything else. "Rikti modifications are dangerous. Someone out there is selling very dangerous alien technology. I'm going to put a stop to it. You don't want to talk? Fine. Do you want to be part of the problem or help me stop it? Think fast."  He started to relax, and then she punched him across the jaw. She pressed into his body and released some of the tension on his neck.

He touched his lip. Blood. He grinned as much as he was able. "You're not going to kill me."

"What makes you so sure? I might." Her eyes narrowed.

"Call it an intuition." He gritted his teeth over her wrists digging into his neck. "But you saw me healing. I think you're only being this rough because you know I can take it. I don't think you can kill me." His eyes glowed a bright green, and his grin grew wide.

She headbutted him, leaving a bloody welt on his forehead. He yelled and collapsed, clutching his head. "Enough already! Fine! Jesus, lady! I'll help you! Just stop hitting me!" He held up his hands to show his surrender and looked away.

"I was starting to think you were enjoying it." She adjusted her gloves. "Name of the man who sold you this."

"Look, I.. can I just take you to where it was sold? Will that be enough?" He slowly stood up, hands still in the way. "I don't want to name names, but if you get the operation taken down, that's good enough, right?"

"That'll do, if you're telling the truth. What's your name?" She pushed his hands away from their cowering position and looked him over, pulling him to his feet.

He cleared his legs and body off, looking a bit tattered. "Jackson. My friends call me Action Jackson." He assumed a slight swaggering while standing still, which is pretty impressive.

"No, they don't."

"Yeah, they don't." He admitted, sighing, but Xanas was already gone. She'd walked over to a motorbike parked nearby the bar, where the broken window was already being replaced with a pre-made sheet by two young men. Jackson followed her with some reluctance, the urge to use the moment to bolt tempered by a healthy dose of fear and the fact he'd good as given his word.. and either this girl or DeFrankie was going to kill him.

The bike was SOME bike. It was silver chrome, sleek with heavy wheels. Xanas swung her hips over the seating and leaned forward to reach the handles, pulling them up and turning the bike on. She turned to look at him, and reached to her metal headband, flipping a dark visor down over her eyes. Clearly amused at Jackson's awe, she grinned and gestured with her head. "Come on!" She gave the bike a rev for good measure.

Jackson carefully got in the back and found the second person seating to fit him quite nicely, although he didn't have much to hold onto- well, except Xanas. "Don't spose you have a helmet for this thing?" All he got in return was a laugh as the bike took off, causing him to quickly swing his hands around Xanas to hold on for dear life. As soon as his heart calmed down, he very slowly lowered his hands and grip from where they'd landed. Xanas, for her part, didn't say anything.

"You trying to kill me?" He grumbled.

"Just testing you." He couldn't see her, but he knew she was grinning.

"You're crazy."

"You seem to like it." She was right. He kind of liked it, in a strange, adrenaline-fueled way. The buildings of the city rushed past him with a speed he'd never known they could reach. It was exhilirating. He could die.

"Where we headed?" He could hear Xanas ask.

"9th Warehouse District, near the ferry docks." He said. "You'll have to pass through the old warehouse districts to get there on bike like this. You know what means, right?"

"Sure. It's not a problem."

The problem was that the old warehouse districts were overrun by gangs and organizations of the vilest sort to the very rotten wood. It would be no exaggeration that every one of the buildings housed some innumerable hordes of minions, but those were not the danger- they never came out unless threatened. No, it was the ones that hung around in the corridors, gambling, messing around, that would be all too eager to latch onto any hero to pass by.

Jackson couldn't tell what Xanas was thinking as she guided the motorbike towards the old district. "Do you have some kind of plan?" He yelled out.


Xanas blazed through the dirt and road as the horde of Freakshow, crazy psychopaths who'd implanted themselves with metal bits and pieces, replaced their limbs with long scythes and massive hammers, chased after them on their own cars (and some of them were part car). "Should have figured it'd be the Freakshow that came after us!" He yelled. "They love fighting AND technology. You and your bike must have been too good of a target to let pass by!"

"How many are still after us?" Xanas screamed back to Jackson. He glanced backwards, counting at least seven vaguely gun-like things being waved in his direction. His breath caught a bit. They were passing through a patch of The Family- who wisely got the hell out of their way.

"TWENTY!" He yelled. "TWO TANKS!" Tanks- freakshow who were more metal than man now- walking vehicles of destruction. Parked cars were smashed aside, debris was simply knocked away. Some of the freakshow even flew, powered by eletric devices implanted in their very bodies. It was those who were the real annoyances- electric bolts and discharges coming every which way. Xanas weaved between them, glancing over her shoulder.

"This is no good!" She yelled. "We have to lose them!" She made a sharp 90-degree turn that nearly threw Jackson off, leaving a pile of dust in her way. The sharp turn slowed the Freakshow down (replacing your limbs with metal doesn't do wonders for your turning reflexes) but they were still after them, cackling and laughing through the sheer excitement of it all. One of them plowed straight forward, unable to stop. There was the sound of screaming and a small explosion.

"We lost a tank!" Jackson said. "But the rest are still after us!"

Xanas tensed up beneath him. One of her hands reached around and grabbed his wrist, forcing it onto the seat beneath her. "Grab the sides of the car and keep balance as good as you can." She said.

"Oh, shit." Jackson let go and grabbed the sides of the car, wavering. Xanas turned around, placing one foot on a steering handle, and the other on her seat, reaching behind her to pluck arrows and letting them loose on the Freakshow behind them. Jackson couldn't see anything but the frill of her skirt, and the blur of blue. His eyes strained upwards. There was golden-silver hair wihipping past her face. It was so long in the wind. She looked mad and majestic. He could hear the crashing sounds and explosions behind him, but the buzzing noise rushing past his ear let him know she hadn't gotten all of them.

Xanas gave the handle a kick, and the wheels almost collapsed to the ground- the bike began to grind in a very wide 180-degree circle. Jackson screamed as his face came within a foot of the ground, and Xanas was keeping her balance perfect on the damn bike, like some kind of elf. Why was it so cold? He could swear snowflakes were landing on his skin. He dared to open his eyes, and the second thing he saw, past the nauseous blur of buildings, was ice and snow coating the intersection.  What the hell?

He felt the bike jerked upright and sliding, heading straight for the water's edge. Xanas' butt slammed into the seat and he quickly held onto her hips. Freakshow behind them tried to turn, only to find the ice too treacherous for them- crashing and sliding right on by with yells and screams. Only that tank that was still following them had the traction to stay on task, and it was the only Freakshow left, a screaming torso surrounded by two tons of metal bearing down on them. Massive cutting scythes jutted out and forward, chomping together.

They were headed for an ancient wooden dock, no boats in sight.

"wE'RE HEADED FOR THE WATER!" Jackson shouted. "TURN!" Xanas seemed to ignore him. "TUUUURN!" Xanas was definitely ignoring him. Well, shit. Jackson considered grabbing hold of the bike, but grabbing the handle would put his arms right next to her wrist blades. He could swim if it came to it.

The bike kicked up on the docks. The tank's brakes were kicking in, screeching horribly and giving off the stench of oil. It wasn't willing to play this kind of chicken. Xanas drove straight onto the dock and pulled around just in time to stop the bike from going off.

She stared at the Freakshow, who stared right back, unable to move onto the wood of the dock. After a moment, he held up his scythes and grumbled. "Alright, you win." He began to turn, slowly treading away. Xanas waited until he was ought of sight, then revved up the engine and drove back onto solid ground, heading for the warehouse- now only a short distance away.

"You're insane, you know that?" Jackson muttered, fear burned out of him for the moment. The bike rolled over to a dark corner and came to a stop. They were only a short walk away.

Xanas looked back at him with a serious expression on her face, flipping her visor back up beneath the headband. "If something as simple as being chased bothers you too much to go on, you're not going to be much use to me." She slid off the bike and stared at him.

Jackson exhaled and closed his eyes. "..alright. You're right. Sorry. I'm just not a staring death in the face guy. You know?"

Her eyes flashed. He didn't know how to read that, but she had a tight grin. "Yes, I know the type. It's alright. You'll grow out of it." She began walking, leaving Jackson alone for a moment to stare.

"..goddamn, she better put out." He muttered.

Jackson ran to catch up and quickly pointed out the exact warehouse to Xanas that DeFrank was hiding in. He couldn't make out the scene, but Xanas flipped down a coloured visor.

"Two guards dressed in Crey Corporation colors." She said, taking a deep breath. "I thought so."

"Crey? Those guards weren't there when I was here. Why is Crey here? They deal with medical and business stuff. Big humanists and fighters for universal healthcare and rights. Not guns."

"Right. That's their public image. They have a huge PR department. Truth is, if your dealer is taking orders and selling their private stock to common scum, and their private stock happens to be highly illegal.. well, let's say it wouldn't be unusual." Xanas sighed. "Makes this harder. Crey's got good alarm systems and trained security. They aren't just your run of the mill dealers."

Frankie was mixed in with powerful people? Jackson thought to himself. That didn't make sense, and yet now that he thought about it, all those things he knew never to ask about were making sense. DeFrank's connections, his arms. "Wait, did you call me..?"

"This is where you come in." Xanas turned to Jackson, adjusting her headband. He caught a peek of a widow's peak. "I thought Crey might be involved. You know your dealer, so you can ask to be let in to see him. Make something up. They'll be suspicious, but they'll let you in. And they won't raise much of an alarm. Probably just a raised guard.. unless.." Xanas looked around the warehouse edges.

"I'm going to go in through a side way. You go in through the front alone. We'll meet up inside. Is there an elevator?"

"Uh, yes, but-"

"Good." She patted him on the shoulder. "If you run away, I'll turn you into a pincushion. Good luck!" She ran down the warehoue alleyway, circling around to the other side of the warehouse. Jackson watched her moving- and felt like a farmhand peeking through bushes at a frostbidden beauty.

He was alone now. He was sure he could, if he wanted to, escape. He fiddled with his gun. Would he?

First Draft of Side Effects

Comments, critiques, etc, appreciated. Just worked for 8 hours straight on this. Going to work on it more tomorrow, need to add more/better transitions and fix errors.

A change of pace

Heather says I should add a story because people might get the wrong idea.

A shadow heard of a treasure that would let any who claimed it gaze upon their greatest desire. He climbed the endless staircase of ice and mountains, and reached the summit of the abyss. Upon opening the chest, he saw it was full of water; his reflection turned into his greatest desire. Her hand reached out from the chest, but upon touching it, it collapsed back into water. Enraged, he threw the chest aside, and the shadows grew long before the magic faded. As he gazed at the water that pooled, he came to the realization that the chest was meant to inspire, and not to replace. He could only gaze. There was no easy way to claim the heart's fondest desires. It began to rain. He understood now. He put the chest back in its place and left the summit.