The Freaks Reloaded IC Chapter three: the Game is On

The Raven's Diary; February 20th, 2013

Today was terrible. Another murder, third this week that I'm investigating. The police are making it hard; they posted snipers on the building, an old apartment building in Cherry Hill. I still got in, but it wasn't easy. Why those idiots gave policemen anti-material sniper rifles is unknown to me, but it was a foolish thing to do.

The victim was an eighteen-year-old teen mother, shot through the head. I found the bullet stuck in the wall the first night I came in. 44 mm armor piercing bullet. Whoever killed this woman knew their sh*t. I arrived the night of the murder before the police did. her kids were hiding in the corner when I came in through the shattered window.

Hm...shattered window. Killer may have not been in the house, though mother was found away from the window. Possible Superhuman? I must remember this next time I investigate.

That was a week ago. I found her kid hiding in the corner, crying. When he looked up at me, he screamed and ran away. Bad parenting, i'm guessing.

Yesterday, I went into a couple bars. Drove a nail through Mike Master's hand and he sand like a canary. he called the killer "The Hunter". Frenchman, wears a beret and carries a sniper rifle. Long nose, apparently, only one eye. Why the hell a sniper would only have one eye escapes me. Must not be a very good sniper.

I saw John today. He was at the graveyard, again. Jesus Christ I miss The Watcher. But ever since his wife died, he won't do it. May have to stage an intervention sooner or later. I don't understand where all the heroes are going. Mercury Man Blew himself up, Superhuman is back at that dumb f*cking school, The Twins of Thunder are too. All the old guys just gave up and retired. Watcher's gone, The Archer died in a car crash with a plow two years ago, merlin's at that f*cking school too, frittering his life away teaching a band of delinquents how to use their powers to rob, rape, and kill people.

That damm school's gonna be the death of me. Those kids could be out saving lives, but instead they're sitting in a classroom learning useless sh*t like how to speak a language we already know and how to do math that we'll never have to use. In my opinion, society's gone flat. They're teaching their kids how to multiply f*cking radicals instead of how to do something that actually contributes to society. That's the source of all this corruption that's destroying our society. Maybe someday I'll do something about it.

But not tonight. I'm far too tired tonight to do anything besides sleep. It's been a tough day and I have to find this "Hunter" CENSORED and teach him a lesson tomorrow. I got home today to find a brick through my window. One of these days, I'm gonna kill all of those b*stards, I swear I'll kill them all. I will purge this city of it's evil. I will work every day for the rest of my life to make sure that this city is saved. Never retire, never surrender. That's my motto, nowadays.

Jesus Christ I need a drink.

Vito and Drake


At the very dawn; the pair of young heroes were walking down the street to Vito's house, who lead the way was Drake. When they reached Vito's home, a small two floored house in the middle classed area of Baltimore. They had much to discuss regarding some... recent events. Vito opened the door once they reached his home.


((Derp))



Johnny




Live! Casino, Arundel Mills Mall

As he spent every night; he spent it in a casino. This morning was no different. He was in the city of Baltimore the third city he's been in ever since that incident that caused him his ticket to the Valos family fortune. Going from town to city, knocking over every casino he came across in America to make a million. So far he's gathered himself a small yet considerable mass of wealth that he's used to pay for things such as food and motels... occasionally entertainment. He was just scrolling down the rows and rows of casinos swinging his cane in a circle carefully so that he didn't hit anything important. He had the brim of his hat tucked down slightly so that his fedora would obscure his face. The last thing he needed was a fight. Every now and then he'd point his hand at a slot machine and give somebody a happy ending by making the slot machines shoot out money. He didn't want to do anything major since he didn't want to attract attention.


He continued looking enigmatic until he had arrived at the Black Jack table and rested his cane against the nearest chair. Before lifting the brim of his hat revealing his face as the first child of Jason Valos; Johnny Valos. He smirked and did the math in his head like a calculator, changing the cards perfectly. So every time he said "Hit me" the card was a successful outcome.He only did it at least three times before moving on to the roulette tables. Poker was going to be last.


After an hour of non-stop hustling and cheating himself at least a thousand dollars worth of casino chips all in a bag hidden in his duster. He was going to find the nearest exit then make all the slot machines shoot out their money just to see people ape-sh*t over it.

In the countryside of Mississippi, a small, furry torpedo was tearing up the countryside. Entire fields of corn were disappearing in less than an hour, and herds of cattle were found decimated, half-eaten, as though savaged by some ravenous predator. Even human beings were not exempt from this blight. Anyone that attempted to stop the creature was attacked and killed, although they were not eaten, like the livestock. The creature, although appearing to be a mindless beast, was not an animal. It was, in reality, a young ten-year-old German girl. She was just as intelligent as a human, and understood the English language. However, due to the poor development of her vocal chords, was unable to speak. She could not read or write, because she was blind. And so, she was reduced to body language and various croons and growls as a form of communication. However, despite being intelligent, she was not reasonable. She saw nothing wrong with the crops and animals she devoured, and did not feel any regret in killing humans, although she refused to eat them. She had never been taught like a human. By all who had known her, Hildegard was an animal, or a pet that had gone feral. Like a dog, she would kill, and not feel guilt. Despite all of this, she was innocent, and would follow anyone who treated her with kindness.

"Morning Vito, Drake." As Vito and Drake entered their home, The Raven's voice echoed this. There he sat in the living room, reclining on the couch and watching the Today Show. He sat there, mask and all, in full garb, the remote in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. He pushed the mask up slightly, just enough for his mouth to be visible, and took a large bite of the chicken leg. He chewed a moment, and then put the mask back down.

"Hope you don't mind; I'm really freaking hungry as of late." he got up from where he was sitting and walked across the living room into the kitchen.

"You got any beer in here?" he hollered.

---

Connor Conrad awoke in the early morning, sprawled across a king-size bed much too big for himself, alone. Yes, Conrad was alone as ever, hopelessly alone in that bed. He sat up groggily, and rubbed his eyes.

"Time to wake up, h-" he stopped himself, and sighed. There was no honey to wake up, nor would there ever be, thanks to a man in a car. Everyone would think that after all the couple had been through, a maniacal super villain would brought an end to Evelyn Conrad, but it hadn't; a drunken fool in driving home in a car did.

And Conrad would regret that forever. He remembered that night; it was well into the killing hour, and everything was dark and dreary. The full moon shone upon the sullen face of the Earth that night, as they drove home from a charity dinner with the Red Cross. They had stayed behind to talk to some of the other guys -Merlin, The Archer, Mercury Man- so they had gone home much later. As they drove down the dark street, Conrad had turned to his right to see a pickup truck careening towards them, drunk as a skunk and leaning his head out the window. He yelled something inaudible, and the next morning Connor found himself in a hospital bed.

He shuddered as he thought of that night, and then flopped back in bed without bothering to get up. it's not like he had anyplace to go.

Vito and Drake


"What da' hell are ya' doin' in my house?!" Vito snarled.


Immediately Vito's leg started to glow a light green aura, as he charged his leg with kinetic energy ready to give Raven a powerful and painful kick to the chest. The inside of Vito's house was high-end and good looking. It had a snow white carpet, and matching wall papers. A matching pop corn white ceiling matched all of them. There were black sofas in the very room that Raven sat in, and they faced a large TV. Working for the government pays off well. Drake smiled and pat Vito on his shoulder with a carefree look on his face, "Chill, Victor. He's on our side, heh." He scrolled over to the sofa next to where Raven was and sat down, "Hey, Raven. We were just about to have ourselves one big talk..."


Vito's leg stopped glowing, and he let out a small sigh. "Don't ya' pop in like dat' again." He warned Raven. He crossed his arms, "Ya' can have ya' self a beer. Just dun' take my bottle of wine. I'm savin' dat for later."


Drake smirked, "Don't mind him." He put his hands behind his head and threw his feet on the glass coffee table, "He's just stressed 'cause of all the evil we've been fighting. So what brings you around here, Raven?"

Across the northern west coast of the United States, a terrible blizzard raged, and in its wake it left buried streets and homes, and frozen power lines. In the center of this gale, a gigantic wolf, formed from clouds, dashed across the sky, its eyes and heart glowing with a bright blue light, electricity streaming from its body. This was not the creature responsible for the storm, but an avatar, formed to be controlled. The true creator of the storm lay hidden in the wolf's heart, nestled within a large orb-like shell, on a pile of iridescent blue-green pearls, whose size and color could not be replicated by any other creature. Priceless, the size of quail eggs, each individual pearl was worth a fortune, and formed by the creature that lived within the shell. However, to obtain a pearl was a challenge. The creature who created the wolf and the blizzard was not a simple shellfish. It was a 15 year old mutant, who was easily angered, and even more likely to electrocute a person, rather than give up even a single one of her pearls. To forcefully take a pearl was a death wish, and so the only possible way to obtain one, was to gain her favor.

However, in a world where she was forced to be inside her large, basketball-sized clam for safety, it was nearly impossible to be happy. The only moments of true freedom were when the storms were created, and she saw the outside world through the eyes of her avatars. However, once created, the weather patterns Storm generated were partly commanded by fate. If conditions were met, tornadoes, or even hurricanes could result, but only if the natural patterns allied with her own. Storm did not selectively choose where her storm was, nor could she control where she landed. She merely did these things, so that she could continue her existence.

The Raven grabbed a beer from out of the fridge, slid his mask up, and took a slow drink.

"Murder south of the city." The Raven said after a moment "Some french b*stard by the name of "The Hunter" did it. I need help tracking this guy down. You game?" The Raven plopped back down on the sofa and took another bite of his chicken leg, waiting for the response he wanted.

Drake and Vito


Investigations. Not exactly their strong suite. They're more of the go in hard and fight bad guys up front opposed to hardened detective work. But, this Hunter fellow can't go unopposed in his killings. Drake smiled and was first to respond, "Yeah. I'm in." He got up from the sofa and put his tinted goggles over his eyes. Vito crossed his arms and rolled his eyes up into his head, "Don't ya' break into ma' house 'gain, bird guy. I'll bring dis' french monsta' in if ya' don't mind...."


Drake jumped up in the air with excitement. "Where do we start?" Drake enthusiastically asked.

The Raven took a sip of the beer and put his mask back down, so that he could see again. He rose from where he sat on the couch and placed the half-empty bottle of amber beer on the coffee table.

"We start by interrogating the underworld." The Raven said as he pulled a ten-inch, bloodstained, rusty railroad spike from out of his pocket "We need to track down a few criminals that would possess enough connections to get us going somewhere. Once we have a basic roadmap, we'll continue from there." At that The Raven opened the door to Vito's pantry and grabbed a small pack of pistachios. As he was stowing the pack, it hit him.

"The Gambler's at Live, right?" he said.

Drake and Vito



The Gambler? Drake didn't have too much knowledge of the name, so he loudly exclaimed, "Wha? Who's the Gambler?" Vito shrugged and said "One of dem' Valos boys. I dunno too much 'bout 'em." They had little knowledge of Johnny as he didn't exactly cause anything major, and the fact that he went town to town and operated under aliases, such as the Gambler. Drake scratched his head, "Raven? You think he's a lead? I can haul in his @ss just like that! Haha"

"I applaud your enthusiasm, Vito." The Raven said, turning off the TV "But Valos isn't going to be an easy man to beat. I've gone up against him before, and when he's in a casino, he's pretty hard to beat. We're going to have to be careful about this".

Drake and Vito


Drake shrugged, and looked over his shoulder, "No probs... I can just copy his power and we'll be more or less even." Drake spoke very highly of himself even though he was completely unaware of the threat of Johnathon. Vito said in an annoyed tone since he just wanted to get over to Johnny and haul him in, "Can we jus' go in an' take 'em? Dere's three of us and only one of 'em, we can match 'em just like dat."

The early morning sun shines through the moth dusky windows and moth chewed curtains, with it brings the activity of many critters, such as the rats that lives in the walls of the room and the lizard behinds the dank pipes under the sink in the bathroom. Light shines on an empty, trashed bed with freshly washed clothes neatly folded at its foot. The rats in walls matched the metronome of fast paced typing of a man on his laptop. He wore a hole riddled red sweatshirt covered in stains of tea and sweat… his grey sweatpants were equally riddled with holes. His hazel eyes analyzing every last detail on his screen, entranced in a type of focus that each and every company owner would wish of their employees. Upon his screen was but an ever-growing stream of serial numbers and coding sequences. Suddenly the growing sequence came to a halt and the man paused for a second. He typed in a shortcut on his keyboard and the coding was saved in a transportable file on his computer. The man leaned back in his chair and released a great sigh. He turned his head and pulled out a miniature hard-drive and sealed it within an envelope before grabbing a ceramic cup that rested on his desk. His mouth curled around the cup’s lips and took a few mighty gulps before drinking the tea dry and setting it down.

Damon had worked on that Trojan for about thirty-one hours with only a two hour nap that he got much earlier this morning. Thirty three hours ago, he had received a business letter from high class criminal, Énrique Castro – some blowhard running this gang in downtown Miami. Full of Cubans. This rumor was going around that he was the son of Fidel Castro; this was untrue though. Damon did his homework, the name “Énrique Castro” was undocumented. The first names of Fidel’s children were Alina, Alex, Francisca, Angel, Antonio, Jorge, another Fidel, Alejandro, and Alexis. No Énrique anywhere. Odds were that he was using the name Castro to scare people into doing what he says. He’s a big name in the underground – smart criminals don’t intend on spreading their name about in public, that’s a ticket for trouble. Instead he uses a man called Eduardo Machado as a representative, idol, and puppet. A propaganda tool, really. A mask. All the crimes and buildings and deed are all under his name, but all of the money and big bucks goes straight to Énrique. There’s a reason he has never had jail time or a single offense on his arrest record. Except for marijuana distribution, but a lawyer managed to remove all charges and cover it up. That was the last thing anyone has ever really heard about him, and that was back in his youth. This particular job was over some concern with a rival gang. They run this miniature corporation that Castro wants to shut down to take away all of their power. That’s where Damon came in. One thousand, three hundred and eighty three miles away.

In any case, Eduardo was supposed to be visiting him around 11:00 AM. That was in fifteen minutes. Damon quickly paced his way towards the bathroom, where he grabbed a rag and soaked it in the sulfur scented water and rubbed around his face and blemished neck. He took off his shirt.

Every single time he does so, ever since he was a child, he was disgusted with what he saw in the mirror. It was atrocious and abominable. Holes and blemishes were distributed across his body… ugly, hideous holes that had a sickly looking brown coloration around the edges and inflamed blemishes. He looked like a walking corpse. A zombie, even. His whole body seemed to breathe with each inhalation, and each hole showed nothing inside, as his innards were shrouded by darkness and insects. Damon begrudgingly grabbed the soaked rag and cleansed himself in every area that felt sweaty and sticky, refreshing his body before he plans to put his regular attire on.

The harsh knocking on the door resonates throughout the room just as the bandana is loosely wrapped around his neck and his shoelaces tied. The contact came right on time. Damon grabbed the envelop that carried the software and hurried his way to the old door, which was thoroughly locked by the locks on the doorknob, the actual door lock, and the chain piece that kept the door from opening all the way. He unlocked the first two locks, and slowly opened the door a few inches to see who his visitors were. There were three men, two of them on either side of the dogmatic man in the middle, doubtlessly Eduardo. He was neatly dressed, and his clothes hugged his body, showing off the size of his chest, shoulders and his arms. He was bald, and grey hairs adorned his black full beard.

The Cuban man acknowledged Damon, and stuck his hand out in demand.

Damon merely shook his head. “Give me the money first.”

Eduardo seemed momentarily beset by Damon’s audacity, but had turned to his one of the lackeys and nodded his head to them, who complied and withdrew a large handful of cash, bound by a rubber band.

Eduardo handed him the money through the door, smiling. “Sabio. You are good business man.”

Damon, in return, handed him the envelope that held the USB containing the Trojan software. “You plug that thing in to a computer and open up the software inside. As soon as you apply that to the computer’s hard drive, it deletes every piece of information it has. Te entiendo?”

“Si, muy bien.”

Damon wordlessly shut the door and immediately locked it back up before retreating back to the bed to count the money he has received. Well, Castro didn’t lie. It was a whole three and a half grand, the most he has ever gotten paid at once. It will be enough to get him to wherever he needs to go and feed him until he gets another job. As much as he truly hated to admit it, he feared that Énrique might actually be a regular customer. Which was wonderful for his pockets – not so much for his conscious. He sighed as he laid down and finally rested his head back on the pillow. He closed his eyes for a minute before pulling up his laptop and opened a folder. What sat inside seemed to be a multitude of files, some are letters to and from old friends that he has lost contact with long ago since his condition was first made aware, and most of them are images, back from his hometown. They included the old school, the playground, and him on the swings. One of them even included of…

…of Winter. An old friend of his. Purely platonic of course; they had known each other since childhood though. She has always been rather rough around the edges, and quite the character even as a little girl. He never figured she thought much of him back then; she probably didn’t. But then they learned they both turned out to be mutants; his condition frightened her and scared the bajeezus out of everyone else. Her own power frightened her, and came off as nothing more than a tremendous surprise to him. As tough as that ol’ broad was, and he means that with every bit of endearment he can muster, he imagined that she wanted nothing more than to be normal again. To be rid of all this nonsense and have a normal life. Damon was probably the only one who is capable of wishing that as much as she was.

Wonder when the last time he contacted her. The last message to her phone was at least a week ago from a pay phone. It could have been longer, Damon has lost track while moving from place to place and working on the run. If police ever found out he was keeping in regular contact with her, they’d probably try to arrest Winter for being an accomplice. Poor girl doesn’t need that. He should really find a way to get a hold of her. Their last, actual run-in with each other was… what? About three months ago?

Of course the both of them finally see another person like each other in a sea of average, normal citizens and something has to happen that keeps Damon running and separating him from the only person he really trusts. What a twisted turn of events.

In a wooded location in Texas, a dark shape stalked through the forest. Closer inspection revealed a creature that had not been seen in the wild, and a phenomenon that would have shaken the scientific community. A melanistic tiger, despite all odds, was prowling the woods in a location where the species was not found. It had not escaped from the zoo, and there was no explanation for how it had arrived in the New World. In reality, there was not an answer for how it was melanistic, either. The tiger, its coloration never having been confirmed before, was a cryptid. However, there was no doubt that the tiger was real. Dark fur, with even darker stripes, cloaked the form in shadows. The only colors that defined it, were the piercing yellow of its eyes, which glinted with the predatory nature of an accomplished hunter.

However, this tiger was not just a cryptid, it was also a mutant. A fifteen-year old girl, having developed her powers at the age of six, had lived on her own for nine years. The mutation had been accompanied by an alteration in behavior, the unlocking of instincts that had lied dormant. Now, Kirra's thoughts were no longer simply human, but those of perhaps the most intelligent predator on the planet. Lethal, but clever, she had remained hidden in these woods for much of her life.

Lash


Philadelphia, PA. Pennypack Park


The girl of strange origins and abilities was spending the morning as she spent every morning. Lying down on a bench in some park across from a playground--- she didn't know which one, at this point she didn't care. The peacefulness of a park in the crack of dawn was something to find peace in. Today she was wearing her red dragon hoodie, with grey sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt under it. As she always did she had her hoodie up over her head, her afro made it appear bumpier than it should have been if she didn't have a afro. The park was mostly empty, aside from the family of three (two children, a boy and a girl, with one woman that was obviously) who came for the playground and they were mostly quiet--- until one of the children just started loudly hollering. Filling the formerly calm and tranquil park with crying.


Lash certainly wasn't the girl to wait. Her eyes quickly opened wide, and she gave the family a face that just advertises her annoyance. Her aura turned blood-red and she definitely wasn't going to sit by and let it ruin her morning. The first thing she did was get off the bench and stand straight up, brushing off her eyes lazily. Then she scrolled over to the scene with her head slung down and her hands in her pockets. The crying child was a young girl no more than five years old that had fallen off the swings and her attentive mother was too busy handling the other child was a boy that had to be the same age, he was covered in mud produced in the rain storm.


It was a quick process. She quickly walked over to the crying child and brushed her hand against the child's face appearing as if it was accidental skin contact. Indeed, it was her goal so that she can use her emotional manipulation to change the child's emotions to overwhelming happiness. A green aura wrapped around the child and the tears stopped and the child smiled. Causing Lash to smile because of the silence.



She scrolled over to a bench in the playground.

The Raven

These fools have no idea what they're getting into! The Raven thought to himself as Vito and Drake laughed about how easy it would be to defeat The Gambler.

"Well then," The Raven said, walking across the room and to the door "I guess we'll find out tonight exactly how easy it will be. Now, if you excuse me, I have to get going. I haven't slept much, and I wish to be wel-rested for tonight". he pulled out a piece of paper from one of his seemingly endless coat pockets and scribbled 8 PM, tomorrow. my house. You know where it is. He handed the paper to one of them, and said "thanks for the pistachios." before leaving via the front door and walking to a black motorcycle, which he mounted and took off on.

The little girl hugged the gigantic creature's snout, unafraid of the sharp horns, claws, and teeth that characterized its appearance. How could she be scared of the thing that had saved her life? She had wandered away from her parents, and gotten lost. If that was not enough, a big bear came, and tried to hurt her. The Guardian of Rainier had heard her screams, and come to save her. It scared the bear away, and made her stop crying. It was a monster, but it wasn't evil. It was a good, gentle spirit, who protected people, and children, most of all. She would never forget that it was real, because without it, she would have been killed.

Angus, known to the people of Washington State as the Guardian of Rainier, was a 16-year-old mutant who lived at the volcano for which he was named. His mutation has warped his form to the point that he was not even remotely humanoid, but so that he resembled some sort of Chinese dragon. He had gained the strength of many different animals, all at once, but had almost completely lost the ability to speak. Now, he could only speak in a whisper; any louder, and he was reduced to terrifying growls and roars. It was because of this, that he hardly ever spoke, and nobody even knew that he was capable of speech. It had been generally accepted that he was a creature that, despite being incredibly intelligent, could not speak. Regardless, he preferred it this way. Having rescued the little girl, he carefully set her down at the edge of the woods, where here parents were standing in a clearing, the father apparently speaking to a park ranger on the phone.

When the two saw their daughter, they dropped what they were doing, and ran over and hugged her. "Sarah, we were so worried," Her father said. "Don't ever run off like that again." Her mother added. They were crying, so relieved that their daughter was safe again. "It was the Guardian of Rainier, mommy, daddy. A big bear came, and the Guardian made it go away. He's over..." The little girl had been trying to point at where Angus had been standing, but he had already flown away to places unknown, "...there..." The girl finished.

Drake and Vito




The Raven was gone. Neither of them entirely trusted the man, but who knows. Sometimes it's the ones who are yonkers who turn out to be actually useful. There was nothing more here to discuss. Drake nodded at Vito, then walked out of the door. Once he was a few feet outside of Vito's door his entire being including clothing were coated in electricity, until he appeared to be a being of absolute electricity. Drake ascended into the air as Vito closed the door behind him.

Winter Livsdotter stared at the dark water and hated it. What little moonlight that could reach the little alcove beneath the 33rd Street North Crossing bounced playfully off the ripples of the water, giving motion to the ebony abyss. The night sky had fallen in the river and was being swept away, taunting her with its motion.

She sat in stagnancy in between two pylons of concrete. Mud and muck had crawled up the base of the pylons like vicious ants. Winter shivered, wanting to shake off the imaginary dirt that she fancied she could feel slowly surrounding her, burying her, rooting her to the ground like one of the pylons. She would lean forward, shed the cloak, and dive into the river. She would swim among the stars and be free.

Awaking many hours later, Winter struggled to free herself from the cloak which had provided warmth but now seemed only to ensnare her stiff limbs. She freed her hands and struggled to her feet. A black miasma struck her like a blow, and she lost all feeling for a moment as the blood rushed through her body and her brain struggled to awaken.

She had stumbled out from the little space under the bridge. She had lost the cloak. Winter did not want to go back for the cloak; she wanted only to move, to not remain still. She set off into the the foggy morning.

The bridge had provided shelter against the wind. Winter did not want to allow herself to regret straying from its protective carapace, but felt even more miserable out in the open. Her teeth chattered, and her legs shuffled meekly through the blustering air which bit at her unprotected cheeks with shallow fangs and nipped at the exposed skin under the rip in her sleeve where an angry man had grabbed at the thief who had lifted his wallet...

She thought of the man and could remember his face. His rage, she could accept. She was destined to hate him, and he was destined to hate her. Such was the nature of things. But he had not looked at a human being. He had looked at a rodent, a dog that had soiled his shoes, an insulting aberrance to everyday comforts. Thinking of the man and his haughty anger boiled Winter's blood into an acidic fury. She longed to open herself up, to vomit the lethal fluid in his face, to show him what she really was. "Look at yourself," she would say, "see what you have made me."

At such times, Winter wanted to destroy. She wanted to kill and maim with every step when she thought of the man and others like him. She wanted to inspire fear in the mind as quickly as the mind came to know of her existence. She wanted to hurt without reason or intention.

And maybe I could: the thought dropped lazily into her mind, echoing with a terrifying power as it fell.

Winter stopped, closed her eyes, grit her teeth against the cold and against this thought. I must not entertain such ideas. She bottle up her wrath with care and searched for something that she did not hate. There were not many people on such a list.

She thought about him. They had been friends for a very, very long time, and he was perhaps the only person Winter could have no qualms about associating with the word 'friend.' She had taken care of him when he was little, and he had taken care of her. She could be with him as she could be when she was alone, but she was afraid of him, just as she was afraid of herself. She could not help thinking of his ability with a pang of horror, and she was terrified that he would discover this fear within her. She did not want him to turn his back on her, to view her with the same eye with which he viewed everyone else. She valued his companionship, for he was just as freakish as she was.

Perhaps Winter should call him. She had nothing else to do. She took out the old phone; it had been a gift from him. She had stolen it, and he had modified it. Winter had not understood what he said, but she trusted him. She knew the phone was safe, that it could not be traced.

She dialed his familiar number. She did not know what she would say, only that he would listen. What a luxury a pair of foreign ears was to the alley rat, the creature in the darkness!

[[This post was so much better before I re-typed it. >.>;;;]]

Richard Colt was a simple man. He dressed very plainly and ergonomically to serve his purposes. When Colt walked down the street, however, people stared at him as if he had a plague and this were medieval times. Many people feared him, and some were known to even run away in fright, paranoid at his very appearance. There were stories about him; dark stories about him disassembling children and putting their organs into bags; stories about teenaged boys who vanished at Richard's touch; stories about him stalking people in the deep Seattle fog. They called him Slenderman. He called those people idiots and himself Simple Man, an appropriate name. Richard walked down a frigid San Francisco street, the snow knee deep and his seemingly absent face frozen to the core. He trudged through the terrible storm, being blown around like a grass clipping versus a leaf blower. He considered stopping at some adjacent house to warm himself, but turned the idea on upon conception. Everyone feared him and there was no electricity for there to be any kind of heat. Nobody actually used real fireplaces anymore, especially not in the city.

So, Richard trudged along, through the snow, and the wind, and the subtle nip of frostbite at his joints, and followed the swirling, wolf-like roar of the whipping wind, as if tracking a pack of ferocious canines. After searching the skies a moment and seeing nothing, Richard put his head down and walked south, down along a street of littered with downed power lines and cars buried in feet of snow. Richard paused a moment, the terrible howling wind ripping at his thin, flimsy suit jacket. When he got back to the base, he would have to petition for something warmer that he wouldn't destroy.

He shuffled across the street and leaned on a streetlamp, which upon his touch creaked ominously and fell across the street, having been torn apart at a molecular level. Richard sighed and kicked the stump that was once a pole angrily, hurting his foot in the process. Sometimes, his power was a blessing, and others, a terrible curse. But Richard had learned to live with it throughout the years. Yes, it was terrible never being able to touch another human being, even the slightest tap would mortally wound people, but Richard had kind of gotten over it after a while. He supposed that this was how priests felt, not being able to touch a lover seductively on the cheek or share a kiss, yet the priest could shake his partitioners' hands and anyone who Richard touched was maimed. He remembered when he was little, he had been surprised from behind by his brother and ended up combining him with the tree. This eventually lead to his brother's death and Richard's exile when he was young, though back then he never guess that he would end up like this; without a face, forced to absorb nutrients through his skin; to taste everything one touched was to dip your tongue in acid.

After trudging along a little more, Richard saw it once more; up in the sky, there ran a magnificent clear wolf, pulsing with energy and howling up a terrible whiteout. Richard could barely see through the blinding white abyss the wolf which he pursued, and he began to slosh down the street with more gumption, slipping a few time sand getting stuck once, but never falling and never faltering. A mistaken step in this superstorm and Richard would find himself buried in a frozen unmarked grave. Now that he had found the beast he sought, he conspired as to how he would contact it form down on the stone-cold Earth when it was way up in the swirling white abyss. A bolt of bright azure lightning arced across the sky from cloud to cloud, and Richard dove under an awning in an alley adjacent to the street where the snow wasn't nearly as thick. Here he would sit and ponder a while as to how he would contact the mighty frozen leviathan that pranced across the snow-covered rooftops in this storm.

Damon had previously layed down to take another two or three hour nap before leaving the motel to get back on the road. It was a pain, really, having to constantly move. He didn't even go along the highway, either. That was too dangerous for him. He had to go through the trees and forests that sometimes ran alongside those roads, and if there was a bridge, well that was tough luck for him. He'd have to sprint to the other side before being recognized by authorities. Damon never knew where he went, or where he plans to go now. Only that he can't stay in one spot for too long. People begin to suspect. All of it was a pain. And when a familiar ringing sounds from the computer, his eyes slowly flutter open. What time is it? Who's calling, who could be calling? He looked at his watch and acknowledged he had been sleeping for only an hour and a half. Damon groaned. Who was calling that woke him up so... so...

Who could call him?

Suddenly the realization struck him like a brick wall. Of course! The man quickly pulled himself up and broke the screensaver on his laptop with his mouse. The ever familiar skype ringtone sounded rhythmically, almost surreal with his friend's call and his tired, disoriented state. Quickly, he moved the mouse over to the "Answer" button that was placed below the name and picture of Winter Livsdotter.

"H-hello? Winter? Is this really you?" He said with a mixed bag of excitement and exhaustion.

Storm continued to unleash her gale upon the land, but even now, she could feel the blizzard losing its power. The snow was no longer flying completely horizontal, but simply diagonal to the ground below. The wind whipped, but would no longer uproot a fully-grown tree. The avatar would soon be unable to carry on its physical integrity, the winds no longer powerful enough to form it. It was time to pick a place to land, before the entire body dissipated into snow. With this in mind, the gigantic white wolf, formed from whirling snow and ice, bolts of blue lightning streaming from its form, began to look down at the ground, before eventually circling over a spot in the woods nearby. By this point, the snow fell completely vertical, and the lower half of the wolf had vanished. Eventually, it stopped moving completely, and shattered into a burst of snow, as the blizzard finally broke and became a gentle snowstorm. If one had been paying very close attention, they would have seen a dark, green-gray orb fall from the sky, where the wolf's heart had been.

Storm's large, basket-ball sized shell, almost completely spherical, and grooved like a clam, landed roughly on the ground. However, this was of no concern, as it was incredibly durable, and absorbed the shock. However, what did concern her, was that she was hungry, and did not know if there would be any fluids that could be readily taken from the trees. Carefully, she opened a small crack in her shell, and extended the long tentacle that was concealed in her throat. This tendril, tipped with a leech-like mouth ringed with sharp teeth, and surrounded by tiny eyes, was helpful in locating food, and peeking at the outside world. Eventually, she thought she saw a clump of snow move. There, she thought, and the tentacle shot out, piercing the rabbit's neck. The animal screeched, but then fell silent, as the bright red blood, visible through the clear tentacle, was slowly sapped away. Blood, above all, was the most satisfying liquid Storm could obtain. Unfortunately, it was not an easy find, especially right after generating a blizzard. She was grateful for it now, as she was not one to wait for a meal.

Jake



Kingstree, South Carolina. The Valos Manor.

The Night before



Jake was spending the night as he spent every night. Alone in the Valos manor, fearing what would come during the following years. He was expected to do so much when his mind keeps telling him that he's far from ready. Not that he was anticipating the death of his father at all, he knew it would come soon. Jason Valos, the patriarch of the family and owner of their businesses had lung cancer for years now from all the smoking. The high-end medical treatment were helping, but there sure wasn't a accurate way of predicting he'd survive or not. It was getting worse. So, while they were off trying to maintain their businesses, the growing man Jake wandered the near-endless Valos Mansion. It's enormous and was three stories high, and vaguely V-shaped. There were an enormous amount of windows all looking inside. Jake liked to leave all the lights off as he wandered the elegant halls of the building, as it looked nice seeing the moon-light inside of the buildings.


This time he wandered to the library. It was literally the largest room in the entire mansion containing thousands of books, from decades ago to recently--- every last book that the Valos family owned was here. There were tables and chairs in the very center of the room for everyone to sit down in. One table had the only book that really mattered to Jake resting on it; The Family Photo-book. The last of many. Most of their photos were on the computer or shared on something stupid like Facebook. He found it more refreshing to hold the book in his hands instead of just looking at a mass of pixels. He rested on the nearest chair and grabbed the book. Minutes turned to hours as he flicked through photos. Until, he had seen a photo from years back of Johnny, himself and Johnny's younger sister... what was her name? Sylvia? He thought. Last he heard about her was that she was a DJ somewhere in New Orleans. This photo brought back memories of the old days when things were simple.


He felt like going to that Beach. A strip of fenced off shore that the Valos privately owned with a large beach house on it. It's been years since the last time he's been there, he could simply just teleport straight there but he didn't feel like being in an coma for hours alone. It's best that he goes in the morning, he closed the book and rested it on the table to head off to bed.


The morning after




At the very crack of dawn he went straight there in his black and white GranCabrio Sport Maserati. He stood overlooking the beach, the Valos family had a large strip of beach all fenced off and heavily guarded to keep out intruders... unless they swam in. Which was a risky tactic given the waves. Jake walked in wearing nothing but black swimming trunks, holding a brief case carrying his usual attire. He scrolled down to the water and sat down, letting the waves touch him over and over again.



It felt great.

"Yah." Winter put her hand over the receiver for a moment and looked around. There was no one in sight, but the wind could be heard as it whistled like river water down the narrow break in between abandoned towers. It was cold.

"Yah, s'me." She bit her cheek, looking around her at the steep brick cliffs. "Mate, you sound awful. Trouble sleepin', or... some'm?"

Her face frowned and her feet shuffled in automatic response to a brisk arm of the gale that was sweeping by on the streets. Winter hoped that Damon could hear her over the bluster. "Look, I ah... It's been weeks - we can catch up some time, kay? - an' I wanted to check in on you."

She felt a sudden rush of warmth to her face, an angry need to defend her decision. "It's been weeks. Ain't that the idea, of me having this thing, to call you?" Just as suddenly, she regretted her tone, but knew that Damon would see past it, reading her thoughts and hidden intentions like an open book. The two had known each other for far too long. Winter knew that she was concerned for Damon, ashamed at having forgotten him for so long, and falsely irritated because of this. She could guess that Damon knew this too, and thus she wasted no time in apologizing, instead allowing a brief silence to voice her thoughts for her.

"I guess I'm lost, is all. Where are you now, even?" Winter watched her breath rise to dance and dissipate in the wind. She bit her cheek.

As Richard stood under the olive green awning of the Turner and Turner law firm, he heard the wind begin to decrease. The snow began to slow it's approach to Terra Firma and it now fell directly to the ground than sideways. Seeing that it was now safe to leave his haven, Richard brushed the powdery snow off of himself and walked back through the massive snowdrifts that plagued the streets. However, before continuing on, he broke into a sporting goods store and stole a pair of tennis rackets, though left a bit of liquified money on the cashier's desk. As he left the building, Richard held the rackets under his arms, and endeavored to discover a way to attack them to his feet without dissolving them into ash and water vapor. Finally, after much pondering, he discovered a solution. From his pocket, he withdrew a pair of thick cotton gloves that instantly started to degrade as soon as he touched them. However, he did not immediately put these gloves on, but instead packed them with pure white snow. The water in the snow could not be simplified, so it kept his hands from simplifying anything, though they froze to the core and burned with frostbite.

A few moments later, after quite a bit of struggling, Richard was able to use a pair of shoe strings that he had bought in the store to tie the rackets to his feet. Satisfied with his knots, he took off the gloves and wrung his hands for what seemed like an eternity and a half, until the feeling returned to them. He examined his digits closely: his pure white hands had morphed to an irritated red, and pulsed painfully, causing the nerves in his hands a horrifying burning sensation at every beat of his pulse. Richard moved to shove his hands into his jacket pockets, but stopped himself. Simplifying his jacket would surely mean death in these conditions. So, he pressed on, despite his burning hands, down the streets, on top of the snow now thanks to his makeshift snow shoes. Seeing the wolf vanish into the forest, Richard pressed on across the tundra that was once the City by the Bay, wondering whether or not the storm had completely frozen the bay through.