Liaison

Nexus Finals: Sóse Oakes vs Ivplec Ulkonotor

After a reptilian blink, the demon's pupils scattered like a broken rack of pool balls. Parooz's mouth foamed, leaking a malodorous miasma laced with kerosene and Eau de Parfums. To his fellow spectators displeasure, the devil's abhorrent wheezing and violent spasming distracted from the final, probably drawing Kyinon's ire. Like a marlin, the devil's straight jacket restrained body jousted into the doorstep of Daniel and Tom. Billions of electrical impulses in the depths of his twisted mind fired relentlessly, mirroring the action beyond the scope of the portals, ping-ponging through the endless labyrinth of his gyri.

The mafioso's body was too hot to touch, fatally searing if even a quick attempt to unlatch his bindings bounded by hell occurred. A demon suffering at the feet of mortals was no sad scene, so no sympathy was expected, but if anything, the bizarre sequence of events before them were a sign of something significant. What could cause a malefic entity to virtually have a seizure when he had nearly infinite pools of hell energy to siphon computing prowess from? The terrifying luxury tendons currently binding him to hell allowed for just that. What did that say about this verse in general? The straps loosened on arrival, but now Parooz felt like he was being dragged back. Their power was increasing. The boundless verse that was the nexus, deemed unscalable, impenetrable to outsiders, was vulnerable. Perhaps by the subterfuge of events masquerading as a final. Whether it was carelessness or hubris, obliviousness could lead to oblivion, which wouldn't be so bad in the demon's eyes considering what they put him through prior.

Before Parooz even came to his senses, reminiscing slightly to events not even a day ago, an explosion thrusted him like a blade into the wishmaker. His maleficent frame vibrating like a wet saw with hell sourced energies, highly adaptable to being capable of burning through arcane walls of power by the most ever-present and long living entities.

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 3: Refusal

Earth-F67X: New New York City, Brooklyn-Queens Expressway

Much like Genesis’ gut-wrenching emotions, the storm did not subsist. Squinting, her’ eyes barely made out the road. It was hard to see the winding snake path yet she maintained to break into the BQE safely. On this tiresome commute back, a good night’s rest was craved. However, there was no telling how much her mind would race the second her body hit the bed. Genesis’ hastening thoughts penciled what Amina’s life could become were Jag to find out. The horrific reality of her daughter being groomed to become some corrupt engineer, scientist or political pawn for Jag’s tribe tugged viciously at her sanity. The joy of her world was in Amina. For her to go down a path like her father… Stressed, she no longer could stomach the thought. To drown out those worries, Genesis turned up the radio.

“Breaking News: This is a localized alert via CitizeNN. There are dangerous disruptions in your immediate vicinity along the BQE. Depart immediately.”

With no option to turn around, Genesis rerouted to the next exit hoping the commotion was at least a few miles ahead. Mistaking the grumbling road for potholes, the pavement below this quindecuple-stacked expressway deteriorated in real time, waving like lifted bedsheets. Genesis acrylics dug deep into her palms, clenching the wheel hysterically the instant she felt weightless. Her navy sedan floated trunk side up, propelled meters forward to the point where she barely made out some makeshift mech rampaging through the highway. With legs like an emu, it leaped, crashing through the lower levels, hurling cars like hot wheels.

Its Octavian bundaloo extensions drilled through any mass of infrastructure with the audacity to be in its path. This carnage Genesis found herself in the middle of, despite seeming senseless, had some means of madness. At the helm of the mech was a man named Vernon Hayes, a member of a cult led by an environmentalist influencer gone rogue. The group, Neo Environmentalist Working, Destroying, Earth’s Ailing Liabilities (N.E.W. D.E.A.L.) took up the task of limiting carbon emissions by stringing a long series of terrorist attacks on transportation infrastructure contributing to climate change.

What was unclear to the public was how said group obtained the consistent flow of funds and tech to commit such atrocities on society regularly. There were plenty of wealthy groups and politicians secretly lobbying on their behalf. The corruption was that clear but somehow unproven. In a corporatocracy, they were a feared collective among CEOs and executives. With devoted members ready to sacrifice themselves on the regular for a cause, it was often too late when discovering who a member was.

Vernon Hayes, a statistics secretary of the Metro Transit Authority, after copious amounts of research, hand-picked the demolition of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway as a means to put a clot in the flow of traffic into Queens from Brooklyn. This easily inconvenienced millions, giving Vernon an orgasmic shot of dopamine which was particularly heinous when factoring in the complete disregard for innocent lives now in harm’s way. It was rush hour. He couldn’t have picked a worse time for such pandemonium and Genesis, like hundreds of other drivers found themselves descending to their imminent demise.

Nose diving at a corkscrewing angle, all she saw was the rubble-filled junkyard that Brooklyn Bridge Park became below. Hipster joggers and bicyclists fleed frantically, piercing the air with ear-splitting screams. Knowing this was the end, Genesis shut her eyes. The cries for help, the destruction around her, fizzled out, muffled by perhaps the acceptance of death. Consoling memories of Amina, her mother, graduating from NYU with Natasha; she experienced it all simultaneously, finding solace after many years of duress.

It was finally over…

“One’s death ushers the birth of another.”

Right before impact, the gaze of a gorgon penetrated her psyche. A voice, which sounded much like her own, more powerful and with conviction spoke to her soul. The will to see Amina. The will to survive overcame her. Genesis had no time to make sense of the jolt of heroin in her veins but before she could act it was already over.

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 2: Reunion

Earth-F67X: New New York City, 4 Pennsylvania Plaza

Plopped on the ground like a sack of potatoes, Natasha's bent round-eyed frames fell into the umber shag carpet preceding the full-grain leather couch Jag lounged on. The reporter felt dwarfed as if she were laying right before the Lincoln monument when looking up at his onyx-suited hulking figure veiled in the dim lighting. Natasha swallowed her heart as the tingling breath of a beefy black panther bore down on her neck. With that and the gangster's judicious leer suffocating her, the tactical transfixion of the reporter was complete. A voice cold with anger then spoke out.

"I never concern myself with gossip from those at the bottom of the food chain but your insistence on justice seemed hollow, contrived. I had to conduct some research and came across some fruitful connections between us."

The prowling panther showed restraint, sauntering back to Jag but Natasha's cold sweat persisted. Her heart thumped like the 808’s humming through the walls of the neighboring party. Right before her was Demarco "Jaguar" Lucas. A man with practically an urban militia, guilty of just about everything vice, snugly living in his small sector of the city, yet here she was, face to face with him. She made a living loathing and exposing real-life villains like him, yet none of her pieces about his jungle mafia Tribe: Barrio ever seemed to gain any traction in the media. It was clear Jag read them at least, as he sent an assailant to abduct her.

Prior to this meeting, she carried a deep personal hatred of him. Her vendetta against Jag was founded on very simple accounts of his history of abuse towards Genesis, her old college roommate, and friend.

A momentary lapse in judgment allowed the journalist to forget just how much danger she was in as she recalled their past. Scowling at him, she remembered the luxurious limos he'd often send Genesis way in the thick of the night. Peeking through the blinds, the chauffeurs in name resembled thugs of the worst caliber. Bestial cyber-enhanced goons bordering on body dysmorphia were their common theme. Natasha wrote extensively about the psychological dangers of delving too deep into cyber enhancements. In the tribe's particular case, the gradual degradation of their psyche as they obsessively sculpted their bodies caused them to emulate the behavior of their favored animal making them subhuman. To think Genesis was subjecting herself to being around such a crowd on the regular showed what kind of psychological hold he had on her. Though she and Jag were no longer together, the child they brought into the world forever entangled their lives. Natasha thought if she could just bring enough attention to his black empire through the press, the authorities would do the right thing and Genesis as the caged bird she was would be set free.

Mustering up a microgram of courage, with her eyes producing waterworks Natasha lashed out. "If you wanted to kill me over the articles I wrote, you could have done so without bringing me here!"

Inching slightly forward, a smug smirk momentarily crossed the tribe leader's face. "You should be thankful for having a purpose beyond fertilizing the soil for a near life cycle. I have some tasks for you, woman. We'll start with the most important one. I have a daughter as you know. Her birthday is coming up. I would like for you to find out what she wants. I expect through your integrity as a journalist that the info you report back will be accurate."

Natasha stared at Jag in genuine bewilderment. This couldn't possibly be what he dragged her down here kicking and screaming for. Not in the position to object, she replied "That won't be a problem," fumbling to straighten the glasses on her face after wiping her eyes.

Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, Jag lit a cigar off a peculiar spark emanating off his golden prosthetic. "Good, and as a means to safeguard your task, I’ll remind you I have many more animals camouflaged throughout this concrete jungle we call a city. Some which, won't be as delicate with you as Oringo."

He was right. Even if she tried to somehow report this, thugs just like the one who brought her here could swoop her off the streets in an instant. Natasha wasn't aware, but Oringo who watched her with hawkeyes from the corner of the room had her scent engraved into his memory. He could whiff out her location and hunt her down like the prey she was.

"I take your silence as a sign of obedience."

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Are we back?

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 1: The Tribe

Earth-F67X: New New York City, 4 Pennsylvania Plaza

A blend of bare-throated bellbirds, electronic synths, miscellaneous roars, conga, and trap drums awaited Oringo as he neared the club. Carrying a frantic Jane over his left shoulder, the damsel repeatedly battered his back which felt more like woven steel than muscle. Desperately, she began to pull on his dreads, the pelted lion’s mane of his vest, and so on, but to no avail. The transporting warrior proceeded to clear draping fauna with his free hand, allowing her to turn ever so slightly to see around his shoulder and catch a glimpse of the two men guarding an entrance to a vault door. She caught sight of the bouncers. As much as the blaring stroboscopic lights allowed and even looked to the two for help, but as she approached, they practically ‘high-fived’ her kidnapper.

“That’s my young bull right there! Yo, look! He caught another one."

Turning around, one of the heavyset bouncers, built more like a gorilla than human, with his cybernetically enhanced arm proportions, relinquished his grip on a belligerent drunk. He bore the entire weight of the man with just his pressing forearm. The unconscious male fell several feet off the ground, folding upon himself on the Boston ivy and weed-ridden concrete as he turned his head. Simian walked over to examine the woman, identifying her as Natasha Holcomb, a reporter for the Daily Hound.

"Mans is relentless when it comes to his prey.” Haughtily laughing, his oversized gorilla-esque gold and diamond-studded canines revealed themselves, leaving the reporter terror-stricken.

"Go right to the back. Jags waiting.”

Oringo, her captor, gave a slight nod and proceeded to the back where he’d soon meet with the chief.

---

With the tinnitus-inducing sounds of the party, rattling the walls of the VIP section, the stocky fingers of Jag palmed and carefully caressed the top of a black jaguar’s skull. The imperfections of his vitiligo-ravaged skin stood out compared to the rosette pattern drowned in the feline’s melanistic fur. Typically, to observe them you’d have to venture into the endangered animal's habitat, which many were hesitant to do. However, the alternative was no better. Meaning, you had to get close to Jag, in his territory—a jungle hid in the metropolis at 4 Pennsylvania Plaza. Now only known as ‘The Garden,’ the world’s most famous arena and much of the vicinity around it became notorious under his thuggish tutelage, transforming it into a community of cybernetically enhanced humans living in a housing project of tribes under one umbrella.

---

“I’ll be frank. I can’t help but fear for Amina’s future...”

A middle-aged woman, clearly overworked, tidied her messy bun before carefully sorting through the report cards of her fourth-grade students. On this wet, thundery day, she was tasked with meeting with all the parents but she felt exasperated with the thought of a single one. Another woman sat across from her, clearly anxious in her own right, failed to even make eye contact with her. Genesis, like every other parent, awaited her child’s grades. The teacher, Mrs. Herring, slapped a sheet of paper face down in front of her. Tensely flipping the report over, it was revealed to be some sort of an IQ test to her confusion, widening her distressed brown eyes. It read the following. “The results of the administered test have determined that Amina Lucas has an approximate intelligence quotient score of 219.”

After reading the score, the woman sunk in her chair a bit, head down, plunging further into her anxiety until the teacher placed her right hand on hers. “Raise your head, sweetie. You must stay strong. Please, for her sake. Keep this a secret from him. There is no doubt in my mind that he values her as the princess of his kingdom and that is what I find so...unsettling."

With the inevitability of her daughter being involved in the vice operation Jag called a business looming over her thoughts, Genesis cried. Her cheeks resembled the drenched panes of glass soaked by the storm, running her mascara to her chin. “I’ve never been so afraid of tomorrow.”

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Jag

Full Name: Demarco "Jaguar" Lucas
Age: 39
Height: 6'9
Weight: 358 lbs
Race: Human

Jag is an enormous man whose size was only second to his pursuit of control. Built like a brick, he carried a reputation that painted him as superhuman. The rosette-like patterns on his skin from vitiligo were probably his most famous feature, and it only added to his intimidating mystique. When he was younger, he often put his Rühl-like physique on display as an enforcer for Trey Eleven Vice, an infamous gang known for clashing with the Red Syndicate in the 2020s before their leader, Hans, mysteriously went missing.

Since then, Jag has made a name for himself as one of the most brutal crime lords in the northeast. When it came to vice, he had his foot in it all: drugs, human trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering. He accumulated a fortune of wealth from it and was not afraid to flaunt it with his large collection of chains, watches, grills, and even gold-plated weaponry. Arrogant, but calculated was his motto. The crimelord often roped his adversaries into his very hands by playing off their impatience and intense hatred of him.

Jag was battle tested and ready for confrontation at a moment's notice. He has been beaten, stabbed, shot, jailed, and tortured. The whole nine yards. He wore his large collection of scars like a general's medals, with his proudest being his severed left hand. His solution to losing this part of himself left him far from handicapped. Instead of leaning towards regular prosthetics, he managed to fortify his arm with technology, going through experiment after experiment until it was a classified superweapon.

Jag gained the ability to mold his gold-plated arm into several weapons with its base form being a dangerous set Tekko-Kagi Claws. Other forms allowed him to fire bullets from his finger like a pistol. From his palms, he could let off shots like a machine gun and a shotgun. His arm could even go as far as becoming a full-blown flamethrower.

Out of the Ordinary
> 3 Clout :Has a small portion of the city under his control as territory
> 1 Intellect :: Extremely calculating in local crime and political strategy
> 0 Magic ::
> 2 Physical :: His enormous frame wasn't just for show and he was deceptively agile for his weight
> 1 Technological :: Understands advanced prosthetics and frequently invests in augmentations and newly discovered advancements.

Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

The smoke trail from Margaret’s opera style cigarette painted the air like an elegant script, caressing her chin before withering at her almond eyes. Surrounded by a void of obscurity, only the amber crescent moon she stood on gave light to her figure. Though the darkness, a daunting presence could be felt, even with the virtual nature of the domain. Starting at her heels, an archimedean spiral of illuminated glyphs and code churned outwards, one by one, activating the series of arches placed throughout the miniature amphitheater. The floodgates were officially open bathing Margaret in dozens of heavenly lights. Many of Allure's more fruitful, troubled minds were on their way, soon to be welcomed by Margaret's introductory statement.

With only several minutes to go, Margaret's left hand extended palm up. A neon purple wisp spawned, promptly condensing into a tesseract. She began to fidget with it like a Rubix cube, miraculously studying its millions of archaic symbols and blend of images with each logarithmic shift. As the dozens approached and transferred through their portals, she began her speech.

"On this, one of the most moving, eventful, and personally critical moments in our history, my first words must be to say thank you. Why? For granting me this rare privilege of uniting us all, despite our differences, under one umbrella, as our survival as a nation depends on it."

From the jump, it was clear. To the intrigue of Tristan and the many Earthf67x officials observing, Margaret was in full diplomacy mode.

"My thoughts turn to numerous occasions like these, where I have addressed the likes of Parlament and handled matters alone as the public has elected me to do... I've concluded that if the balance of powers is to be maintained, this could not be one of those instances. I summon you all, whether you consider yourselves within the ranks of The Grand Orchid Lodge or not. I elevate you to this platform. I, Margaret Iedereen, deem you essential to the preservation of our society and present you with the knowledge I have going forward in confidence that you will use your resources to keep Allure upright as it benefits us all."

The conviction in her tone was admirable. The first to arrive, the sleek black suit, red tie-wearing Vileiro took note of this. He gained comfort in her demeanor. Usually eager to speak, the bluefaced tycoon listened with his sharp ears. If it wasn't obvious by now, he sobered up a considerable degree. With his arms folded, he adhered with a nod. Margaret had the stage.

"It is true. We often war amongst ourselves but our unspoken union of mind and purpose as vagabond cultures allow us to stand together today. However, I am not asking for us to form an iron wall like we've done in the past against Fortis. I'd like you to look at Earthf67x through a different lens. Allow me to enlighten you... Due to unforeseen circumstances, we find ourselves wedged into their society. As I've learned, unlike us, their experiences with outsiders have long been a record of tragedy, leaving trails of destruction and monumental loss whenever they gather any semblance of peace. It's as if the gods themselves are cursing them with their wicked pens, etching their chaotic destiny on a whim. It should be no surprise by now, but our arrival is just another chapter in this story and as a result, we too inherit tumultuous times ahead. We too, whether we acknowledge so or not, are now apart of the Earth ecosystem. Their culture is the antithesis of ours, and so, I take on what I believe is Allure's obligation to negotiate a middle ground and offer many of our resources and problem solving to forge a relationship that can benefit both parties..."

With her words, it was clear that she spoke to more than the Allureans alike. Ever so frankly spilling out her intent, she was only able to speak with such cantor due to the perhaps unintentional sacrifice of Merse. No doubt in her mind, he placed himself into a dreadful spot. The conundrum of if this was out of newfound compassion or some nefarious long term scheme remained unanswered. How involved other citizens were in this "random" relocation remained murky as well.

"Everyone will be vetted. Everyone!" she practically screamed internally. For now, she played nicely, using the heat on Merse to read the room. With the most resting bitch face humanely possible she adressed the elephant at the exact moment the meeting started.

"State your needs within your borders. I will address them. This is not without equal exchange, however. In return, I require your unwavering cooperation in building Earth relations going forward..." An internal sigh of relief fell upon the horned tycoon's expression but upon opening his eyes he was greeted with Margaret's intense leer into his soul.

"If only it were that easy," she said mockingly. "I require one other thing I'm sure you all are aware of... All of you are required to tell me your last dealings with Merse. Every. Last. One of you." Vileiro's profound adam's apple rattled like he was swallowing a rusty can. His sudden nervous gulp insinuated much. The Prime Minister knew very well, no matter how much she prepared, one day, Merse would be back, probably sooner than later, and it would bring problems not even she could foresee but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

Meeting offically started

Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

Margaret’s red bottoms excessively tapped against the hardwood. Arms folded, her sour expression oversaw the disorder and chaos with much aversion. Like an angry mother, she vowed to straighten out the city later like it was a child misbehaving in public. Without her “extensions” notable crime syndicates like the Burnulogos family would seize the moment and gain capital. “Bottom feeders. Every last one of them.” She cursed them under her breath.

With Tristan's inquiry into the moonward spectacle, Margaret's slight nod to Howard ranked low in importance. Loose sheets of paper vigorously whirled around the room in a gust left from the speedster's departure. His signature white trail etched through the zigzag avenues and Seussian hills eastward. Just like that, he was gone to do who knows what.

"I’m to assume he’s running harmless errands?" Tristan’s voice notably lacked amusement.

Backing away from the window and twirling on her narrow heel, she joked about it, insisting the operative would learn about "the extensive micromanaging Allure required in due time."

With little time to go, the lights dimmed and she made her way behind a shoji screen. While Tristan brewed tea, her voluptuous silhouette popped out of her clothes and she began to change at a painstakingly slow pace.

“In that chic cabinet on the left is a particularly rare strain of tea gifted to me by the residents of Galdi Ik'raal. A rather peaceful planet, I should visit sometime soon. Would you believe that despite being sandwiched between two perpetually warring star systems, that for whatever reason, it remains untouched? It's somewhat hard to get to, making it quite the delicacy. Feel free to help yourself.”

“I’ll think about it.” The operative replied, entertaining her small talk, knowing very well he would never do something so foolish.

“This particular strand is oxidized under the planet's three intensely reflective moons and that only, as their leaves are sheltered during the day.”

“Mhhm.” At this point, Tristan basically tuned her out. Eventually she finished changing but not before drowning him in rants about alien gossip he couldn’t imagine relating to. With Margaret’s black belted dress, tilted pillbox hat and birdcage fascinator, she was appropriately dressed for a funeral. Standing before the arch, she gave the operative a crocodile smile.

“Let’s begin shall we.”

Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

J'Samberabram’s weary trio of eyes scaled the tilted towers and dancing houses of Plusari Ave from tinted windows. He lounged in the spacious cab, ashing a navy cigar on the scarlet interior’s floor with two gentle taps. He paid no mind the itsy-bitsy critters scurrying from beneath the seats, shamelessly gobbling up the residue and inadvertently cleaning. The Jorian’s legs crossed after their departure, resting his white wing-tipped shoe on the knee of his tacky bengal-striped suit stolen from Betelgeuse. He was convincing himself to relax. Yes, many parts of Allure were in an absolute frenzy but in some ways, it wasn't much different than earlier episodes of the madcap megalopolis. After settling on that outlook, his almost-ghoulish hand stroked his peppered stubble and a smile with teeth resembling piano keys wedged into his face. “Why yes, I shouldn’t worry at all” he spoke out loud.

Following that statement, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. A collective gasp overtook Allureans large and small packed like sardines on the sidewalk. They too, like traffic and perhaps the entire city froze in place. The mild-mannered toad in the driver’s seat, Krupis, croaked “What…is that” and J'Samberambram’s neck practically broke with how quickly he jerked upwards. His cartoonishly erupting eyes punched the lenses right out his aviator frames in disbelief. Intensely glaring out the sunroof, the violet bands outlying the moon made him slow to respond. “… I thought this was an Earth?” In all truths, it was but its exponential transformation put it on pace to compete with Allure in outright zaniness.

In less than a New York minute, the collective shock dissolved, followed by a burst of rage as impatient citizens gaveled their horns, manufacturing a horrific conglomeration of pitched animal cries, blaring synths and alien obscenities. One resident went as far as to reach their gargantuan fiddler arm out a window, muscling a path through hysterical sidewalk crowds as opposed to waiting in traffic. Looking in on the carnage, J'Samberambram chided "You know, he has a point. Let's jet."

Without a response, the toad substantially bulked up to the point where he barely fit in the front seat and J'Samberambram fastened his seatbelt. The interior below the amphibian retreated into a slot and its lanky arms snapped to the side of the vehicle like a junkyard magnet. Powerful legs propelled it off the cobblestone and for a while, the toad hopscotched his way through and on top of traffic, evading the abundance of gamboge carnivorous plants snapping at him and the jungle of vines draping between buildings. Krupis stopped, planting his feet in the middle of a busy intersection, narrowly avoiding collisions with one building scaling leap. Out of breath, he informed the mobster of whispers from the underground; rumors as good as fact from their network. "Boss, I’m getting reports of portals opening all around Allure."

Noticeably reserved, J'Samberambram closed his baggy eyes, exhaling a pall of glimmering blue smoke which took the shape of a group of insectoids in an alleyway examining a rift in space. Two peaked around the entrance with one eye open as a masked mantis repeatedly jabbed at the potential portal with its bladed arm. This went on for at least a minute before the mobster lost his temper. His enlarged face embossed the brick wall beside them like it was elastic with a fuming expression. “Figure out what's on the other damn side! While you're at it, organize the rest of Mantodea gang to find any more and lock them down.” The group cowered but the orders from the head of the Bernulogos Crime Family were clear. Get it done.

Rubbing his wrinkled forehead with his left hand, he blew the lingering smoke out a slit in the window and leaned into the backseat. “Krupis, take me to Pleiades. Send a memo to Ixxa. Let her know I have one of her girls in the back.” Silence hit the cab before the toad tucked in his lips. “I... forgot about that. You think she's okay back there?” Lighting another cigar in his mouth muffling his speech, J'Samberambram angrily uttered: “How should I fucking know.”

Cat, got your tongue (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

Preface

The inherent wantonness of Merse single-handedly antagonized Allure. Impulsively, he knew this debacle of an interrogation constricted Margaret, forcing her hand with much already on her plate. This kept her busy and more importantly, it shortened her reach. And to think, a "slip" of the tongue could pave for worse! Tingles finger-walked his spine. The tantalization of the operative with unspecific and open to interpretation statements only added to this but alas, the jig was up. His stamina waned, having had little time to collect himself. With just a minor lapse of concentration, a hiccup allowed The Aldare to learn something about him no one else knew...

More Of The Same

Margaret's affinity for wacky space imports was vein deep. The occasional magical artifact even found it's way sprinkled in under the guise of interior decorating. As prude as Margaret was, her sense of style was just as appalling with alien rights organizations lamenting her exotic rugs and wall busts. Fearis' and Eal's not bound to lockers, locker room talk, in which she was often the topic of, offended less. For this moment, Merse too was focused on her visage but not because he received his jungle fever vaccination the day prior. A skeptic squint pried through his poker face.

"A rare error..."

He thought to himself, recalling the perplexity around Margaret's oh so situational appearance among species. Allureans knew, and them, this was no big deal but in this instance, it confirmed Merse's suspicion. The projection was falsified, and perhaps some of the others as well. Despite the dubious display, he was inclined to believe much of it. Clearly, it represented the direction in which the EarthF67x favored. The prospect of Allureans banding together wasn't preposterous but Merse wasn't the only individual capable of such trickery. His stomach turned at the idea of disloyalty but it was his reality as long as he was bound.

THE MIND

THE MIND

THE MIND

The deeper I voyaged, the crux of normalcy waned. Wicked ideas roosted in flocks within this callow mind. A cauldron where vanity reigned unsupervised and details became muddled. After every question, spontaneously I examined more. I provided insight regarding the creature’s statements, as he routinely left out details. Despite my apparent effectiveness, I felt stonewalled. For not my own recollection, said revelations vanished as quick as they surfaced. With every disappearance of memories, the louder a sound became apparent to me.

A hissing purr...

It lead me away and only then I realized it wasn't a mere sound. I was enlightened to a new sense, comparable to nothing I’ve encountered prior. It appealed to my desires, its message felt...like...like me. Trapped...

It wanted to escape. The oracle placed upon me swung gates, allowing for a detour into a chamber of memories. I poured my own into the pool and witnessed burdens I carried, great traumas and evils I ported from the fallen flushed with the mundane. More than ever, it was clear to me now. These were not the memories of Merse Granstrum. In fact, I could not find any in this boundless vat. Where was I exactly?

I followed what I could only describe as a canal, allowing me to traverse into a lightless space. An apparition then made itself known. Its body, if you could call it one, was a pulsing violet nebula of wispy chromatic tones. A cheshire grin of white and amber hues unsuccessfully contained itself, overlooking in entertainment. Three felinoid figures caromed off each other like a newton's cradle, lynched and caged behind the creature's fangs. The celestial entity continued to laugh, forever cementing its convicting gaze into me. It acknowledged my presence, which seemed like an impossibility, but as time lingered, the phantasm drifted further and further away…

"Give me the 4th..."

The inhabitants of Spain... They can be saved...

THE HOW?

Merse’s mind emulated corpus callosotomy subjects gone mystical, possessing an ethereal sense of duality, routing VPN-like consciousnesses within alternating cerebral hemispheres. Memetically induced pathogens entered lobes unhampered, only for facsimile systems to filter channels and reset before information could be passed to the intended cognizance. As clever as Merse was, he was an individual of many tells. Inconclusive biometrics, constant twitching, the lack of response to pain and induced ailments. It took an extreme amount of concentration for Merse to keep his body in such a homogenous state. One capable of misguiding Earthf67x's sensory systems, for the most part. Under a greater scope, the mystifying nature of his paleomammalian cortex unswervingly defied logic, often empowering organs and body systems beyond their means.

The Aftermath

“Tic…Tic…Tic…”

His watch was soundless, but the tics pinged in his head thunderously like loud consecutive sonic booms. Merse realized what happened even though it was less than a second in realtime. The moment she slipped through this game was over. Balling his fists, he prepared himself. Liaison's fur stood on end. His zig-zagging whiskers operating like audio spectrums interpreting signals before pointing upwards like tv antennas.

A hurried tone uncharacteristically left his lips.

"You know, operative... Your unwillingness to be lured down the rabbit hole is impressive, almost as much as it is disappointing. Its simply not as fun without a struggle, but I give. You win.

“Is that so?”

“Why, yes! It's that easy. Some time ago, I copied the blueprints of an ancient piece of technology that I believe to be all-pervading in regards to time and dimensional barriers. For several lifetimes I gathered materials, including a series of stone rubbings of interstellar smaragdine tablets. I haven’t been able to find out where they are from but the language is clear to me. I also believe one is here. Which I happened to want to find for charitable reasons...

(A visible sweat dripped down his brow)

If what I’ve built so far is handed to an Allurean engineer, it can be completed. After that, discretion is yours.”

"You must forgive me if I find this sudden change of heart disingenuous. Despite the confidence I have in my own talents, it would be foolish of me to think you have no ulterior motives.

I will graciously accept this olive branch, on certain conditions. Would you be so kind as to inform us of this cache's location? We have assets situated across Allure that could secure said designs in moments."

"Well, I could direct you to Xercial to build it but you'd need someone who could decipher it. I suppose you have a few talented espers around?"