ZOMBIE FORUMS

It's a stinking, shambling corpse grotesquely parodying life.
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PostPosted: Mon Apr 11, 2005 1:55 am 
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Ghost wrote:
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Godamn, you get asked a simple question and you bite the head off the guy that asked you (albeit baron, so did giggle a little xx) and then bitch about everyone, for no reason!

Godamn.


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PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2005 10:42 am 
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Only two more days, people!

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 27, 2006 6:31 pm 
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I would like this to be revived somehow, is this at all possible?

Much Love


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PostPosted: Mon Nov 27, 2006 8:39 pm 
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Location: Not a hellish, Onionian future...
With the sacrifice of a thousand infants above the ash-filled pits of Mictlan shall this thread be revived.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 07, 2006 8:18 pm 
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to revive it, just start posting in the IC thread.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 6:16 pm 
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Ancient wrote:
I would like this to be revived somehow, is this at all possible?

Much Love


I support that thought, Ancient. Would you want to return to it with our LSMSA characters? We'd have to write in stuff for Eryn and Vance...but I think we could do it.

Or possibly I could get Ryn to not hate me anymore and come back to do it with us. ...doubtful, but I could give it a shot. Or you could, Ancient, she likes you.

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 1:50 am 
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Shinimegami wrote:
Ancient wrote:
I would like this to be revived somehow, is this at all possible?

Much Love


I support that thought, Ancient. Would you want to return to it with our LSMSA characters? We'd have to write in stuff for Eryn and Vance...but I think we could do it.

Or possibly I could get Ryn to not hate me anymore and come back to do it with us. ...doubtful, but I could give it a shot. Or you could, Ancient, she likes you.


I'll give her a call and see what flies. If I can get her back, our part could be revived at the least.

Much Love.


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PostPosted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 2:15 am 
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Yay! Just be careful in mentioning me...I'm pretty sure she still hates me.

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 Post subject: excerpt from the RT universe.
PostPosted: Wed Jan 10, 2007 6:47 am 
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I awoke to a foggy consciousness, my senses hugging close to my proximity. At first I was aware only of my body, how my left leg throbbed and ached, and the itching pain in my scalp and the sting of sweat and blood in my eyes. My chest and face felt hot and tender from the heat of the blast, and my entire back and ribs were a network of agony.

Colors swam before my eyes with no discernable shapes, all black and grey and red and orange from the fires and aftershocks of explosion. All sounds bar the blood rushing through my ears were muffled by a droning ring that made everything else sound like I had cotton wool in my ears. I could hear screams, the sound of crashing cement and glass, tortured metal, and faintly make out the sound of the fires. There weren’t any sirens, though. The emergency services hadn’t had time to respond yet.

As I tried to clear and focus my senses, I also tried to piece together the last few minutes before the explosion had rocked the ground and leveled three buildings on the college campus.

I remembered noticing him crossing the quad. He’d stood out, because of his unnaturally red hair, and because he was pushing through the crowds of students that had just come out of class. It was then that a man pushed past me and murmured something into the lapel of his smart business jacket.

The Journalism major in me piqued, I pushed through the crowd after the man in the dark grey suit, trying to take in as many details as possible. His dark hair had been cropped short, and under the well-tailored but simple suit he was a well muscled and fit individual. It was then that I noticed the earpiece he wore. It was small, and skin colored, like the ones you see Secret Service people use in movies. It was clichéd enough to be laughable, were it not for what happened next.

I saw the red-haired man look across the quadrangle, and a ferocious scowl disfigured his features. I followed his gaze to see another man dressed in a less well-tailored brown suit also pushing through the crowd toward him. My ‘Suit’ also noticed the red-haired man’s reaction, and mumbled urgently into his lapel again.

“Oh-Two, you’ve been made. Stand down immediately, we do not want a situation with so many uninvolved bodies around. I repeat. Stand down; we don’t want any – Holy shit! “

His exclamation was directed at their quarry, who had just jumped 8 feet straight up, vaulting onto the railing of the second floor walkway of the chemistry wing, and swung onto the cement walkway. People literally fell back out of his way, a ring of empty space opening around him, surrounded by a ring of surprised, fearful voices around that.

My suit swore again and growled urgently into his lapel microphone, and what he said made me double-take to the balcony.

“Fuck! Oh-Five! Exercise extreme caution! Target is deemed a Beta-level thr-“

Once again, my ‘Suit’ cuts off as one of his men, in the group of people that had fallen over on the walkway reached under his left armpit and pulled out a black pistol. The Red-Haired man who could jump 8 feet straight up yelled, and lunged at the man, trying to grab the hand with the weapon. The gun discharged, a shot lancing into the ‘target’s’ left shoulder, and he screamed as something shot into his shoulder and his arm convulsed.

Now hundreds of students were running and screaming, and the other ‘Suits’ and one foolish journalist-to-be were struggling through the crowd to try and converge on the two wrestling on the balcony. I thought I saw a momentary flash of - well, it’s hard to describe…inverted light? Red shadow? – Between the two, and the man in the suit went limp. The red man stood up, and physically threw the gun at another man advancing on him before turning and running the other way.

“All units, man down. We are authorized to fire at will. Be aware that target is partially immune to shock-stunner rounds.”

I lost sight of the red-haired man momentarily as I followed the leader up a flight of stairs onto the walkway, and only just managed to catch sight of one of his comrades’ duck as the fugitive gestured towards him, and a nearby window exploded, and showered him in razor shards. The ‘Suit’ quickly regained his fee, and despite the cuts on his face aimed his pistol, and fired several shots at the fugitive. One hit him in the foot, and he fell badly, his leg convulsed in the same spasms as before.

The Fugitive hobbled to the nearest door, did something to the electronic lock, and labored through.

By that time, I was severely out of breath, my lungs laboring to pull in air. I was sweating extremely heavily, and the muscles in my legs felt like jelly. Unable to follow the athletic man in the smart suit, I leaned against the railing and panted. I’m sure the irony that my life was saved by me being out of shape would amuse my mother greatly, because I am sure, if I had kept up with the men chasing the Para human fugitive, I’d be as dead as so many other people that day.

It was about ten second later that the entire other end of the chemistry wing blossomed in an orange flower of fire and smoke.

It must have been either a divine hand, or the dumbest of luck that I was blown clear of the first explosion, and was far enough away that the others, which I was blissfully unconscious for, didn’t rain more than smoking pebbles on my prone, broken body.

The blast from the explosion that singed my chest and face sent me spinning and tumbling down the stairs, my left leg broke quite badly and my scalp split open when I hit my head.

When I came to, however, and my senses slowly pulled back the veils of shellshock, I realized how lightly I had gotten off. Many of my fellow students had been scorched by the heat of the explosions, or crushed by falling and flying masonry. The Quadrangle had been turned into a charnel house of broken masonry and crushed, charred bodies. The screams and moans of my surviving fellows, whom my own injuries prevented me from helping, still fill my nightmares today.

I don’t know if what I saw before I again passed out was true, and I can only hope it is not, but it still haunts me with the terrifying implications if it was.

As I sunk from shellshock to actual trauma shock, I thought I saw a figure struggle and clamber from the wreckage a good fifty feet away from me. His bloody form was covered in soot and grime, and I thought I could make out a multitude of scars that seemed to shift and whirl under his torn and shredded clothes, but still he managed to pull himself out of the debris. Under the soot and dust and grime, I saw a glimpse of singed red hair, and then, he looked straight at me. His eyes locked onto mine, and as I was held in his stare, I noticed the color of those eyes, as unnatural as his hair. The irises were bright red, like his dirty hair, and the pupils were yellow, like hot embers.

I only hope this last part of my ordeal that day was a hallucination because I shudder to think that the creature that destroyed the campus, the monster that locked that alien gaze on me is still alive and at large in our world. And if he is, I can only hope that those we count as heroes and protectors of the peace can stop him from repeating the catastrophe they failed to on February 11.

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 11, 2007 5:44 am 
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Marcus Brodan is not a tall man, but standing at 5’7”, neither is he short. He is fit, bordering on athletic, but not the heavily muscled physique of one of those gym jockeys plaguing so many of the continent’s southern beaches. His fine sandy-blonde hair is not what you might call styled, or meticulously groomed, nor is it what one might call messy or unkempt. It is neither short nor long. His eyes, somewhere between green and blue, are neither striking nor piercing, although not much escapes their gaze. His features, while not unpleasant, are still somewhat plain. Overall, there is nothing particularly remarkable about the man from his sensible sneakers, to the plain grey shirt he wears.

He slows his car as two figures appear in the beams of his headlights further down the road, coming to stop next to them, as they wave their hands frantically. He reaches over, and winds down the passenger side window, since they are on his right, and the window handle on the driver’s side is missing.

The taller of the two is a young man, well-cut brown hair damp with sweat and his face flushed with both the exertion of their walking and the excitement of not having to walk any more. Late twenties, early thirties. Smooth clean-shaven face. Black silk Shirt. Silver cigarette case in his top pocket. His designer label shoes scratched and dusty.

The other is a young woman, attractive, despite the dust and sweat. Early twenties, probably younger. A blonde, but not natural. Collagen lips. Fake breasts. Expensive designer clothes. Expensive perfume doing a poor job of covering the odor of her sweat. No underwear line.

“Had your car stolen.” Marcus says matter-of-factly, before either of them can speak. The man pauses, his gushing “oh thank god you stopped” speech stuck in his throat, momentarily unable to think of a response to Marcus’ statement.

“Yes I…how did you know?” He finally manages. Marcus notices his neutral, cultured accent. Distinctly American, but hard to place where from. The sort of accent one is taught by those who teach proper elocution.

“Left your phones in it when it was stolen, too.” Marcus says.

“Listen,” the man says, looking more irritated. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation in your car, on the way to Hemmington. Both Mary-“

“Marie.” The girl interrupts her southern drawl distinct in her displeasure.

“-Marie and I have been walking for a good five hours now, and we are both very sore and tired.”

Marcus reaches back and unlocks the back door closest to his two new passengers. “Sure, since you’ve answered the first of my three questions.”

“And What, Pray tell,” the man grunts as he gets into the back seat, and slides over for Marie the Not-So-Blonde with Collagen Lips to get in after him. “Question is that?”

Marcus looks in his rearview mirror for headlights as the woman gets in and slams the door shut while glaring at her companion. As Marcus starts the engine she mutters at her co-passenger. “This is the worst road trip I have ever even heard of. Can’t you at least remember my name? John?” She makes a point of saying his name, the implication that remembering a name is not hard isn’t missed by either man in the car. Her accent is thick, but still somewhat cultured. Louisiana, but not Cajun. Old South, old money.

“When you pulled over, and were carjacked.” Marcus answers him, getting a water bottle from the glove compartment and handing it back to the young woman. Marcus then pushes something back into the glove box and closes it. Something wrapped in tinfoil. “Roughly six thirty – sunset. I’ve made good time.”

Marcus allows himself a smile. He had made good time indeed, if he was only five hours behind them.

“So then, what are your other two questions?” John asks as Marie takes a sip from the water bottle.

“What kind of car do you drive, John?” Marcus asks, looking back in the rear view mirror.

“I was driving the ‘vette today. We were on our way to Hemmington for spring break.”

Corvette. Good top speed. They’ll have made up a fair bit of the time they’d lost walking in something that quick. Could be anywhere in Hemmington by now…but there’s only one part of that town that bastard could go.

“And lastly,” Brodan says, watching john pull out the cigarette case and removing one of the black imported cigarettes in the rearview mirror. “Can you describe the carjackers?”

“Of course I can!” John scoffs, his hands searching his pockets. “They were…they had…one was…hmm.” The man scowls in concentration, and then his expression dissolves in confusion. “For some reason, I cannot seem to recall any detail... isn’t that just the oddest thing?” Marcus can’t help but smile.

Oh, I’ve got you now, you red bastard. “How about you, Marie?” Marcus asks.

“I…I think one of them had grey hair…but not grey like an old man. Weird Grey.” John looks at Marie like hearing her say it had jogged his memory too, but then confusion slips over him again.

One of Marcus’ eyebrows raises a little. Usually most people didn’t remember any details about the bastard or his companions once he’d done his ‘trick’ on them, although Marcus had seen it a handful of times before. Usually it’s the one with grey hair too. Curious that.

“Do you remember how many of them there were, Marie?” Marcus asks.

“Two of them. The Grey-haired man and…and… shit!” She hits the car door in frustration. John looks confused again.

“I thought there was…three. Wasn’t there three of them?” he asks. Marie gives him a venomous look. “Your memory is questionable, at best, JOHN.” She says sardonically in her thick southern accent.

Interesting. There’s only been one other case of someone counting one less person than other witnesses. Maybe the bald one has some kind of invisibility thing. Marcus mulls this over as he barrels on to Hemmington, pushing the speedometer well past 90.

“Excuse me,” John says, still with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and having given up searching for his lighter. “Do you have a lighter?”

“No.” Marcus lies.

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 13, 2007 12:57 am 
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Here's the first draft of the timeline and alternate history for the "RT" revamp, "Under the Shadows of a Dark Moon"

The First RP will involve a full-scale war with an alien civilisation who consider this solar system a threat due to readings of temporal and spatial anomalies.

1948
New object of similar size to the moon appears in orbit around the planet on 10-04-1948. No light reflects off the object. It forms a black circle in the sky day or night.
1954
First signs of unusual carnivorous flora appear in Russia’s northern forests. First recorded ParaHuman, Ivor Peterov is born.

1956
Similar flora to those specimens found in Russia appears in Canada, several parts of Europe, Africa, and Australia. The first recordings of unusual animals in the carnivorous forests. Martin Schrödinger is born in Canada.

1960
Jeannique Millneuve is born.

1969
Russian teenager Ivor Peterov is discovered to have the ability to telekinetically move objects. Russia’s Paranormal and Supernatural Investigation Bureau is officially formed, and included in the national budget.
1972
America enlists Canadian Martin Schrödinger in its joint ParaHuman research and training program. Schrödinger creates a public identity, the Canadian Comet, and is the first recorder super-hero.

1973
The Carnivorous forests now cover 3% of total landmass on the planet. Several countries have their own paranormal research and development programs, with several private organizations also having research in the area. Philip Hastings, an Englishman, is discovered to be the world’s first paranormal Detector.

1976
The Canadian Comet is the first man to make an unassisted flight to the moon. He plants a Canadian flag, much to the distaste of American politicians. He finds the black moonlike object in space to be unapproachable, like a mirage.
1977
The carnivorous forest now covers 6% of the planet’s landmass, and the number of paranormal humans is 400. There are 30 cases of animals having paranormal abilities. French parahuman, Jeannique Millneuve is the first recorded ParaScientist.

1980
ParaScientist Jeannique Millneuve creates the first P-dampener, a device able to restrict any paranormal ability that manipulates physics or has telepathic properties. Attributes such as paranormal intelligence or physical anomalies are unaffected by the null-P fields. The first P-dampener is the size of half a basketball court, and projects an effective range of 12 meters. Millneuve goes into business with Jacobar Dragosagi, a ParaHuman with an uncanny knack for business.

1984
ParaHuman Adric Al’Turen is born in a small town in Australia.
1984
The carnivorous forest now covers roughly 12% of the planet’s landmass, despite several countries’ efforts to curb its spread within their boundaries. The Canadian Comet has renamed himself as The Comet, and is considered the most powerful ParaHuman on the planet, a ‘real-life Superman’. The European-based company, Dragosagi Millneuve Industries (DMI) is considered the richest company on the planet, after buying General Electric. Several ParaTechnologically-based products have found their way into the modern home. Most, however, remain in the hands of those countries with the highest defense budget.

1986
Half of London is destroyed by what is believed to be a terrorist attack involving ParaHuman abilities. The terrorist act is later claimed by international terrorist group The Expatriates, which is considered to consist of mostly ParaHuman individuals. The reason given for the attack is England’s poor ParaHuman rights record, and several research centers in London itself which the terrorist group claims were engaged in inhumane experiments on ParaHumans.
Lucienne Farran is born in Hemmington, USA.

1989
Jeannique Millneuve has a daughter, Brush Millneauve.

1990
6 year old Adric goes missing in Australia. It only makes the headlines of the local paper. A week later, the entire town is destroyed by what seems to be a hurricane. This makes national headlines. Of the 534 survivors, two have the Al’Turen name. Adric, and his sister. The sister, Emra Al’Turen, goes to live with relatives. All records of Adric Al’Turen cease, and he is presumed dead. (Emra has ability to ‘see’ the ‘sins’ of those she touches.)


1991
The carnivorous forest now covers 14% of the planet’s total landmass, and has appeared on every continent in some form. The Comet forms an international group for responding to global threats, both paranormal and mundane, and puts the group at the disposal of the United Nations. Several of the world’s biggest ParaHuman ‘heroes’ enlist in the group, which becomes colloquially known as “FLAGS”, since many of the heroes wear their countries’ flags as a type of uniform. A small private institute in Australia, funded by DMI, acquires a ParaHuman boy of about six or seven in a comatose state. There are no records of who the boy is. (Richards Institute for Paranormal Research) “FLAG” becomes an international system for which parahumans can register and join the international crisis task force. Many parahumans form around the globe register with FLAG as offices are set up in many allied countries.


1994
The carnivorous forest now covers 15% of the planet’s total landmass. The Comet and FLAGS repel what is believed to be an attack from an extra-terrestrial force over central Europe. The alien force was small, but had technology which gave them superhuman abilities. After the aliens’ defeat, much of the technology is salvaged by DMC and Jeannique Millneauve begins reverse-engineering it.
The unidentified boy in the Richards Institute for Paranormal Research awakes and slaughters 12 staff and residents of the institute before passing out. He is recaptured and isolated in the maximum security wing.

1996
The carnivorous forest now covers 16% of the planet’s total landmass. The Richards Institute for Paranormal Research suffers a catastrophic emergency, and in it’s destruction, a number of dangerous parahumans and paranormals escape, including the unidentified youth, and two companions. Some members of the Australian branch of FLAG International are sent to investigate, one of whom is Marcus Brodan. All members of the team bar Brodan die in pursuit of the escapees.

2001
The carnivorous forest now covers 18% of the planet’s total landmass. Another force of the aliens, the Venisians, arrives at earch, and another super-powered battle takes place. The FLAG forces manage to defeat this larger force thanks in part to a defector, Sanglant, from the Venisians. FLAG learns from Sanglant that a much larger world-killer force will be sent next, with the intent of wiping out all life in this solar system, due to shockwaves of a temporally disruptive event emanating from this sector.

2003
The carnivorous forest now covers 19% of the planet’s total landmass. FLAG and all the world powers have been concentrating their efforts of building planetary defences in preparation of the Venisian forces, which, due to interstellar beuracracy, will not arrive until 2005 or 2006. Many paranormal and Para human investigations have received massive budget cuts unless they are directly linked to the the Venisian Defense Program. This has meant that there has been less monitoring of parahumans, including the terroris organization, the Expatriates.

2004
The carnivorous forest still covers 19% of the planet’s total landmass. On febuary 11, While being pursued by DMC agents, Adric causes an explosion on the Franklin University campus, killing 75 people. Now rogue FLAG agent Marcus Brodan continues to persue him, the trail going hot after years of nothing.

2005
The carnivorous forest now covers 20% of the planet’s total landmass. The beginning of Under the Shadows of a Dark Moon: Invasion of the Venisians.

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PostPosted: Tue Jan 23, 2007 11:27 am 
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After discovering that John’s sports car had not been reported found, and not getting a ping on it’s GPS locater, Marcus leaves his two passengers at the police station at the edge of Hemmington where they’d reported the carjacking. After taking the tinfoil package from the glove compartment, He parks his own car in the nearby airport parking lot, opting to take public transport into The Main. Knowing the stories of The Main, and adding in the fact that the police were totally unsurprised that John’s car’s GPS had been deactivated, Marcus quickly reaches some obvious conclusions.

1: Cars get stolen in The Main on such a frequent basis that his would undoubtedly fall victim as well.

2: The men he’s following are most likely in The Main.

If his profiling on the three of them is as accurate as his profiles usually are, the Red Bastard would not be able to resist the place. The area of lawless vice plays home to all sorts of criminals, fugitives, ParaHumans, and the cosmetic and prosthetic junkies that frequent the myriad biological and cybernetic chop-shops that thrive in the area. None of them, not even the red bastard, would raise a multiply-pierced eyebrow walking down the streets laden with scum, filth, prostitutes, and filthy scum-laden prostitutes.

The first train Marcus catches is well maintained, with reasonably uncomfortable seats. The passengers range from office workers in simple suits, to college and university students and a number of retirees going into Hemmington central to spend their pensions.

The second train however, is in a much greater state of disrepair. Many of the uncomfortable cushions have been torn from the uncomfortable seats and many places on the train car showed signs of small fires, likely started by cigarette lighters.

Marcus looks around the graffiti-scoured and vandalized car at the four other individuals he shares it with.

Three of them look to be university students, a young man with short blonde hair and a modestly bejeweled stud on the left side of his nose. His clothes, like those of the two women sitting next to him are the sort of out-of-fashion second-hand garments that bohemian university students have always found irresistible.

One of the young women has shoulder-length brown hair, intelligent but plain features, and is taking a drag from a half-smoked cigarette she is sharing with the third girl, who has dyed hair, candy cane red now fading to a washed out pink. Her eyes are wide-set, brown, with lashes heavily coated in mascara. The three are having the kind of quiet, pseudo-intellectual conversation that trendy bohemians cannot resist. Marcus resists the urge to roll his eyes at the young man regurgitates almost verbatim a paragraph from a book Marcus had read and dismissed most of fifteen years ago. Psychology majors.

Marcus’ attention turns to the fourth passenger, a man with extensive prosthetics and other body modifications, ranging from the flickering glowing tattoos known as Lumos across his forehead in the form of a slogan “In the name of the Machine God” to stud implants in his shoulders, vaguely reminding Marcus of holographs he’d seen of the Venisian invaders from almost ten years ago, and later in 2001. The man is bobbing his head in time to music only he can hear, probably another sub dermal implant or one of the new “Wet-Net” brain implants that allow you to connect to the WorldNet anywhere without any external device. Marcus can’t trust the Wet-Net technology yet, finding it too new and untested, but in the technocratic Asiatics, any new technological trend was immediately snapped up and massed-produced.

After another ten minutes, the train finally pulls up to Main Station, the multi-platform terminal. Due to the early hour, the foot traffic is relatively light, but there are still a lot of people moving and milling about, not to mention a number of beggars and squatters sleeping in the underground terminal.

Marcus scans the faces, and finally sees what he’s looking for, a middle-aged, balding Chinese man sitting on one of the benches, watching the newsfeed on his WorldNet Portable. The Asian man wears a faded brown jacket over a Hawaiian shirt and dirty khaki shorts. Instead of shoes, the man wears rubber flip-flops. Aside from the jacket, he looks like he should be on holiday on a tropical island, a gaudily colored drink in his hand. Marcus moves over and sits next to the man, pulling out his own WNP.

“It’s been a while, M.” The man says without looking up from his WNP. “Two and a half years. I’ve missed your business.” His English is flawless, with no hint of an Asiatic accent, making it clear he is not a first generation immigrant.

Marcus follows the man’s lead, and his eyes don’t leave his WNP. “I got good at rationing when I went private. Wasn’t easy.”

The man raises a thin, barely visible eyebrow. “I am sure it wasn’t. From your request, I am guessing you are almost out just some of the more common animals and the strongman left?”

Marcus tries not to look uncomfortable. This topic always unnerves him, despite how intrinsic to his life it may be. Perhaps of how intrinsic it is. “A good guess, A. Chasing that red bastard’s called on a wide array of – “ Marcus hesitates, for just a moment, before continuing. “ – Talents.”

The man can’t help but smile at Marcus’ discomfort. “Mmmm, still chasing ghosts and shadows. How does the Great Chase go, man hunter?”

“Close, ever since February last year. It’s been cat-and-mouse across the country, but I think I’ve got him. Which is why I need more.”

“Last February . . . you don’t mean that college? I didn’t think there was any footage or reliable witnesses.” The man’s expression is genuinely surprised. “And didn’t the Expatriates claim responsibility for the explosion? Do you think your Red Ghost is one of these Expatriates?”

“I’m not ruling it out, A. But I find it hard to imagine he’d run errands or attack targets for them. He’s not the sort to make – or keep – allegiances easily, I think.” Marcus says, clicking away at his WNP. “Check your account.”

“I am constantly surprised that FLAG doesn’t just go after these Expatriates, M. They have been responsible, or at least have claimed they have, for a good many of this past decade’s great disasters.” The man sits a crinkled brown paper bag onto the seat between him and Marcus and puts his WNP away as he prepares to get up and leave.

Marcus picks up the fist-sized bag and slips it into a pocket. “Now A, you know the coming war’s got the pressure on for FLAG. Besides,” Marcus smiles and stands before A can, making the man have to wait ten minutes after Marcus to leave. “If FLAG locked up all the Expatriates, it’s a lot more than my business you’d miss.”

Marcus smiles at the Apothecary’s silence as he leaves the platform for the streets above, and the coming Hunt.

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