A Scripta

He opened his eyes to look upon bright lights. He squinted for a moment, then the lights were taken away. He blinked and turned away seconds later. He felt something press against his arm, his bicep, and he turned confusedly to look at it.

A band restrained his arm, then he focused beyond it to the room. He saw a wall, painted white. He looked down at his chest. The same band on his arm was across his chest. He looked to his left to see the same band around that arm. Someone called, "Nate. Hey, Nate."

He turned his head to the voice, to look at a man with very dark skin, bald, with glasses. "Is that my name?" he asked, surprised that he could speak, that he could form words. He was surprised that he was surprised.

The man smiled, his glasses began to fog up. "Yes, yes, that's your name."

"Oh." He watched as the man stepped back, removing his glasses. He tried to sit up but something held him down.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry. The other prototypes were sometimes violent." He started to undo the straps. He focused on the straps being undone, then watched the dark man step away. He held out his hand. "Give me your hand." He did, and the dark man pulled him up to a sitting position. "There. Are you hungry?"

"I think so," he replied.

"Okay, let's get you something. I think I have some soup. Don't try to stand yet."

He - Nate, my name is Nate - nodded and watched the man step around some boxes and leave the room. He studied the place for a moment, table, chairs, counters. He said not to try to stand, but he really felt the need to, that he could. He looked down at his hands, couldn't judge his size.

The man came back in, bearing a mug with smoke coming from it. "Cup o' soup, best I could do. Nate liked chicken noodle."

He tilted his head. "Nate liked?"

The dark man stopped for a minute. He didn't focus on him as he smiled. "You like chicken noodle soup." He handed Nate the mug, handle-first.

"You know my name," he said, sipping the hot broth, "what's yours?"

"Darcy."

"Am I brought back to life?"

"Kind of." He hooked a foot around the leg of a nearby plastic chair and pulled it toward him. "You're a clone."

He stared at Darcy, then laughed. "Really? I didn't think they could do that yet."

"I cheated."

"I don't understand."

Darcy sat down. "I had some of Nathan's blood - blood before he turned into a psycho - and I copied it. I copied it a few times. And added a few compounds."

He tilted his head again.

"And then I used this body." He motioned toward Nate.

He looked down. "This is somebody else's body? Like Frankenstein?"

He shook his head vigerously. "No! No! Not like that!" Darcy looked genuinely worried.

Nate watched him, concerned. "Darcy, hey, uh, it's okay, I guess, I mean, I'm here now."

"Yeah, you are. Drink up, guy. I need to know what you remember."

"Remember about what?"

"Your life."

He grinned and sipped the soup. "Darcy, I was just born."

Darcy merely blinked, then smiled. "Yeah, Tabula Rasa. Then let me tell you what I know." Darcy explained who Nathan was to him. He told Nate about the times they shared as kids, then as adults as they worked on each of their projects. Darcy told him of Nathan's drug, and of his own synthetic rock-creating armor. After telling him of how much Nate tried to easing pain, he told him about the Peacebringer joining, something he hadn't expected at all. Then about Ben, how he tried to kill him then save him.

Nate sat listening, stunned at the story. Darcy finished it, "So when I heard he'd gotten out of prison, even though he was under guard, I knew I needed to get out of Paragon. I came here to Houston. But I missed Nate, the old Nate. I knew it was possible. I needed to get the cells together and find a surrogate mother." He trailed off, looking up at him. "But I couldn't wait that long. I found an Arachnos tank. Don't ask, I never asked my supplier, I paid the astronomical fee and started work.

"You're the sixteenth try, Nate. The other ones died the minute the came out of the solution. Some had a hearbeat but no brain function. Some worked but almost tried to kill me. I had a heartbeat and brainwaves from you. I had to strap you down because I didn't know what would happen after you woke up."

Nate laughed. "You did the work but you didn't expect any results? That's funny."

Darcy rubbed the back of his head absently and blushed. "Science."

"I don't understand but, all right." He handed the mug back to Darcy. "Should I stand up now?"

"Go ahead."

Nate turned his legs and dangled them off the edge of the bed, and jumped off the bed, placing his feet firmly on the floor.

Then he burst into flame.

The door opened on its own volition as Masonry and Keen Frost stood aside and watched it.

"I think he does that to intentionally scare people," Mase said, and stepped inside. Frosty watched the door close behind them, turned, and came face-to-face with a shade. He gulped, the shade merely stared.

Meanwhile, shades converged on Masonry. Frosty watched as small cuts appeared on his shirt, blood seeping through. "Mase!"

"It's okay, his spirits don't like me."

"'s cuz yer strange to 'em, mate."

With a wave of Womby's hand, the shades disappeared with howls. Frosty shivered involuntarily. Womby had changed since the last time they saw each other, when Womby handed him the fiery jewel that caused his soul to burn, that caused him to almost kill Mase, that accelerated his radiation poisoning. Then, Womby looked always slightly distracted, as if listening to distant voices - which he was. Now he looked stronger, more in-this-world, standing in the doorway dressed in robes and his feet bare.

"Hey there, Frosty. Heard 'bout the charm. Sorry 'fer the trouble."

Frosty shrugged.

"But ya came out stronger fer'it. What c'n I do fer ya both?"

Masonry said, "We need you to find someone for us."

"Finders 'r over in Skyway City, there's a whole block of 'em."

"He's over in the Rogue Isles. We thought maybe one of your spirits could look for him."

Womby's eyes narrowed. "Spirits ain' bloodhounds."

Frosty looked down. Womby glanced at Frosty, then looked again at Masonry. "'s fer Frosty?"

"Yeah," Frosty said. "My guardian. He went to the Rogue Isles. I don't know why."

"I c'u'd fin' that out fer ya, if ya want."

Frosty nodded.

Masonry said, "But we really want to know if he's alive or not. He's worried sick."

Womby turned to Masonry with a hard glare. "He c'n speak fer 'imself."

"No, he's right," said Frosty. "I do want to know if Old Man is alive."

Womby looked from one to the other. "Since i's fer you, Frosty, I'll do it." He thumbed toward Masonry. "Not fer yer boyfriend, 'ere."

Frustrated, Masonry muttered, "What the hell have I done that so many people hate me?"

Glancing at Masonry, Womby shook his head. "C'mon upstairs, Frosty. Bring 'im if ya wanna."

They went into the warehouse and up a set of stairs to a second floor. On the landing was a collection of a hodgepodge of items, from bits of tech to the shoulders of a clockwork Prince. There were long staves that Life Mages used, and some dusty robes, hats, and belts.

He went into his work area. This was mostly a large space, with one area in the corner near the windows that had a desk, and shelves full of all sorts of jars, boxes and books. He brought them over there, cleared books off a chair, and motioned Frosty to sit down. Masonry stood behind the chair, like an alabaster statue.

"So tell me 'bout yer guardian, there."

~~To be continued on Keen's blog or a reprint here of his FF posting~~

Rosie barely remembered waking up, the hospital, the realization of her ability to call up a chilling air around her.  But she did remember sitting down on a wooden chair in the sun room, and it broke beneath her.

She tipped the scales at just under 400lbs.  They told her it was her density, not her weight, it wasn't her fault.  Ice weighs more than water, they told her.  That didn't make her feel any better, considering her weight had always been listed as off the insurance charts.

Then, to find out that out of thirty of them, nine survived.  Four disappeared, so she never got a chance to find out about them ((option for villains)).  The remaining five were gathered into a room and told, "You have some sort of ability with ice.  You're now meta-humans.  Here's your ID's.  The plane for Paragon City leaves in an hour.  Good luck."

Rosie's head spun.  Who are these people?

One was a kid, who looked a shade over the drinking age of 19; three others looked around her age.  Ken was a sports nut who wanted to get back into baseball, as he had been drafted just before they left.  Crystal seemed slightly scatterbrained.  She had wanted to be an English teacher.  Bob reminded her of "the nerd who'll act cool to fit in".  Rosie felt a little bad for him - she would accept him as he was.  Lastly was a girl who didn't stick around long enough for her to even ask her name. 

Rosie was excited enough to play with her powers, until she found out some information using the new technology called "the Internet."  She planned on contacting her parents to let them know what was going on, that she was going to live in Paragon and get her masters' at Paragon university.  It would make her father proud.

Her mother had died of a heart attack in their home twelve years ago.  Her father died exactly a year later from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.  Her brother David moved to Vancouver to establish an OB/GYN practice there; her sister Lilly moved to Florida.  She closed the window and never went to look for her family again.

"Mase, Why don't you take up a martial art?"

"Can you see a big guy like me kicking things across the room?"

"There's other kinds of things. Ninjutsu. Kempo. Akido."

"A ninja, Daisuke? Do I look sneaky to you?"

"Okay, maybe not that. Go see Elysia, I bet she can help you."

Which explained why he was leaning against a wall watching some women perform basic exercise moves, while Elysia led them. Then she brought out some wooden swords. They performed more exercise with the swords.

Masonry watched, slightly confused, as they then packed up and left. He watched as Elysia came over to him. "Hello, Masonry-san."

"Oh, don't start with the honorifics. If you're going to teach me, call me Nate."

She smiled, "All right, Nate. What do you know about karate?"

"Not a damn thing."

"Here then," and she tossed the wooden sword at him. He deftly plucked it from the air. He stared at her. "Swing it at me." He twirled it in his hand as if it was second nature and swung it toward her head. She tilted back to avoid it.

She nodded. "You have the basics."

"It's a lot lighter than a mace."

"It's not meant to use your body mass to make it stronger." She took up another wooden sword. "While your mace is a bull, the katana is a bee."

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?" He chuckled, then got whacked in the side of the head with Elysia's wooden sword. "Hey!"

She smiled at him. "There's some padding in the other room if you need to put it on."

"You're starting now?"

"You're always going to be learning, Nate, might as well start now." She swung again, still keeping her eyes on his, and he blocked it with his arm, also keeping his eyes on hers. "If that was a real sword, I would have slashed that arm in half."

He nodded, took his arm down. "I have a lot to learn."

"Let's start with some basic katas so you become centered. Follow what I do..."

"One thing, Elysia?"

She smiled back at him. "I won't tell Hisagi, unless he asks me."

He sighed, and began to mirror Elysia's movements.

ScrapperMase's origin
Dunkel's epiphany
Rosie the Ice Riveter
FTL Hush Hush - Rusty's update

The one I'm having most trouble with is the epiphany. What stops an evil creature from doing evil things? With Mase, it was the unconditional love of Daisuke and the saturation of being "evil". Bomber's not really evil. The Nazis believe what they're doing is right and it's the world that's wrong. I couldn't come up with much:

Peer pressure

Someone's better than him (a Peacebringer bested him? Is Dunk the type to believe in revenge?)

He's ostracized from the rest of the Nictus once they find out that he didn't *really* take over the host's body and mind. ("Go live among the humans as a Warshade, but we will summon you when we need you," and when they do, he refuses, then the Nazi hunters get notified, and to reinforce things, he's told the Peacebringers did this.)

Tired of the Nictus (I'm thinking, though, he's a relatively new transplant - say only a few hundred years' old).

He's really a Peacebringer at heart. NO. NO. NO.

He assimilates and accepts Pen's feeling about the world. This I'll have a hard time explaining. It will also have to show that Dunk *is* Pen, but sometimes the two of them have opposite opinions of the same thing - Pen runs into mobs; Dunk hangs back. (That's the nature of the Nova form, anyway.)

Well, enough staring at this page.

I remember watching Barney and PBS all morning.  I don't remember why my husband was home early, but we had to go to pay some bills, so we went for a ride.  About halfway into the drive I put the radio on and heard "All planes have been grounded."

Say what?

I remember getting bits and pieces, trying to put together what was going on.  I knew there was an attack in New York.  For about 15 minutes until we drove to Sears to pay the bills, they didn't mention exactly what was going on.  I remember that I thought it was a nuclear attack, and being that we're on the eastern seaboard, if the winds blew right we were going to get the fallout.

It was about 1 pm before I got to see what had actually happened.  We went to the TV section of Sears and watched the playback.  I tried really hard not to laugh - yes, that's callous - because I was relieved that it wasn't a nuclear bomb.

February 1983, University of Washington, Seattle.

"Tammy, what's in Alaska besides polar bears?" Rosie Santos shoved her glasses up on her nose.

"C'mon, Rosie, I don't wanna go by myself!"

Rosie sighed. Tammy wanted to go on this trip to Fairbanks, Alaska to watch the auroras. It would be extra credit for Tammy's astronomy course - which she so far had a good solid C in. Money wasn't an issue for Rosie - her parents were surgeons in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Rosie knew it was an excuse for a bunch of college kids to get together and have wild orgies at night. She knew from experience that she would be out of that party.

The two had been roommates since freshman year. Many times they were called Abbot and Costello, with Rosie being the Costello. Rosie's saving grace was her easy disposition. However, college guys didn't want short fat girls who were there to actually learn. Tammy got her laid for the first and only time in her life; Rosie got her to pass Western Civ I and II. It was an even exchange.

"Watch the auroras, huh?" She looked back down at her book.

"Daaaanny's gonna be there," said Tammy, her hair-sprayed high hair bopping as she sang the word. She'd had her eye on Danny ever since he said he was interested in the history of art deco. He wasn't a looker - but, then, neither was she - so she took it any where she could get it.

"Okay, how much are the tickets?"



The trip was limited to 30 because that's how many the small two-engined plane from Anchorage to Fairbanks could hold. From Fairbanks, the bus would take them a few hours north away from city lights.

Rosie got to sit with a Michael Davidson on the ride from Seattle to Anchorage. He was one of the other astronomy students. His major was music, so their conversations were interesting but sometimes got technical. Daaaaanny sat with a pretty blond, so Rosie knew she'd lost him.

After they got to Anchorage, they switched to the smaller plane. Rosie was put on last, and she knew why - they needed to know where to balance the weight, since she weighed more than the average passenger. She pushed her glasses up, knowing there was nothing she could do about it, and plopped herself into the seat. She sat by herself. She pulled out her copy of Different Seasons by Stephen King and settled in to read.


Tom Naisbitt was also reading, a Book of Shadows disguised as a simple paperback novel. He tried not to mutter the complicated words, knowing if he gave them sound, something could very well happen.

His purpose in this trip was to try and tap into the power of the aurora. He already knew how to control the weather somewhat: Create a breeze, offer lightning in a rainstorm. His teacher gave him this book to study, but he hadn't found anything about auroras. He didn't even know if they had anything to do with the weather.

He glanced out the window, around the sleeping form of another student. It was snowing; he could barely see the wing. How can a pilot fly in this? They don't need to see where they're going, do they?

He returned to his book, and it was a short time later that the plane jerked upwards suddenly. Anyone who was standing was catapulted to the rear of the plane. Tom knew the plane was struggling to climb, but now with most of the weight at the rear, it wouldn't get going fast enough -

Tom gripped the arm of his chair, trying to ignore the screaming, trying to remember the words to call winds to carry them -

The plane's starboard wing sheered off, and the body split in half four seats back from that wing. As rear of the plane disappeared into the howl of the blizzard, Tom felt the section he was in spin with a loud screech of metal and slam to a complete stop.

Tom felt something in his stomach. He looked to see the student sitting next to him, his eyes glazed in death, and looked down to see himself impaled on a piece of metal that had gone through his companion and now into him.

Tom focused, hearing screams and moans around him, and closed his eyes, blocking them out. A spell came unbidden, and he shouted the words into the face of the storm, then collapsed.

Slowly, ice began to encompass some of the people who were left on the plane. As they died, the ice stopped - but for some, the ice enveloped them, kept them barely alive - until they were rediscovered.

In August, 2007.

(( Feedback? ))

The Overlord came around the doorframe of Ges' room.  "Heil Hitler," Ges saluted.

The Overlord waved a hand in dismissal.  "[Eule senses something wrong.]"

"[That...that...creature.  Havoc.]"

The Overlord crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.  "['Creature?']"

"[It's not a man.  It's something, something else.]"

"[No, it's not a man.]"

"[It was fine before it came back. Now it's different.  It makes my hair stand on end.  The people that follow it are empty.]" He shivered.  "[Except that demon.]"

"[Are you afraid of Havoc,] Geistmeister?" he said, using Ges' full name.  The name itself meant "Ghost Master" or "Shadow Master".  He didn't raise an eyebrow, look curiously at him, or mean anything negative by the question.

Ges sat down on the cot in the room.  "[I am afraid of what it can do to me.]"

"[Those that follow it did so voluntarily.  They knew what they wanted.  They were willing to give up themselves.]"  The Overlord leaned against the doorframe. "[You will someday be as powerful as you used to be.  It takes time, Geistmeister, and constant use of your powers.  But here is where you're stronger right now: it will never be a man, no matter what it does.]"

Ges looked up at his commanding officer and whispered, "[What if that's not what it wants to be?]"

The Overlord looked steadily at him.  "[Then evil is loose upon the world.]"

As they strapped him down to the table he heard his commanding officer’s voice in his head: “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Heinrich Wachtner was a techno-geek before it was considered cool. In 1943, he was one of the first houses on the block with a new “moving picture in a box.” He had motion picture cameras, repeating automatic pistols, even a hand held radio. So when word came down of a new technologically advanced program looking for volunteers, Wachtner begged his CO to let him go.

Major Kurt Kohut wasn’t too thrilled with losing his most able adjutant to the results of an experiment, but he was young himself, and understood the yearnings of trying new and exciting things. So he reluctantly agreed.

Before he got on the train to Munich, the major asked one more time. It was that voice that Wachtner heard as the pieces of the metal suit were strapped onto him. It came even louder and clearer as he saw the look of sorrow in the doctor'e eyes as they strapped the helmet on.

There was pain. Then blackness.

They called it the Panzermenschen Projekt. Personal body armor that protected its wear against anything. It would keep them warm in Siberia, cool in Tunis; plus it had firepower, and it was comfortable. Most of it turned out to be true except for one thing. They didn’t tell him the armor was possessed.

When he awoke, his vision was crystal clear. He certainly felt heavier, and he felt stronger than he ever had been. He turned his head.

I believe they can remove the helmet now.

Wachtner nodded and waited. “Go ahead,” he said.

Suddenly people flocked to his bed. He could see them through the visor of the helmet, staring at him with all looks of concern and fear. “This one’s alive! And talking!”

Someone removed his helmet and a doctor asked, “Do you know who you are?”

“Heinrich Wachtner--” Dark Matter.

“What do you do?”

“I’m the adjutant to Major Karl Kohurt in 5. Panzerdivision Wiking.” I am a hunter and destroyer of the so-called Peacebringer faction of the Kheldian race.

“Where are you?”

“Munich, I think.” Yes, this is Munich.

Two people helped him sit up at the doctor’s direction. “Disoriented? Dizzy?”

“No, not really—“ No.

“Good!” came a voice of a man in an army uniform. He wore the red tabbed color of a general, and Wachtner saluted him. “Heil Hitler!”

The general waved his hand in acknowledgment. “It is indeed rare for one of us to survive this procedure,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his purple eyes. “What is your name?”

“Heinrich Wachtner—“ Dark Matter. “Who are you?” Who are you?

The man’s eyebrow went up. “Really. You have assumed your host’s name. Very interesting.”

“That is my name,” Wachtner protested. That is his name and I happen to like it better than Dunkel Materiel.

The general began laughing. “Excellent. Your host doesn’t even know he’s being used. Your name will bleed out in its own time. Now come with me.” He turned on the ball of his foot and headed toward the door. Wachtner slowly swung awkwardly off the bed, not used to the armor. They put the helmet back on him as the general opened the door to let himself out.