NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: For a prologue of sorts, read Pages 4-5 of this (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=526610&page=4).

IC:

Evil walks behind you
Evil sleeps beside you
Evil talks arouse you
Evil walks behind you

--AC/DC, "Evil Walks."

The locals around Bargal, Somalia, had spoken of a ghost, an evil spirit that wandered the deserts of the locale their town was in. They said that at night, travelers could see the shadow of a figure wandering the desert. A black shade of sorts. Never staying in one place, but exuding an aura of cold and evil when one could get close to it--or got the balls to do so.

Some said it was a vengeful spirit, perhaps wronged in life and struck down by the many Clan Wars in Somalia. Perhaps a jilted wife. Or a swindled businessman.

Others said it was a djinn, from Arabia, let loose by some Arab tourist who forgot the close the bottle the genie came in. But this djinn didn't give wishes. It in fact, seemed to hurt. Then again, that's what djinn did--trick people, the locals said.

Some said it was a demon of some kind. There were tales of men who went into the desert, and left mad.

A myriad of explanations, all wrong.

For it was worse than they would think.....

---------------------------------------------

Thomas Allenby (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v630/Senor_Nb3/Master_with_laser_screwdriver.png) parked his Triumph Bonneville outside of a ruined house on the coast, which looked like it used to house a dock of some kind. He dismounted the cycle, pulled out his PDA, and began pushing a few buttons to bring up the map for the local area. The map came up, and he couldn't read it all that well. He then mumbled, "Oh bugger," in a Recieved Pronunciation accent.

To be honest, he was really lost. Somalia was not his territory, and he had only visited to do an "Allaire." That is, to prove oneself by traveling to a really nasty part of the world and coming out to tell about it. Well, so far, all he had to tell was that he was lost. Again. These were bad roads, at least as bad as his Somali. Was it not for the fact that the Puntlanders understood some English and the Force was on his side, he'd be completely lost.

He licked his finger and put it up in the air. Using the Force, he would decide to do some directional tricks.

As he did this, however, he felt a presence. He ignited his People's Acolytes lightsaber, and turned around. Nothing. Turned again. Nothing.

Then, it hit him. A cry of supernatural terror, and a wind knocking him down, compressing his chest. He used the Force to resist, and roll around to resist whatever was attacking him. He eventually rolled free of the presence, and then looked about.

A black cloud formed up. Then, it took on a man like shape. Tom then threw up Force Wall, and used his Force Lightning to try and shock the creature. However, the cloud dissipated only, and later reformed in another place.

Tom then held his saber out in a neutral stance, befitting the California School. Then, Tom called out, "In the name of the People's Will, I demand to know who you are!"

The ghost said nothing, only thrusting Tom's arms to the side. Tom's gut then felt like it was punched, and then he felt punched in the balls. Then, he felt an evil miasma open his mouth....

He screamed as the ghost entered its way into his system. Then, he felt his mind being flayed. He cringed, and cried "GET OUT OF MY MIND!!!!" as he rolled on the ground, spasming and resisting the thing inside him.

Then, the ghost spoke.

"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star. So said Nietzche."

Then the last thing Tom saw in his own body was nothingness. Then, he felt himself being astrally projected, not willingly. Then, with horror, Tom saw his own body get back up, eyes glowing with malice. With an evil grin, the not-Tom walked to the motorcycle, and drove away.

------------------

The new body was a good thing. It was better than his old one. Less skinny, flabby, maligned by years of pollution, a fatty Eastern European diet, the like. He sniffed the air, and felt the raw energy run through him. This man, this Acolyte, had great Force sensitivity. He looked at the man's badge. London, eh? He had admired Shakespeare. Father Mikhail had copious amounts of the Bard on tap in his library. John Donne, the Stuart Restoration.....all great works. He then smiled and told himself, "Then to London I go."

And with that, and a plane ticket on the next transport out of Somalia, he could ride again. Live again. And, perhaps show the world his powers again. So what if they came from human darkness? Father Mikhail had warned him about evil, but he was evil. He had failed to defend him from the police when they wanted him for finally striking back against those who would torment him. And for that, the hypocrite, the Satanite, had paid. And frankly, as far as he was concerned, the old moralities no longer applied to him.

And the world would know the power of the Monster of Kazan once more. "For whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee."

"... Using the force can be a huge burden, as the Jedi have once proven. Without the right mental discipline, it is easy to fall astray and fall to the dark side. However the Jedi's philosophy is flawed, hard to understand. The second order changed their code, so that it'd be easier for new comers to follow. However, they failed to make one more change. Something which the Malkir and, much later on, the People's Acolytes have done. The Malkir have been around long enough to be able to use the force, dark or light, and still be able to use them for the greater good. Like the Jedi.

However, we're not afraid to use the darker powers for we have enough mental discipline to be able to avoid the path of destruction. However... Jesse! Stop staring at Mrs. Yang's chest! I'm sure that she won't appreciate it... And practice your mind blocks. I wouldn't have found out quite so easily if you have been."

Yet another lecture at the London Acolyte academy. As a part of his recent return from his spy mission not only one year or so ago, Magriel has been going from lecture to lecture. Unfortunately for the Masaki boy, Jesse has to come along too. The year has been proven to be unproductive for the two of them, having to be pulled away from the Dark Crusade against the Coredians. Though as fate has it, their year is about to get... Interesting.

OOC: Some content below not for the squeamish. Discretion advised.

IC:

Interesting indeed.

Boris Tereshkov, now known to the public as Thomas Allenby, Novitiate 1st Class of the People's Acolytes Temple of Greater London, had breezed through customs. It seemed being a member of this group had its advantages, as the moment he had his badge shown he got a much more leinient treatment than the man behind him. He sensed that man was bitter about it. But he didn't say anything, not wanting to give away his cover.

He stepped out into the environs around him. London wasn't foggy like the novels he read as a youth said, but it was sure busy. Cars were about, people hustled and bustled from place to place--it was teeming with life and people moving en masse, yet anonomously, throughout their lives.

He smiled. These people. They had no idea that the one who walked among them with the badges of authority they trusted was the nastiest wolf in sheep's clothing to stalk the herd.

Looking at the man's watch, he then checked his wallet for any cash. Sure enough there was a Barclaycard, and abour USD$50 of New Dornalian cash. He figured it was enough to live on, for now. Now, where to take up residence? Where did this fellow used to live?

He looked around in his pockets, eventually finding the man's PDA. Touching a few things on it, it turned back on, and he eventually accessed the Address Book function. Sure enough, it revealed where his new--well, new to Boris--home would be.

With that, he turned the PDA off, and entered the Underground. Paying his ticket, he then sauntered into the first train to Islington.

Whilst on the train, he was next to a man with a shaved head, having nowhere else to go as it was packed. The man turned to him and sneered, saying, "Move over, you sod."

Boris then replied, shaking his head calmly, "Hmm....I can't. There's no room, I'm sorry."

The skinhead then got agitated, saying, "Then at least keep yer bum to yourself, you fairy! I've got me personal space!" He then turned around, intent on ending the argument right there.

Of course, that's not what Boris intended to happen. This man just insulted his sexuality, and that was something he wasn't willing to stand. Without warning, he held his hand out just a little, and began squeezing it. He also used the Force to obscure his presence on the train even further, to prevent himself from being noticed.

The offending skinhead would then begin to feel an inability to breathe. Oh yes. He would then begin to gasp for air, and stumble about, crying, "HELP!" in a hoarse and feeble voice, trying to poke people for assistance but with nobody replying to his aid.

A voice then came into his head.

"I'm sorry, but no one is available to take your request right now. Please hold for further assistance."

He looked around, eager for the source of the message. Then, he turned and saw Boris in Thomas' body, smiling evilly. He then sent another Force message, saying to him, "You know, its scum like you that make society the shithole it is today. Really."

The skinhead then began collapsing from lack of oxygen. As this occurred, Boris, concluded with, "But don't think of me, dear misguided soul. Think of Shakespeare. It was, after all, the Bard who said 'Everyone ought to bear patiently the results of his own conduct.' Like you are now."

The skinhead turned to see, in his final moments, Boris lording over him with an evil smile. He then made a sniffing sound, and breathed in the man's soul--and with that, the skinhead passed from this Earth.

Of course, once Boris did this, he realized people would find out somebody died on the subway. So, he waved his hand, and said, "Rise up, my son," darkly parodying Father Mikhail's old admonition when Boris came to cry on his knee.

And with that, the man's body crackled with energy, and then rose up again. With a blank look on its face and a slight moan, he began wandering about, bumping into things. Boris then ended the Force concealment and left once the train hit Islington, but not before taking some cash from the man's wallet.

He then hired a cab, and uneventfully arrived at his flat. Fortunately, he was single, so nobody was there to get suspicious. Well, maybe except for, a school Principal at a local Public School, named St. Edmund's Grammar School. She left a message wondering when he would be coming back from his sojourn for that second interview as an English teacher.

He smiled. A chance to put his academic expertise to work.

"I am not staring at her chest." Jesse replied, grumbling.

Sometimes, he wondered why Master Magriel dragged him off to all these lectures, despite having pledged himself to his training. And in England, of all places! Land of the Tea and the Scones! At least the rich kids weren't too bad, since he was used to mingling with the rich and influencial in his mother's court. Still, it made him wonder what his Master had in mind for him here...

The interview went well. Boris, er, Thomas Allenby got the job teaching English at the school.

The Principal seemed impressed enough by his demeanor. She was a sucker for culture, and Boris, in his new skin, rolled out all the manners and enunciated diction his newly possessed Recieved Pronunciation accent conveyed. It also helped he was a Ph.d in Literature back in Russia. He put those skills to work, impressing her with his knowledge of how Shakespeare could be analyzed by both Communists and Capitalists--which had been his thesis in his old life!

Thus, he left the job fulfilled. What now? A pub, perhaps! The famous English fish and chips! He wanted to experience this land, and taste what Dickens tasted.

Then, a phone call.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice on the other side greeted him in a cheery tone, but one filled with some concern. "Tommy! It's Jacks (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v630/Senor_Nb3/Asagi_Ayase.jpg), over at the Temple. Where've you been?"

Jacks? This was new. The badge--ah, well, badges didn't tell about people. He decided to play along.

"Umm....I've been at an interview, actually. For that job."

With that, Jacks replied with great curiosity: "The job! The one over at the school? Did you get it?"

Boris was slightly uncomfortable; he was never good dealing with women, especially after the hell his mother put him through. And now, he had possessed a body with a girlfriend! "Make mental note--next body, make it a single," he thought, using a mind block.

Boris, as Tom, then replied, "Yes. I did."

Then, Tom was greeted with a, "Congratulations! That's great! But wait....how did you do the interview if you were in Somalia?"

Boris had to fake an explanation, and fast.

"I got the flu, over there. You know, Chinese stomach flu. Ate some of the local victuals that didn't agree with me."

A pause. Then a skeptical but somewhat happy tone nonetheless.

"I see. But that's funny....."

Boris then insistently cut her off, replying, "Look, the important thing is that I'm in London again, and got the Job. Now, where can I meet up with you?"

A laugh.

"You mean you've been with me for five years, and ya don't remember? I'm at the Temple, going through my exercises. I always do so at this time of day."

Now, Boris laughed nervously, and then said, "My mistake. I'll see you there, dear."

"Alright. Maybe we can go to dinner later?"

"Perhaps. Bye."

He then hung up, and hailed a taxi to the Temple.....

-----------------

As he entered the Temple, he sensed all of the Force presences there. Oh yes. It was like that chase in Volgograd all over again. The Acolyte who chased him had a distinct bent to his soul as he sucked it down, and he could feel that same bent and conviction now in all of these people, training to their fullest potential.

Sensei Lynworth then walked up to him, and then bowed and extended her hand, saying, "Comrade Allenby! You're back early!"

"Tom" then gave the same excuse he did to Jacks, and then excused himself for the restroom.

As "Tom" shook Lynworth's hand, she felt a distinct chill to it. Something wasn't right with Tom Allenby, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. After all, his early return was surprising...indeed, almost suspicious.

She had learned to be wary of the Dark.....the touch brought back memories....nasty memories.....

------------------

Belfast, Northern Ireland, 10 Years Ago

In her former life, Sensei had been Sergeant Emma McKinnon Lynworth (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v630/Senor_Nb3/SERAS.jpg), an intelligence soldier serving with the Parachute Regiment. During the years before MacIntyre, when the United Kingdom was part of the Western Imperial Confederacy of England, North France, Ireland, and the Low Countries, the Irish Catholics had attempted a rebellion against the Imperial Confederacy, along with the Welsh and Occupied Scotland. Weakened by a war with the Greater Russo-German-Turkic-Arabic Empire, which had siezed Paris only a short time before in humiliating sham battle, the minorities within the UK felt once more emboldened to shake off their masters. Or try to.....

"SPOOKY!"

Major McDonough (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v630/Senor_Nb3/200px-28dayschris.jpg) called Lynworth forward. Back then, everybody called Lynworth "Spooky," because ever since she was a child she was always able to do things other kids weren't able to. Make high jumps onto trees when other kids had to climb, read people's minds.....she was something alright. Fortunately for her, she didn't end up like the Monster of Kazan; her parents were loving and her friends merely fascinated by them.

Looking down at the desk and not turning his head up as she saluted, McDonough then said curtly, "We have a high level IRA officer held in the back."

She said, "You want me to interrogate him, sir?"

"Yes, Spooky. Use your powers to figure out what kind of info he's got. And don't go turning him into roasted goose while you're at it."

Wincing and avoiding saying anything, Lynworth said, "Understood."

She then did an about hace and walked out. She hated these jobs. Interrogation always somehow brought out the worst in her....

....then, memories of that one interrogation, the one that nearly sent her to prison, came back. Ugh.

....it caused her to shudder a little.

She had changed now, and was a much more serene person. A born again. But she knew the Dark still from her past life, and could feel an unhealthy dose of it in this man.

------------------

Indeed, as Boris went to the toilet, all the Acolytes around him felt a sudden dread...and the toilet happened to be by the lecture room where Magriel and Jesse were....

"How many times am I going to tell you to not second guess me? My mind is still more powerful than yours, despite the fact that you are my apprentice. We will not go through the Concentration lessons again after class," he paused in sentence to give this some thought, "unless you think it'd be a good idea for me to give Lynworth a call and have her use the Chinese Water Torture on you to make it stick in your mind this time." He started to continue his lecture on "The Force and its Dangers to the Undisciplined" when he felt the disturbance... It was Boris, now Tom, next store in the restrooms. "On second thought, why don't you go investigate the bathrooms? I feel... A disturbance."

The Metropolitan Police detective arrived at the street corner in Islington to find an Indian man with a knife, being questioned by police, and a rather large crowd of onlookers. Down on the ground was another man. A corpse, to be exact. What used to be evidently a skinhead, complete with white nationalist paraphrenalia and all.

The MP man walked out of his small London Metro saloon car and flashed his badge, saying, "Sgt. Wilkins, London Metropolitan Police. What seems to be the trouble?" One of the other officers questioning the Indian turned to Sgt. Wilkins, and said in a rough, guttural voice, "Well, Sarge, this Paki--"

Wilkins then held his hand up and said, sternly: "Officer, we do not use that word here. The proper term is British Asian. Please continue." Duly chastised, the Officer then said, "Anywho, this man says this crazy bastard here attacked him. Tried to bite claw, scratch, everything. Had to get the knife out to beat him off. We're interviewing the witnesses now."

Sgt. Wilkins nodding, said, "May I see the scene and the suspect?" The officer let him through, nodding. Wilkins walked up to the Indian man, and said, "I'm Sgt. Wilkins of--"

The Indian turned and frantically shouted to the man, "I told you! He attacked me! I didn't start it! I am a Sikh, I have a dagger, it is part of my religious traditions. I am not crazy! Besides, the MacIntyre Government says we can have guns now, so why am I a bother!?" Wilkins then tried to reassure the Indian, saying, "Calm down. I'm not here to accuse you. I just want to talk."

He then pulled out a pad of paper, saying, "What's your name?"

The Indian said, with a harumph, "Sanjay Singh."

Wilkins then asked, "Could you explained what happened here?"

Sanjay replied, "I was walking down the street to try and get to work, when suddenly this crazy skinhead comes at me. I'm thinking he wants to bother me. So I tell him to stop. But then, he growls and swipes like an animal. Like he's feral or rabid something! So I try to go away, but then he lunges at me, and tries to attack me with a bite! I swipe at him, kick him, punch him, but he won't go down. Then, I pull out my dagger, and warn him if he doesn't go away, I will stab him. He does not, he lunges again and attacks, I stab, and keep going until he stops. That is the truth."

Wilkins acknowledged Sanjay with a simple, "Thank you," before walking to the corpse. He looked at it, and noticed the stab wounds.

Something was amiss. Where was the blood? Why did the subject have petechial hemoraging around his eyes? Something was up. And with that, Sgt. Wilkins walked to the officer he asked before and said, "Officer. Did any of the witnesses notice a strangling, by any chance, then stabbing?"

The officer then said, "No. None of the passersby we questioned mentioned anything about that. They just mentioned the British Asian here got into a scuffle, then stabbed the man when he refused to back off. Besides, you don't have to be a smart one to know that stabbing a guy after strangling 'im would be redundant?" The Officer then let out a laugh.

But Sgt. Wilkins was not laughing. And as he thought of the corpse, something struck him as very off about the situation. Off indeed.

Several Hours Later

It was only later at the Morgue that indeed, his worse suspicions were confirmed. Wilkins checked in with the report from the autopsy--which was quite surprising indeed.

"Subject name was Dunheath...died of strangulation at about 1200-1300 GMT...as amazing as this seems, stabbing did not seem to contribute to death...wounds did not bleed...livor mortis and some rigor mortis setting in..."

This did, however, cause a trigger in Wilkins's mind. If Mr. Singh's stabs didn't send the skinhead to the choir invisible, but instead strangulation did....who strangled him? Singh didn't--the witnesses were generally united in that assumption, and the attack in broad daylight would ensure the accuracy of this. But then who did? There were some fingerprints found on the wallet. For now, that was all they had to go on.

For that matter, who the hell was going to believe that Mr. Singh, in essence, had killed not a live human being but a zombie?! This was going to be a hell of a year....

"How many times am I going to tell you to not second guess me? My mind is still more powerful than yours, despite the fact that you are my apprentice. We will not go through the Concentration lessons again after class," he paused in sentence to give this some thought, "unless you think it'd be a good idea for me to give Lynworth a call and have her use the Chinese Water Torture on you to make it stick in your mind this time." He started to continue his lecture on "The Force and its Dangers to the Undisciplined" when he felt the disturbance... It was Boris, now Tom, next store in the restrooms. "On second thought, why don't you go investigate the bathrooms? I feel... A disturbance."

"All right, Master." Janus sighed as he moved towards the bathrooms. Being Magriel's apprentice was rather...interesting these days. But he was learning things denied to him by his erstwhile mother and that was a plus, no matter his irritation with his Master.

"All right, Master." Janus sighed as he moved towards the bathrooms. Being Magriel's apprentice was rather...interesting these days. But he was learning things denied to him by his erstwhile mother and that was a plus, no matter his irritation with his Master.

Boris walked up to a urinal, and unzipped his fly. As he did his business, he sighed, glad to get away from these people and to escape detection. Acolytes may have had the tendency to crumple like paper--well, most of the lower level ones at least--but they also had an annoying tendency to show keen insight, and come in great numbers when it came time to dispense their brand of justice. He had to play it cool, play the part well. His doctorate didn't cover drama, but years of hiding out from the police had given him a small bit of theater training.

With that, he breathed in, and out. In, and out. He concentrated, and recognized--

--that someone else was here. Looking for him. He looked out of the corner of his eye, as he saw someone coming in. Presumably from the lecture hall. He frantically tried to run into one of the stalls, and avoid detection.
----------

Somalia

Tom Allenby's spirit was wandering the remote outlands of Somalia, outside of Bargal. It had been a few days at least, since that....monster had divorced him forcefully from his body, and left him a ghost wandering around the land. "Godfuckingdamnit," he thought to himself. "I need a way to communicate. And get my fucking body back."

He trekked over the hill. As a wandering spirit, he didn't need food or drink, the usual needs of which shortages were plagues upon travelers in the desert. But he also had trouble communicating, too. And, as he was still starting out, he wasn't a very well developed ghost. He would appear a blob to most travelers. And forget the English language. He'd have to pick up sticks and write. Challenge being, his Somali was rather poor....

----------

London Metro HQ

"So you're saying, Mr. Singh was attacked by a zombie?"

Sgt. Wilkins nodded saying, "In essence, sir. A zombie raised by unknown means, possibly psychic or biological."

His boss, a stern man with a clean cut uniform, neat piles of papers, few family photos on his desk and a placard that read "Lieutenant Elliot McDonough" filed through the report. He then threw it into the trash and looked up at Wilkins. Wilkins recognized the look that came with the stare--one of skepticism and disbelief, that the Americans called "deer in the headlights." McDonough then crossed his arms, and said, snippily, "And next you're going to tell me that you saw a werewolf at Lee Ho Fook's, with a Chinese menu in his hand ordering beef chow mein and a Coca Cola."

Wilkins replied, "No, sir."

McDonough then got up, his hands firmly planted on the desk as he said, "Detective, we deal in facts. Not Hollywood Horror films. This police report makes a good movie, but it does not make for good summary of the Singh Case. You have fed me bullshit."

Wilkins stuttered, but then was interrupted by McDonough, who said, "Wilkins, let me tell you something. I believe in facts. I believe in results." Further interruptions were shot down, as McDonough continued his rant, saying, "Uh, uh! No. You did not give me facts. You gave me Hollywood, beam me up Scotty. No."

Wilkins then finally got his word in and said, "Sir. Those are my conclusions logically based on the facts. I have studied all known possible causes and options not involving psykery, magic, experimental weapons of mass destruction or other supernatural means. They did not match the facts. I even double checked them with the medical examiner and several men from the Forensics Department. They agree its a sound analysis."

McDonough, at this point, frowned, and his already stern face gazed at Wilkins with a look that could cut steel and destroy kittens a mile away.

"Mr. Wilkins. You will not go over my head again. You will not go around it. You will do your job. You will stop fucking with the supernatural, and stick to reality. Is that clear?"

Wilkins then saluted, saying, "Yes sir." He then left, shaking his head.

Boris walked up to a urinal, and unzipped his fly. As he did his business, he sighed, glad to get away from these people and to escape detection. Acolytes may have had the tendency to crumple like paper--well, most of the lower level ones at least--but they also had an annoying tendency to show keen insight, and come in great numbers when it came time to dispense their brand of justice. He had to play it cool, play the part well. His doctorate didn't cover drama, but years of hiding out from the police had given him a small bit of theater training.

With that, he breathed in, and out. In, and out. He concentrated, and recognized--

--that someone else was here. Looking for him. He looked out of the corner of his eye, as he saw someone coming in. Presumably from the lecture hall. He frantically tried to run into one of the stalls, and avoid detection.
It was a young man, around fourteen years of age and sporting white hair, that came in after Boris hid in one of the stalls. He went to the urinals and did his business, while checking out the bathroom with his senses, normal and paranormal. He noted that someone was in one of the stalls, getting the sense that he was trying to hide from someone. Perhaps him? Whatever.

After he was done, Jesse washed his hands and left to return to his Master's side to give the report of that one guy who was trying to hide...

It was a young man, around fourteen years of age and sporting white hair, that came in after Boris hid in one of the stalls. He went to the urinals and did his business, while checking out the bathroom with his senses, normal and paranormal. He noted that someone was in one of the stalls, getting the sense that he was trying to hide from someone. Perhaps him? Whatever.

After he was done, Jesse washed his hands and left to return to his Master's side to give the report of that one guy who was trying to hide...

....who then got out, wiping the sweat off of his brow in nervous relief. He was glad to get away from that...person. Whoever he was. It was definetly a he.

"Typical Acolytes. They talk big, but are quite lazy. No wonder they were so easy to kill," Boris thought, as he exited the bathroom calmly, without making any noises. One thought entered his mind, though. Who was that Acolyte? He didn't seem like any of the other Acolytes...

For starters, it was a kid. A fucking kid. Or at the very least, someone of relatively young age.

And yet he was powerful. His soul was especially glowing and bright....and the thought made him smile a little. He couldn't wait to meet The Kid. He'd make an excellent opponent. After all, a kid in an Acolyte temple would more than likely fight back. And for that matter, he had never encountered a quarry with that much psychic energy in him.

Oh yeah. He'd make an excellent opponent. Along with whoever was his commander. After all, would a kid willingly do something unless motivated? And, besides, he felt the commander's presence ever so clearly. And it was a strong soul. Delectable.

As he walked about, he heard a voice go out, "Tommy! There you are!" Turning one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, he then spotted Jacks. Jacks smiled and said, "There you are. I was wondering where you were." Boris said, acting as Tom now, "I was in the toilet dear. Why? What about you?"

Jacks then laughed, saying, "It's alright. I was just going to get some PowerBoost from the machine. Not sure about the machine itself though. Heard it was refusing to take pence. Oh, I mean quarters. Bit odd, since we switched to that Yankee money. I'll miss the old pound." She sighed wistfully, and Boris could tell this was a sigh of nostalgia, for the days of familiarity. A common theme, one of many, in the books he devoured over the years when he wasn't devouring men.

As Tom now, he shrugged, saying, "Well, let's see about that then, eh? I'm feeling a little thirsty meself!?" He then gave Jacks a wink and a nudge, which led Jacks to say, "Giddy about that job? Not surprised. You've been wanting it for months."

Walking over to the machine with Jacks, he then saw what it was. It was a simple box, with a selection of PowerBoost products marked, "PowerBoost--Life. Strength. Vitality!" in all sorts of flavors. Jacks then inserted the coin, and nothing happened. Banging her fist against it, she sighed, going "Stupid machine!" Turning to Boris/Tom, she said simply, shaking her head, "Technology. Can't trust it."

Smiling, Boris/Tom simply replied, "It is difficult not to wonder whether that combination of elements which produces a machine for labor does not create also a soul of sorts, a dull resentful metallic will, which can rebel at times." When Jacks raised an eyebrow and Boris realized he was possibly acting out of character, he then said, "Read a book by Pearl S. Buck. Got it at the Airport as I left for Somalia. Needed something on the flight."

With that, Jacks smiled and said, "Oh, its nothing. Just wondered when you got to be so well read."

Boris/Tom then said, "Here. Let me try something." He leaned in, and gave the machine a slight tap. Then, after feeling for a bit, he used his Force powers to slam the machine at high speed, jolting it and nearly shattering its front as the offending drink not only came out, but so did another. And another. And yet another. Fortunately, a jam was created with all the drinks and thus the machine stopped. The sound could be heard for a bit.

Picking up one in Cherry and one in Lemonade, Boris/Tom tossed a Cherry to Jacks, saying, "Here you go," leaving Jacks to go "Thanks" rather stunned-like as they walked off into another hallway and Tom then said, "So, how about we meet tonight?"

OOC: To move things along, unless CW objects

IC:
Magriel found the tale of Jesse's findings to be very odd. Someone who were to hid himself from a kid meant that this person didn't want to be found. Sure that didn't mean anything, another guy playing hide and seek with the force or had a really bad day. But still, the dark sensation which the Malkir Councilor sensed alarmed him. Very dark. If Jesse didn't sense it as strongly as him, it'd be most likely that he was still just an apprentice. Hasn't even been promoted to a full Knight yet. Luckily for Magriel, the bell rang to signal the end of class. "All right people, be sure to read chapters twenty through twenty five. I expect full reports on the differences of the known Force Wielding factions by the end of the week. Read your hologram copies I have provided, the ones from Master Jorrus, Sensei Lynworth, Daniel Masaki, Yoda, Mace Windu, Vrook Lamar, the Exile and Luke Skywalker. If you have any other holocrons regarding this subject which I haven't mentioned, list them in your citation pages and you will receive extra credit. Class dismissed."

With that, he dismissed Jesse and allowed his young apprentice to wander the streets of London as he sees fit, giving the Malkir Councilor the time he needs to talk to Sensei Lynworth. He walked to her office and lightly tapped on her door.

OOC: To move things along, unless CW objects

IC:
Magriel found the tale of Jesse's findings to be very odd. Someone who were to hid himself from a kid meant that this person didn't want to be found. Sure that didn't mean anything, another guy playing hide and seek with the force or had a really bad day. But still, the dark sensation which the Malkir Councilor sensed alarmed him. Very dark. If Jesse didn't sense it as strongly as him, it'd be most likely that he was still just an apprentice. Hasn't even been promoted to a full Knight yet. Luckily for Magriel, the bell rang to signal the end of class. "All right people, be sure to read chapters twenty through twenty five. I expect full reports on the differences of the known Force Wielding factions by the end of the week. Read your hologram copies I have provided, the ones from Master Jorrus, Sensei Lynworth, Daniel Masaki, Yoda, Mace Windu, Vrook Lamar, the Exile and Luke Skywalker. If you have any other holocrons regarding this subject which I haven't mentioned, list them in your citation pages and you will receive extra credit. Class dismissed."

With that, he dismissed Jesse and allowed his young apprentice to wander the streets of London as he sees fit, giving the Malkir Councilor the time he needs to talk to Sensei Lynworth. He walked to her office and lightly tapped on her door.

Lynworth was, at the moment, practicing her daily meditation. Sitting crosslegged on the ground, she breathed in and out slowly, centering the Force around herself as she tried to exercise spiritual discipline over her own soul. It wasn't easy; she could feel the conflicting natures of light and dark flow within her in a stormy torrent, and they were something hard to control--especially for her, who still struggled at times with the darkness. But as they mixed together, they seemed to flow into one being, which empowered her and she could control.

Then, the knock, and a familiar comforting presence. She said loudly, "In a moment." Ending her day's meditation, she got up and opened her eyes rather slowly. Cleaning up a little, she opened the door and said, "Ah, Master Magriel! How was the lecture?"

OOC: Like the last one, not for the Squeamish. You've been warned.

IC:

Boris then walked out of the Temple, satisfied that Jacks was to meet him at a small restaurant tonight at 7:00 PM, in the new nomenclature, that served Chinese food. "Lee Ho Fook's," was it? Odd name for a dining establishment, but it would do. After all, Chinese restaurants were always good, he had developed a taste for the cuisine in his past life. He remembered one of the souls he had taken was a Chinese restauranteur, who had the audacity to make him pay for a refill of a glass of water. Well. Thus always to tyrants.

Walking out of the Temple after giving Jacks a kiss, he wandered around the street eager to explore the city which was now his home. A beautiful place, he admired its beauty and age. A far cry from the foggy Victorian dystopia of Dickens, which was both gilded, beautfiul and ugly all at once, and just as removed if not more from Shakespeare's day, it somehow still managed to retain that timeless charm, even with the sounds of horns and the flash of advertising signs, urging people to join the Red Army, or buy Coca Cola, or such and such auto. He took in the air, as he always did. And he smelled the thousands of souls, moving on their course. Some of lesser intensity than others. But all were delectable in their own way. Oh yes.

He walked by a small shop, and felt a slight rumble in his stomach. Ah yes, hunger. Something he hadn't dealt with in a while, whilst a Force ghost. He entered the small shop, greeted by a clerk who was otherwise inattentive, listening to loud punk music and reading the Mirror. Boris looked around the aisles of the shop, and found the freezer, which sold ice creams. He found a cone in chocolate, and then walked to the cooler where he got a small iced tea. Looking at it, he muttered, "Chai, eh? I've had the real thing." Father Mikhail used to make good chai, for when Boris came to visit.

He then plopped the items on the counter, and the otherwise inattentive clerk scanned them and said, "That'll be $5.00." Not even looking at him, looking at the Mirror only, with its bold, angry, shallow headline. Boris sneered at it. "Plebian trash," he muttered, as he handed the clerk his money.

The clerk then refused to look up. Mostly due to inattendance. He was absorbed in an article about a scandal involving a young teacher and one of his students, with the headline of "PRIVATE LESSONS?!" Boris grinned. "That must be the man I'm replacing, isn't it," he thought. Nah, it couldn't be. Different school. He then stopped grinning, as he saw the clerk didn't pick up the money. Boris tapped the table, going, "Excuse me?"

Still nothing, the Clerk looked up, only to look down again and take the money. Boris said, "Not even a thank you?" The Clerk then said nothing, once more. Boris then closed the door, and used the Force to close all the shutters. He then held his hand out, and used the Force to begin twisting the man's ear, and used the other to begin melting the headphones of the Clerk, and the man began screaming. As this occurred, Boris then grabbed him by the collar, and thrust him close to his face, saying, "Can you hear me now!? EH!?" and shaking him about, the hot plastic from the phones dripping down onto the man's shoulders and all about. The Clerk squeezed off a "You....Bastard.....I'm going to--"

Boris then said, in a growling voice, "Do What?" shaking him about whilst still bending his ears and heating the plastic. The Clerk said, "Ca--"

Boris taunted him further, saying, "Finish your sentence."

The Clerk said nothing once more, so Boris said, shaking him violently and jarring his insides with the Force to add emphasis, "FINISH YOUR SENTENCE!" He added a slap for good measure.

The Clerk said, staring down Boris and defiantly spitting on him, "Call the Cops, you sick fuck!"

Boris then threw him down onto the corner of the desk, using Force Throw to engineer a backbreaking move that crippled the clerk. He then lifted the man into the air and said, "Thank you. But because you didn't finish your sentence unless I told you to.....hmmm.....I wonder if you'll miss that mouth."

He smiled evilly now, as the Clerk's expression turned to one of horror.

Boris then held his arms out, and began waving them in the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. The unfortunate Clerk was swung every which way like a marionette, as he felt his mouth being melted together. Once Boris was satisfied, he then bellowed, "'The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heart-felt compliment, and the countless infinitesimals of pleasurable and genial feeling!' So said Coleridge! Young people should read more! They'd learn more! LIKE HOW TO PROVIDE PROPERLY FOR THEIR BETTERS!"

He then slammed the Clerk into the ground, and then knelt next to him, sucking out the essence of the man and adding it to his collection. He then opened the door and walked out. Pausing for a moment, he realized he forgot his ice cream and chai. Walking back in, he then picked up the treats, and left.

Boris, meanwhile, walked down the streets to the subway, using Force Cloak and sneaking around to hide from anybody who got too curious about what happened in the little Quick Stop. And, as it happened, as he got onto the Tube, the Quick Stop was soon surrounded by witnesses, and then men from the London Metro PD....

...which included Wilkins. Frustrated, he said, "What a damn mess." As CSI snapped pictures of the site and police tried to keep people away, Wilkins looked about and examined the register. Nothing stolen. In fact, it was closed. There was some money on the table. Whoever did this certainly had the perverse courtesy to pay for their goods before they left, or during, or after, depending on what CSI brought up.

Wilkins then turned to the corpse on the ground, which was being examined by the CSI. He asked one of the CSI men, kneeling next to him, and said, "What's your name, officer?"

The man said, keeping his eye on the fingerprint brush and his hand, said, "Lieutenant Tong, sir."

Wilkins then said, "Tell me, Lieutenant Tong. What can you tell about this victim?"

Tong then mumbled, working with the other CSI to pass around tools from the kit, "Well, until we get something more sophisticated, it looks like the poor clerk here died violently. Probably from high impact injuries."

Chin then said, pointing to the neck, "I mean, look at the head. It's pretty much smashed in. Same with the neck. It's pretty much nothing but bolognaise now."

Wilkins nodded, excusing the tech's poor sense of humor. Looking closer at the corpse, Wilkins thought he had seen everything. Then, he saw something curious that made him leap back a little in horror. The Clerk's mouth was melted shut, rather crudely, but sealed tight. Wilkins then got up, and said to the tech, "Excuse me," getting up and leaving the scene in horror.

Lynworth was, at the moment, practicing her daily meditation. Sitting crosslegged on the ground, she breathed in and out slowly, centering the Force around herself as she tried to exercise spiritual discipline over her own soul. It wasn't easy; she could feel the conflicting natures of light and dark flow within her in a stormy torrent, and they were something hard to control--especially for her, who still struggled at times with the darkness. But as they mixed together, they seemed to flow into one being, which empowered her and she could control.

Then, the knock, and a familiar comforting presence. She said loudly, "In a moment." Ending her day's meditation, she got up and opened her eyes rather slowly. Cleaning up a little, she opened the door and said, "Ah, Master Magriel! How was the lecture?"

Magriel nodded politely odd woman, he thought to himself, but certainly enjoyable to talk to."Enlightening as always. Human culture is quite different from Huntarian. But anyways, I found something disturbing. I felt a presence while I was lecturing. Something I haven't felt since I first met Lord Vorman. You know, the Kirtir Lord of Death. No where near as drastic of a scale as Vorman mind you, but it was close. Like he hated things, killed for the joy of it... And the feeling you get when you have a conversation with a Force Spirit. Considering my familiarity with the Dark Side and your position, I thought I should go to you right away. I feel something is wrong with one of your teachers."

Magriel nodded politely odd woman, he thought to himself, but certainly enjoyable to talk to."Enlightening as always. Human culture is quite different from Huntarian. But anyways, I found something disturbing. I felt a presence while I was lecturing. Something I haven't felt since I first met Lord Vorman. You know, the Kirtir Lord of Death. No where near as drastic of a scale as Vorman mind you, but it was close. Like he hated things, killed for the joy of it... And the feeling you get when you have a conversation with a Force Spirit. Considering my familiarity with the Dark Side and your position, I thought I should go to you right away. I feel something is wrong with one of your teachers."

Lynworth then stood back, realizing Magriel was discussing none other than Allenby. She nodded, and then said, pulling up a chair, "Please, sit. We must talk." Closing the door, her expression turned bleak, almost sad, as she sat in front of Magriel and folded her hands.

"Yes. I know what you mean. And I think I know who you're talking about." Lynworth said, with a sigh. "Mr. Allenby, Mr. Tom Allenby. That was the man you may be looking for. I shook his hand, and I got the same sensation. The sensation of hatred, pure and undistilled. Like I felt in Northern Ireland all those years ago, Master, as a youth. I did tell you about that, did I?"

She then chuckled and said, "Well, look at me. I sound like an old woman." She grew serious once more, and said, "Stories aside, we need to do something about this before it gets out of hand."

Lynworth then stood back, realizing Magriel was discussing none other than Allenby. She nodded, and then said, pulling up a chair, "Please, sit. We must talk." Closing the door, her expression turned bleak, almost sad, as she sat in front of Magriel and folded her hands.

"Yes. I know what you mean. And I think I know who you're talking about." Lynworth said, with a sigh. "Mr. Allenby, Mr. Tom Allenby. That was the man you may be looking for. I shook his hand, and I got the same sensation. The sensation of hatred, pure and undistilled. Like I felt in Northern Ireland all those years ago, Master, as a youth. I did tell you about that, did I?"

She then chuckled and said, "Well, look at me. I sound like an old woman." She grew serious once more, and said, "Stories aside, we need to do something about this before it gets out of hand."

Magriel rubbed his face in thought, "no I don't believe you have. But I've read the reports. And if you're correct about this, then we're gunna be in interesting times for you Dornalians. This will be quite the challenge for you to handle. If you wish, my apprentice and I can handle this one, unless that is, you don't need our help..." he added with a joking tone.

Magriel rubbed his face in thought, "no I don't believe you have. But I've read the reports. And if you're correct about this, then we're gunna be in interesting times for you Dornalians. This will be quite the challenge for you to handle. If you wish, my apprentice and I can handle this one, unless that is, you don't need our help..." he added with a joking tone.

Getting up and looking out the window, Lynworth said, "No, I'll need it. London Metropolitan's not used to psykers and Force users, Scotland Yard's barely any better and ISB leaves the job to us. Word says there's a strong anti-Jedi bias among some of the upper echelons of London Metro anywho, like my old Commander from the Army days. Think we're a buncha magicians with cheap parlor tricks and greed on our minds."

Turning to Magriel, she then said, "I will join you, and convene a meeting of the local Central Committee to authorize a Vanguard to provide assistance. Should Allenby become especially violent, his fellow Acolytes will help end his rampage." Her tone suggested that, in effect, the Vanguard would have to kill Allenby if it had to.

Meanwhile, an Adjutant came and said, "Sensei, there's a call for you. A man from London Metro. Wilkins. He needs your advice on a case."

Getting up and looking out the window, Lynworth said, "No, I'll need it. London Metropolitan's not used to psykers and Force users, Scotland Yard's barely any better and ISB leaves the job to us. Word says there's a strong anti-Jedi bias among some of the upper echelons of London Metro anywho, like my old Commander from the Army days. Think we're a buncha magicians with cheap parlor tricks and greed on our minds."

Turning to Magriel, she then said, "I will join you, and convene a meeting of the local Central Committee to authorize a Vanguard to provide assistance. Should Allenby become especially violent, his fellow Acolytes will help end his rampage." Her tone suggested that, in effect, the Vanguard would have to kill Allenby if it had to.

Meanwhile, an Adjutant came and said, "Sensei, there's a call for you. A man from London Metro. Wilkins. He needs your advice on a case."

Magriel nodded in agreement, "it is agreed then. I'd like to do this without bloodshed if possible. There are ways of purging force ghosts from a body. It's been done a couple times before, and I'd like to see it happen again."

Magriel nodded in agreement, "it is agreed then. I'd like to do this without bloodshed if possible. There are ways of purging force ghosts from a body. It's been done a couple times before, and I'd like to see it happen again."

Lynworth then said, quickly taking the phone, "Good. Hold on one moment, Master, I have to take this call." Speaking into it, she said, "Sensei Emma Lynworth, Temple of Greater London, speaking."

On the other end was Wilkins, the detective working the cases. He then said, "Yes, this is Sergeant Wilkins from the London Metropolitan Police Department. I'd like to talk to you about a couple of cases I was working on." Holding onto a copy of The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Force, Wilkins said, "They are of a rather unusual nature...rather unusual."

Lynworth then replied, "Well, how unusual?"

Wilkins replied, "Well, unusual enough to call a People's Acolyte. After all, what kind of murder involves sealing a man's mouth shut using means that don't leave scarring and evidence from a tool? What kind of murder creates zombies?"

Lynworth grew grim, as she suspected the worst. She then said, "Hold on one moment." Lynworth held the phone out to Magriel, and said, "You'd better take this. I think we have a lead."

With that, he dismissed Jesse and allowed his young apprentice to wander the streets of London as he sees fit, giving the Malkir Councilor the time he needs to talk to Sensei Lynworth. He walked to her office and lightly tapped on her door.
Jesse strolled the ancient streets of London, feeling a good sense of history has happened here. Not like some of the places out in the galaxy, of course, but still a good sense that many things have occurred here. Of course, he played the tourist, going everywhere from Big Ben to Buckingham Palace, to strolling the lesser-known streets. He wondered if anything interesting would occur while he's out playing the tourist...

Jesse strolled the ancient streets of London, feeling a good sense of history has happened here. Not like some of the places out in the galaxy, of course, but still a good sense that many things have occurred here. Of course, he played the tourist, going everywhere from Big Ben to Buckingham Palace, to strolling the lesser-known streets. He wondered if anything interesting would occur while he's out playing the tourist...

At the same time, Jacks was off on the streets of London as well, stopping by Harrod's to pick up something for Tom. She wanted to get him a gift, to commemorate that new job he just picked up. Hmm.....perhaps a new tie and shirt? Or a new coat? Hmm.

As she rifled through the items, something odd came about her. What was with Tom today? He felt a little off, but that wasn't just it. It was the fact he also broke the drink machine too. Considering he was normally very passive, something must have happened to him down in Somalia.....

Lynworth then said, quickly taking the phone, "Good. Hold on one moment, Master, I have to take this call." Speaking into it, she said, "Sensei Emma Lynworth, Temple of Greater London, speaking."

On the other end was Wilkins, the detective working the cases. He then said, "Yes, this is Sergeant Wilkins from the London Metropolitan Police Department. I'd like to talk to you about a couple of cases I was working on." Holding onto a copy of The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Force, Wilkins said, "They are of a rather unusual nature...rather unusual."

Lynworth then replied, "Well, how unusual?"

Wilkins replied, "Well, unusual enough to call a People's Acolyte. After all, what kind of murder involves sealing a man's mouth shut using means that don't leave scarring and evidence from a tool? What kind of murder creates zombies?"

Lynworth grew grim, as she suspected the worst. She then said, "Hold on one moment." Lynworth held the phone out to Magriel, and said, "You'd better take this. I think we have a lead."

Magriel raised his eyes in curiosity, especially at the conversation about Zombies and the fact that someone actually wants to talk to him... On a phone?? "Umm... How does one use technology such as this primitive device? Most of us use wireless communications or Force Speak."

Magriel raised his eyes in curiosity, especially at the conversation about Zombies and the fact that someone actually wants to talk to him... On a phone?? "Umm... How does one use technology such as this primitive device? Most of us use wireless communications or Force Speak."

Lynworth chuckled. Things were quite different over in the Alliance, weren't they? She quipped, "Guess we like to do things the old fashioned way, as the Yanks say."

Holding the reciever like one would speak normally, she then pointed to the upper end of the reciever, Lynworth said, "You listen in this end." Lynworth then pointed to the lower end and said, "You talk in this end." Handing the reciever to the Master again, she then said, "Try it now."

Lynworth chuckled. Things were quite different over in the Alliance, weren't they? She quipped, "Guess we like to do things the old fashioned way, as the Yanks say."

" 'Old fashioned' hardly describes it..." Magriel muttered...


Holding the reciever like one would speak normally, she then pointed to the upper end of the reciever, Lynworth said, "You listen in this end." Lynworth then pointed to the lower end and said, "You talk in this end." Handing the reciever to the Master again, she then said, "Try it now."

"This is Councilor Magriel. What's this I hear about Zombies?"

"This is Councilor Magriel. What's this I hear about Zombies?"

Wilkins then began speaking in an inquisitive voice.

"Yes....I was working on a curious case earlier today. It was so curious, that my boss, Chief McDonough, told me to drop it. It involved an Indian man in the suburb of Islington. When I arrived, he was surrounded by policemen. He was surrounded by London Metro Policemen, and he was holding a knife above a dead man. Looks like a regular murder case, right?

Well, not quite, when I interview the Indian. He says, in between telling me he was quite sane, 'I was walking down the street to try and get to work, when suddenly this crazy skinhead comes at me. I'm thinking he wants to bother me. So I tell him to stop. But then, he growls and swipes like an animal. Like he's feral or rabid something! So I try to go away, but then he lunges at me, and tries to attack me with a bite! I swipe at him, kick him, punch him, but he won't go down. Then, I pull out my dagger, and warn him if he doesn't go away, I will stab him. He does not, he lunges again and attacks, I stab, and keep going until he stops. That is the truth.'

Now, get this. When I examine the body, the stab wounds have no blood. And, there was petechial hemorraging around his eyes. Little reddish marks that appear usually with strangulation. Now, I ask if anybody saw the Indian strangle the man then stab him. No, they say. That's when I get nervous.

Then, later, I get the report from the medical examiner. Check this out. The victim, it says, 'died of strangulation at about 1200-1300 GMT...as amazing as this seems, stabbing did not seem to contribute to death...wounds did not bleed...livor mortis and some rigor mortis setting in...'

The only conclusion I could come up with was zombies. My boss tells me I'm crazy. Please tell me I'm not, or that I am and this is all a dream. Because I don't like what I'm seeing."

Magriel sighed, "I wish that were the case. But, I got some bad news for the lot of us. You're not dreaming, and you're certainly not insane. Those are often symptoms of a person who has been practicing Necromancy, a common Dark Side of the Force art. I even practiced it for a short amount of time while I was a Dark Lord... But at any case, yea. Definitely someone's been doing Necromancy, often done by the followers of a shadowy group of people known as the 'Necrosis Order' forged by Lord Vorman quite some time ago. Either he's a member doing special errands, or he's a rogue practitioner. The Force is telling me that our friend Tom is somehow involved here. Hold onto your case Sarge, Sensei Lynworth and I are going to help you oversee this case personally."

Magriel sighed, "I wish that were the case. But, I got some bad news for the lot of us. You're not dreaming, and you're certainly not insane. Those are often symptoms of a person who has been practicing Necromancy, a common Dark Side of the Force art. I even practiced it for a short amount of time while I was a Dark Lord... But at any case, yea. Definitely someone's been doing Necromancy, often done by the followers of a shadowy group of people known as the 'Necrosis Order' forged by Lord Vorman quite some time ago. Either he's a member doing special errands, or he's a rogue practitioner. The Force is telling me that our friend Tom is somehow involved here. Hold onto your case Sarge, Sensei Lynworth and I are going to help you oversee this case personally."

Sergeant Wilkins was partly overjoyed at the vindication of his view of the Singh Case. He'd been getting nasty jokes about that around work. But another part of him became more sullen. Just what in the hell was he messing with? Necromancy? Dark Side of the Force?! If it was as the old man said, he was going to need some help from the People's Acolytes if he was going to crack this case. Otherwise, he could end up a dead man--or rather, an undead man, like the one who hurt Singh. He shuddered at the thought, and muttered, "Oh God....oh God....."

He could only say, "Thank you, Counselor Magriel," quivering at the thought of what he just got into. He then said, "You do not know how serious this is at work. Already two paranormal cases. And yet my boss doesn't believe me..." Leaning back in his chair, he shook his head. He was going to need some serious backup, and he was glad to have found it.

As Wilkins and Magriel were chatting, and as Jacks was preparing for the night's meal, Boris was stewing in his new apartment. He had to admire this man's sense of impeccable style. Utilitarian furnishings. A flat panel HoloNet projector with lots of fun channels. One of those Japanese video game machines, with four controllers. And plenty of beer in the fridge. He popped one open and drank it, and looked at the bottle, with its marker of "Guinness Draught." Smiling, he put the bottle down, and reflected on the taste of the beer. He preferred vodka himself, but these English knew how to make a good beer, and he found it acceptable. Were it a beer like Budweiser, he would have done something rather different.

He then got up and reflected on what he was to do for the day until 7:00 came. Looking about, Boris looked at the bookshelf. Not much there, just some game guides, a few perfunctory science fiction novels and what looked like a comic book. He spat at the comic book; Boris never liked comic books. Useless mixtures of art and literature that fell flat, no matter how much their perverted draftsmen desired to elevate them. "If people need images when they read, they must be really stupid," Boris muttered to himself.

Sighing, he put the book back, and then decided to go out for a walk. He wanted to explore his new haunt. See what he was getting into. And with that in mind, he began wandering about. Maybe he could find a library to go into and read. With real books. Something to challenge his mind, like how Father Mikhail challenged his when he was a young lad.

Of course, he didn't know Jesse was out wandering the streets. So this would be fun.

Boris eventually found, to his surprise, a library. "Finally, an oasis of civilization!" he thought. In this world of gizmos, repulsorlift vehicles, weakwilled Crusaders, haters, and uneducated barbarians, a library was a solace. It took him back....

--------

Kazan, Russia, 23 years ago

"Boris! What happened now!?"

The young man, face puffy, arm cut, and nose clearly broken, ran to the parsonage, where the waiting Orthodox priest opened the door and let him inside. Following him was a man with a belt and a kitchen knife, and some anger on his mind. No, scratch that, anger all over his body. The priest lamented with a sigh, "Wrath never did make men reasonable. Go to the medicine cabinet, get some aspirins and bandages for that wound." He then closed the door, and Boris watched as the priest walked out to the angry man.

"Damnit, Father! Why do you protect that Devil Child!?" the man spat on the ground, and glared at the Priest. The priest walked up to the angry man and said, "We can be reasonable men, yes Yuri? I am merely protecting the innocent from harm. Nothing more."

"Innocent! INNOCENT?! He has the mark of Satan on him? I saw him levitate objects with a wave of his hand, and knock over my wife's samovar! The boy says it was an accident, but it is in his nature to lie! I tell him not to commune with magic, but he does anyway, and commits the sin of turning from God to the Devil!" The man fumed back at the priest, as he raised his belt and said, "Now, if you don't get out of my way, Goddamnit, I'll--"

"You'll what, Yuri? Hit me with the belt? You wouldn't hurt your priest, Father Mikhail, would you? That's sacrielige. Besides, I am a man of God; I may be a man, but I am also a man who knows right from wrong. The boy's powers are right, your fear and predjudice are not. Children are a gift from God. Now, be reasonable, and leave me." Mikhail's eyes grew stern, and his priests robes quaked with fury as he spoke.

The angry man then stormed off, throwing the knife into the ground and vowing, "Tonight, Father! I swear!"

Mikhail laughed. Walking into the parsonage, he saw Boris cleaning himself up. Helping him set the nose and get it matenanced, Mikhail smiled and joked with the lad, speaking in a gentle voice, "Boris, my lad. I wouldn't worry. He always says that, and never does it. Never does."

Boris grimly said, "That's the problem. He always threatens to kill me. Why would my own father do so, Father Mikhail?"

Mikhail merely replied, with a sigh: "Young man, I would put it to predjudice. It seems that the very talents God has given you, the very talents Jesus taught you to use instead of burying them like the foolish man, seem to make your neighbors scared."

Boris grimly replied again to that, "Then why can't I get rid of them? If I wasn't able to pick up objects with my mind, if I wasn't able to start fires with a flick of my mind, if I wasn't able to read people's minds....I'd be happier."

To that, Mikhail, put his hands on Boris's shoulders, and merely replied, "My son, do not say such things. After all, if the Savior and his Father were here, they would say the words spoken in the Psalm, 'What right have you to declare My statutes, or to take My covenant in your mouth?' They are scared, men become irrational when scared. Don't change because they want you to."

He then got up, walked to a massive bookshelf, and took out a tome from it. A Russian translation of a book on quotations, he then said to Boris, reading out loud, "This is applicable; it comes from Eleanor Roosevelt. 'You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.'" Raising his head up, he then said to the man, "Boris, know this. Confront their fears, and show them you are a child of God like them, and a man. That is your task. Learn well. Be strong...."

----------

London, Present Day

Boris then shook his head; trips down Memory Lane always made him shudder. He then entered the library. Looking around, he found the Classical Literature section, and proceeded to go there.

Once there, he began browsing the aisles. In those aisles, he found a copy of Shakespeare's Othello. The Oxford edition, he found it was a good one, if somewhat distracting with the extras. He then took it to a computer kiosk, and sat down to browse the HoloNet.

Eager to find out the news about the killings, all the BBC had so far was two unidentified, mysterious murders, and a video of the police Chief, MacDonough, saying that "London Metropolitan Police is working on this" and "Supernatural Forces are not involved. This is not a Hollywood movie." Boris smiled; the London Metro Police wouldn't pose too much of a threat to him. Not with men like that. "Ignorant fools," he thought to himself, as he browsed elsewhere, and found the Bounties issued by the GE.

Piqued, he browsed them, discovering not only were the Acolytes on the roster, but....the teacher from the Temple was there. Boris's eyes widened as his mind harkened back to the Temple. He had seen a stout Asianesque fellow giving a lecture, and he looked similar to the fellow in the Temple. Was that the man whom he sensed?

He then grew grim, and vowed to hunt this fellow "Magriel" down. After all, it took somebody to send that interloper to the toilet, and in his disordered mind, Boris made the jump to conclusions that this "Magriel" had ordered the boy to look for him. He then made a mental note, and then closed the HoloNet browser.

He flipped the book open, and found a relevant page in Othello. It was Othello, and he was saying, "Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them." Boris grinned; something told him that he would apply this to his ew targets soon....

London, England, Earth SSR

OOC: Continuing a plotline from "Evil Walks." Figured the Bounty would make sense here...

IC:

Having finished dinner with his "girlfriend" and dropped her back at her flat, Boris Tereshkov, er, "Thomas Allenby" had made sure she was none the wiser about the fact her flame was now something different than she remembered. Boris had drawn upon all the readings he could from the classics, and won her over to make the date somewhat of a success. Now, it remained to collect the bounty on the Masaki Boy.

He turned in sometime in the night, and pondered how to collect them. They would be worth something of value. But he wasn't concerned about the material things. Father Mikhail had taught him one GOOD thing, and that was money wasn't all that mattered. No, to him, the thrill of the conquest mattered, and he would conquer that "Magriel" and his apprentice. They would make tasty souls surely. The cash was of secondary concern.
--------------------------------------

St. Edmund's Grammar School, London, England, Earth SSR

.....TBC