CRYSTAL Christine Tallin Background... Christine was raised to be a model from birth. She was making commercials before she was one, and never stopped. Her mother drove her constantly to be more, to do more. She was already one of the big name models at 15. That's when she took a basic accounting course and, as a lark, looked into her own finances and discovered that mom had been scraping a little off the top. A lot, actually. In addition to standard rates for management (Mom had not given her any break there), she found lots of other "hidden" cost. So she walked. She took everything she needed and went out on her own. Since then, she's been her own manager. Gotten her own deals, arranged her own contracts. She's starting to be good at it. Yes, her career suffered, but she loved it anyway. And even half the career she had 7 years ago (she just turned 22) is enough to live a nice life on. It was through her side activities as an environmental activist that she met the Senator. He was a sponsor of a major environmental bill and was speaker at a rally she was also speaking at. When they first met, she didn't know who he was. He said she looked familiar, but he didn't know her, either (he was probably lying, but she doesn't know that and wouldn't believe it if someone tried to tell her without good proof). It was supposed to be just a one-night stand. When they met the next day for the rally (all this had occurred the night before), she was shocked. But then, about a week later, he called her. He was in town. Could he see her. She knew to say no. End it there. But she didn't. That was close to 6 months ago. Now both are desperately trying to keep things secret. She really does love him. He says the same, but he could easily be lying... She works out of LA. She's done a bit in music (far more successful on MTV than in musical quality) and films (none worth writing home about... if you're thinking anything near as good as C. Crawford's role in The Hidden, think lower quality movies ). If people recognize her at all, it's not instantly. (Though she IS working on it, and her Meta-status will help, though mostly the wrong direction...) Unless you have a better reason, she's going to be a hero for all the good old fashioned reasons. The "great power demands great responsibility" line. Of course, she'll start to see the flaws in THAT in no-time... Socially, Christine has fewer contacts than her fame and occupation would suggest, mainly due to her "workohalic" lifestyle. The tabloids constantly place her with whatever male film star/pop musician/whatever is good cover material this month (when they mention her at all, which isn't terribly often), and she has been with a few, but never long-term. Basically, though she's known among the "beautiful people of Hollywood", she doesn't really have many friends there. She's too intense or they're too ephemeral, one or the other Cristine is 5'9", 145 lbs. Brown hair, blue- green eyes. Soft features, usually accented by professional make-up when she's working (so a bit less recognizable when she's not). If she has a flaw, it's not likely to have be noticed right off... But, yes, she is more of the older school than the faddish 'waif look' of today. As Crystal (the name she'll pick for herself as a Super if anything convinces her to do so ), she still looks a lot the same, but different enough that it will not be immediately obvious. (I doubt she'll bother to conceal it unless you give a good reason in the origin for her to... A mask would probably do it.) The features remain the same, but now cut in the facets of a VERY complex (and flexible somehow) diamond crystal. The facets are so fine they cannot really be seen from more than a few feet. (I see something like a moderate-to-good fractal image, only in 3-D.) No color remains (Crystal is translucent and catches and reflects light on the facets VERY well), nor does any hair or make-up. (I don't know if Crytsal could put on make-up if she wished to... I doubt it. It probably wouldn't adhere to the "skin".) The lack of hair and color and the more sharply defined features are what keeps her from being recognized right off. Her body doesn't change much except for it's composition, so most clothing would be uneffected. If anything, <><><><><> [GM] Christine is due to fly to New York tomorrow. (I know, NYC and superheroes, so cliched! But you won't be staying.) You're going to be filming a video that takes place in the NYC subway. Your role is mostly to stand around in a subway station and look pretty. You get to do a little dancing with the group, but you're not the star of the video. Still, it's a major group (pick one- who would be appropriate for her?), so you'll get some nice exposure. Not like when Naomi Campbell is practically having sex while dancing with Michael Jackson...but then, Naomi may not be putting that on her resume after what's been going on with Michael. Christine is getting some sleep before her 7 AM flight, and is having a nightmare. You're trapped underground, and surrounded by flames. The roof is caving in on you, and people are screaming. Explosions rumble in the distance. It's very strange, because you've never had a problem with claustrophobia before, but this dream sure makes you feel claustrophobic! You wake up in a sweat, perturbed because you rarely have nightmares, particularly ones vivid enough to wake you up. Strangely, what you feel on your skin feels more like sand or grit than sweat. You also feel odd. Maybe you need to go the bathroom, have a glass of water, then go back to bed. Standing, you turn on the light, and notice two things. First, your bed is sparkling with what looks like a sprinkling of powdered glass on the sheets. Second, the room is VERY bright, considering you only turned on the small lamp on your nightstand. As if something is reflecting the light all around the room. Rubbing your eyes produces a strange grinding/scratching noise. Now thoroughly alarmed, you turn to the mirror. Your skin is transparent. You have no hair. You can see light from the lamp behind you shining through your body. <><><><><> [And if she's doing a video, is there any chance she could at least be singing back-ups on the song? As for style of music, she's disturbingly pop in her tastes and I can't help with any names. I'm too far out on the radical alternative wings to know any appropriate current pop performer/group names .] 'Ohhh... 'What kind of things bring on dreams like this, huh? Figures, with only five hours to rest for the flight. Get some water, calm down, then back to...' Christine rolls from the bed and stands, fumbling for the light. She doesn't want to trip over anything. 'Wouldn't Betty hate covering a nice big bruise because stubborn Chris wouldn't flip a switch? I'd hear it for weeks. 'What...? Something feels wrong. The room is off somehow... Too close, too bright. And what is that all over the bed?' Rubbing her eyes to clear them is a mistake, an error accompanied by the sound of glass scraping glass. Her thoughts can't focus, can't explain the out of place sound, and it is only reflex that spins her around, to face the mirror. To face the impossible. Her hand raises to her head and the reflection echoes her. But it can't be her reflection. 'I don't look like... 'No one looks like that.' But her hand touches a cold, bare surface, the sensation in her fingers oddly muted, dulled. She closes her eyes, hoping the image will vanish when she opens them, but she can still see it through her eyelids, only slightly distorted. She wants to scream, but she can't. All she can do is turn away from the mirror, reach too fast for the light, knocking it to the floor. 'This isn't happening. It's impossible. It's a dream. A nightmare. Wake up, Christine. Wake up *now*. God, let me wake up...' -- <><><><><> It would be much better if she could sweat. Breaking into a cold sweat is a person's right when they're scared out of their wits. And it is a familiar comfort Christine is denied now, the crystal that seems to have taken the place of her skin remaining cold and dry. 'This can't be happening. People just don't turn into... into... into other things.' But she can't wake up, she can't get out of this nightmare. And she's starting to believe she has only two options now. Admit it is real, however impossible it is, or admit that she's gone mad. And she'll never give in to the latter. After all she's been through, after pulling her life back together over the last handful of years, rebuilding her career, she will not give up. She stands up tall, watching the light glimmer from the crystal shape in the mirror. And the light feels so strange, so bright, piercing. 'Of course it does... it's going right through now.' She stifles a giggle. It's just too ridiculous an idea. But she needs to do something. She needs... She needs someone to assure her she hasn't gone crazy. And she reaches for the phone by her bed, punching in Terry's number without considering the hour. 'Terry will listen. Terry will help. 'If there is any help...' <><><><><> [GM] [Note: Terry is an NPC, created by the player, as detailed here: First is her favored photographer, Terry Grey. Terry's a long-time (2-3 years) partner in her work, as well as basically non-threatening because he's gay. This doesn't at all prevent playful flirting between the two. In fact, it really encourages it since both know they can keep their professional relationship just that. Terry frequently escorts Christine to less major events (when fashion does not demand a more well-known companion). Terry has been living with a would-be screenwriter named Mark for the last year and a half.] The phone rings five times before someone picks it up. After a long pause, you hear a sleepy, irritated voice sounding something like Terry's: "Hullooo...?" <><><><><> Christine pauses. What will her voice sound like now? Will this... whatever have turned it into something inhuman and horrifying? ...like it had her...? "Terry, I'm scared." She can't do more than whisper, hoping he will hear and understand. "Something... I need you here now. I... Please, Ter..." She wants to cry, she can feel it. But these eyes won't let her and the crystal of her cheeks stays cold and dry. <><><><><> [GM] Whispering produces only a buzzing sound. You are forced to speak up, and realize unconsciously that you are not forcing more air through your throat, as one normally does to raise their voice. You're doing something else, but you're not sure what. "Terry, I'm scared. Something... I need you here now. I... Please, Ter..." Your voice sounds...not mechanical, exactly. But not human. It's a tinkling, wind-chimey voice, rather pleasant actually. But not human. Pause. "Who is this? We must have a bad connection, your voice is breaking up or something. Is this Chris? What's wrong with your phone?" <><><><><><> Not human. Her voice is not human. She is not... Her crystal hand tightens on the phone. "Nothing's wrong with the phone. It's me. Something's wrong with..." She slams the phone down, then, unable to continue. She can't talk about this, can't accept it. It has to be wrong. There has to be something... No. She can't avoid it. She has to accept that it's real, that it happened. As impossible as it is. It *has* happened. And that... that *thing* in the mirror was her. Her human self, the body she had worked for, made famous, was gone. She was this now, she would learn to live with it. But how...? Simple. First, you find out just what *has* happened to you. Just what you now are. And, for that, she has the place to start. She leaves the bedroom, nothing she needs in there, and walks to the studio she had set up as her workout room. More mirrors, there, showing her new body more clearly in all its smooth crystal perfection. Like a doll or a master craftwork. It is beautiful, in s strange way. The light shimmering from her is almost intoxicating. Lovely. But she is here to test this body, to see what it can do. And so she turns to her weights, checking the settings on her machine to be certain it is near her limits. Her old limits. And then she lies on the bench, reaches for the handles. Her crystal hands and arms reach up above her and she would shiver, feel goosebumps again, if this body was capable of that. And she begins her tests... -- <><><><><> [GM] [This message lost: Basically, Crystal lifted some weights, and found that in this new body, she is a bit stronger than before, but not excessively so...until she locks her arms and applies her strength in a slow, mechanical fashion. This increases her lifting ability by several times. After this feat, she feels rather drained, and stumbles to the bed, where she falls asleep. She wakes up to pounding on her door. Terry came, after deducing it was her who called, and he was unable to call her back. She has reverted to her normal form, but there is still powdered glass dust on her bed, and her telephone is crushed, as if in a vice.] <><><> "Don't feel stupid. Don't. It wasn't a prank. It was... I don't know what it was. Listen, it's all kind of confused but..." Christine tries to look at him, to figure how ready he is to hear this. How ready she is to share it. It *was* real. The dust, the phone... that proved it. Didn't they? "Let me put some tea on. I need to tell someone." She fills the kettle quickly, familiarly. A nice British electrical toy, it boiled the water almost before she could measure out the tea, a strong, dark blend. She needed the kick just now. And as she pours the water into the pot, leaving it to steep, she turns back to Terry and breaks the long minutes of silence. "Something happened, Ter. Something I can't explain. But... I don't know how long ago, earlier tonight, I woke up and something... something weird had happened. There was dust all over the bed. Its still there, or it was when I work up just now. And I... I wasn't me. I was something weird, like a living statue. I thought it was a dream but... Well, look." She takes him back, into her room. And shows him the phone. "That's from when I hung up after talking to you. I couldn't ever do that. But I did." She turns back to him, tears brimming in her eyes. Christine Tallin isn't often willing to show fear. To anyone except Terry, it would be impossible. But it was real, and it was more than she could take. "I don't know what happened to me, Terry. And I'm scared." -- <><><><><> [GM] Terry just comforts you for a little bit. Then he takes a deep breath and says, "All right, we have to figure this out, Chris. I see the powder and the broken telephone. Obviously something happened. But....turning into a living crystal statue? We have to eliminate every other possibility before I can accept that. I know you're not making this up. And I've never known you to be hysterical or delusional. Is it possible- I know how you feel about drugs, Chris, but is it possible- I mean, were you at a party or something, where someone could have slipped you LSD without you knowing about it?" After that, "All right, you had this nightmare, and woke up as a...crystal statue. And you can be totally sure it wasn't a dream?" He's looking around your place while you talk, obviously hoping he'll find something that could have produced a layer of fine sparkling powder, or broken your telephone. And finally; "Strange phenomena notwithstanding, you still have a flight to New York to catch. Are you going to cancel on this trip?" <><><><><> Chris shakes her head emphatically, blinking tears from her eyes. "It wasn't a dream, Terry. I crushed the phone, I was lifting... Come here, look!" She pulls him along, showing him how high the weights are set. "If lifted that more than a dozen times, just after I called you. It was *easy*. For a while... then I got tired, fell asleep and when you came I was... "I was me again." But his mentioning New York shocks her back to reality. "You're right. I do have to get to New York. I can't afford to miss this shoot. I just hope..." She looks at him again, weaker and more frightened than she's ever been. But that lasts only a second, then is replaced by the familiar Chris Tallin strength. "I can make it. But when I get back, we're going to find out what happened. Just you and me. We can do that, can't we?" She smiles, then all but pushes him out. She has so much to do, getting ready for the trip, and her schedule's been shot. First, a shower. She needs to wash the fine dust away, and maybe the warm water will help her relax... -- <><><><><> [GM] [I decided it's a Paula Abdul video you are appearing in.] You shower, and get ready for your trip to New York. You catch up on some sleep on the plane. There is a party in New York, of course. It takes place in a hotel, on the top floor. Entertainment Tonight and all the other glitterazi media are there, and you know you're going to be romantically linked with any celebrity you spend more than two minutes talking to. You meet Paula Abdul, who seems nice enough. At about 11 PM, someone comes crashing through the roof. She is about 5'6" tall, and she's wearing a dingy denim jacket and jeans, with a torn T- shirt. She has a mohawk, with her head shaved on one side. Safety pins hang from her ears, and she's wearing garish purple and black eyeshadow and lipstick. A generic punk. Except that she just flew through a skylight on the 30th floor of a hotel building. "Hi," she says. "I'm holding you all hostage. Are those cameras rolling? Live? Cool. I want ten...naw, make it twenty million dollars brought up here, in cash. Or I'll start throwing people out the window." Everyone stands around, staring at her, in shock. People look up at the shattered skylight, and you hear speculation that it's a stunt of some kind. Meanwhile, she walks over to the elevator (which is on another floor), pushes the doors open, reaches in and grabs the cables. Flexing her arms, she pulls them apart. Everyone hears the screech of scraping metal down below, followed seconds later by a crash echoing up the shaft. Several people head for the stairwell. The girl throws the handful of elevator cables she's holding at them. The cables whip through the air...and slice through two people. They fall, in a bloody mess, as the cables imbed themselves in the wall. People start screaming, and throwing up, as the punk dusts off her hands and walks back to the cameras with a grin. "Guess no one's gonna give me any !#@! now, right? Hate to kill anyone else when I'm not gettin' paid for it." She casually kicks a marble block that's anchored to the floor....it breaks free and goes flying across the room, through the plate glass window and arcs out over the city below. <><><><><> 'oh, god... maybe i never did wake up this morning...' Christine wishes that were possible, but the truth is all too obvious. She did wake up, it's just the world that's gone mad around her. Gone mad and is taking her with it. If only there were some way she could control what happened this morning, bring back that dream-magic that made her... whatever she was. Then she could do something, fight... Fight? She'd taken a class, but that was years ago. Just to make her feel a little safer. She wasn't a fighter, at least not with fists. And now, she was just another helpless victim. Helpless. The word boils inside her, as her anger builds. She hates being helpless more than anything. -- <><><><><><> [GM] You feel SOMETHING boiling inside you. Like a surge of heat, ready to explode. Meanwhile, although all the security guards were downstairs (no one is supposed to be up here that doesn't belong here), one of the guests gets clever. He pulls a gun (which he was probably carrying illegally.) And in the manner of most men who secretly carry big guns around, he thinks he is instantly in command of the situation. "All right, lady, put your hands up and lie down on the floor" he says, looking tough and pointing the pistol at her. The punk eyes him. Then she saunters towards him. He repeatedly tells her to stop. She grins at him. He fires. Twice. Both shots hit her at point blank range. Two large holes are blown in her top, but she doesn't seem to notice. She grabs his hand and squeezes. He screams and falls to his knees...you see his hand and the gun it was holding are mashed together in a sickening lump. Then she lifts him off the ground, and throws him. He sails through the air like a rag doll, and hurtles out the shattered window, following the marble block she kicked through earlier. He plummets out of sight without a sound. "Anyone else think they're bad?" she says, smirking. <><><><> 'She's killing people. Anyone who tries to stop her, no matter what. And the gun didn't phase her. She's... 'She's gone though something like I did, only she didn't wake up from the dream. And she's dragged us in. Dragged me back into the madness...' But Christine knows she has to keep her head about her. She can't be a fool, she can't handle this like the late would-be hero had. She had to be effective. And that means she needs to let whatever it is she was holding in go, release whatever it was (the crystal-body or... god, maybe something even stranger), make a stand as this crazy, bulletproof woman's equal. -- <><><><><> [GM] The desire, and the desperation rises in you, causing something white-hot to ignite in your cells. You feel heat wash over you, heat and something else. And suddenly the people around you gasp, and stand away, as your body transforms into crystal. Just like in your dream. But it's real now. You've got no doubts. The murderous punk's head snaps around, and she stares at you. And grins. "There you are!" She walks towards you. "I knew there was another freak in here. I can sense freaks, you know. But I had to draw you out. How 'bout that, a glass bimbo! The last freak I found could, like, split into three copies of herself. Just took me three times as long to kill her. Bet the cops are still trying to figure out how they got three sets of body parts from the same victim!" She laughs. "OK, Glass Bimbo, I bet dropping you from up here will make you shatter real good..." <><><><> "Might be." Christine doesn't know where the confidence is coming from. She doesn't feel it at all and she wishes she could feel a cold sweat breaking out, but crystal doesn't sweat. And it doesn't feel. "But I don't think you'll get a chance to find out." If she lets her close, she's giving the fight away. Giving her life away. No, concentrate now. There's something she can do... She doesn't know what will happen, but there is something inside her, something begging to be free, something... She points her hands toward the punked out woman and lets it go... -- <><><><><> [GM] A flash of light bursts from your hand. It illuminates the room for an instant like a high- powered searchlight, casting stark black shadows against the wall. The blast of light hits the woman, and flames engulf her. She takes a step back as you lower your arm in amazement. Her clothes are on fire, what's left of them...you incinerated most of her clothing from the waist up. She's got a nice body, you note ruefully (and rather irrelevantly). And that body seems unharmed by the blast of energy that set leather and denim instantly ablaze. She blinks and lashes out with a fist. Her fist connects with a marble pillar behind her, and smashes through it like powder. "You !@#*!! BITCH!" she screams. "You blinded me! Oh *&#@!! , I'm going to !#@$! grind you to dust!" She lurches towards you, swinging her arms wildly. Having seen what those arms did to solid stone, fortunately everyone else has sense enough to rapidly back away from her. Only a few have sense enough to run for the stairs. <><><><> 'Burned her clothes off, but didn't hurt her... 'And she crushed the pillar with one hand... 'Can't let her get close to anyone. Can't let her get close to me...' "Get to the stairs! Get out of here, everybody!" She tries to keep her voice level, commanding, but as soon as she speaks she realizes it was a mistake. She gave away her position. And she drops to the ground, rolling through whatever clear space she can find, trying to get around, get behind her attacker. To get whatever advantage she can. And looking for something large to strike with... -- <><><><><><> [GM] Dropping to the ground saves you, barely. The madwoman doesn't just lunge for the sound of your voice; she FLIES at you. She passes overhead and keeps going until she slams into the wall, into it and through it before she spins around and comes back. She lands and stands in a ready posture, staring blindly around her and listening. Meanwhile, you seized the heaviest thing you could find...a piece of bronze statuary. Carefully you raise it over your head, and use all the strength of your crystalline limbs to hurl it at the back of her head. It strikes, dead center, with a solid smack like the sound of a baseball bat hitting... ...a solid steel wall. The chunk of metal bounces off, doing no more than jarring her head forward, before she spins around and swings those deadly battering ram-fists in an arc. A normal person's head would have been split open, you're sure. You doubt you even gave her a headache. She smiles a feral grin. "I'm starting to see shapes again, Glass Bimbo. As soon as I can see YOU, you're dead. One more freak, road pizza! Wanna run and make it more fun?" Meanwhile, outside the window, you hear a helicopter flying close. A news chopper? you think. They're surely dead if this psychopath regains her vision. You can't see the helicopter because it's dark outside, and the interior light reflects off the windows. <><><><><><> 'she flies, she can't be hurt... how do I do *anything*?' There has to be a way... That power she has, the blast of light, *must* be able to be focused stronger, there must be some way to make it enough... But Christine isn't able to stay as far away as she'd like... Too many panicky people, too many innocents. But she stands stock-still, holding her right arm steady with her other hand, taking aim at the crazed woman and drawing again on whatever it is inside her, drawing it out but holding it, letting it build until she can't keep it in her any longer. And then she lets it go... -- <><><><><><><> [GM] The blast from your fingertips is narrower this time, more focused. The light beam lances out and strikes her face, and once again she screams in rage. She doubles over and rubs her eyes furiously, snarling a dozen obscenities, and more spectators take the opportunity to run for the stairs. Meanwhile, you feel more drained than before. Whatever the source of your power is, it is not unlimited. You realize that you can't keep blasting her forever; she seems to possess more durability than you. Her head rises and she blindly stares around the room, blinking and baring her teeth, but there are no burns on her face. Even her eyebrows are unsinged. You hear a commotion from the stairwell, and several slow movers are knocked flat on their backs as half a dozen men surge through the doors. It sounds as if they are coming from upstairs, which leads only to the emergency exit to the roof. Six men, wearing black jumpsuits like a flight uniform, underneath heavy lined vests and harnesses that hold a variety of equipment, most of which you don't recognize (not that you're taking time to examine it closely.) What really rivets your attention is the weapons they are holding; enormous rifles with magazines the size of a world atlas projecting from the bottom, barrels with a bore you could stuff your hand into. Scopes and stabilizers and other gadgets project from the monstrous weapons at all angles, making them look something like sinister weathervanes. The men scatter to form a semicircle against the wall behind them, and bring their weapons up to cover you and your seemingly invincible nemesis, who squints in the direction of the new noises. Just as you spot a seventh man, who is roughly bearded and wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and a baseball cap, coming through the doorway, one of the armed men snaps at another "Two metas, which one or both?" The other one yells at the two of you, "Freeze or you'll be blown in half!" <><><><><><><> It still didn't hurt her. Damn this all, if it can't even stop one crazy woman. What good could all this madness be? And then men, too many men, with guns, uniforms and loud threats. And Christine freezes, raising her hands by an instinct born of far too much TV cop show watching. -- <><><><><> [GM] You raise your hands; the madwoman sneers and launches herself at the man who spoke. Six guns roar to life, spraying bullets at the superpowered punk. These are no ordinary bullets; a mass of flames erupts against her as multiple explosions blossom where the shells strike. Many shots miss her, of course, and grapefruit-size fireballs blow holes in the walls and ceiling and floor behind her. You cringe at the carnage, like something out of a big-budget Schwarzennager movie. Plaster and concrete and glass spray around the room. The firestorm of destruction is incredible, as much of the room is decimated in a few seconds. The punk, though, is not hurt. One hand clasps a rifle and squeezes, crushing the barrel. She lunges, almost getting a hold on one of the men, but he leaps back. You see the man with the flannel shirt and baseball cap trying to sneak around her and approach, as she blindly lashes out in all directions. His hands are positioned as if to grab her....and you see sparks leaping off his fingertips. A seventh man, wearing a black business suit complete with tie, sidesteps into the room, viewing the destruction and the scenario playing out between the oddly misplaced "civilian" and the rampaging woman (who is now all but naked, as her clothes don't seem to have her invulnerability.) Spotting you, he sprints forward and comes skidding to a halt just out of arms reach, and you suddenly notice the large pistol he is holding inobtrusively in his other hand, mostly blocked by his body. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he says curtly, keeping one eye on you and one eye on the others (an interesting feat). Bursts of weapons fire still resound in the room, as the armed men squeeze off more rounds with apparently no effect other than to keep the psycho distracted. The man with the crackling fingers still can't approach, though, as he seems very aware of what her wild swings will do if one connects. "You are ALL !$#!@!! DEAD!!!" she screams, rubbing her eyes with one hand and clawing the air with the other. This one strikes the plain- clothed man a glancing blow, and he spins across the room, fortunately impacting against a couch. He jumps to his feet with a wince. <><><><><> "Chris Tallin." Chris rushes her words, they almost run together. The irony passes by her. "I was a guest here. She came, said she was looking for another... 'freak'. I was trying to stop her. All I managed to do was blind her, burn her clothes..." She looks at the ongoing melee and then back to her interrogator. "I don't know how much good I can do, but can I at least try to help?" -- <><><><><> [GM] The man in the suit looks contemplative. Then less so, as one man screams. One of the superwoman's swings caught him on the shoulder, and he flies across the room, his arm hanging from the shoulder socket at an obscene angle. "Keerist!" exclaims the man in the flannel shirt. He moves towards the madwoman again. "Where are you, you Glass Bimbo?" she screams, ripping a section of the floor up and hurling it across the room, to smash against the wall. "And there's another freak in here...you're dead too!" "She wants you, it seems, Crystalline." The man in the suit seems unnaturally calm for the violence going on around him. "Can you attract her attention, draw her to you while Jason tries to get a hold of her?" <><><><><> "I can try." She does her best to sound far more confident than she is. Acting lessons help, but not nearly enough. Her perfect voice has the shakes, even if her crystal body doesn't betray a bit of fright. "You'd better take cover. Who knows what she'll do." And Christine turns away from the all too calm man, trotting closer to the supoer-powered maniac even as every common-sense part of her screams to do just the opposite. She steels her voice again, drops into what her self defense instructor always called a 'ready position', balanced and ready to move any way she has to. "I'm right here. What are you going to do about it... bitch?" The last word sounded so tough... Hollywood action films demanded that in a grand confrontation. She felt silly actually doing it. -- <><><><><> [GM] >>>"I'm right here. What are you going to do about it... bitch?" She moves so fast this time, you don't have time to blink. Suddenly she's THERE, in your face, and her hand closes on your arm, squeezing hard to make sure you don't get away. You were hoping if she did make contact, she'd send you flying; your hard structure might be able to take an impact. You don't feel pain, but you do feel something where her hand circles your forearm, just above the wrist. Like heat, inside your crystalline flesh. You think you hear a crackling sound, but you're not sure. "Gonna look like that Venus statue, Bimbo!" she laughs, raising her other hand in a fist that you know can shatter stone, and probably crystal as well....instinctively, you raise your free hand and pulse again, throwing every last bit of energy you can muster into her face. She screams, not only in rage but in pain this time. Her eyes have gone milky white and she spins around in agony...but still holding onto you, and whipping you about like you weigh nothing. You exult, briefly, at the realization that she's not totally invincible. But then she holds you out at arms length, while the other arm extends also, preparing to deliver a blow that will probably splinter you to pieces. You're too weak to do anything else. Behind her, the man in the baseball cap has been closing in, his hands spread wide. You can now see electricity arcing between his palms. Then he pauses..."What if ah 'lecterkeeyoot the glass lady?" he says, over his shoulder to the man who seems to be in charge. "DO IT!" that man snaps. You may be dead anyways, it occurs to you, though you're not impressed with Mr. Cool and Collected's concern for your well-being. As the lunatic hesitates, trying to figure out what's going on behind her, Baseball Cap moves, slapping his hands down on her bare shoulders. An explosion of light fills the room, and almost immediately your vision darkens, as if you're wearing sunglasses. You hear a hissing, crackling noise, like the sound of bacon on a griddle being pumped through a speaker system at high volume. Your attacker jerks and releases you, the casual spasm of her arm sending you ten feet, where you collide with one of the gun- wielding agents and fall with him to the floor. The man is still holding onto the woman, and a halo of lightning surrounds them both. Sparks shoot across the room in all directions, and you see electricity arc out to zap nearby metal objects. One man yells and drops his rifle, shaking his hands vigorously and dancing around, then dives as the rifle's magazine explodes. The punk has stopped her spastic convulsions, and now stands almost immobile, although she is vibrating slightly. Her back is arched and her mouth gapes open in a soundless scream. Her hair, what's left of it, stands straight out, and jets of current ripple across her bare skin, from head to toe. The man behind her loosens his grip on her shoulders, one hand at a time, and throws his arms around her, one hand grasping a breast (deliberately, or just whatever's handy? you wonder briefly). And he holds on for dear life, digging fingers into her breast and stomach, and pumps more current into her. You see his teeth clenching and his eyes squint shut with the effort. The two of them are becoming indistinct, almost like glowing photographic negative images. Is it your imagination, or can you actually see the madwoman's skeleton through her glowing skin, like in those old cartoons? And suddenly the display ends. The man slumps to his knees, barely able to keep from sliding to the floor. The woman is still standing. But she's not moving, aside from some twitching that goes on under her skin. Her eyes are wide open, staring blindly, and her teeth chatter madly as her jaw moves up and down. Fingers spasm and clutch the air. Her shoulders looks red and blistered, but there are palm-shaped patches of burned flesh on her breast and belly. You can actually see wisps of smoke coming out of her ears. An incoherent moan escapes her. Then she lifts off. Still not really moving, her body stays in its semi-frozen stance, but she levitates into the air. Then shoots straight up, crashing through the ceiling. A few of the armed men react quickly enough to raise their rifles and send more shells flying after her, but she keeps going, and quickly disappears into the night sky. "Jeezus H. Keerist!" exclaims Baseball Cap. "That woulda frahd a dah-nah-soah, ah becher! 'at's one tough broad!" "Well," your other friend, the calm one, says, looking down at you. (When did he move?) "A good thing glass isn't conductive." CRYSTAL’S STORY (PART TWO) It all happens so fast, there is nothing but panic and reflex and an empty lack of pain. No pain... But she is trying to examine her wrist for signs of damage when the too calm man speaks. "And did you know that for sure, or just take a guess?" Her bitterness was obvious. He could have killed her. He almost did anyway, causing her to be thrown like she was. Her or some of his men. And he hadn't cared. -Crystal- <><><><><> [GM] "Oh, I had to take my best guess...there's no such thing as a completely non-conductive material of course; even rubber will conduct electricity if you feed enough volts into it. But I figured you had a better chance of surviving whatever voltage leaked through our punked-out friend's body to you, than the blow she was about to shatter your skull with." He sounds almost cheerful, and unperturbed by the glare you give him. Your wrist is fractured with a fine spiderweb tracery of cracks. You look at it with horror, flexing your fingers cautiously and hoping you won't see little fragments chipping and falling off. You can't be sure how much damage this represents...is it analogous to a bruise, or something that will require a skin graft? You suddenly feel very apprehensive about changing back to normal. "So, Crystalline," Mr. Annoyingly Undauntable says. "Interesting pseudonym. Are you planning to be a superheroine, like in the comics? I'd advise against it. Here's my identification, by the way." He holds out a wallet which reveals a badge (inscribed with the Department of Defense seal) and an ID card that indicates only that he is "Special Agent Kyle Wittman, Department of Defense." Signed by Attorney General Janet Reno...and it doesn't look like a photocopied signature. Meanwhile, the man with all the voltage limps over to you, takes off his cap, and says "Y'all were a big hep, ma'am. Ah'm shoah glad y'all're one a' the good gahs." Suddenly looking abashed, he crumples his hat in his hands and says "Uh, mah name's Jason Little. Special Agent Little. But y'all kin call me Jason." Special Agent Wittman purses his lips and looks amused. <><><><><> "I'm so glad you're looking out for my welfare." She knows she really shouldn't be angry at him, She had gotten herself into the mess originally, he and his men, especially the man with the electrical powers, had saved her from certain death. And with almost no injury. Or so she hoped as she looks at her stress-fractured wrist. "It's no pseudonym, Agent Wittman. It's my name. Christine Tallin. I... guess it would make a good pseudonym if I wanted one, though... 'Crystal...'" The room's light reflects offthe facets of her fingertips as she moves them again, testing, hoping she isn't really hurt beneath this crystal form. And then she turns a smile toward the other agent. A very bright, honest smile, not at all her practiced camera one. He'd earned it. "Thank *you*, Jason. I'd already poured my best into her, I guess. But it didn't even slow her down. If you hadn't shown up when you did..." But she doesn't want to think about that, even though she finds this body not delicate enough to manage the goodpimply shudder she would like at the thought. She chases it from her mind, but find another replacing it quickly. "You... you aren't going to arrest me now or something, are you? I mean... I was just trying to stop her after she broke in, started breaking things, hurting people..." -- <><><><><> [GM] "Arrest you? Why should we do that?" Agent Wittman holsters his gun and looks at the carnage around you. The man who got clipped by the madwoman is having his arm bound up by his companions, while more police pour into the room, along with SWAT officers bearing assault rifles, looking around for someone to shoot. Many look ill at the sight of the two dismembered corpses. "Hey Boss, can we get these guys out of here?" one of the men calls to Wittman. Wittman looks annoyed. "We knew this was coming," he says. "This may be the incident that blows it all open. Paula Abdul would have to be here. Well, I'll see what I can do to minimize things for now. I don't suppose you can change back to normal?" Already, several police officers are staring at you. Jason stands with his hands at his side, looking a bit discomfitted by all the activity. But he says to you, "Ah think you did moah th'n slow'r down. Yuh blahnded her rat good. Ah couldn't'a got close ta lekterfy her if'n yuh hadn't. Too bad it didn't stop'er." <><><><><> "I don't know... I hope so. I've only changed once before..." Suddenly, something else he said catches hold in Christine's mind. Something... "How long has this been happening?" Jason is all but ignored at her side, as she tries to figure out what this means. The government had known this was happening, long enough to have its own agents with whatever this was already in the field. And no one knew. No one at all. Except they were about to. And what did that mean...? -- <><><><><> [GM You concentrate on becoming normal again. At first nothing happens, and you almost panic. Then your crystalline flesh abruptly turns pinkish, then opaque, then softens and becomes meat again. Your wrist hurts like hell. Moving your fingers causes more pain. A quick glance shows that there is no open wound, but a splint seems like a good idea right now, followed by a trip to a radiologist. Wittman comes back after arguing briefly with the SWAT captain. "Ah, Ms. Tallen, lovely in the flesh as well. If you'd like to come with us, we can get you past the police and the press. Then I'm sure we'll have plenty of things to talk about." <><><><><> "You didn't answer my question," Christine says, not wanting to show her pain to the cold government agent. But if she doesn't deal with her wrist soon, it will be bruised and swollen and she'll be having to disguise it for weeks, losing money she needs to keep her bills paid. But he is no place to go for comfort. He'll probably just use a promise of treatment to lead her off into whatever secret 'debriefing' he wants. And she already knows she can't trust him to worry about her well being more than whatever he considers his 'duty.' And so she turns to Jason, losing the mask as soon as she meets his friendly face. It almost relieves the pain just to allow it to flow to her face. Almost. Her voice is quiet, whispered through pain-clinched teeth. "Jason... I think I should find a paramedic. I... I think she broke my wrist." -Crystal <><><><><> [GM] Jason's eyes widen with concern. Then you realize that he may be well-intentioned, but he's not necessarily the brightest person...he immediately turns to Whittman. "Hey, Miss Tallen needs a doctor, the crazy woman mebbe broke her wrist!" Paramedics are already arriving, and Whittman waves one over to you. He looks at it (and there is indeed an evil bruise spreading quickly as blood wells up under the skin), and pulls a temporary splint from his bag and applies it. "You need to have this X-rayed immediately," the paramedic says. "It's fractured at least, and probably broken. Most likely you'll need a cast." And painkillers would be nice too, you think, wishing you were back in your unfeeling crystal form. Whittman declares that he'll need to stay here to make sure everything is under control. He asks Jason to go with you to the hospital, "just in case some other trouble finds you", he says. "I suspect the lovely and charming Ms. Golden won't be back, at least until she stops glowing....but just in case." "Is that awl rat with you, Miss Tallen?" Jason asks, as Special Agent Wittman goes back to ordering the cops around, and having a couple of especially enterprising photographers bodily hauled back down the stairs. You notice that another dark-suited man, who wasn't here a few minutes ago, is now standing nearby, apparently waiting for you and Jason. He shows you a badge identical to Whittman's, except he is Special Agent Richard K. Donnay. "I can get you past the reporters and police cordon, and bypass the public emergency room at the hospital," he says. "And brief you on the situation." At your disdainful expression he says, "There are things you want to know, and things we want to know....you're going to have to deal with us, one way or the other; let's make it mutually beneficial, why don't we?" <><><><><> Christine just nods, trying not to move her wrist any more than necessary, trying to walk with smooth, non- jarring steps. She files one more name in her memory. Golden. That was the maniac who had tried to kill her. And would try again. She could feel that as deeply as the throbbing from her wrist. "Agent Donnay, right now I'd say yes to almost anything to get this all over, any way I could." She forces a smile. Humor is her only option right now. It's that or scream. "I'm trusting you and Jason to not take advantage of that." -Christine Tallin- <><><><><> [GM] "Take advantage of yew?" Jason asks, looking puzzled and dismayed. Donnay steps in smoothly, starting to put a hand on Jason's shoulder then apparently thinks better of it. "Let's get Ms. Tallen to the hospital," he says. It's a long walk down four flights of stairs, before you get to a second elevator that takes you down the remaining twenty-seven. As promised, more armed agents and the NYPD clear a path to a black car with government stickers on it. Jason opens the front passenger door for you, then slides into the back as Donnay drives. "OK, let me try to answer as many questions as I can briefly and to the point," he says, as you all head for the emergency room, with your wrist throbbing angrily. You can see blood pooling under the skin around the evil bruise, and you know you can forget the video for a few weeks at least, unless they can work you in in such a way that your left arm stays hidden. "You asked Whittacker how long this has been going on, 'this' I assume meaning the sudden plague of superhumans. We've known about them for about a year, so our analysts figure they've been around longer than that. No telling how long, probably a few have been in existence for many years, possibly there have been occasional superhumans among the population throughout history. But the frequency is definitely increasing. We know for certain about at least thirteen...now fourteen, counting yourself, with strong leads on a number of others, and evidence of varying reliability that could put the total at over thirty. This is just in the U.S., and just the ones who have made some kind of a stir...undoubtedly there are others out there who are staying very quiet, maybe even unaware of their powers. We know there are others elsewhere, but haven't had much luck in coordinating our intelligence gathering with other national agencies." "We don't know the cause, or much else about people like you, and believe me, scientists have been studying all the angles, with what little data has been available to them. It seems to happen to people totally at random, all of a sudden they have superpowers, often occuring when they're under stress. We don't know if it's genetic, or the result of drugs or chemicals or radiation, or cosmic vibrations messing your karma. They've got at least a dozen theories, and there's no hard evidence to back up any of them yet. And yes, we'd absolutely LOVE for you to help us increase our data." "As for how we came to be, the government, at the very highest levels, immediately recognized that this is potentially the greatest threat ever to face us. We have NO way to stop criminal superhumans using conventional methods, and damn little using unconventional methods. Our boys in the weapons labs have been coming up with experimental weapons to use against supers, and you can see how effective our brand spanking new armor-piercing explosive shells were against your friend. " "That's where people like Jason and you come in. Only Jason was able to stop Lucretia." "With Miss Tallen's help," Jason adds. "It may be that the only defense normal people will have against monsters like her, is superhumans like him that are willing to protect the population." "Ah thought ah was some kand of freak," Jason says. "Until Agent Whittaker told me it was some kand of...sayentifik pheenomenah. And the guv'mint NEEDS us, Miss Tallen. Ah know yer one of the good gahs." <><><><><> It all sounds so right, but Christine can hear Tom's voice in her head. She'd heard him talk about the government all the time, about how they make all the right promises, say all the right things, but always do the same thing they always have done. She wants to trust these two men, one who had saved her life just minutes before, both who were trying to help her now. But she couldn't. "Agent Donnay, Jason, you know I would love to help. To do whatever I can. But I'm no super-criminal fighter. I'm a model, a singer and an actress. That's what I do. I don't know what happened to me last night or why or what it means. I just know that I did what I had to do back there, but I can't do it again, not like that. I can't do that as my life. And I don't want to be some kind of lab animal, no matter how good the cause. "Besides... I couldn't ever be a government agent. I..." Christine is blushing now, embarrassed to have to admit the truth. "I have a criminal record. Trespassing, resisting arrest..." She blinks tears from her eyes. From the pain, she tells herself. "I'd rather you just leave me at the hospital. And then let me go on with my life. My normal, private life. "Please." <><><><><> [GM] Donnay chuckles. "Trespassing, resisting arrest...yeah, you sound like a dangerous subversive all right. Let me guess; political activism, save the whales, feed the world, that kind of thing? All the right causes for an aspiring actress to be involved with..." His insight is infuriating, especially since it's so accurate. "Look, whatever you might think about men in dark suits who work for the government, we can't force you to work for us. But you'd better think about a couple of things. First; we've managed to keep a lid on this thing for almost a year, but we've known all along that it's only a matter of time before it hits the public. This little skirmish has a good chance of being it...awful lot of celebrities and video cameras were on hand. Second; in case you didn't figure it out during your fight, Lucretia- that's just our code name for her, by the way- can sense other superhumans. And we've got reason to think that that may be a fairly common power. Relatively speaking, of course. Meaning you're likely to keep running into others of your kind whether you want to or not." "Like it or not, you're now a member of a very exclusive minority, and it's going to change your life. You may need our help, sooner or later. Information, legal aid, or protection from invulnerable lunatics. Considering how desperate we are for superhumans on our side, it's a seller's market right now. But there's no telling what will happen in the near future." He gives you a card with just his name and phone number on it as he and Jason walk you into the emergency room. Agent Donnay fetches a doctor, showing his badge, while Jason asks you, "Are yew shuah yew just want us ta go?" <><><><><> Christine has nothing she can say now. She couldn't decide so easily, not something like this. She has to have time. She didn't want to trust this man, but everything he said sounded so very true... She holds his card in her good hand, then turns to Jason. "I'm sure. For now. But if I need you, I'll call. I promise." And she steps close and brushes her lips against his cheek. He'd earned that. "thank you, jason," she whispers before turning away... <><><><><> [GM] Jason blushes, and looks pleased. "Ah hope ah'll see yew agin, Miss Tallen", he says, tipping his hat. "Yewd be 'n awful purty Speshul Aygent." [Yeah, I know this spelling is annoying...I'm not sure how else to represent a Kentucky accent. ] Whittaker tells you again to call him...soon. He and Jason leave (Jason with a regretful look back at you). A doctor is examining your ugly, swollen wrist, tsking. "Now how did you do this?" he asks. "Nurse, get this lady's insurance information and then take her to radiology, please." <><><><><> "I was attacked, Doctor. A woman. She took hold of my wrist and *squeezed*. I didn't feel anything then, but afterwards..." It was close enough to true. It still hurt to leave out important details. How would he treat her properly if she lied like this? But how would he be able to treat her at all if she told him the whole truth? Did medical training include repairing crystal sculpture? She ran through her insurance information as completely as she could. The pain was a constant now, manageable. No worse than her legs felt after a long shoot in ridiculous shoes. If she keeps thinking that, she'll start to believe it. It's not as bad as it feels... But once the doctor is done, she has only one thing on her mind. "I need to make a phone call. It's rather important. Where can I...?" <><><><><> [GM] The doctor examines your wrist with surprise. "Kind of an unusual injury" he says. "This woman must have been pretty strong. Besides fractured bones in your wrist, there's a lot of crushed tissue. We'll need to keep a close eye on that, make sure the cells don't die. That could be nasty, requiring surgical removal, possibly grafts." You shudder. "But I think it will be all right....you'll need to wear a splint, to keep it immobile, and it's going to hurt for a while. I'll prescribe some pain-killers for you." He indicates a phone available for you, while he does the paperwork. <><><><><> "Thank you, Doctor," Christine says, then makes her way toward the phone. It is difficult to dial without using her injured hand, but the number is familiar. She's putting in a call to Billi Cameron. Because if anyone knows the name she needs now, it's Billi. <><><><><> [GM] Billi isn't at home, but you also have her pager number. About ten minutes later, just as you're afraid you'll have to leave the hospital soon and call her from another place, the phone rings. At the other end, Billi says "This is Billi Cameron, who is this?" <><><><><> "It's Chris, Billi. I need your help. I'm in New York and I need the name of a good lawyer. Nothing criminal, don't worry. I just need someone to handle the ins and outs of a really unique situation. Fast. "Well, yes, I suppose it is a business situation." Thinking is a little difficult through the blend of pain and drug-haze, but Christine does her best to keep her head around her. She has to beat the tabloids to the punch, because if someone got a picture of her tonight it was all over much too vsoon. And she has to get something out of this mess... <><><><><> [GM] "Chris!" Billi's voice is surprised and delighted, but you know her well enough not to miss the artifice in her tone. She's already calculating, scheming, trying to figure out why you called and how she can turn it to her advantage. "Well, it's hard to give you a recommendation without knowing a little more about what this 'unique situation' is," she purrs. "Are you being offered something special in the way of a job?" "I do happen to know a very good lawyer in New York who's taken on some special clients of mine before....handling image problems, getting around annoying contractual issues, he even managed to save one of my girls- oh, you'd be surprised if you knew who it was!- from a certain amount of embarrassment when one of those trashy porn magazines was going to publish some photos from a more....vulnerable period in her life." Of course, she leaves the name of this lawyer unspoken, dangling him in front of you and hoping it will prompt you to let slip some more details... <><><><><> "Billi, what I need is someone who can work fast and well. I need trademarks filed something like immediately and by someone willing to fight to hold onto them." Billi wouldn't help without something and she'd fill time with the same old stories until she had what she wanted. And, just now, Christine isn't in any position or mood to argue. So subtlety was out of the question... "This is all very important and could mean a lot... Possibly more than I can handle. And if you help now, you're in the lead when I need someone to take over. And I really can't tell you more than that. Not yet. "So can you give me a name?" <><><><><> [GM] "Trademarks?" Billi sounds confused. "Umm...well, yes, I'm sure Douglas could handle that. Douglas Berlowitz." She gives you a number. "So, ah, how's the video going? I have a spot with Billy Ray Cyrus that I just might be able to pull for you...you don't have anything against country, do you?" "Oh, don't forget to tell Doug that I sent you." <><><><><> "The video's gone sour, Billi. Some kind of lunatic attacked the party tonight. I've got my wrist in a splint and bruises I don't even want to think about. I don't know what's going to happen, but I think I'm out of the picture for a few weeks. And thanks for thinking of me with Billy Ray, but I think I'll be busy on my own for a while now. Thanks for the name." Christine hangs up quickly. She hadn't meant to tell Billi that much, but it had started to come out before she could think better of it. She wasn't thinking as well as she'd like... But she dials the other number, this Douglas Berlowitz. Because she doesn't have time to wait until her head clears. The race goes to the swift. <><><><><> [GM] You get an answering machine announcing that you have reached the offices of Douglas Berlowitz, Attorney At Law. [It is after midnight...] There is another number given, for emergencies...an answering service. You call that one, and after explaining that no, you're not a client but you're going to be, maybe, and yes it is important, they finally take your number [as you still sit in the hospital hallway] and say they'll call him. Getting to be a familiar routine.... Five minutes later the phone rings again. This time a gruff voice growls "I've never heard of you, Ms. Tallen. You woke me up. Normally I charge a substantial amount of money for my time, especially when it intrudes on my sleep. You've got ten seconds, gratis." <><><><><> "Mister Berlowitz, Billi Cameron said you're good. I hope she's right. I hope you're up to this." Christine is in her professional voice. She's dealt with tough negotiators before, and she found the best way to manage it was to be just as tough as them. Or tougher. "I need someone to manage the legal matters surrounding the activity and commercial activity of..." What does she call what happened to her, what she could do? The press didn't seem to have decided yet, though she hadn't been reading the news too carefully. She had paid far more attention to the business news than to... wasn't it something in Israel? "... of the first open, public superhuman." The words were out before she really realized what she was saying. Was that what had happened to her? Was she now really 'superhuman'? The throbbing ache in her wrist says otherwise. <><><><><> [GM] There is a long pause, and you think maybe he's about to hang up. Finally, he says, "If I hadn't been watching the news in Israel, Miss Tallen, I'd think you were surely a lunatic, or someone with a sophomoric sense of humor. As it is, that still seems a significant possibility." "All right, I will entertain this notion seriously for a moment. Are you claiming to be a superhuman yourself, or are you calling on behalf of someone else? By 'public and commerical activities', and the fact that you were referred to me by Billi Cameron, I take it you are envisioning using your- or your friend's- status to generate publicity and revenue. Certainly an interesting idea. Why don't you give me some more details, something that will convince me to get out of bed and meet with you at 1:30 in the morning?" <><><><><> Christine sighs. She'd have to get used to this, quickly, if things went as she was planning, so now is when she has to start. "The superhuman is me, Mr. Berlowitz. I don't know how it happened or why, but I plan to use it the only way I know how. I'm a professional model, not any sort of political crusader, terrorist or vigilante. But when I want to, I can... change. Into a living crystal statue. I did it tonight at a party before the filming of Paula Abdul's newest video, in a crowded room. Because another superhuman had attacked and was out of control. By tomorrow, I'm certain sketches will be on every tabloid in the city. Maybe even pictures, I'm not sure. I need someone who can act fast enough and smart enough to keep my person the commercial property I am. I need trademarks registered, documents filed... Right away, before they become moot. And I need someone who can handle the flack, because there will be a lot of it." She lets her voice chill as she continues. She has to. She won't be able to do this again. Her wrist throbs more and painkillers artificial and natural beg her to give in and sleep and let it all fade into dream. "If you aren't up to the challenge, I'll find someone who is. I need to act now and I need someone capable of acting with me. Because it won't be just the press here." She remembers Tom's words, long nights debating politics and ecology. He didn't trust the government, but he trusted the truth. Tell the truth and people will make the right choice. Lies and secrets are were the system goes wrong. "The government wants this quiet, Mr. Berlowitz. And I want this so public they can't keep it secret or call it a hoax. "Is that enough to interest you?" <><><><><> [GM] "Spare me the crude attempts at reverse psychology, Ms. Tallen. And if you have any idea what's going on in Israel, I'd say it's a little late for the government to hide things now." "Nonetheless, yes, your case does interest me. And you're right, we'll need to begin immediately to beat the press to the punch. For starters, I suggest you devise a palatable pseudonym for yourself, even if you don't intend to hide your true identity. Otherwise you're liable to end up being called 'Glass Girl' or something of the sort." "My office is at 3415 Park Avenue West, on the second floor. I'll have to meet you out front, since the receptionist obviously isn't there right now. And before we proceed, I'll want to see this 'crystal statue' form of yours. Just to make sure this isn't a particularly clever prank." <><><><><> "You'd be surprised how much they can hide. I was." Far from putting her in her place, the lawyer's correction serves to buoy up Christine's flagging confidence. He was trying to be somewhat funny, which meant he wasn't asleep or uninterested. He was going to help her! "I'll be there. And the name will be 'Crystal'. I'm sure it will prove appropriate. Until then, Mr. Berlowitz." Christine hangs up the phone after his goodbyes are said, then finalizes everything with the hospital [which will probably take longer than she would like] and finds a taxi to her new lawyer's office. <><><><><> [GM] Douglas Berlowitz proves to be a very large man with a muscular build, although he has the beginning of a paunch showing. His hair is salt and pepper grey, and he wears a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and round wire-rimmed glasses. He is sitting in a Mercedes outside the address you were given. As you approach, he steps out of the car. He is wearing a casual business suit. You notice he's holding a videotape. "Ms. Tallen? Or 'Crystal'?" he asks, holding out his hand. He unlocks the large glass door that opens to a stairway. At the top of the stairs, he opens another glass door, with "Douglas Berlowitz, Attorney" painted in gold lettering on the front. You walk past his lobby and receptionist's desk, into a large, plush office, very neat and orderly. "Perhaps you could show me this crystal form of yours now?" he asks. Meanwhile, he is pulling a television set in from an adjascent room. "After that, I have something you might want to see." He sticks the tape into the VCR beneath the TV, then turns to look at you. <><><><><> "Chris. If we're going to work together, we may as well get past the useless formalities." Christine shakes his hand carefully, her left wrist throbbing anew just at the thought of contact. She tries not to think what she must look like. Certainly no picture-perfect covergirl. Her clothes have to be a mess, her hair and makeup... She follows him into his office without another word, then nods at his request. And while he is turned, she tries to recall just what she did before, what triggered the change from flesh to crystal then back. Concentrates, focuses, her eyes closed, her mind fighting to think past fatigue, pain and painkillers and find the secret again... <><><><><> [GM] You feel your flesh tingle and harden again, but it takes effort this time. When you become crystalline once more, you feel enervated, even more drained than you felt in your normal body. But at least your wrist stops hurting. Berlowitz looks at you for a moment, stopping just short of staring. "Incredible." He shakes his head. "I'm not even going to pretend to guess how that's possible, and what happens to your circulation and respiration and all your other bodily functions...I can't imagine how this could happen, outside a comic book. But obviously it is. Look at this." He plays the tape, and you see it's a newscast- with footage of you! A camera was filming your battle with the madwoman- Golden, Agent Wittman called her, and the other agent referred to her, half-jokingly, as Lucretia. You see your futile attempt to stand her off, then your first blast of light, which apparently blinded the camera as well as the lunatic. When the footage resumes, she's swinging blindly as you try to brain her with the piece of bronze statuary. Then your second laser burst, which blinds the camera again. There is some more jarred footage, as Wittman's men burst in, but not much more is coherent. A newscaster standing outside then relates the story, as collected from witnesses. You're being referred to as "the crystal woman", while the psycho is "the killer superwoman." The armed agents are mentioned, though the media hasn't sorted out yet whether they were part of the S.W.A.T. team or another agency. And no mention of Jason. "I turned on the TV right after you called," Berlowitz says. "This story is runnning on most New York stations, even this early in the morning. It will be national within a few hours." "Why don't you start out by telling me the whole story as it actually happened? At least from your point of view. Meanwhile, I can start filling out these forms, and typing up some injunctions that will keep your image from being used commercially without your permission, while the trademarks are pending. Then we need to figure out just what you're going to do with these powers of yours." He boots up his computer. <><><><><> "I don't know how it happens either. It's pretty tiring, though. And... "Oh my god..." Christine watches the footage with as close to a shocked expression as her crystal features allow. Somehow, she finds she misses the feelings of panic she expects. Her crystal body is calm and steady, just tired. No hint of nervous jitters or tension. That all stays just in her mind. "They don't have a name, do they? They don't know it's me yet..." That has to be true. They didn't say her name. They must now know. "I... Well, I don't really know what happened. Last night... Almost twenty-four hours ago, I guess... maybe less with the time zones, I woke up and I was... this. I don't know how, I just... was. I tried to deny it, but it was real. I... Well, I couldn't explain it, so I went into my exercise room, to see just what had happened, what this body could do. I was stronger than I expected. A lot stronger. But after a few minutes, I got very tired and fell asleep, and woke up normal again. Me again. I'd called a friend, in a panic, and he helped calm me down. He's good at that. I don't think he really believed me. "Anyway, I had to get to New York today. I was going to be in the shoot tomorrow. With Paula Abdul. Her new video. Tonight was the party for it." She's so tired, it's hard to keep everything straight. So tired... "She showed up. Golden. Lucretia. I don't know her name. She could tell I was there. She was looking for me. And I... I couldn't let her rampage through the room. She could fly and she was... strong enough to do this." She holds up her wrist, the fracture lines reminding her of absent pains. "I tried everything I could. The blasts of light... I didn't know I could do that, but it slowed her down. Long enough for the government men to arrive. They had a superhuman of their own. He makes lightning, I think. Tried to stop her, but he couldn't. She flew off, but I don't think it's the last I'll see of her. I hope it is..." She tries to yawn, but finds breathing an unusual experience now. The gesture dies half-finished. "Mister Berlowitz, I'm very tired... Do you think I could steal a quick nap here? Just a few minutes?" <><><><><> [GM] You lay down on his couch, and are asleep in moments. You wake up, still lying on the couch. Daylight is coming in through the window. He apparently dug up a blanket somewhere, and put it over you. You're back in flesh and blood form. And the painkillers have worn off; your wrist is throbbing. Berlowitz is gone, though his computer is still on. You hear noise from the front room, and go out there. A neatly dressed woman with glasses and dark brown hair is sitting at the desk, doing work on her own computer. She looks up with a start when you walk in, then smiles and stands. "I'm Debby Polver, Mr. Berlowitz' administrative assistant. Read 'secretary'." She shakes your hand- your good hand. "Mr. Berlowitz went to get some coffee and donuts, he figured you might be hungry when you wake up." As a matter of fact, you're very hungry. Not knowing just how much Berlowitz has told this woman, you nod and make polite small talk. Less than half an hour later, your lawyer returns, holding a box of donuts and two fresh coffees. He greets you, asks how you're feeling, then speaks briefly with Ms. Polver for a few minutes, apparently about some other cases. Then he takes you back into his office. "You turned back to normal almost immediately on falling asleep", Berlowitz says. "I don't know how much you've learned about the capabilities of that body, but it would probably be in your best interests to find out. Meanwhile, I've been gathering information. Also, we're ready to file exclusive licenses on the title 'Crystal', and your image- as a superhuman- once you sign these forms. You're still a public figure, if not before then certainly now, so you've already lost certain rights to privacy. But no one, for instance, can start putting out 'Crystal action figures', or comic books, or posters, once we get these approved. Now, you should consider just what sort of a public role you want to play. I should imagine there are some very lucrative commercial possibilities with these powers, especially since there are so few of you superhumans. I don't know what direction you want to go with that, though." "You might want to make yourself aware of some of the other things that have been going on recently," he continues. He hands you a stack of news clippings, and the latest Time Magazine, with a photo of Deathstorm and a blond man grappling in midair. "A New Breed of Humanity?" is the caption. You spend some time acquainting yourself with the events in Israel, Cyclone's latest threat, the Japanese "spider woman", and rumors of other occurences, in Chicago and Dallas and elsewhere. <><><><><> "Thank you. I hadn't been paying all this much attention..." Christine sets aside the numerous articles and magazines, frowning slightly. She ran her fingers through her hair and again worried about how horrible she must look. She needed about a week in a bath, and she needed Betty and about a month to every feel right again, and Terry just to talk to. But there wasn't that kind of time. "All right. We need to schedule a press announcement. In the middle of the afternoon, I think. Late enough so I can get ready and that will take some time, early enough to make the evening news. Can you arrange that?" Her wrist was throbbing, but it could be ignored. It had to be ignored. She only had a small amount of time now. And so much to do. <><><><><> [GM] "I think if I call the news stations and tell them that the 'crystal woman' from last night wants to hold a press conference, they'll come," Berlowitz says. "Do you have an idea yet what you want to say? You might want an image consultant before you do this....though I already spoke to Billi Cameron, and she says you're rather stubborn about representing yourself." "I assume you plan to hold the conference in your crystal form?" <><><><><> "Mister Berlowitz, I got into the business before I could walk. My mother took care of everything and I did the work. But she was cheating me all along, and when I caught her, I ended up almost broke and all but out of the buisiness. It took years and a lot of work to get back to just where I am, but I did it. I learned how to do what I had to do and I did it. And unless I have to, I don't make myself trust anyone. After all, if I couldn't trust my own mother, who could I trust? "But there is a bright side. For you, at least." Christine smiles and looks over at the lawyer with a slightly devilish gleam in her eyes. "I never had time to take the Bar, so you're the sort help I still need." He'd touched a nerve, but he knew that now. She could take care of herself. "I've got a plan. Just an idea. I'll need to do some shopping between now and then, because there's a certain look I want... I'll come out as me. I want something familiar, someone they know. Or I hope some of them do. I'll be wearing a blue and white lycra bodysuit. They're all the rage in the comic books, and the colors will go well with Crystal. I'll explain who I am, what happened last night, and when the moment comes... change. Then I expect things will go crazy and no amount of planning will do any good. I can handle it. "But I need to start getting ready. Now. Call me at my hotel when the time and location is set." She stands, almost not remembering to avoid putting weight on her wrist and feeling another flare of pain from it as a reminder. "You do plan on being at the briefing yourself, don't you?" [Question... Did Chris manage to get either of her regulars (Betty and Terry) to accompany her on this job or is she on her own to get ready for the briefing? If the latter, her first act will be to call Terry (probably still at an ungodly hour in Califirnia ) and get him to fly over, or at least to listen for a long time... She'll need to shop for that costume and make herself as presentable as she can (especially a problem with that wrist) and she also needs to formally report her injury to the video's producers. And who knows what else might come up? ] <><><><><> [GM] [Well, I think Paula Abdul has a pretty large crew of her own, unless Christine insisted on bringing her own people. And that might have made her look like a prima donna, something she probably doesn't want. Terry probably wouldn't have come, since he's a photographer, and you'll undoubtedly have tons of footage (or would have) from all the photographers and cameras already in place.] "Of course I'll be there. Running interference when the questions become hard to handle is part of my job." He smiles. "A lycra superhero costume, eh? I don't think most people could get away with that....skin-tight clothing isn't as flattering to most people as it looks in a comic book. But I think you can pull it off." Berlowitz tells you he'll give you a call shortly, and you head for your hotel room. It's about 9:00 AM now, which means 6:00 AM in California. When you call Terry, he answers, sounding sleepy again. <><><><><> [Okay, so Chris is 'on her own' for the moment. No problem... ] "Why, thank you, Mister Berlowitz. If you think that after I've been through a night of hell, I'm less worried than I was before." And then she is away and can drop her confident shell and let her worry show in her own room. Her hand shakes as she taps Terry's number on the phone. "Terry? It's Chris. I'm sorry... I should stop calling you in the middle of the night. But last night... It didn't make the news out there, did it?" <><><><><> [GM] Terry sounds alarmed again. "Chris? Uhh, I was asleep, haven't been watching the news. What happened? Are you all right?" <><><><><> "I'm fine. Well, except for my wrist... Let me explain." It takes a clumsy moment of silence for Christine to gather her thoughts. There's so much she has to explain... "It was at Paula's party last night. A woman flew in through the window, looking for someone. Looking for me. Because of what happened, what I could become. She was killing people, destroying things, and I... I had to do something, if I could. I changed again. Like the night before. It'll be on the news... someone filmed it. I don't think anyone will recognize me from the tape, but... "I'm going public today. I've got a lawyer here, he's arranging a press conference. I can't deny this and I can't hide it. And with my wrist... that crazy woman fractured it and you wouldn't believe the bruises... this trip is a wash anyway. I guess I've got a really unique gimmick now..." She tries to laugh at her weak joke, but can't quite manage it. "I need to know if I'm doing the right thing, Ter. The government has already asked me to help them, but I'm not cut out for hunting down superhuman crazies. All I know is what I do, and I think I can do this to help calm people down. After Israel and all the other strange things. I can be a friendly face, a calm voice... "But I'm worried. If there are more crazies, I could be making myself a target. I could be making *you* a target. I... "I don't know if I can do this. And I don't think I can stop it any more." <><><><><> [GM] Terry says "Oh my God. You're serious aren't you?" "Jesus....when I was a kid, I wanted to fly like Superman. Now there are people who really can." His voice is full of awe, and wonder. "Chris....I can't tell you what to do. But don't decide to do something or not on my account. I wouldn't think I need to tell *you* about making decisions for yourself, and not for other people." "You know I don't exactly have a love affair with the federal government. Even when someone relatively benign is in the White House, the instruments of power are run by the same bastards. But if you think you can do something right, make a difference...not many people get something like this handed to them." <><><><><> "I know. I know all this, but knowing it doesn't make it all make sense. And it doesn't make it safe. Terry, you don't know how strong that woman was. I do. And she was trying to kill me. If I go through with this, she might be after you next, or Betty. Or somebody else might be. Or next time I might not have enough warning..." Christine wipes a tear from her cheek. This is all turning out so wrong. Terry is so excited and she's... "I'm scared, Terry. I know what I have to do, but I'm scared." <><><><><> [GM] Terry says, "Umm. Well....I guess that's why they have secret identities in the comic books. I guess it's too late for that where you're concerned, though." The joke doesn't seem very funny. "Chris....what else can you do? I guess having a super-powered lunatic try to kill me would scare me too. But scared or not....what else can you do?" He sounds kind of helpless. "I guess the government might be able to hide you, IF you can trust them. Or you can go public, and hope you can find someone else like you, maybe someone who can help you beat this psycho." "I can come out there, if you'd like. I don't know how long it'll take, but I'd be there within a day." <><><><><> "I could use you here, Terry. Personally and professionally. I'm going to need some pictures as Crystal fast, I'm sure. And you're the best. "We'll make it, somehow. We always have." She feels stronger, suddenly, somehow encouraged by Terry's support even though he answered none of her questions or doubts. He believe she can do it, and that is enough. She gives him her room number, apologizes again for waking him so early two mornings in a row, then insists she has to get away to get ready for the afternoon ahead of her. She pulls out the phone book the hotel left in her room and begins looking for a likely place to get the costume she wants quickly while she waits for her lawyer's call. <><><><><> [GM] Terry says he'll book a flight immediately, and you hang up, feeling a little bit better. Costume shops are plentiful in New York, and spandex superhero costumes are fairly popular. It only takes a couple hours before you find a simple blue and white outfit that is reasonably close to what you had in mind. When you bring it back to your hotel room, you put it on, and standing in front of a mirror, turn to Crystal. The hard "flesh" of your crystalline body shows through the skintight material just as well as your softer flesh did. You also feel a bit stronger as Crystal now. The phone rings, and remembering how odd and high- pitched your voice sounds in this body, you change back to answer the phone. It's Berlowitz, telling you he has a press conference set up. "I identified you as 'Crystal',", he says, "and told them you will be speaking to the press. They'll probably be broadcasting teasers on TV and radio around the city today; your announcement will lead the six o'clock news. Incidentally, Paula Abdul, for one, has figured out who you are. She wants to talk to you. I told her you'd meet her immediately after your press conference." <><><><><> The costume isn't quite perfect. She would have to have one made that exactly matched the image she had, a rich blue with white streaking up one leg, raising to cross her back, slip behind her shoulder, then curl over just enough to suggest a "C" falling from her left shoulder. That would be perfect. And, of course, there would be other costumes as well. One could hardly wear the same thing all the time. But after the first couple, if all went well, there would hardly be a need for *her* to be designing them. The problem would be more finding time to attend the fittings. If all goes well. She nods at her lawyers call, then simply agrees to everything. Paula would have been smart enough to put things together. So would several others from last night without her leverage. But Paula, or, more likely, her agents, was probably smart enough realize what they had, accidentally, gotten ahold of. And she had agreed to the video... Christine wonders, for a moment, if Paula's album has a song that lends itself to Crystal's unique appearance, then decides that is best left to later. For now, she must find out more about her new self and what it can do. She knows it has to do with light, she could feel that inside her as Crystal, had seen it the first time she changed. Perhaps in the dark she could notice things better. She closes the curtains, switches off all the lights, then changes again... -- <><><><><> [GM] The first thing you notice is that you feel slightly weaker in the darkness; nothing sudden or severe, but a very slight fatigue effect, just enough to be noticeable. Also, you sense your eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness. You do not, however, discover any supernatural ability to see in the dark. Your eyes just seem to adjust to changing light conditions faster. <><><><><> Strange. Like she fed on the light, captured it and then... That made since, in a way. She sparkled, she knows that. Crystal trapped the light, reflected it in ways impossible to describe. It wasn't just reflection or refraction or any of those things her tutors had always tried to explain between shoots. It was her and light, a mutual romance. She tries to call it out now, just a bit, drawing on the reserve within her. To light the room, not to burn or blind. Just the slightest bit of light... It cuts through the darkness, thin but strong. She had known it would work, and somehow it did. She smiled and glanced at the mirror on the wall, surprised at how her new features looked. Surprised, but becoming familiar. As strange as they were, they are her now, and she knows how to use the exotic beauty to her advantage. She press wasn't ready for anything like her, but the demand there'd be for pictures... Then Crystal throws open the curtains, drinking in the sun, its light shimmering from the facets of her face, filling her with renewed strength and confidence. She could do anything she tried, and she would not give up. Chris Tallin didn't give up. And neither would Crystal. -- <><><><><> [GM] Light radiates from your palm, and shines where you direct it. You widen and narrow the beam, then light up the entire room. And as your mood brightens, so does the hue of the light. Opening the windows, you drink in the sunlight, and feel it absorbed by your crystalline "cells", or whatever makes up the microscopic components of your body now. Your hard, glassy skin may not feel breezes, or textures, but it still feels warmth, and sunlight feels good on it. <><><><><> The power of the light, of the simple act of *feeling* it, is almost overwhelming. Crystal's fingers don't feel the curtain she pulls aside to let the light in beyond the faint hint of pressure. She can't feel the weave she can see so clearly, barely notices the sun-warmed backing or the cool interior. But the light she feels more than just in its heat. She feels the energy of it, pouring over her, flowing into her, sweet and warm and welcome and so very satisfying. It fills a hunger she hadn't known well enough to name yet, but she now knew the answer to. Crystal was more than glass and cold. She could feel now the truth, as she let warmth and light fill her. Oh, her worries were so misplaced. Her transparent face is filled with a smile so broad it strains the facets of her crystalline skin. It felt better than anything she had ever known, ever could know. And she needed just to capture this joy, to hold it and carry it in her to the gathering later. With it, there was no question how she would be accepted. She was beauty and warmth and light, who could say otherwise? A day before, she had woken from a nightmare. Now she had let it turn into a life's dream. She was everything she had ever been and so much more. She was ready. -- [Chris is going to begin the conference as herself, through dressed in Crystal's costume. The bubbling confidence her short experiments have created in her will be hardly faded and unless her new lawyer is very insistent or something very strange is going on when she steps out, she will be all but oblivious to everything except herself. [And we'll have to see how that manages to carry into the conference itself...] <><><><><> [GM] You enter the hotel lobby, where Mr. Berlowitz is waiting. He looks at your outfit and smiles. "Very nice," he says approvingly. "Wonder Woman never looked so good. Are you ready?" The lobby is filled with reporters, spectators, a few police officers and private security guards. There is a small stage by the stairs, with a microphone stand waiting for you. SHOWDOWN IN NEW YORK CITY [Christine Tallin, aka "Crystal", has scheduled a press conference, to announce her new superhuman status, and begin a new career as.....a superhuman? Unknown to her, two other supers are in the audience; Mitchell Langstrom, of New York City, and Tyler Sterrit, from Celina, Texas, who met earlier, and after testing their powers out a bit, decided to come meet the new heroine.] Crystal: The hotel lobby is crowded, wall to wall. Reporters make up most of the number, trailing tangles of cables, cameramen and photographers setting up last minute needs, final duels for the best view of the stage. The curious bystanders come next, people who either heard about the event and came to see it or just saw the crowd and joined it, hoping it would prove worth their interest. There are more than a few policemen and the hotel's security personnel are quite visible. There are so many people the small platform near the seems almost unimportant, undeserving of the bright, hot lights that focus all attention on it. No one has stepped onto it yet, and there are murmurs among the crowd as the minutes tick on past the official start time. Two. Then three. And then she begins down the steps, the flashbulbs starting at once, even before they can clearly see her. Slender, shapely legs snuggled within deep blue lycra, flowing up into a picture- perfect body, the form-hugging suit whirling into white, then ending to leave her face and that alone uncovered. The face is familiar enough, though hard to put a name to at once, though whispered voices seem to try throughout the crowd. Framed with professionally-kept brown hair, perfect, high cheekbones and large, blue-green eyes, all over a broad, joyful smile. She steps down to the platform slowly, looking over the gathered people as best she can against the glare of the camera lights. But she doesn't squint into those lights, does nothing to ruin the image. She raises a hand when she steps behind the microphone stand, and the hand is bare as well. "Good afternoon. Thank you all for coming. I hope you won't be disappointed." She smiles again, drinking in the attention as if she was born to be at its center. Her voice seems to help others put the name to the face, and there are more whispers throughout the gathering. Her words are level and confident, sure of their own strength. "I doubt it's much of a mystery to any of you now... I'm Christine Tallin. And until two nights ago, that was all. But now, I'd like to introduce you to another me, the one you all came to see. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Crystal." And her hand raises in a dramatic gesture as she suddenly changes. Her rich brown hair is gone, vanished, and her tanned skin has been replaced with fine-faceted crystal or glass, catching and reflecting the lights like a well-cut diamond. Her smile is still there, unchanged, but harder to see now against her translucent features. <><><><><> [GM] There are a few gasps, and much murmuring, as the beautiful cover girl suddenly becomes a beautiful crystal statue. Cameras flash, causing spectacular multihued reflections as the light splashes against her finely cut surfaces. Some reporters and photographers jostle each other to get closer, and questions begin to come from the assembled crowd; "Do you work for the government?" "How did you get your powers?" "Are you going to fight super-terrorists like Deathstorm?" "Were you in the battle at Paula Abdul's party last night?" "What happened to the superwoman?" "What about rumors that there was a human lightning bolt there?" "Have you met Paladin?" A flurry of questions, and Crystal waits for them to sort themselves out a little. A large bearded man in a neatly tailored suit moves forward, as if to start imposing some order on the excited reporters. Crystal smiles at the undivided attention focused on her, the video cameras broadcasting her eerily beautiful face to New York City, and the rest of the world. Then the roof caves in with a crash. Glass and plaster explode over the crowd. The skylight and much of the ceiling next to it disintegrates as something smashes through them. A dark figure, arms outstretched as she descends through the gaping hole she made and plummets straight down, feet first. A diminutive woman wrapped in black leather and heavy metal chains, her spray-painted biker jacket hanging slightly open to show bare cleavage with a bright green snake tattoo curling across one breast. A skull shaved bare except for a shocking purple mohawk standing straight up on her head, and a large metal stud piercing her left nostril. Golden. Lucretia. Whatever her name is, Crystal recognizes the murderous superhuman who ripped steel cables apart and smashed concrete to powder with her bare hands. The one who stood laughing amidst a hail of exploding bullets, and shrugged off lasers. The one who now shows no signs of the burns that were inflicted last night, when Jason Little pumped several million volts into her inhumanly powerful body. The woman who killed people as if she was swatting flies. She descends feet first, and the man below her can't move aside in time. Her heavy steel-toed boots smash into his head and shoulders, drive him down into the floor with a sickening crunch, sending blood spattering across the room as she almost literally flattens him against the ground. The crowd of journalists surrounding her is paralyzed for a moment, too shocked by the horror in front of them to react. Idly, she reaches a black-gloved hand up to wipe a streak of blood off her cheek. Then licks the blood off the back of her hand, with a smile. Madness gleams in her eyes, her insanity so obvious that it sends shudders through everyone who looks at her face. "That was a great entrance, babe," she says to the stunned woman on the stage. "Figured I could do no less." The men and women next to her begin shrinking away, as moans and gasps and sobs begin escaping from them. "'Crystal', huh? I think I like 'Glass Bimbo' better." Lucretia steps forward, swings both arms wide as she does. The left hand strikes a film camera with an impact that makes a sound like a gunshot as the camera explodes. People begin screaming as glass, metal and plastic fragments spray across the crowd like schrapnel. The right hand catches a woman's shoulder and sends her spinning like a top into the man next to her. They both tumble hard to the ground, the woman letting out a scream of pain. Her upper arm is bent at a ninety degree angle, and blood is already soaking her jacket. The man beneath her is knocked out by the impact. "So," Lucretia says, advancing on Crystal with a chilling, malevolent grin, her deadly hands twisted into claws as she clutches the air, as if envisioning them around the crystal woman's neck, "where's Sparky the Wonder Hick? Do I gotta hunt him down and kill him separately?" <><><><><> Tyler: "Well, s***," Tyler mouthed. This looked like a damned good time to depart, but getting out wasnb't gonna be easy. And if that b**** from hell ever focused over here, she really didn't want either of them to be in the line of fire, undefended. So what to do? "Well, that b*** didn't look like anything normal would do her any damage. So I need something abby-normal." She giggled at her own humor. It caught in her throat, like a lump of fear, and she had to swallow hoarsely. Not for the last time did she curse herself for her lack of attention to sci- fi hardware. She didn't think she could manage the old IronMan armor without some time to practice, even if what she got matched what she remembered from the comics. What had Mitchell suggested? "Phasers," she said, concentrating. Maybe body armor or a tank would have been better. "Big ones. *Really* nasty ones, that we can use." <><><><><> [GM to Tyler] The air above your hand shimmers, and two silver and black pistols fall out of another one of your "gates". They look just like the ones you remember from the 'Star Trek' TV show. You catch one, but fumble the other and it falls to the floor. The one you're holding feels light, but solid, and cool; whether made of metal or plastic, you can't tell. <><><><><> Crystal: She freezes, trapped suddenly between exhilaration and stark fear. Chris had grown up to attention, had lived with it all her life. She'd been driven to it by her mother, then retreated back to it on her own. It was her goal, her comfort, her center and she drank it in the way her Crystal form drank in light. So, for a moment, she freezes. Last night again, people dying because of this maniac wanting to get at her. Fear, horror, anger, all boiling within her mind at the dark memories. But two things are different today. One is that today was her day, and she was jealous to defend that. Her time in the spotlight, her moments to bask in the press' attention. Any one who took from that would pay. And the second... today, she wasn't Christine Tallin, soft and pretty and frozen by the biochemical reactions of countless generations deciding between flight and fight. Today, she was Crystal, for whom this was all at best, a mental exercise. Panic didn't raise a heartbeat or stop her breath, adrenaline didn't pump through her, making her every muscle beg to move in a million contradictory ways. No, Crystal felt only the hot, powerful lights of the TV cameras and the simple intellectual knowledge that she should feel fear, should feel something, but somehow didn't. Instead, she feels the full warmth of the sunlight and spotlights still trapped in her crystal self and nothing, not even the danger presented by the bloodthirsty Lucretia's return, cooled that in the slightest. The moment's confusion ended as the woman addressed her directly, threatening Jason. Blood already spilled, souring her debut, ruining the moment, forever linking her new name to death and pain... "I don't know who you are or why you're after me. But I do know that it ends here and now." Her voice is cold and level, filling the room thanks to the forgotten microphone she still stands behind. She raises her hand as she speaks, palm raised, held flat toward her deadly foe. And she feels all the power of the afternoon sun and the spotlights and glow of hundreds of eyes on her welling inside, hot and powerful. And with no more than a thought, she lets it all go. <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell dives under a table, letting the confusion cover his return to normal form, then stands up again discretely. *Got to be ready in case I have to mimic someone.* "Yeah, phasers," he agrees, shielding his eyes when he sees Crystal lift her hand, knowing what would come next in science fiction. <><><><><> [GM to Crystal] The punk grins at your words. "Ooooh, I'm impressed, Bimbo." She continues her implacable advance. Several police officers and security guards are present, and their guns are already out, leveled at her. One yells at her to freeze, two more don't bother. And she ignores the bullets that rip holes through her jacket. One bounces off her skull, and a fleeing reporter screams as it tears through her leg. Then you unleash your stored up energy, a reservoir of power that you didn't have last time, when you were weak and unprepared and in a panic. The power surges through your arms and seems to collect for an instant in your outstretched palms. They glow briefly, bright as the sun, and then a beam of light flashes out from them, catching the psychotic superwoman full in the chest. The woman is brilliantly illuminated in the flash, a black silhouette caught in a powerful glare of light and heat. Flames explode around her as her leather jacket ignites and burns. She takes a step backward, as the glow fades. Smoke rises from her, as burning fragments of leather and red-hot metal links fall from her shoulders. Her torso is bare now, revealing a lithe and well- formed body. A snake tattoo curls all the way around her naked left breast, and there are four ghastly, individually stylized grinning skulls decorating her upper right arm. A few trickles and blobs of molten metal, from the chains she was wearing attached to her jacket, sizzle on her bare skin. It doesn't seem to bother her. She looks down at her exposed upper half, then back up at you. "You know," she says, in an eerily calm voice, "I think from now on, when I go hunting for one of you freaks, I'll just come naked. That'll save you the trouble of **BURNING MY !&%#*!! CLOTHES OFF**!!!!" You don't feel completely drained as you did last time; there is still power in you, but that extra "boost" is gone, drained like a depleted battery. And the lunatic launches herself at you at the speed of sound. <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler caught the one phaser, and kicked the other across the floor to the scuttling Mitchell. "Yo, cowboy; make yourself useful. Ah ain't got no idea if these things work, but ah don't think duckin' is the way to handle the situation." She took a quick look at the weapon as she adjusted to its balance, trying to determine if there was any sort of power setting on it. It looked like *max* was going to be barely enough. Once it was set on disintegrate, she squared her shoulders, and braced her forearms across the table, trying to draw a two-handed bead on the now-seminaked B**** from Hell. Nuking Crystal probably wasn't a good thing; she had to be careful. <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell leans down and gingerly picks up the fallen phaser before some loon in the crowd can get it, and, keeping it aimed away from everything living, looks at the setting. "Careful," he says to Tyler, "remember the spreading effect the disintegration setting of phasers have. Anybody holding onto anything that goes, gets phased out of existence too." "I'm glad I'm not wearing red," he muses, trying to make sense of the setting dial. Taking careful aim on the seminaked opponent of Crystal, he tries to set the phaser on the kill setting. *Heavy stun never did work on aliens, until the second or third shot.* If she starts after Tyler, Crystal, or himself before they can fire, he will use telekinesis to send some table or chair flying into the woman's back, and into her path. <><><><><> [GM] Tyler and Mitchell both find that the phasers have a dial that alternates from "Stun" to "Heavy Stun" to "Kill", with several degrees in between. In English, which strikes Mitchell as being odd for a moment; after all, everybody spoke English in the TV series, but that was just a convention for the viewing audience, right? The two young people set phasers on "Kill", sight on the naked woman's steaming form, and pull the triggers. The phasers make a really neat keening noise, and little lights at the end of the barrels flash and sparkle. Tyler looks at her weapon, notices a small panel in the grip, and turns it over to look at the bottom. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ | Mattel | | | | 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' (c) 1993, Paramount Pictures | | | | Use AA Batteries | | Not recommended for children under the age of 8 | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <><><><><> Tyler: "*F***," Tyler managed, pithily. "Now what..." She had at least one moment of satisfaction; she never could have produced the Iron Man armor, and she'd probably done well not to waste her time. Simply because the thing existed in some place common to her memory did NOT mean it ever really existed in the 'alternate' earth from which she drew things. Fantasy did not mean reality in some other timeline. So she had to be drawing from only *one* alternate timeline, then. Well, it was good to know, but what good did it do her? Standard weapons were apparently useless against this monster. She decided to give it one more try, and concentrate on something more real and generic. The ultimate hand weapon [whatever it was]. She focused on lethality, ease of operation, and minimal spread of pattern. *Something* from her pool of resource had to fit that pattern...Sure, maybe such a general summons was ineffective; maybe she actually had to *know* whereof she thought, before she could manage a 'summons'. If so, they were well and truly f***ed. <><><><><> [GM to Tyler] That "place", wherever it is that you call your objects from, seems distant, and only the faintest glimmering of a portal forms, for less than an instant. Somehow, you sense your "wish" was too unformed, a vague concept for which your power could find no matching object. <><><><><> Mitchell: "Oh, great," Mitchell mutters. "I guess Star Trek isn't real in any alternate universe." He sets the toy phaser to stun and stuffs it in a pocket, glancing aside to Tyler. "Wish me luck, and like, I dunno, materialize a nice headstone or something," he whispers, then looks to the seminaked woman, smiling. "Hi there," he says, concentrating on unleashing his seductive and desire inducing power at full force toward her, willing her to be in his spell, following instincts if any manifest on a form she would find pleasing. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Mitchell." <><><><><> [GM to Mitchell] [She's going a little too fast for you to try seducing her, don't you think? ] <><><><><> Crystal: It barely phased her, even as it burned away her clothes, melted the metal of those chains... The physical approach wasn't worth it, but perhaps she could hold the crazed woman back until help arrived. This was all being broadcast live, somewhere. And what choice did she have? But she had to get some space between the crowd and this woman... Crystal waits to step aside from the charge, standing firm until the last moment even as she concentrates, drawing up some of the light still in her, focusing it tight in a narrow beam as intense as she can manage. Then, when the enraged killer is so close she can't possibly avoid it, that lancing energy is send directly toward her face just before its source tries to spin aside, to leave the (hopefully) blinded attacker flying past, into the wall... Perhaps her one strength is enough to hurt her... <><><><><> [GM to Crystal] She comes at you faster than any human being can move, not sprinting but flying, fists first, her face a mask of rage. You have less than a split-second.... Your laser beam flashes across her face, and she flinches... but she's too fast, you miss her eyes. Her fists slam into you before you can move aside. At hundreds of miles per hour, her momentum carries you with her with no chance for you to resist. The two of you go through the stairs behind you, plowing through the stone and glass spiral staircase and blowing it apart like a tinkertoy. You keep going, through the wall on the far side of the room, and plow through it. Then you drop to the ground as she banks up, then circles around in the small hotel courtyard. Strangely enough, you don't feel hurt, though in this hard, unyielding body, you might be shattered inside in ways that will kill you when you return to normal, and you might not know.... And the grinning, murderous madwoman is coming back at you... <><><><><> Crystal: She can't afford to think about the damage, can't afford to think about the pain. Right now, she can't feel it so she can't worry about it. She can only focus on what she has to do, and that is find a way to hold off this maniac long enough to find something to put her down. She had taken more than a few self defense classes. Her mother had insisted even before she knew why, and she'd kept up once she learned. She knew about attacking for weak places, going for the face... She lets crazy take her this time, but as she is held she presses her hand into her face, as if clawing for her eyes. But she doesn't bother with that simple but probably hopeless action. Instead, her hand flares with the brightness of a star, hot and blinding. They were far enough from the crowd now that it should be safe. It should win her a moment, maybe two, to think. <><><><><> Tyler: *Damn.* Double damn. Now what? She... Tyler had this wild, potentially great idea. Apparently this Crystal chick had a lot of power, but it wasn't impacting the way it needed to, because the woman was bouncing it off. What would amplify it? Of course. She had taken some classes, and had actually payed attention in Girl Scouts. She concentrated on something round as an oversized frisbee, that would do the job. A fresnel lens the size of Captain America's shield. A lens faceted to focus even Crystal's broadbased power output into something infinitely more concentrated and deadly. Fresnel lenses turned sunlight into metal-melting heat. Imagine what it could do with Crystal's input. When it dropped out of the sky, she was ready; she would sort of flip it to Crystal, and yell at her to "shoot through *this*..." If she'd listen. If it would work. <><><><><> [GM to Tyler] It's not quite the size of Captain America's shield, but at two feet across, it surely has some significant amplifying power. It also makes you realize that you're getting drained....all this summoning of things isn't without cost. The large glass lens with a shiny metal rim looks perfectly clean and clear. You can only hope it will work the way you hope. But it seems an inopportune time to toss it to Crystal, while she's hurtling across the room.... [GM] The flash almost blinds Crystal as well, except she knew to turn her head away and close her eyes. Even through her crystalline lids, she feels the light penetrate. The madwoman screams in rage and skids to a halt, literally digging her feet into the ground and plowing twin furrows across the hotel's tiled floor. "Not AGAIN, you *&@!$& B****!!!" she screams, one hand closed on Crystal's upper arm and the other clutching her own face. She spins around and releases Crystal, hurling her across the room like a very non-aerodynamic discus, but her inhuman strength sends the model-turned- superhuman shooting through the air like a missile. Crystal slams headfirst into the brick exterior wall. Her glassy skull smashes into the bricks and sends fragments showering around the room, followed by her shoulders, then the rest of her body. Rather than going all the way through, she comes to a halt, and her curled up body unfolds as G-forces snap her straight out into a spread- eagled posture, imbedded upside-down in the wall. She sticks there for a moment, three inches deep and looking almost comical, if not for the deadliness of the situation. Then she moves, weakly, and her legs come free, followed by the rest of her. The crystalline woman tumbles over and falls to the floor on her hands and knees, which shatter tiles as they impact. Crystal feels a grating sensation as she moves, particularly in her extremities. It's not painful, as she doesn't seem to feel pain in this form, but it's a definite indication that things aren't in good working order. Meanwhile, "Lucretia" is rubbing her eyes and stomping around in furious circles, leaving foot- sized depressions where she stomps. "You !%@$#! *&%!$#*@! &!#!$! *!&!&#!!!!" she screams. And more of the same. "I'm gonna &@*#$! KILL YOU you %!$# %#&*!!!" Then she stops suddenly, and stands up straight, taking her hands away from her momentarily-blinded eyes. "What the %!!#?" Then a slow, malevolent grin spreads across her insane face. "More freaks? You brought friends AGAIN, Bimbo?" She rubs her eyes more carefully now, becoming frighteningly calm. "I'll *@%!$# waste ALL of you, I swear to !%!$* GOD I will!! I'm gonna rip the glass bimbo's arms and legs off an' %!$!$* beat you to death with 'em, then shove the &%!%*! shards down your *!%$!@ throats until your &!%$$! guts burst out your a**!" <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler felt like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers, trying to do too many things at once: keep one eye on Mitchell, keep one eye on Crystal the human cannonball, catch and balance the lens, and avoid the madwoman. The latter seemed to be a somewhat more important option, since apparently she had discovered Mitchell, and maybe even Tyler herself. She might not be able to *throw* Crystal the lens, but she could damn sure mount it and *aim* it for her. "Hey!" she shouted. "Crystal whatever-your-name-is!" Tyler held the lens out to the side, using both hands at the lens's edge much as one might a matador's cape, focused downrange, dead on the madwoman. Tyler was used to the abusive language, and she turned it on the madwoman. "Kiss your narrow ass goodbye, bitch, the Rangers are here! Crystal...darlin'...we're both on y'all's side. This' a big-ass fresnel lens," she shouted. "Let another one rip at the Tattoo Queen over yonder, r'at through here!" **God oh God, let it work...** <><><><><> Crystal: 'God, what keeps her going? And how do I stop her? I don't even want to look down. I'm probably all cracks and... no, not now. No time. Have to...' It was then that the murderous woman's words filter through. Others? Here? Jason? She looks around, but doesn't see anyone familiar. No one... That woman, holding a lens. A magnifying lens. It might work! If only she can draw in enough light to focus into it, it would tighten it more and... "Got it!" And she moves (ignoring the stiffness in her legs, her arms, can't think about that now, can't...), crossing to stand right in front of one of the TV lights, one of the few still standing. Now she's ready. The light floods into her and she focuses it, aims through the lens (she will know to move her aim, whoever she is? I hope so... Saying any more would just be a warning...) and lets it go... <><><><><> [GM to Crystal] You try to move into position, feel the warmth of the bright light behind you, but you're disappointed to realize that the energy you absorb from it is a tiny fraction of what you spent firing that laser beam. You are instinctively sensing a few more things about your power; The laser definitely uses energy from your body, and like any other physical exertion, its power varies with your effort. With the first blast, you expended the "extra" charge you were carrying. The second, the one you tried to blind her with, as well as the flash, was a less intense effort, not draining you much, but weaker than your first shot. And with that extra reserve that you built up during the day now dissipated, putting anything extra into this one will drain you more severely. The dark-haired woman with the Texas drawl does her best to hold the lens directly between you and the lunatic, but you're not at all sure of your aim. You're not even entirely sure you'll put it through the lens....not a pleasant thought if you were to be the woman holding it. And more importantly, there's someone else in the way.... <><><><><> Mitchell: *I can't believe I'm going to do this,* Mitchell thinks, lifting off and quickly, very quietly sailing through the air while Lucretia is blinded, to try and come up silently behind her and touch her back with both hands, fear, exhiliration and desperation building in a wave, as he thinks back to the mimicking and draining of the warrior woman, and the form exchange with Julie, willing intensely, *trade bodies*drain her powers*drain her form*trade forms*drain her powers or life*be her*make her me*, imagining it, visualizing it, putting all his emotional force behind the concept. The desperation of someone who knows he, and friends, might die if he doesn't succeed. <><><><><> [GM to Mitchell] You grab the woman without difficulty; she's not making any effort to avoid you, doesn't even seem aware of your exact location. Until you lay hands on her. She spins with blinding speed and her hand closes on your wrist, even as you start trying to....drain her, mimic her, whatever....what you actually sense is a pattern, for lack of a better term (how can you describe a sensation no human being has felt before?) being absorbed into you. You forget that sensation when she squeezes. You hear a sickening crunch as your wrist is squished to a bloody pulp. Bones and flesh compress in her grip like she was wringing a washrag. Pain blazes up your arm and overwhelms all your senses, and you stagger in an effort to keep from passing out. "Die, freak!" she hisses, blinking at you and raising one deadly fist.... <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell screams, long, loud, and horribly. *Accept the pain* the old sci-fi words filter hysterically through his mind as he concentrates on keeping his head away from her fist, and very, very desperately trying to absorb the pattern or change her, or anything possible, while trying to avoid becoming one with her fist. If there is no success, he will try to sling something at her back via telekinesis as distraction and try to wrench free. <><><><><> Tyler: "Get the *hell* out of the way, retard!" Tyler screamed at the bystander blocking their line of fire. "Y'all want to get your silly ass killed? GET DOWN! NOW!! C'MON!" The last was for Crystal, who to Tyler's way of thinking was taking her own sweet time to lift her end of the log. "Take the shot!" she screeched. "What do you want? Ah ain't got all day, and the crazy b**** is hurtin' Mitchell." <><><><><> Crystal: Concentrate, Christine. Focus. You have to do this right, it's the only chance you'll get. You have to... She tries to steady herself, but the fuzziness in her limbs doesn't help. She knows she's hurt, probably badly. She feels the fear of it in her mind, but she tries to push it down and looks through the lens toward... Phantom pain stabs her wrist as she sees another victim of a too familiar attack. Her mind all but begs for tears to blur the sight, but none come. And she cannot look away. Because the moment the line is clear, she has to let go with everything she has. Because after that boy, there'll be another, then another and another... It has to be stopped. She has to be stopped. Now. <><><><><> [GM to Mitchell] *Accept the pain* Maybe it worked for Mr. Spock, and Paul Atreides, but not you. The pain is enough to turn you into a gibbering, mindless wreck...almost. You still drain her, or absorb her, or whatever you're doing. The sensation is barely perceptible, under the searing agony of your mangled wrist. Then her fist hits you, and you don't feel anything after that. [GM to Crystal] The boy, screaming in the madwoman's grip, is *changing*! His body warps and melds as you watch.... He's turning into a woman, with a mohawk.... Then Lucretia smashes her fist into his (?) face. Blood and teeth go flying, but somehow you expected his head to vanish in a red mist. Instead, he lurches backwards and hits the floor, hard, skidding several yards. By the time he comes to a stop, he looks like the woman who just smashed his jaw. Except the lower half of this clone "Lucretia's" face is covered with blood, and "her" left hand hangs by a bloody, pulpy string of flesh. You don't really notice that, though; for one instant, you have a clear shot at the psycho, through the lens held in the outstretched arms of the other woman, and you focus every bit of enery in your body out through your extended hands. Your arms glow brightly and your fingertips flare like stars, and a brilliant white light lances out, passes through the lens, but not perfectly; part of it catches the edge and vaporizes the metal band, the heat warping the glass and partially melting it. Not before the greater part of your output passes through, though. A blinding white, needle-thin beam of light comes out, at a slight angle. It hits Lucretia in the shoulder, and passes through her bicep. Her left arm falls off, smoking. Her shoulder oozes blood, but most of the raw flesh is cauterized instantly. Lucretia jerks, blinks down at her shoulder, and squints back at you, gaping. Then screams, as much in rage as in pain. She comes at you like a bullet, but although you're barely able to duck, she was still half-blinded, and goes too far to the right. She plows through the outside wall of the hotel, just below the impression you made a moment ago when she threw you into it. You hear screams from outside. The severed arm twitches and convulses on the floor, its black gloved hand suddenly closing on a fallen microphone and crushing it. "BIMBOOOOO!!! I'll *#@%!&!! KILL YOUUUUUU!!!!!!" The madwoman's voice, howling over the commotion outside. Then the wall explodes inward, as she smashes a new entrance into the foyer, widening the breach already made. <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell decides to take a little nap, coma, break from reality, dreamtime excursion, near death experience, old rerun sci-fi shows flashing before his eyes. [OOC: The moment consciousness returns, if it does, he will work on regeneration.] <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler, who'd dropped the warped lens after the flash and aftereffect, clenched her teeth against the pain in her hands; the lens had gone almost red-hot from inducted heat when Crystal's beam passed through it, and even her rope-work and riding-calloused fingers couldn't resist the burn. It looked like bad rope burn, and hurt like hell. She chanced a glance at the lens; warped, the frame melted. She was no engineer, but it didn't look usable. Now what? Even missing an arm, the madwoman was a load, bashing through walls and cursing like a sailor. Mitchell was likely just as strong, now, if his duplication trick worked, but he looked a tad the worse for the wear. A stab of sympathetic pain coursed through her, memory from her accident. His arm didn't look likely to heal. It looked like it was up to her...but...what? Crystal's energy projections looked to Tyler like they were getting weaker, like a flashlight with fading batteries, discounting the lens effect. Could she conjure up something to put her back at full power? Did *she* have enough energy? "Hey!" she shouted. "Quick! What kind of power source y'all need to perk back up?" <><><><><> Crystal: It still wasn't enough. Crystal stands in near exhausted shock, dodging by reflex, staring at the blazing anger of Lucretia. The blast has taken off her arm and it wasn't enough to slow her down. The blast that had taken almost the last of her power, left her nearly drained, unsteady... and it wasn't enough. She had to either give up or find some way to... She hears the voice and realizes her mind wasn't the only one following this path. "Light. Sunlight, I think. I'm not sure. But there isn't time..." She pauses, then realizes that what there isn't time for is delay. And she makes her way toward this strange woman who carried huge magnifying lenses with her and hopes she has some sort of idea to help... And always watching for the dangerous approach of Lucretia, ready to dodge aside as best she can. For now, as long as her eyes have not recovered, Chris knows she has a chance. If that one remaning hand got ahold of her... She isn't sure. <><><><><> Tyler: Light. Well, Tyler didn't think she could call up the sun, but she ought to be able to manage the next best thing. A gasoline powered searchlight. Klieg lights were common enough at rodeos for spectacular entries, grand marches, hot entertainers, even prize ceremonies. She was going to have to start it, though, and even with electric starters they had to have fuel. So...get one already fueled, no problem. At least it was small, compared to a truck. Tyler concentrated. <><><><><> [GM] Crystal gets her first look at the shimmering portals that open in the air when Tyler "summons" things. A weird spinning nexus that seems to be no color at all, like a blind spot. Then a big gasoline powered light drops out of it, not only already fueled, but already on, its motor running racously. The intense beam flashes around the room, then points at the floor as the klieg light tips over. Tyler hastily pulls it upright, wincing as the strain from opening yet another gate has drained her further, and points it at Crysal. It feels good. Energizing. You can feel power from the blinding radiance soaking into you.... But slowly. Oh, it's far more noticeable than the negligent amount you absorbed from the TV lights, and even faster than the steady replenishment you derived from sunlight, but it's not fast enough. A few minutes standing in front of this big klieg light, and you might be almost back to normal. But Lucretia, lurching towards you, perhaps not completely recovered but definitely able to see well enough to know where you are, isn't going to give you a few minutes. She puts her one hand in front of her eyes, as she walks towards the blinding spotlight, with Crystal silhouetted in front of it. <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal doesn't take the moment to wonder where the huge light came from, how it was not here then suddenly was. She had to hope it was enough, and so stood in its stream and felt its power and heat and knew, almost at once, that it wasn't. "It's too slow. I won't be able..." She bites off her words, watching as Lucretia surges forward through the spotlight's glare. And she wonders what else she can possibly do. She knows she can release the power of light as searing blasts, blinding flares. But could there be anything else? She can't imagine what. Light just doesn't do anything else... But she knows she has another advantage. Her crystalline body is hard and sharp and it doesn't feel pain. The maniac woman approaching her is hurt, missing an arm, still nearly blind. And Chris knows something of how to fight, though she always hoped she'd never have to. She can try to hold Lucretia in place and maybe this amazingly resourceful woman behind her can do something. She manages to keep her voice as level and steady as she can, hoping it carries over the noisy spotlight. "I can try to hold her, or slow her down. You aren't hiding any tranquilizers or anything where you had this lamp and that lens, are you? Or if you have some other idea, I'd like to hear it." <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler's hands burned. Her shoulders ached. Her energy level was...well, she ached all over. Even at one hundred percent, moving the big searchlight around wouldn't have been an easy task, and it was easy to tell that she was leaking strength with each "summons" like a sieve leaked water. Some sort of elephant tranquilizer? Who knew if it'd pierce the madwoman's skin? Drugs? Gas? Hell, Tyler couldn't even tell if the creature needed to breathe. Needles or darts might just bounce off... "Lady, ah'm runnin' out of ideas, and ah'm runnin' out of energy. Y'all want another lens thingie? Dart gun? Tear gas? Ah can go for some sort of weapon and try and shoot y'all's way out..." **Hell, ah don't have time to think, and Mitchell's already scragged.** She closed her eyes, and concentrated on a shoulder weapon with big-time armor piercing ammo. *Depleted uranium cores*; she remembered the buzzwords she'd read about in Gulf war press chronicles. Maybe her pocket universe had personal weapons with the same effect. Concentrate. Put aside the near exhaustion. Play through the pain. She'd done it before, in the rodeo. <><><><><> [GM] Once more, you pull something from wherever it is these things come from. The effort nearly exhausts you, so you have little strength to hold what comes out. This is one BFG. Like something out of those comic books, where the heroes nowadays carry rifles the size of a car. Or videogames. It's kind of what you were visualizing; a humongous gun with half a dozen barrels arranged in a circular cluster, each one big enough to put your fist down it. A huge pistol grip, looking like it was designed for someone with hands the size of a baseball mitt, projects out of a bulky stock. A heavily padded shoulder harness sticks out the back, and a folded extendable bipod lies against the underside of the weapon, suggesting this is not something that one fires from the hip. Not that you could fire it at all; right now, you're having trouble lifting it. Lucretia lashes out with one fist, slapping Crystal into the krieg light. It explodes with a burst of flames, showering Tyler with sparks. Crystal struggles to stand, apparently not significantly hurt by the glancing blow, or the heat of the shattered light, but Lucretia is standing over her now. "!&!%#* Bimbo %!#*&! Freak!!! Time to die!" she hisses. <><><><><> Crystal: "Not yet it isn't. Not by a long shot." Crystal's voice is steady and determined, her mind fixed now to its purpose. She didn't feel the blow or the shattering metal and glass behind her, but she knew it was just more pain for later. She knew there was something more important now. And she gets to her feet and, when Lucretia attacks again, she sweeps her diamond-hard arm in the path of the blow, trying to deflect it and leave the one-armed woman open for a stiff-hand jab to the stomach. It might not hurt her, but it would give the woman behind her a chance to do whatever she was going to do. *if she's going to do anything* whispers a small voice in her head, which she ignores. She can't afford to think like that now. <><><><><> Tyler: "Jesus Key-RIST," Tyler grunted. "I didn't order a f***in' *cannon*." Still, she let the big gun slide carefully to the floor and flopped prone behind it, the only way she was likely to be able to shoot it. She kicked the bipod out with another grunt of effort so she could get some elevation without having to hold up the fore-end, and snuggled her shoulder into the harness. "Somehow I s'pect this is gonna hurt me a lot more than it hurts y'all," she muttered, wincing at the thought of the recoil this thing was likely to exhibit. She'd fired all kinds of weapons, plinking and target punching, skeet and even medium-sided game hunting, but nothing she'd ever handled came close to conjuring the actuality of this monster weapon. Her hand settled around the pistol grip, awkwardly at first because of it's size, but with a little twisting of her slim body and shoulder alignment, it felt just about right. A quick glance to see if there was a safety or charging lever, then she sighted down the topmost barrel at the madwoman, rested her finger on the trigger, took a deep breath... **For Mitchell,** she thought, then *squeeeeeezed* the trigger... <><><><><> [GM] Crystal rises from the wreckage of the klieg light, reflections of the flames flickering across her cracked body, tiny spiderweb fractures covering her from head to foot, her outfit now torn and burned almost as badly as Lucretia's. The madwoman swings her arm in a deadly arc at Crystal's head. Crystal bring up her own arm to block it, desperately, and barely slows her attacker's momentum. Lucretia's fist crashes into her forearm, slams her forearm against the side of her head with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting granite, and sends her flying across the room, skittering over the floor, leaving grooves in the tiles, and bouncing off the far wall. She didn't hit hard enough to break the wall this time; perhaps Lucretia is getting weaker. But she hit hard enough to leave her vision fragmented and blurry, like she was looking through steamed up, broken glasses. The blow may have saved her life though, because in the next instant, as Lucretia glances down and to her right, at the prone girl less than ten feet away, Tyler pulls the trigger on her monster weapon. The six barrels spin and make an odd coughing noise, not that loud at all. The kick is significant, but not as bad as Tyler was expecting; the padded stock slams back against her shoulder, but braced against the floor as she is, she keeps her grip on the weapon. To her shock, the six huge barrels blow off the gun as they discharge, falling to the ground a few yards away in neat sections, leaving a single long, thin barrel around which the others rotated. The gun jerks in Tyler's hands and makes a solid clicking sound as something snaps into place, somewhere in its internal mechanism. The psychotic superwoman disappears in a roar of flames, engulfed by an explosion that blasts her off her feet, ignites the ground beneath her, and singes Tyler's hair. A series of explosions, actually, as multiple shells hit her. She screams as she falls, while the wall on the far side absorbs a couple of stray shots that blow holes three feet across, right into the second floor corridor which runs over the lobby. Lucretia's smoldering body lies on the ground, twenty feet from Tyler, almost halfway between her and Mitchell, inert for a moment. Then she moves. Her right leg is all but blown off. Her left foot is gone. And as the stream of shells moved up her body, they blew chunks of flesh off her from thigh to sternum. Blood gushes out of her, turning the floor around her dark red. But she's still alive, and still moving. Her right arm, the only limb she has left, reaches out, and her fingers dig into the tiles. She drags herself forward a couple of feet, looking at Tyler with a maniacal glare, psychotic eyes shining underneath the soot and blood that covers her face. "Kill you....." She grabs another fistful of floor and pulls closer by another armlength. "@*!&#! kill you...." She grimaces and spits blood. And she keeps coming, smearing blood across the floor in her wake, like a hellish slug... <><><><><> Tyler: "Jesus..." Tyler stumbled to her feet and backed up slightly, still holding the remains of the discharged weapon. She felt her gorge rise; she'd seen accidents and bloody injuries, but this was nothing she could have steeled herself for. Considering how the weapon had functioned, it didn't appear likely that firing off a second burst was possible, but she *would* aim it and try again, just in case. She had visions of the Terminator movies, only this time there were no drill presses to squash the shattered Lucretia in. "Ummm...Yo! Crystal...? Y'all got any hot ideas 'bout now...?" <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal moves and feels the stress fractures in her form, looks out through the fog in her eyes and sees the impossible survival of Lucretia. Her mind spins, unable to comprehend what is happening any longer, unwilling to accept it. But knowing it is more of the same cruel truth she's found for the last two days, the chaos that was all that remained of her life. "I don't know... I'm not sure she's going to stop as long as she's..." The last word sticks in her throat. The battered remains of the maniac killer didn't seem capable of death from everything they'd seen yet. And strong enough that there was no way to hold her, no way to stop her short of killing her. But now she was slow enough they could just keep out of the way until someone arrived who could. Someone had to have seen this on TV, someone... Or would the mutilation she had undergone catch up soon and leave her dying at their feet? "Just stay away. She can't move fast enough to catch anyone now. I think that gun was enough..." She stands and tries to walk, ignoring the stiff feelings inside herself. She would have to get to a hospital before she changed back... "I hope it was..." She rests a hand on the woman's shoulder... the one not still supporting the huge gun. "Thank you. You saved a lot of lives, including mine." But then she remembers... the other, the one who changed shape in Lucretia's grip. Was he...? She raises her voice, trying to be heard over the confusion and pain filling the room. She can't believe the calm she is able to achieve, the steadiness in her crystal body. "Everyone stay clear. Just keep away. Anyone with medical training, please try to do what you can. I'm sure there'll be help here soon. Everyone try to stay calm and do what you can. I think the worst is over." 'for now...' The thought haunts her... but it can't be dealt with now. Now there was just time to try to prevent the chaos that was once her debut from becoming any bloodier than it already was. <><><><><> [GM] As Crystal approaches, and Tyler raises her weapon, straining under the weight- it must weigh at least twenty five pounds, and there is little enough strength left in the former rodeo star's limbs- Lucretia giggles. A horrific, insane sound. "Too slow," she gasps, pausing in her gruesome one-handed crawl. Then makes a bubbling sound that might be laughter. "Gee, I forgot about something...." Her mangled, bloody body levitates into the air, rotating to face the two women who are still standing. It is a surreal and ghastly sight, like something out of a horror movie; a grinning, cackling abomination that should be dead, blood spattering on the floor beneath her as she hovers in the air. "Oh, bummer %@$*! drag, looks like you're outta ammo, you hick b****!" She begins accelerating through the air towards Tyler, hand outstretched. And Tyler pulls the trigger on her weapon, barely able to hold the barrel pointed at the flying psychopath. The massive rifle hums, and suddenly the air is filled with ear-splitting pops, staccato explosions as a stream of projectiles breaks the sound barrier. Blood sprays off the madwoman as shells hit her- and bounce off. Tyler can't hold the rifle immobile, and the wall behind Lucretia is suddenly perforated, entire sections of it disintegrating as supersonic projectiles blow through it. The bullets that hit Lucretia go spinning in all directions, still carrying most of the velocity with which they left the weapon. Walls, floor tiles, the fountain, the podium, potted plants- they all burst apart as rebounding shells hit them. The few people still in the room, some suicidally brave journalists who have been snapping pictures the entire time, drop their cameras and dive for whatever looks like cover. Crystal feels an impact against her lower leg, making a sound like a marble hitting a windshield. A supersonic "Bang!" almost causes Tyler to drop the weapon as a bullet snaps past her left ear. Lucretia is forced back by the stream of shells, screaming in pain and outrage. The bullets, incredibly, aren't breaking her skin, but they're battering the hell out of her, and disrupting the raw flesh where she's already been blown open. She falls back against the wall, flails her arm out, smashing it, then slumps forward, her two bloody legs stretched out beneath her, one jutting out at an obscene angle. The barrage seems to go on forever, though it's probably less than five seconds. Then it stops abruptly, and Tyler's gun makes an obnoxious high-pitched buzzing noise, like a dryer that needs to be restarted. "Game.....over....." Lucretia gurgles, her lips barely moving. She glares at Tyler, clutches the air in front of her as more blood bubbles over her lips. "Freaks.....die!" Her head nods forward and her eyes close. Her arm drops to her lap, and she doesn't move again. Tyler's arms feel like water, and her legs not much better. She staggers and falls. <><><><><> Tyler: "*What* a **bitch**..." Pithy. Succinct. Then the floor brought Tyler up short. She'd dropped the big gun to try and maintain some semblance of personal control, but all she managed to do was keep her face from smacking the floor. Everything else folded up like a cheap toy. She rolled onto her side and tried to get up, but nothing was working right. Her vision was white and ragged at the edges like a discount Gothic romance movie flashback, and the rest of her felt like she'd run a marathon without bothering to quit smoking first. Tyler coughed, then lay back, closing her eyes and trying to manage a little rest. Just a little nap..."Hi' th' snooze alarm, baby; I' ge' up n' a minute, I promise..." ***************************************************************************************************** [AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT] Compliments of Star Fire, who really should die, or go on a date with Lucretia, for posting this, at the end of the fight; Of course we are having fun. On the other hand, Mitchell has learned a valuable lesson; the true depth of meaning in the term Press Conference. Still, he could not in good consciousness stand by and do nothing; then he might be accused of being shiftless. Overall, the team worked together very well, though Mitchell has truly turned out to be somewhat two-faced. Although very transparent, Crystal's actions and style shone brilliantly through, at last, and proved most disarming to Lucretia, who was so touched by Tyler's warm welcome, that she went all to pieces. Her spirits lifted, though exhausted, she finally decided to rest in pieces. Tyler's first summoning, lens much credibility to her power's capabilities, I think. All it needs is a bit of focus, to see us through. Without medical help, the burns may prove a painiful rim-inder to wear gloves, when trying to stirrup some action. Crystal's multifaceted talents and sparkling personality should add a lot; through she _did_ seem a little crazed there at the last. I wager she does not crack up completely, though. Lucretia was a total hardhead, rampaging about like a bullette in a china shop. A very offensive sort of villainess; but well adapted to it, since any insults thrown her way just bounced off her thick skin. In the end, her plans and actions were futile however -- very much a matter of just banging her head against a wall. [Remember, that's all the work of Star Fire. Send curses and death threats to 71533,1302, and tell him I sent you. -David] ************************************************************************************************************ NEW YORK CITY, PART TWO BLOODY AFTERMATH [Christine Tallin ("Crystal"), Tyler Sterrit and Mitchell Langstrom have just defeated the psychotic superwoman called "Lucretia" (real name Lucy Golden), in a bloody battle at what was supposed to be Crystal's press conference. With the hotel devastated, and numerous people injured or killed, the three new superhumans are left to pick up the pieces and decide what to do next....] ===================================================== Crystal: Crystal raises her arms to protect her face by reflex, and so she hears the sounds of the terrible blast but misses most of the horrific visuals. She had been so very wrong thinking it was over, dropping her guard, and it was the mysterious woman with whatever power it was to... what? *Create* things out of nowhere? She'd have to find out, if they... After. It was up to her to save them, because Crystal had been frozen in the moment of horror as Lucretia rose from the ground to attack again. But, in the aftermath, she is the only one standing. And so she must try to summon the courage to try once more to keep things calm, to help those who need it. "Everyone stay clear. Anyone with medical training, please try to do what you can. I'm sure there'll be help here soon. Everyone try to stay calm and do what you can. I think the worst is over. "I... I'm sorry I brought you all here to this." She turns then, knowing that they won't be able to see what she feels in her cold, crystal features, but not wanting to see the faces. She heads toward the woman who saved her, saved them all, and crouches beside her, trying to see if she's hurt or just exhausted by whatever it was she had done. <><><><><> [GM] The young woman (about your age, looks like) is stunned, possibly in shock.... but aside from some minor burns on her hands doesn't seem to be injured. Her eyes start to focus after a moment. That huge rifle is lying on the ground next to her, still buzzing for a few seconds, before the noise shuts off. A bright red light is flashing on the side of the stock. Police begin cautiously moving into the foyer, weapons out. Some begin helping the injured out (one hysterical woman lost a hand to one of the ricocheting shells, a young man is in shock as one grazed his side), while others approach you, very cautiously. More are approaching the two Lucretias lying at the side of the battle area- one bloody and mangled almost beyond recognition, the other bloody and mangled but still identifiable, especially since "she" is still wearing the clothes that the young man was wearing, and her mohawk, rather than being Lucretia's garish purple, is a dingy blonde. <><><><><> Tyler: "Oh mannnn..." Tyler groaned, and essayed sitting up. She still felt like the remnants of a week of no sleep, and her blistered hands were starting to clamor for attention. "S***, that hurts. Remind me to get some asbestos gloves before ah try that ridiculous lens trick again." She pushed the bulky mass of her dark, disarrayed hair out of her face, and looked curiously at Crystal. "Hey. Y'all okay? Where's...ummm...you know. Did ah, umnmm, ah mean, is she...?" She craned her neck, trying to see everywhere at once. She noticed the huge weapon beside her, and shook her head. "Jesus f***in' Christ. That is some gun. Ah'm gonna have to hit the weights." <><><><><> Crystal: "I'm fine... I guess." Crystal smiles, and light sparkles on the countless facets of her face. "How are *you*? You passed out right after you... took care of her. You saved a lot of people's lives. Including mine. I don't know how you did any of that, but it managed to do the trick when I couldn't. If you ever need aything..." The sound of the police arriving distracts Crystal, and she turns to them, holding her arms out to appear as harmless as possible. "We're going to need a lot of medical help. Too many people are hurt, but I think it's over for now. She's..." It's then that she sees the second Lucretia and remembers. She points down toward him. "Someone needs to help him. He tired to help stop her, then started changing into her, somehow. I think she could have really hurt him, and I don't know how his... changing... will affect him." She doesn't let herself think about her own condition yet. First the people who need help, then she can deal with her own condition. She'll make it until she changes back, surely... <><><><><> [GM] Among the chaos of police officers and journalists and paramedics, Crystal sees a familiar face; Agent Donnay, the federal agent who drove her to the hospital after the last debacle with Lucretia. He makes his way towards you, shaking his head. "I told Whittacker that Golden is the persistent type," he says. "But they wanted Little back at HQ, said Golden could just as easily go anywhere in the world as stay in New York City. We've got some more metahumans on the way, I hope. Although," he looks at Lucretia's bloody carcass, "it looks like all that's left now is the cleanup." He shudders and says "I hope they wrap the bitch in concrete and drop her into a volcano." The female in question is being stuffed into a body bag, by police officers wearing rubber gloves. As they pick up the severed arm, Donnay calls out "Hey! Bag that separately, I'll want to take it with me!" To Crystal and the still somewhat dazed Tyler, he says "Actually, they'll probably want the whole body brought back to Virginia. Speaking of which," he looks at Tyler, and the Lucretia- clone whom paramedics are very cautiously trying to revive, "why don't you introduce me to your friends, Ms. Tallin?" And his eyes also fall on Tyler's huge weapon, and he kneels to pick it up, examining it with great interest. <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal tries to smile when she sees Donnay, but it doesn't quite work. There's too much blood an destruction around her for that. "It's 'Crystal' now, Agent Donnay. At least when I'm... like this." Though she hopes she won't be 'like this' often. Her perfect uniform is in tatters, burned and torn away, exposing only more shimmering crystal. "And I'd love to introduce you, but I'm afraid we didn't have time for names just now." She turns, then, toward Tyler and offers her hand. She manages the smile Agent Donnay didn't quite get. "Christine Tallin. Crystal in the press... and Chris to my friends." <><><><><> Tyler: "Hell! Ah'm sorry. Where're mah manners? Tyler Sterritt." She clasped Crystal's hand and pumped vigorously, apparently unaffected by the burns. "Mah pleasure. Listen, ah feel bad for the kid there. Name's Mitchell Langstrom. He was tryin' one of his cutesy little tricks on the bimbo yonder, only it didn't work out. Ah hope y'all can manage to put him back together again." **As all-fired cute as he was before,** she added. But not aloud. "Ah guess, question is, how much trouble are we gonna be in? This heroine stuff is all kinda new to me, and ah don't reckon ah want to spend a few years *en la carcel* for lightin' up that Industrial Strength tommygun." As she talked, Tyler walked around gingerly, testing everything; though her almost invisible limp was slightly less than invisible at first, after she'd walked a few circles, rolled her neck, and shaken out her arms, she pronounced herself fit. The woman who'd pulled all this off was a relatively unlikely savior. She was wiry, narrow-hipped, small-breasted and possessed of a boyish loose-limbed gait and a slight degree of bowleggedness. She wore fitted Wranglers, a dusty and blood-splattered black western shirt with a colorful yoke, and had blackrimmed Serengheti drivers tilted awkwardly up on her head, the rims slightly askew from an unnoticed blow. Her thick mid-back-length crush-permed hair was sadly tousled, though it had probably once been an example of carefully crafted disarray. She had a heavily tooled black leather belt with gold lace, clasped with a real silver and gold buckle the size of Lake Superior that bore the stylized insignia 'PRCA World Champion Barrel Racer'; she also wore black lizard handmade Charlie Dunn's with gold tips and heel caps, into which her jeans were tucked. "Mind if ah smoke?" She pulled a somewhat crushed pack of Winstons and an expensive gold lighter out of one pocket, and lit up after offering the battered pack around. <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal matches Tyler's handshake with a strong, cold grip that isn't flesh. For all her friendly smiles and kind voice, she doesn't look more than nominally human and her skin is cool, hard glass. Her features, which may seem smooth from a distance, are made up of hundreds, thousands, of tiny facets, each perfect flat and shar-edged despite the illusion of soft curves they create. And she watches as Tyler rushes off to the side of her injured friend. Mitchell, she'd said. He'd done something Crystal had been more than a little afraid to do, standing up directly to Lucretia, and he'd been hurt for it. Probably badly. Maybe not as badly as you, though, she thinks and holds her arm up to the light, studying the fine network of stress markings and minor fractures that could become... well, anything when she changes back to herself. She'd have to get to a hospital before that happened. Some first impression she'd made on the public. How would she ever get her name separated from all the blood of a day like this? It would take a lot of work, and not just from her... "Pardon me, Agent Donnay, but I have to talk to someone right away. It shouldn't take too long." And she turns away, barely waiting for a reply, to look for her recently hired lawyer among the crowd. He had to be all right, she thinks, knowing that to be anything but true but comforted for a moment by the idea that someone, anyone, could have been 'all right' in the midst of all this chaos. <><><><><> [GM] Agent Donnay smiles faintly. "No, I don't think we're going to arrest you," he says to Tyler. Then, looking at the devestated hotel lobby, he adds "I wouldn't be so sure about dodging lawsuits, though. You realize you sprayed those bullets into another wing of the hotel, across the courtyard? Where did you get this thing, anyways?" Meanwhile, Mitchell is slowly coming around, conscious once more of the searing agony in his wrist, added to the throbbing pain in his jaw. It doesn't hurt as much as the instant before he blacked out, but it's enough to cause him to shudder and push away at the nearest paramedic....which sends the man sprawling across the floor, ten feet away. Immediately they jump back, alert, and a dozen police officers point their guns at the newly awakened "Lucretia". <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler rolled her eyes. "Hell, ah didn't spray anything anywhere. Those bullets went pretty much went wherever they wanted...well, after the first few, anyhow. Guess ah could have let the woman kill every guest they had; y'all reckon that would've made the concierge more cheerful? "And as to where ah got that gun...honey, y'all's guess is purt' near good as mine. If ah knew that, and y'all had a feather up your...well, anyway, then we'd both be tickled." She started when the police reacted to the converted Lucretia's behavior. "Hey!" she said, hustling over. "Y'all take it easy, a'right? Mitchell...Mitchell, honey. Y'all got to suck it up an' turn you'self back, okay?" She was using much the same tone of voice anyone would use to chide their favorite pet for coughing up a hairball on the floor. "Y'all are makin' these people mad, and besides, ah don't like the way y'all look near as much. Come on, honey. Be nice, and turn y'all's self back." <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell shudders, sighing. "Don't shoot, I'm peaceful," he whispers, trying to avoid moving the jaw. He brightens slightly at Tyler's familiar face. "Yeah, I'm getting kinda sick of this face, sure don't wanna see it in the mirror." Mitchell concentrates on returning to his own form and then on regenerating, mentally preparing for the renewed pain it will cause. *Everybody's trying to tear my arms off these days,* he thinks mournfully. <><><><><> [GM] The police and paramedics gape as "Lucretia's" features melt and twist, and she quickly becomes a very handsome, dark-haired (male) teenager. For Mitchell, there is no doubt; in your own body, the pain is MUCH worse, almost enough to make you black out again. You almost try to stop and turn back to Lucretia- but it doesn't work. The spectators stare again as Mitchell's crushed wrist and shattered jaw bulge, the mangled, bloody flesh rippling as if invisible hands were smoothing it over like clay. Mitchell's teeth clench together (increasing the pain) and sweat breaks out all over his body, until he is no longer able to hold back a howl of agony. As everyone watches, his injuries seem to heal at miraculous speed, fading until only an angry red splotch on his jaw and a large bruise on his wrist mark where he was maimed only a minute ago. Of course, he is still covered with blood. Mitchell lies on the ground trembling, utterly exhausted. <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler almost laughed with relief as Mitchell reformed in a considerably improved version of himself. "Jesus, Mitchell. You're like Tina Turner; y'all don't do nothin' *nice...and easy*. Jus' take it easy, all right? we did the dirty, an' saved a few bazillion innocent bystanders in the process. Oh...and I sorta shot the hotel to doll rags. Accidentally. Just...pretend y'all don't notice, 'case the building inspectors an' insurance 'justors show up." She plopped down beside him on the floor, and managed a couple of deep drags on her Winston. "Boy, I tell you what; y'all sure know how to show a girl a good time. What y'all got planned for an encore; an earthquake?" <><><><><> Mitchell: Trembling and tired, Mitchell sighs, smiling up at Tyler. "I guess there are advantages to being a bit like a living cartoon," he muses aloud. "You get to snap back after the steamroller goes over you." He grins, looking about at the carnage. "I think the insurance adjustors will need to make special policies for hero-villain confrontations." "Lets see...an encore...I guess we could go find Godzilla and be stepped on a few times, _then_ experience the earthquake, in Tokyo. Or we could sleep for a day or two." Mitchell laughs quietly, winking. "I pick unconsciousness, about you?" Mitchell stays relaxed, resting. "I guess we just made our big debut as superheroes and superheroines." He grins wider. "For me, both. What'll we call ourselves?" <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler snorted. "What'll we call ourselves? Hell, ah don't even know what ah *do*, let alone what ah ought to be called. And after the way that bi*** booted th'three of us around, I think maybe Moe, Larry and Curly ought to serve jus' fine." She stubbed out her cigarette. "Tell you what ah *feel* like; ah *feel* like a pack rat. How you reckon that sounds, for a heroic name, eh? Pack Rat." One corner of her mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. "Or maybe Handygirl, 'cept that sounds a little like some all-purpose kitchen utensil, you know?" Her grin turned full force; she was getting a kick out of the subject. "How about y'all? Change-o-matic? Clono?" She laughed. "*That* sounds like a bowl cleaner. Okay...Mystery Man! There it is; Handygirl and the Mystery Man. Ah reckon if it all went sour, we could form a hip-hop group." <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell laughs quietly, grinning. "Yeah, all right. Handygirl and Mystery. Sounds good to me." He slowly sits up, wincing. "Oof. May be able to bounce back from maiming, but I'm not well. Mystery Man does not live by battling villains alone." <><><><><> Tyler: "Well, Handygirl could use a drink, for that matter. Whattaya say let's get outta here." Tyler jumped to her feet, and then offered Mitchell a hand. "We can stop off and say somethin' to that Crystal lady. She's pretty nice, and maybe she'd want to sit and talk a little after she's all rested from this rumble." <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell carefully stands, still wobbly. "Sure, lets go talk to her, then get out of the rubble and somewhere nice, comfortable, and intact." <><><><><> [GM to Crystal] You find Berlowitz just outside, looking stunned but unharmed. "My God! Christine, you- are you all r-" he stops, shaking himself as if dazed. He peers at you and says "You look....broken." <><><><><> Crystal: "You must be hurt," Crystal says with a laugh in her oddly inhuman voice, "because I'm sure you know better than ever telling a lady she looks anything but her best." She smiles, then leans closer to speak more privately. "I think I might be hurt. I don't know, because I can't feel anything like pain... but my wrist last night was nothing beside this. I think I should be in a hospital before I even think about changing back... But I'm wondering what I can do about this mess first. I'm not sure if I'm ready for interviews..." <><><><><> [GM] Berlowitz nods and wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid this will put a....dent in your publicity." Only a modest understatement, you think. "The best idea right now is for you to get away from the press, try to recover a bit, and I'll prepare a quick statement for them, to the effect that you're all right but were injured trying to stop that maniac. That government agent....Donnay? You seemed to know him. And he seemed to know about the...the superwoman. I want to find out just how much the government knew about this, so we can blame them before you start to absorb flack for this incident. And those two people that helped you, we should talk to them too." <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal nods in agreement as Berlowitz offers his advice. "I have a friend flying over from California. I think he'll help me deal with this, if anyone can." She glances at Agent Donnay, then back to her lawyer. "You're right. I didn't have any idea she'd be recovered from last night and still after me, but he seemed to expect it. It would have saved a lot of pain if he'd told me that." She was about to take the opportunity to find out just what other things the government knew but hadn't been sharing when she was interrupted. <><><><><> Tyler: Crystal felt, rather than heard, the two approach: Tyler and the somewhat shaky young man who'd until recent minutes been a damaged copy of the madwoman. "Hey," she murmured. 'Scuse us for interruptin', but we're gonna try and oil out of here in a minute, and I...we, ah mean...kinda wanted to talk to you, 'fore we left. Y'all got a minute?" <><><><><> Crystal: She turns to Tyler and a worried expression melts back into a slight but friendly smile. "Of course I do. I think it's only because of you two that I have any minutes at all left." She pauses before offering her hand to Mitchell, looking for the injury he'd suffered so recently and seeing it gone. "Mitchell, wasn't it? Chris Tallin. And I'm jealous if you really did manage to put your hand back together while I wasn't looking. She did something like that to me yesterday and my wrist is still messed up." She holds up her wrist, which is marked by a fine network of fractures and stress markings. Much like the rest of her. "I'm sort of hoping I recover more quickly than I used to, because I think today was a whole lot worse than last night." Light glimmers off her as she shudders slightly, then glances down and notices how tattered her costume has become. She'd be showing quite a bit of skin if she actually had any... "Look, I'd really like a chance to talk about all of this with you both. This whole thing with the strange powers and all. Can we go up to my room for some privacy, perhaps?" <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell nods. "I had a run-in with someone who broke my arm almost in half earlier this morning. I guess its like in those sci-fi movies, where the creature regenerates or something. Or like starfish. I knew I'd probably get messed up, when I went after that...whatever she was." "Sure, we really need to talk with someone else in basically the same situation as we are," he agrees. <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler glanced briefly at Mitchell, her expression one of pleasant surprise. "Absolutely,' she replied. "That'd be perfect." She nodded slightly in the general direction of the two men, then withdrew to wait for Crystal. <><><><><> Crystal: "Good. Wait upstairs, I shouldn't be long. Just one person I need a moment with." And she turns and heads back to the side of Agent Donnay, reaching to lightly grip his arm. There are hints of confusion in her voice, an almost desperate edge. "Agent Donnay, I've been thinking... I don't understand what just happened, it's just too... Who could do something like this? Do you know *anything* about her that might make this all make sense?" <><><><><> [GM] Donnay laughs, a hard, bitter laugh. "Make sense of her? How do you make sense of a psychopath?" He looks at you, taking in your shattered form, and says "You're luckier than most metahumans she went after. She killed at least four, that we know of. Plus a planeful of people which she probably killed just to get at one metahuman who was aboard. That's our assumption, anyways, though considering that she killed people who whistled at her, people who bumped into her, people who were sitting where she wanted to sit....hell, maybe she ripped the wings off that plane just for fun." "She was crazy, and I'm glad you killed her, because God knows what we would have done with her if you hadn't. There's certainly no prison that could have held her, and keeping her unconscious might have proven difficult. Not to mention there'd undoubtedly be a lawyer from the ACLU claiming 'cruel and unusual'." Glancing in the direction of Tyler and Mitchell, Donnay says "I overheard you planning to get together with those two in your hotel room. I'll be up in a bit to talk to them as well. If you don't mind. You realize, of course, that there are other crazies out there, and Golden wasn't even the most powerful one?" <><><><><> Crystal: "I wish you'd told me that last night, Agent Donnay. I had no idea..." Crystal has been trying not to look at the chaos around her, at the destruction, blood and pain still evident even as emergency workers try to deal with the worst of it. But she has to now, and she pauses. Looks around as she hears his words. Then looks at him, locking her crystalline eyes directly on his, sparks of light dancing in hers independent of any reflection. And then she continues in a quiet voice. But one that carries, strong and distinctive in its vaguely mechanical sound, far beyond the immediate conversation. "I didn't kill anyone, Agent Donnay. And if you're really looking for someone to call what you and the others who kept this, all of this, secret until it was too late to deal with it without blood "cruel and unsual," you don't have to look very far. "I don't think you should come to my room." And she turns sharply and walks away, each step falling in careful, measured time as she tries to count high enough to make it past her reaction to Donnay's words. <><><><><> [GM] "Hey, wait a minute-" Agent Donnay says indignantly, but Crystal walks on, and he elects not to follow. <><><><><> Tyler: "Hell, ah'm glad to know we've got that teamwork thing down pat," Tyler jibed. "Always good to pull together whenever somethin' like that Lucretia whateverhernameis crops up. The Feds make me ever so much more eager to do mah civic duty an' help out." Tyler and Mitchell had started upstairs in a vague, 'where exactly are we goin'?' kind of fashion, and Crystal's loud exchange had captivated their attention enough so that they didn't get that far along. It was easier to hook up and follow her now. "Listen, that supergun is permanent, so far as ah know. Y'all reckon ah ought to take it along with me, or leave it around for the law dogs to fool around with? Ah guess you *could* say it's mine, after a fashion." <><><><><> Crystal: Tyler's question does manage to get Crystal's attention. She pauses for a moment, then nods. "I'd say you should get it back, if you can." Her words were more quiet now, private among the small group. "But I don't think They'll make it easy." The capital letter was obvious, almost spat out. "I need to get out of here. Mitchell and I can wait in the room for you." She almost seems ready to turn and continue on, but she pauses to make sure this is the sort of plan Tyler will agree to. <><><><><> Mitchell: "I don't know, can we carry it?" Mitchell asks. "It looked like a major handful, but I guess if we could get it to the truck, it would work out there pretty well." "I'm still not ready to let my identity totally out of the proverbial bag; it might be dangerous for my folks," he whispers. <><><><><> Crystal: "You'd better come with me, then," Crystal says as Tyler heads off. "The shock is wearing off and they'll remember they're reporters soon. There'll be no privacy at all when that happens, no matter what you want." She looks to find her lawyer, to make certain he knows they are going, then heads on to her room. <><><><><> Mitchell: Mitchell follows crystal, sighing. "Has _anyone_ ever had so strange a week as us, I wonder?" he mutters. "The whole planet has gone weird. Its got to be aliens or angels or demons or something like that. This kind of thing only happens when they're involved, in the movies. I kinda doubt it's pollution or radiation." <><><><><> Crystal: "Well," Crystal says as she waits for the elevator, "I do know one thing. This isn't the movies." She doesn't turn to look at Mitchell and the strange tint of her voice gives it an even more misty quality than she might have intended. <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler got the room number from Crystal, and waded back into the throng to retrieve her exotic weapon. What she was going to do if someone resisted her removing it was anybody's guess. <><><><><> [GM] Agent Donnay is still down there, and seems pleased at your arrival. You notice two other agents are wrapping your gun in a large plastic bag. In response to your inquiry, he replies calmly "Yes, let's discuss that. We would really like to know more about how you got that weapon. And we could certainly use something that will stop bulletproof metahumans ourselves. I'm sure we can come to an agreeable solution. We're not going to take anything from you without reimbursement. But, I must point out, for damn sure you don't have a license for that thing, and we're not about to let you wander around in New York City carrying your own personal artillery." <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler didn't seem fazed. "Well, to tell you the truth, there's prob'ly a lot o' you guys coulda waved that big sucker around better'n me. And done less damage to the hotel, at the least. If y'all can duplicate it, and make it work right, more power to ya. As to how ah got it...hell, like ah said, y'all's guess is as good as mine right now. Ah was hopin' that maybe Crystal or some of the more 'sperienced...hell, what do y'all call weirdos these days? Metahumans? Anyway, ah was hopin' maybe somebody else could shed a little light on the subject for me. "Now...ah can't say I want t'make a habit out of bein' a vigilante. But ah'd be happy to fill y'all in soon's ah got some better idea what's happenin'. That okay? Ah don't have the same innate distrust of law enforcement that some of y'all's stranger acquaintances seem to." <><><><><> [GM] Agent Donnay says "We've been doing metahuman research for almost a year. We haven't had that many volunteers to study, but we've learned a great deal from those we have. There are top scientists in every field at our research facility. We can always use more friendly metahumans, both for research and to help us deal with psychos like Lucretia. And we *do* pay, quite well. Not to mention, you'd have the government's help in dealing with certain-" he waves a hand at the carnage around you "-legal problems." Lowering his voice, he says "Several people were badly injured, possibly fatally, by bullets from your gun. They went all the way through the hotel. A good lawyer may be able to get you cleared of any criminal charges, though *we* could probably make such charges just disappear. Civil suits are another matter. But agents working for us are covered for all such incidental expenses, by Uncle Sam." <><><><><> Tyler: "Incidental expenses...?" Tyler felt her stomach churn at the thought of having hurt... **no, don't lie to yourself. It isn't going to go away...** ...of having *killed* innocent people. She could intellectualize it as self-defense; that Lucretia bitch had been a nightmare on wheels, and would have happily killed everyone in the room, but that didn't make it any better. Her hands were shaking so badly that she almost couldn't light up a cigarette. "S***," she said, pithily, and held her hand out before her, watching it quiver, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "God damn, look at that. Listen, ah don't know if ah'm cut out for this. All ah ever wanted to do was rodeo, you know? Until a couple days ago, it was just rehab and then rodeo. Now..." She smoked quietly for a minute, pale blue eyes staring off into the distance. "Ah guess y'all got more problems than just me, if there's more loonies like than woman out runnin' around. But ah got to say, ah ain't 'zack'ly a professional. Ah was damn' lucky, no two ways about it, and y'all got to understand, ah'm still tryin' to learn about me. If it hadn't been for Mitchell, ah'd prob'ly still be in a Canadian rehab center, liftin' weights and gettin' drunk nights." She flicked ashes on the floor. "He's a good boy. Man. Whatever. And he's pretty smart; figured out a lot of what ah can do, and his own shtick, too. All right. Let's cutr to the chase: y'all got a business card? Y'all talkin' a full time position here, or is this..." she waved her hand about with a touch of black humor, "...is this piece work?" <><><><><> [GM] Donnay nods and says "Most metahumans manifest under rather...traumatic circumstances, and they usually take a while to get a handle on their abilities. Of course, those working with us have the help of a team of scientists, already somewhat familiar with these powers, and a facility where we can test the range of your abilities. Our metahumans probably have a great headstart over those that keep struggling on their own. Of course," he sighs and looks at the destruction around you, "some have powers which are pretty straightforward." "We're certainly willing to work with you on whatever basis you'd like, but naturally we'd like to offer you a full time job with us. Believe me, the benefits package is better than you'd get in any other government job where you don't have to be elected first." "And you don't necessarily have to be a combat field agent. We need those, of course, against people like Lucretia....but whatever your abilities might be, we can find a use for them." [Note: The government is trying to recruit you because that's what they do, and they'll try to recruit any metahuman they meet. However, I am NOT trying to "push" you into that role. You can end up working for them, if it suits Tyler, but don't think this is what you're "supposed" to do because you think the GM wants it. I am not relying either on your accepting or refusing their offer- there will be plenty of trouble for Tyler whatever she does. ] <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler nodded thoughtfully. "Ah reckon it all sounds pretty invitin'...and to be honest, if ah elect to continue makin' use of my particular weirdness, ah believe ah'd be a fool NOT to accept your offer. After tonight, ah suspect it's one of the few places left where you can actually do some good for your country. And not worry about accident insurance. Still...ah hope y'all can understand that this is somethin' ah need to consider. Y'all have a business card? Is it considered good manners to call up and ask for a job, with no resume?" She flashed him a thin smile, and stubbed out her cigarette. <><><><><> [GM] Donnay smiles and says, "You know, with all the metahumans that have been appearing lately, we probably *should* have business cards. In the meantime," he pulls out a notepad and writes down a phone number, "call this number anytime. Just give them your name. And if you happen to lose it, go to the nearest FBI office, and they'll route you to us pretty quick." <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler stuffed the phone number in her pocket. "Thanks." She hesitated, then stuck out her hand. "Like to say it's been a pleasure, but ah don't 'magine it has. Ah'll call y'all, either way. No reason for y'all to be left hangin'." She squeezed his hand briefly, then headed up to join the others. ************************************************************************************ CRYSTAL'S ROOM Crystal leads Mitchell to her room, an expensive suite among many others like it. She pauses just inside the room, closing her eyes and simply breathing deeply for a long moment. Then she speaks. "Turn on the television. We'll need to see how the news is carrying this. CNN should have something by now. I need to change clothes." She reaches into the closet, selecting and outfit and taking it with her into the bathroom. It takes long minutes before she returns. Many of those minutes spent in silent contemplation of the sight in the huge mirror. She had chosen jeans and a full shirt to hide the fractures that webbed her form, but changing into them she had no choice but see the extent of her injuries. But, eventually, she covers that with her clothing and steps back out. With the curve-hugging jeans and long-sleeved top, her strangely alien form is almost unnoticeable, except that her face is still shimmering crystal. She smiles a somewhat forced smile and looks at Mitchell. "Find anything on the news?" <><><><><> [GM] Mitchell finds that CNN is indeed running coverage of the battle in the hotel. So far, no names have been mentioned, but they are reporting that the same two superhumans who fought the previous night in another hotel had a showdown that left several people dead or injured. There are also rumors that other superhumans were involved. Live footage of the battle is promised soon. At this time, it appears that the mad superwoman who attacked both times is now dead. Live footage from outside the hotel shows police and some of Agent Donnay's men holding back reporters, though they can't do anything about the reporters who are already inside. Someone knocks on the door. Mitchell expects Tyler, but it's a large, middle-aged man that Crystal identified earlier as her lawyer, Mr. Berkowitz. He waits until Crystal emerges from the bathroom in her "normal" clothes, and says "It would probably be best for you to go to another hotel- reporters will get hold of the registry and find out which room you're in. They're likely to be up here any time now." At this point, Tyler comes up behind him. <><><><><> Mitchell: "We'd better get out of here," Mitchell agrees. "I'll sneak out to my car..." he lowers his voice. "Lets meet somewhere tomorrow, the three of us, to talk this over. I've got to rest, and spend the early part of tomorrow fixing a mistake of mine. Maybe 2:00 PM tomorrow, near the statue of liberty? It would give us time to recover, take care of errands, and make certain the reporters are lost before we collect again." "I can't let those reporters get any more than they may have on me from videotaping; I've got superpowered people after me. Something called Legion. Relatives could get hurt if anyone knows my true identity, corny as that sounds. I'm out of here -- I'll be at the statue at 2:00 tomorrow. I can recognize your vehicle for sure, Tyler." He grins. "Take care, I'll see you tomorrow. If anything keeps you tied up, I'll check back there every day at 2:00. Or come looking for you." He winks. <><><><><> Tyler: "Evenin'." Tyler glanced curiously at the attorney, then came on in. "Feds're sellin' memberships. All things considered, it wasn't a bad offer; ah think ah might take 'em up on it, in some fashion. Consultant, maybe. Armorer; hell, who knows. 'Course, as a private citizen, you can always say 'no thanks' if the bad guy is too tough, but that's kinda wussy, you know? Personally, ah kinda like the pressure of the big time." She wandered around a moment, admiring the facility and eventually fetching herself a glass of water, after which she settled into a chair. "Y'all mind if ah smoke?" She took a drink, fished a mismatched pair of pills from her shirt pocket, and downed them with another swallow of water. A sigh of relief. She lipped a Winston out of her pack while she listened to Mitchell's media and security complaint. "Sure. How about up on the observation deck, or whatever they call it? Ah kinda need to talk to Crystal tonight...that is, if she can stand my company. Ah promise not to drop a dime on you with the media boys, Mitch." <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal is silent as Tyler talks about accepting the government's offer and what she thinks in means, but her face shows just what she thinks of the decision. "It's a non-smoking floor," she observes flatly, then listens to Mitchell. "We will have to split up. I can't hide very well like this, and I don't think I should turn back until I can be sure it's safe. But Mr. Berkowitz is right, we do have to vanish or the press will be all over us. And I... don't think we're ready for that yet." She stuffs her tattered costume into a shoulderbag, a change of clothes and a few other personal items as well. She very pointedly does not look toward any of the mirrors in the room. <><><><><> Tyler: "Whoa," Tyler said, managing a crooked grin. "Scuse-ay-mwah. Sounds like ah trod on somebody's toes with that Feds thing." She carefully removed the cigarette and tapped it back into the pack. Tyler didn't have the same resentment or concern for the press that the others did; she'd been through the mill after her accident, and before that the sporting press had always been around the Rodeo in herds. True, it was mostly the All-Arounds and bull-riders who got the crowds, but there were generally enough to go around. She'd learned to 'no comment' her way right past 'em, along with an occasional 'that's too personal' or 'get f***ed, a**hole.' Still, Crystal was right, in that it wasn't worth the hassle to prove she was press-tolerant. It kind of surprised her, though; Crystal had sought out media attention with her so-called 'conference', and now she was ducking out. Not a very appealing advertising strategy. "Ah guess ah need to make an appointment to talk to y'all, then. Ah was kinda hopin'...well, it don't matter." She got up and stretched stiffly. "Y'all let me know when you've got an open slot on your dance card, eh? G'night. Mitchell, ah'll see ya'll tomorrow. "Ah hope y'all come out okay, Crystal." She turned and headed for the door. <><><><><> Crystal: As Tyler reacts to coldness with snappy sarcasm, Crystal's cold expression melts and she reaches a chilly, hard hand to rest on Tyler's retreating shoulder. "No. Please... I'm sorry. I just don't trust... You know, those Government agents. They've known about this for months and they didn't do anything to warn us, they didn't even tell me about... her... and what they knew or anything. I don't think they're too concerned with anything except themselves, and there was one last night... Well, I'm pretty used to being looked at like a slice of meat or an advertising edge or a mannequin, but I don't think I like being looked at like I was some new kind of gun. I think that's all we are to them. "But we need to stick together. All of us who can. Besides, you saved my life down there, I can't let you just walk out angry." She smiles, or tries to. She seems torn, but her crystal features lack the subtlety to express it. "I'll see if I can get a room on a smoking floor of another hotel, then we can talk. All right?" <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler paused and turned, a little surprised at Crystal's reaction. She hesitated, wanting to formulate her thoughts carefully. "Yeah...well, that's really okay. It ain't the smokin', so much. Nasty habit. Ah oughta quit, anyway. See..." she took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling, "...ah know this ain't easy. But ah figured...least you kinda know what the hell is goin' on with your body, right? Ah was hopin'...maybe...see, ah can wish up all this s***, but ah got no idea how, or where it's comin' from... "Some of it is apparently mine from a different universe or somethin', you know? It's really weird. Ah guess ah don't like not knowin' what ah can do, and where the hell all this s*** is comin' from. You know?" She shrugged plaintively, then smiled her famous crooked smile. "Got any good ideas?" <><><><><> Crystal: "I wish I knew. To be honest, I just woke up like this. I'm just glad I can change back... But I don't know what any of it means." She glances to her lawyer and frowns slightly. "And I need to be going. I need to get a new room, somewhere where I can try to get a grip on things. I don't know how we can get back together or how Terry can find me... I suppose we could impose on Mister Burlowitz to act as a messenger, can't we? You will know where I am, of course, and she could just call you. And I suppose we could leave a message for Terry..." Her hand clenches on the strap of her shoulderbag, crystal fingers closing tightly. She raises her hand and looks at it again. "Or maybe another hotel isn't the best idea. I'm not sure what sort of shape I'll be in when I change back to... me. Last time there was just a few marks and my wrist..." She holds up her arm, letting the light show its condition now. <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler hid her disappointment fairly well. SHe'd been hoping that there would be some more definitive answers forthcoming, but...well, there was not much she could do about it, except keep trying. She had a couple of projects she wanted to invest some time in, though, before she met up with Mitchell at the Statue. First, she intended to wish up a history book, and see if that shed any light on her situation. Secondly, she intended to hit the library, and do a little research. She felt woefully inadequate, insofar as her exotic science knowledge went, and all things considered, she figured she'd better get after it if she wanted to take maximum advantage of her talent. For instance, there were probably adjuncts like tripods or gyroscopic mounts or some such that would have made firing that damned big gun a breeze; but she didn't know enough to wish for them successfully. So...maybe scanning a little speculative or CP fiction...she vaguely remembered seeing some future tech stuff in B. Dalton's once. She'd bought a Kellerman mystery instead. "All right. Ah got a couple of things ah need to do, anyway. Y'all sure y'all're gonna be all right? I mean, when y'all go back to flesh and blood, what happens to all those cracks? Maybe y'all need some superglue or somethin' first...and y'all ought to have somebody 'round, like a doctor. Say...y'all want to go to a hospital emergency room, and *then* try switchin'? Ah'll go with you, see that they treat you right." <><><><><> Crystal: "That might not be a bad idea... I think I'll turn back when I fall asleep, so I'm on a time limit in the end. And I think having someone along is a good idea." She smiles again, taking up a kerchief and dark sunglasses that fail miserably to hide her, but are at least an attempt. "Thank you." <><><><><> [GM] When Crystal and Tyler make their way to the hospital, you find a number of people from the hotel are there already. Some are journalists and hotel staff, injured by Lucretia when she charged madly into the throng, and during the battle when she was throwing things around. Others were wounded by the bullets that went spraying through the hotel, perforating walls like paper. Tyler spots one bloody figure that looks like a teenage boy....the doctors are pulling the sheet up over his head. An emergency room nurse hurries over to the two newcomers, holding out a clipboard with forms to sign, asking you to wait if it's not life threatening- then she does a double take as she sees Crystal. <><><><><> Crystal: "Please... I don't know if I'm hurt, but I think I am. When I change back to me, the real me, I want someone ready to..." She can't bring herself to say it, so she takes the forms. "I'll fill these out. And I'll wait until no one else is at risk. I... don't want anyone else hurt because of me." <><><><><> Tyler: "How y'all doin'," Tyler said, agreeably enough. She was probably as used to hospital emergency rooms as anyone around. "This is Chris Tallin, and as you can see, she's got a small problem that pretty much qualifies as an emergency. Now...what we we need is to get her admitted, get her a a PCU bed, and get her a chance to talk to the doctor ahead about what kind of specialized medical care she's gonna need. We don't need to take up any of the E-room facilities...at least, not yet...but we're talkin' prob'ly pretty severe physical trauma care, pain control, and maybe some blood loss after. Reckon y'all can help us out?" <><><><><> [GM] "Umm...ummm..." the nurse looks totally baffled. Someone cries out behind her. "She was at the hotel! It was her that lunatic came for!" Over a dozen pairs of eyes fix on Crystal and Tyler, and the expressions range from curiousity to fear to blatant hostility. "You caused this!" their looks say. Or maybe it's just your imagination. Most of them don't pay much attention to you at all. The nurse hastily escorts you out of the ER room, and down the hall into a treatment room, where you have to wait over half an hour before a doctor arrives, with another nurse. He looks at Crystal and blinks. "You're....one of those superhumans." It seems to be half question, half talking to himself. Surely he was warned before he came. Looking more closely at the crytalline woman, he says "I don't know how to treat....someone like you." He looks down at his stethoscope, then back up. "Do you even have a heartbeat, or respiration?" <><><><><> Crystal: Crystal's earlier, more frightened mumbles were lost behind Tyler's more decisive manner and she was whisked into a more private room with the burning of all those eyes still cooling... "I don't know. I think I'm still breathing, but I don't know how this body works. But when I change back, I think I'll be hurt. Very seriously hurt, if the cracks mean anything." She shows him her arm, its webwork of fractures, then pulls the sleeve down again. "Last night I had a broken wrist from far less than that. I... I can't feel much in this body. Not pain, at least. So I don't know how bad it is. But I know I'll turn back if I fall asleep, so I can't stay like this forever. I think I'm just another person when I'm not Crystal. I don't feel any different... "What should I do to be ready? Take my clothes off and lie down?" <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler didn't like the way the doctor seemed hesitant, even open-mouthed. "Hey, doc; snap out of it. She's a real person in there; she just can't help the way she changes. And she's gonna change back, so you don't worry about how she is *now*, y'all worry about how bad she's gonna be when she turns human again. Ah think you just ought to be ready for a little girl that's beat up bad. Y'all get trauma cases in here sometimes, right? So...you're gonna do your job, and not jus' stand there gawkin' like a fool, are you? "Ah'm no expert on weirdos, but ah know pain. And if it all comes on her at once, she's at least gonna pass out, maybe worse. There's no tellin' what that kind of shock could do to that l'il body, y'all understand?" <><><><><> [GM] The doctor shakes his head in amazement. "I'd say this calls for a specialist," he says, "but I doubt anyone specializes in....what are you made of, anyways? Silicon? Diamond? My God, this is scientifically impossible!" "So is a flying man," the nurse murmurs, behind him. The doctor finally pulls himself together. "Did you receive any medical treatment for your broken wrist?" When you answer in the affirmative, he calls Records and has your folder brought to him, where he looks at the file and the X-rays that were taken. "You say you had a....fracture, in this...crystal form, and it became this-" he indicates the X-ray of your normal, flesh and blood wrist, "when you changed back?" When you confirm this, he asks you to roll your sleeves up so he can look at your arms more closely. "It's hard to tell from the surface, since you're only semi- transparent," he says, "but some fissures seem deeper than others. Obviously cracks don't translate directly, or you'd have had lacerations and punctures in your wrist, instead of crushed tissue. I'm not sure exactly what process is involved, when your crystal, umm, cells, become organic again. But last night, you had internal hemorrhaging. That could be very bad, if you also have fractures reaching into your internal organs." "We can take X-rays. Hopefully X-rays will work on you. But you said you have to change back eventually anyways. I think the best we can do is get you in a trauma unit before you change back, and stand by ready to perform whatever emergency medical procedures are necessary." <><><><><> Crystal: "Do what you have to, Doctor. I hope we never have to know more about how this works than today... But I'm afraid my first two days aren't promising a quiet life now that I have this... I don't know what to call it." She doesn't feel hurt, but that doesn't mean much. The doctor's observations are frightening her more than she already had been, but she fight to keep that from showing. "Tyler, I think you should probably get to whatever else you wanted to do. This will probably take a while, and I don't think there's anything more you can do." She pauses, meeting Tyler's eyes with her own oddly inhuman gaze. "Thank you again. I don't know what I would have done without you." <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler grimaced. She'd been alone enough in hospitals to remember the feeling, and it wasn't all that pleasant. "Ah can stay a while, be sure there's nothing else. Ah don't mind. Really. Hell," she grinned. "Maybe ah should wish up a medical text, along with a history book. Might have some new stuff, just for you." Whatever the end result, she'd accede to Crystal's wishes. If she wanted her to stay, she'd find a corner in a restroom and wish up her history text and maybe a book on 'modern weapons and technology' from that same transdimensional source. Something that just might give her a grasp on what she was dealing with. She could read them in the waiting room, and if it seemed right to spend the night in a chair in Crystal's PCU, she'd have something to read and prop up her feet with. On the other hand, if she wanted her to leave, she'd go find a reasonable motel and do the same thing. She could hit the library tomorrow. <><><><><> Christine: Crystal doesn't put up any fight to force Tyler to leave, and she follows orders like the best of them. If she ignores the setting, the hum of the wrong kinds of machines, lights and cameras, it's almost like a regular shoot. Almost like her life wasn't on the line... <><><><><> [GM] [to Tyler] You settle in somewhere where you can read in peace, and concentrate on trying get a couple of books, on history, and armaments, from the same place you got your gun. Even a couple of books drains you now. You're starting to feel more like sleeping than reading. The first book is a glossy volume with what seems to be a plastic cover. The second one is a loosely bound stack of thin paper which has plentiful diagrams of the massive rifle you summoned, and all its components. There are many illustrated diagrams showing how to load it, disassemble it, maintain it, etc. It would probably be enormously useful....except that the text in both books seems to be entirely in Chinese. [to Christine] Once a surgical table is prepared, and you are in a gown, they ask you to lie down and then, change to normal. Three doctors stand by with a frightening array of equipment. It isn't immediately painful when you become flesh and blood again. You feel sore, very sore, all over, But the soreness becomes a throbbing ache, and then pounding agony in your skull, your wrist, your shoulder, your knees, a dozen other places. In short, you feel like someone who's just had the cr** beaten out of her. No surprise... "Joint swellings...." "possible bone chipping..." "internal hemorrhaging..." "ruptured blood vessels...arterial blockage...subdermal hemablahblahblah...." Through the haze of pain, you can feel them poking and prodding, examining you with a small X-ray machine, keeping a close eye on all your vital signs while they try to figure out just how badly injured you are. Finally, they inject an anaesthetic which does not put you unconscious, but does put you in la-la land, so you only vaguely recall anything afterwards. You must have fallen asleep at some point, because you wake in a hospital bed. You have bandages all over, and your arm is in a cast again. It hurts when you move, or breathe. When you let the nurses know you're awake, a doctor arrives soon after. "The fact is," he tells you, once he's introduced himself, "it looked much worse than it was. We had to relieve a lot of swelling, and deal with some ruptured blood vessels, fortunately no major ones, but essentially, you're just one enormous bruise. You have crushed tissue all over your body, but it's healing. You do have fractures in your knee, wrist, and ribs, and we have your neck in a brace because we're a little worried about what seems to be some stressed vertabrae. But while you are going to be walking stiffly for a while, and not doing any modelling shots anytime soon, we should be able to release you in a day or two. You'll need to come back several times, so we can make sure no unforeseen problems arise in your healing. But it seems that all that damage you took in your...other, form, was greatly diffused when you changed back. I do think, though, that you about hit your limit. You took about as much damage as a person can take and not have any of it transmit to something vital, or escalate to something permanent." "Oh, your friend Ms. Sterrit has been waiting around for you, if you want to see her now." <><><><><> Crystal: Christine wakes slowly, a fog of pain and painkillers battling to see which can steal more of her attention. But the nurses are attentive, the doctor very helpful. She tries to smile slightly as he tells her it isn't as bad as it initially looked, but it feels far worse. "Terry? Did he...?" Talking is more difficult than she had thought, *everything* hurts. She worries how bad she must look, wonders if she'll ever really recover. But she knows if Terry won't tell her, someone else will. "Yes. I'd like Tyler..." But one other question burns in her mind, one she must ask. "What about Crystal? If I changed...?" Completing the question proves impossible, but she hopes the doctor gets the direction she was thinking in and has some sort of answer, somehow. <><><><><> [GM] The doctor shrugs. "I wish I could tell you what will happen if you change back to that other form. But I have no idea. I guess you'd be like you were...all cracked up." He winces, and adds "No pun intended." <><><><><> Tyler: Tyler came in looking a little rumpled and carrying a couple of large books. She'd apparently settled for a nap on the waiting room chairs, after making an effort to decipher some glimpse of the alternate universe history from the pictures and charts in the Chinese version. The entire thing was getting odder and odder; the Ford manuals were in English, and for that matter, the corporate logo and truck appearance showed no oriental design influence. Her horse spoke English; the guns had English markings; why would the books be untranslatable? She could likely find someone in New York to do the translating...if it really was Chinese. In fact, the Feds would probably *want* to do it. So exactly what logical reason was there for books that she wanted to flop out of nowhere in a totally different language? Maybe the Chinese ruled America in that version of the universe. Maybe there were glitches in her wishing process. Maybe there were *multiple* alternate realities, that rotated beneath the microscope of her influence over time, so that if she picked a different time, she could get a bunch of different histories. Maybe she had to specify English. What if it wasn't called 'English' in the alternate universe? She'd have to try more, later. "Well. You're up and around a little, ah see. How're y'all feeling?" <><><><><> Crystal: "Cracked up." Christine smiles as she echoes the doctor's appraisal to Tyler, her mood brightened by the familiar face, even if still anchored to the ground by the web of medical equipment she is trapped in. "Doctor says... couple days. Nothing serious. Hurts, though." She doesn't look like she's searching for sympathy from Tyler, just stating the obvious rather than trying to hide it. "Can you turn on the TV? I want to hear the news..." <><><><><> [GM] When Tyler turns on the news, you get a local station covering something at the Kennedy airport. A camera is pointing across a mostly empty stretch of airfield, where a small jet is sitting by itself with its lower cargo door hanging open. Several people are running and- flying!- around it. "-at this time who the participants are, though it does not seem to be the same superhumans involved at the battle at the Regency Hotel in New York City earlier this evening. We know that the plane is a government jet, as it's occupying a section of the airfield reserved for military, police and other government aircraft, but have not yet been able to learn - holy sh- lookithat!..." As the camera zooms in, a glimpse can be seen of what looks like a girl in a dress hovering in the air, and suddenly the plane is lifting vertically into the air, then tipping. CRYSTAL [Christine Tallin is back in California, and making plans for her new career, using her meta- abilities as a basis to launch herself into the spotlight, bigger than ever. But some negative publicity and a threatening phone call is evidence that it's going to be even tougher than she thought...] <><><><><> Christine: Seeing the tabloid programs sets Christine on a slow burn. They can't do this to her, not when she finally had the chance she'd wanted all her life. There was simply no way she could allow it. And that meant she had to do something, something big. Something other than attract maniacs and stand by helplessly as people were killed. But what? Interviews were good, appearances were good, but she has to do more... And she doesn't know just now what. But she will find something. She will watch every second, ever minute, until the opportunity offered itself. And she would take it. She calls her lawyer again, asking if they had any options to respond to the tabloid TV, not expecting much. They're slippery and hard to pin down, even with a lot of money for legal action. And right now, she doesn't *have* a lot of money, since it will all be tied up in creating Crystal. Eventually, though not too happily, she gives in to the only choice being some sort of counter- action. She spends at least an hour working at minor household chores but thinking only of what that might be. But she's had a full day, and she was still recovering as much as she hates to admit to that. And so she sleeps, soundly. Until the call. And then she holds the phone, trembling. She'd had a couple fanatics before, they were part of the job. But never a death threat, never anything so violent and... And true. Crystal was tough, maybe even bulletproof, but *she* wasn't. Not all the time. And he... *they* said they know where she lives... But that was probably a lie. If they did and they wanted her dead, why call? To scare her? That worked. For a while, at least. Right until now. She slaps the phone down, fear replaced with anger. This was worse than the tabloids, worse than the frightened stares. This was something she *had* to do something about. She gets out of bed, walks to the mirror. And then examines Crystal again, flowing into the change as it if was the most natural thing she knew. Was she healing? How much better since this morning? How long now until she was ready, ready for Terry's camera and the first steps of repairing what lunacy and tragedy had started off all wrong. She had to start soon. She had to be ready. Because she doesn't have any time to wait... <><><><><> [GM] Berlowitz confirms what you already suspected- if they were actually *attacking* you, you might have some options. But there's nothing you can do if they just choose to put you in a negative light without directly saying anything negative about you. Except, of course, to come out swinging with an image campaign of your own. In the light, you see that Crystal is still healing. Those cracks are still there. From the current rate that they're fading, you'd guess it will be a few days before they've shrunk to near-invisibility. <><><><><> Christine: Days... she can't wait days. She has to figure out something, and she has to figure it out soon. And so early the next morning, perhaps a little too early, but she couldn't really sleep after that phone call, she calls Terry and Betty, asking them to meet her for lunch, at her place, to talk about options. They have a lot of work to do. <><><><><> [GM] Betty was already up, as she's an early riser. Terry was a little less eager to be woken up *again*, early in the morning, but agreed to meet you for lunch. The two of them arrive at almost the same time, Betty her usual bouncy self, Terry with his armload of photographic equipment. "So what's up, Chris?" Terry asks. Looking at you, still bruised and sore, he says "No offense, but frankly, I don't think you're quite ready for a photo shoot yet." Betty frowns and nods agreement. "It would take a godawful amount of makeup to cover that bruise across your cheekbone, and forget wearing anything sleeveless." Timidly, she asks, "Umm, am I gonna get to see...you know, that super-person you can turn into?" "Speaking of her," Terry continues, "have you, ah, checked on Crystal lately? Do you know if Crystal *does* heal, especially when you aren't in that...body?" <><><><><> Christine: "I think we may need that, Betty. I think we need to get out *right now* that I'm still a person, that I didn't escape unscathed. It won't make up for people dying, but it will help other people understand the truth." She pauses, considering, then smiles slightly. "This truth, Betty." And she changes, bruised flesh into smooth, if cracked, crystal. "And I do heal, Ter, but slowly. I saw the progress already. But the cracks will be obvious for a few more days, at least. I hope not much longer, because I have a lot of people interested in interviews and... Well, the wounded look is good for one quick release, but I want to be back to my best before I do television interviews. As Chris and Crystal." She shifts back then, more comfortable being herself with these, her two closest friends. "So, can we do it? A few choice shots, flesh and crystal, not very pretty but very *real*? And we need them out soon, tomorrow. With a statement. I can write that, but it needs the pictures to work. Is that possible?" <><><><><> [GM] "Woooowww!" Betty gasps and claps her hands approvingly. "Wow, you really ARE made of crystal! Jeez, how do you breathe, how do you eat, how do you-" "We already covered that, Betts," says Terry. "She doesn't know." He eyes you with the critical eye of a photographer and says "We could probably get some interesting dramatic shots by framing you with the light behind you, so it highlights the cracks. That would certainly depict you as being a lot less than invulnerable, if that's what you want. As for showing off the bruises, sure, I can use a soft light and a blurred lens to make you more vulnerable. Are you planning on doing it here, or should we go to a studio?" <><><><><> Christine: "Terry," Chris says with a hint of warning. She had known Betty would be overwhelmed. She knew she should be herself, but maybe it really hadn't hit her yet. Or maybe she was stronger- willed than she thought... "Betty, I don't know if I do breath. I tried to find out yesterday, to see if I fogged a mirror or anything, but I don't. And I drank some Evian yesterday and couldn't feel anything. It was... strange. I didn't try anything else. Other than staying this way for a couple hours... it didn't hurt and I changed back right when I wanted to. I think it's safe." Then she returns to business, thinking over Terry's suggestions and questions. "How about a bare back picture in front of the light? Maybe still looking away from the camera... How about we do each series of pictures in both forms, with Crystal and flesh? We could pick the best pairs, emphasize the similarity instead of the difference. "And I think we should work here. This should feel honest, not studio-done. I mean, this will *be* honest. I want people to know that I'm still human, no matter what I look like. If we can't establish that, I'll be a sideshow freak, and I'm not interested. "Why don't we get started?" <><><><><> [GM] Betty and Terry get to work, and you realize with some irony that it's mostly in their hands; they do what needs doing, and you mostly do what they say. You are the one in charge, though, and you give input on what kind of image you want to project. Terry snaps several rolls of film, taking pictures of both Christine and Crystal. As Crystal, the bright photographer's lights seem to shimmer and pulse in your vision, almost as if they were a tangible force. It almost seems that your eyes are breaking the light down into its component wavelengths and lumens....if that's the term. A strange perspective, yet it seems as natural as normal sight, and you couldn't begin to describe what you're seeing to Betty or Terry. Like describing red to a blind man. After several hours, Terry feels he has enough to pick from. "Do you want to come with me while I go develop it?" he asks. "Or maybe you and Betty should just go get some dinner?" <><><><><> Christine: "I think we should. I could use some time to just talk, and we'd just distract you. How long do you need? We can swing back by when you're done, see how things are going. I'll want to see what we have before I write what I want to go with them..." Chris does need someone to talk to, it isn't just a polite excuse to not have to hang around and smell developing fluids and fixers and whatever else Terry uses. Betty is always easy to talk with, as long as you don't mind doing a lot more listening than talking. And tonight, that seems welcome. And so she spends a couple minutes selecting some properly non-attention summoning clothes and finding a pair of dark glasses then she and Betty head to a local restaurant, hoping for a nice, quiet meal and a chance to try to figure out what was going on. And Chris already knows she won't even try to describe the light any more... It bothers her that she doesn't have anything like the words she needs to explain it, but trying just frustrated her and bothered Betty. They had so much to talk about without that... <><><><><> [GM] You and Betty go out to a nice place for an early dinner. Betty is bubbling and exhuberant about your possible career boost, while being sympathetic to what you've been through. "You never really got the breaks you deserved," she says, ironically echoing Billi Cameron's sentiments. "I mean, I've done Cindy and Vendela and even that new Japanese chick last week- and you've got much nicer skin than any of them! And you have this...this personality, like an energy, you know! You're not all flash and trying to be the hottest magazine cover. People who know you, well, we really respect you Chris." After that moment of heartfeltness, she starts bubbling again. "You know, you totally should have been in the last Sports Illustrated layout, but that jackass Lyle has been talking all up and down the circuit what a 'difficult' person you are, just 'cause of the screaming match you two had over the cleavage thing." She giggles. "Man, Chris, you've always been different. Maybe now at least it'll work to your advantage. Jeez, you don't need much makeup as Crystal, do you? I guess what you really need is a...a jeweler?" She giggles some more. <><><><><> Christine: "I'm not sure what I'll need, Betty, but I know I'll always need you as well. I'm not always going to be Crystal, you know. And I'm not so self-centered to think I manage anything without you. I know the best, and I've worked with some who say their the best. But it helps to have someone who knows you and who you can trust. That's why I like having you and Terry to work with, whenever I can. I know you'll do well and I know you care, and that's ore important than anything." Christine smiles, an honest smile she'll share with a good friend. Talking to Betty was a great way to focus on more usual things... But there was one question she had to ask... "Betty... When I... changed... what happened to the work you'd done on me, I mean this me? Did it seem to wear or vanish or what? I mean, Chrystal doesn't *have* skin or hair, so what happens to *my* skin an hair when I'm her? I couldn't tell... but you paid closer attention, I'm sure." <><><><><> [GM] Betty says "Well, I have to admit, what happened to your makeup wasn't the first thing on my mind. But it did seem to, like, smudge and blur a little. Not really get messed up, I could fix it in about thirty seconds, but your hair just disappeared, which I guess you already know, but it came back tied up like it was before, and the style wasn't screwed up, though some strands were out of place, and so like your skin I guess also...jeez, how can your skin *go* anywhere? But like it did, I guess, or turned into glass- but you didn't have makeup on your face as Crystal. When you turned back, it was like your skin had 'moved' a little, or something....the makeup was disturbed a little, but nothing big." She takes a deep breath, while you try to decipher her rapid, stream-of-consciousness dialogue; typically, the more excited she gets, the harder it is to keep up with her and understand her. She looks at you somewhat abashedly and says "I guess maybe that's not really that helpful, is it?" <><><><><> Christine: "That's weird. Maybe we should watch more carefully, try to figure out what it means. When I was in the hospital in New York, turning to Crystal seemed to flush all the painkillers out of my system. When I turned back it hurt worse than anything. I'm glad makeup works better, because I'd hate to turn back and look like a wreck every time. We can live with a little slipping, I bet. And maybe you can even plan for it, if we can figure out a pattern." That was a challenge for Betty for sure. Did her skin always shift the same way, return the same tiny degree different? They'd have to experiment a lot, but it might be worth it. In the long run. But that's enough shop talk. For the rest of the dinner, Chris keeps things steered to small talk, a little gossip and some empty chatter, something to keep her mind on lighter things. It almost works. <><><><><> [GM] You and Betty finish eating, and while chatting on lighter topics, head back to Terry's place, eager to see the results of your lengthy photo session.... You feel a horrible chill pass over you, a dead certainty that something is very, *very* wrong. The premonition of doom is reinforced as you turn the corner onto the street where Terry and his companion live, and you see police cars filling the street. Smoke is pouring out of your friend's apartment. <><><><><> Christine: "o my god..." Chris freezes for the slightest hint of a second, then rushes away from Betty's side, toward the steps up to Terry's apartment, for the moment totally oblivious of the police and other emergency workers between her and the entrance, her only thought being on how to get inside, how to make sure Terry is safe, how to somehow make that impossible need that he be safe true... <><><><><> [GM] A pair of police officers stop you before you get to the doorway, but you can already see it's bad; the interior of Terry's apartment can be dimly seen, a smoking wreck, with the door and windows blown out on the side facing the street, debris strewn all over. A sizeable explosion obviously blew the place apart. There are paramedics walking in and out, but their activity is not the frantic hurry one would expect if they are caring for an injured person who needs urgent medical care.... "Hey, hold on lady, who are you-?" then one cop seems to recognize you. "Christine Tallin? You're that model, right? The one with the superpowers?" <><><><><> Christine: "Terry! Terry!" She struggles to get past the policemen, then calms down suddenly, reality striking her square in the face. If Terry was in there, he's dead. If he wasn't, they'd be running around, doctors fighting, yelling for help... "o god, Terry..." She leans heavily against the policeman, his question reaching through the mist in her mind even as tears replace her paniced energy. And any answer she might have for him is lost in sobs. <><><><><> [GM] The cop puts an arm around you hesitantly, and sighs. "I, um, I guess you're...were...uh, a friend of the man inside? I'm sorry ma'am...." he doesn't need to finish the rest. Betty comes running up, and stops dead, seeing the tableau in front of her, and hearing the last bit. "Omigod omigodomigod!" she cries out, trembling with shock. "Omigod Terry! What...oh GOD!" <><><><><> Christine: "he's my photographer.... he's my friend." Betty's voice shakes Chris from her shock and she turns from the policeman and embraces her friend, sharing what little support she can give as tears continue to flow. <><><><><> [GM] The police officer clears his throat, as another man, in plain clothes but with the demeanor of a cop, approaches. The uniformed cop says "I'm sorry....I'm afraid your friend...didn't survive." The plainclothes cop looks at you and Betty for a moment, sighs and says brusquely, "I'm sorry if the decedent was a friend of yours. Can you tell us why someone would want to kill him?" <><><><><> Christine: "No one. No one could do something like this to him. Terry was the nicest person I knew, the first person I turned to when..." Suddenly, Chris stiffens and her supportive embrace of Betty becomes tighter. "He was the first person I told about Crystal. He didn't believe me then, but we just got back from New York. He came out to help me through everything. I think someone may have come after him to get to me. I... Last night, I got a call, threatening me. But only *me*, not my friends." She holds onto Betty almost protectively now, not wanting to let her go. "Did anything in the appartment make it? He had just done some pictures, just this afternoon. Of me. I think they might have been part of what caused this." <><><><><> [GM] The policeman shakes his head. "Only one victim. Do you know how to reach his....roommate?" He becomes alert when you mention the pictures and the threatening phone call. "We're still searching through the rubble, figuring out what caused the explosion. It was definitely an explosive device of some sort. We haven't looked for pictures, but we did notice he has a darkroom in that apartment. The door was closed- it got blasted open by the explosion, but the interior of the darkroom didn't seem to be damaged, aside from a few chemicals that were knocked over by the door's bursting inwards." "Tell me more about this phone call. When was it, exactly what did they say, what can you remember about their voice? Have you had any other threats?" As he begins questioning you, Betty just sniffles and holds onto you, looking like she's in a state of shock. <><><><><> Christine: "I don't know. Terry hadn't told me if Mark was working. I don't know him very well..." But a spark of hope wakes in her, shaming her with its goulishness even as it excites her with its possibility. "Can... is there anything I can see? I have to know if it's... It could be either of them, Terry or Mark. I... could identify him. If you need me to." The question about the phone call was expected. She almost wishes she hadn't mentioned it, but it could be connected, somehow... "It was late, the middle of the night. A man called, I don't know the voice. He said something about how I was trying to be so much better than other people and said a bullet could kill anyone. That was the only call like that I've gotten. I thought it was just a crank, I didn't expect anything... anything like this." Christine begins to cry again, then fights it back. She has to do what she can now, to try to help... <><><><><> [GM] The cop cocks an eyebrow at you and asks, "You sure you want to see him? It's, uh, pretty messy." At your insistence, he takes you inside, warning you not to touch anything, and warning you again that it's going to be a gruesome sight. Several officers are already inside, looking for fingerprints and other evidence among the rubble. The body hasn't been moved; it's lying by the door of the darkroom, in a bloody, crumpled heap. You don't have to get too close before hope fades; you recognize the slacks and shirt Terry was wearing when he left your apartment, and you catch just a hint of his profile, and his dark, curly hair, now matted with blood. You only met Mark a few times, but he has straight, light brown hair. Terry's skull looks mishappen, and blood and brains are soaking into the carpet around him...you can see burnt flesh and an arm almost torn off...the police officer gently escorts you back outside before you become overcome with nausea and contaminate the crime scene with your lunch. Outside, he takes a deep breath, and surprises you when he says, "Your friend was probably already dead when the explosive went off." Noting your shock, he says "If you'd gotten closer, you would have seen that someone shot him in the back of the head. Apparently with a silenced gun, since none of the neighbors heard a gunshot before the explosion. So the explosion wasn't intended to kill him. We're trying to figure out what the purpose was." <><><><><> Christine: "I'm sure. I have to. Betty, you should stay here." Chris isn't sure she's ready for this, but she knows Betty isn't. If it is Terry... She turns away quickly, before seeing more than a glimpse. It didn't take any more. It *was* Terry, there was no denying it now. She didn't need to see more, didn't need to see... A heartbeat's glimpse will haunt her forever. She allows herself to be lead out without comment, without resisting or, to be honest, helping much either. And she says nothing until the policeman's unexpected revelation. "You mean he was shot first *then* they did this? My god, *why*? He hadn't done anything, just took some pictures... Just be the only person I could turn to no matter what. And why? *WHY?*" She shifts almost absently, turning to Crystal in desperation, in a dramatic gesture to try to use up the sudden anger. "Because of *this*? Did me doing this kill him? Can you tell me that?" She's holding onto the policeman's lapel now, her grip desperate and strong with impossibly hard fingers... <><><><><> [GM] The policeman's eyes widen as you transform, and he gasps as you sieze him and lift him off the ground, unconsciously. "I don't know, Ms. Tallin," he answers you as calmly as possible. "But from what you've told us, it's a reasonable hypothesis that it had something to do with you, and the threats against you. Now would you mind setting me down?" Around you, other officers are gathering nervously, not ready to draw weapons yet, but clearly wary at one of their own being held aloft by a superhuman. "We have a lot more questions to ask you, to see if we can put something together." <><><><><> Christine: "I..." She hadn't even noticed lifting him off the ground. She wasn't that strong, was she? She'd tested in her gym and she wasn't that much stronger as Crystal than... "I'm sorry... this is all a little..." She lets the policeman down, releasing his lapel and even stepping back a bit a bit. But she doesn't change back, she can't focus her mind on anything like that right now. She could have hurt him. She might not have even noticed. Terry was dead. And her being Crystal might have caused that. "I'll do whatever you want. I... I don't know much, but I'll tell you everything I can." <><><><><> [GM] Betty stares at you, red-eyed and silent, while the police detective straightens his collar. "For a start, you have to calm down. It might be better if you, uh, change back to normal," he says nervously. "Then, I want to know *everything* that happened today. Start with the phone call; tell me when exactly this guy called, and was anyone else in your house with you? You didn't happen to record it, on your answering machine, did you? Then tell me about these pictures...just start at the beginning." Betty shakes her head and buries her face in her hands. "Terry...oh, Terry..." she moans. "We didn't get along that well, but I never...I never..." her shoulders shake with sobs. <><><><><> Christine: Christine tries to concentrate, to focus her thoughts, and tries to change herself back to normal, to avoid the spectacle she had become. "I'm sorry... This is all so..." She looks at Betty for a moment. If she was taking it like this, Betty must be... Betty must be worried she's next, if she has even gotten that far yet. And *no one* is going to be 'next'. "Can we go somewhere other than the street? I... I'd rather not talk here, with all this behind us and everyone watching." <><><><><> [GM] The officer nods. "Yeah, of course. Umm, we can't very well go in there," he gestures behind him, at Terry's devastated apartment. "Are you willing to come down to the police station?" <><><><><> Christine: "I suppose that would be best. But make sure your people check the darkroom carefully. Terry worked all day on this last shoot and if any of the pictures can be saved... He deserves that." Chris turns to Betty then. "We should both go with the police, to the station. We can't do anything standing here." And she puts an arm around her friend and leads her gently to follow the officer... <><><><><> [GM] The cop nods. "We'll be searching the entire apartment for anything salvagable." After a short, quiet drive to the police station, you and Betty are brought into a conference room. The detective you've been speaking to, and another detective, ask if you want coffee or water or something else, then sit down at the table with you. "Now," he says (he introduced himself as Detective Mullaney, showing you his badge), "I know this is difficult, but it's best to get as much info as we can, immediately after it happened. If you could, start with the phone call, and tell us everything you remember, in as much detail as possible." <><><><><> Christine: The minutes pass as if they weren't happening. Christine can't quite focus on it, still lost in the fog of the events. Terry? Why? It is only the question that finally brings her back, recaptures her attention. "I'm not sure when it was. After midnight. I didn't look at the clock, and I'd been asleep... It was a man's voice, it started out like 'You think you're so special, bitch.' That's what he said. 'You think some powers make you special? Make you better?' And then he said he knew where I live... '*We* know where you live.' He said 'we.' And then he said 'There's nothing a big enough gun can't kill.'" Chris shakes, remembering the cruel voice, so easily minimized then, so vast and looming now. "And he hung up, and I got out of bed and tried to decide what to do. I decided to try to explain to everyone the truth, that I *don't* think I'm anything special, that I *don't* want to be though better than anyone. Terry and Betty helped me, all day today, to take the pictures to show that. But they killed him anyway. Why did they kill *him*?" <><><><><> [GM] "Hopefully we'll find out," the detective replies. "It's possible that the phone call was a coincidence, a crank call not connected with this bombing. Also possible that the bombing had nothing to do with you, that someone wanted to get Mr. Grey, or his roommate, or both, for some reason unrelated to you." "We'll be checking out those possibilities, of course. And if you know anything, maybe a fight he had with his roommate, or someone who might have reason to be angry with him...?" "But, let's use Occam's Razor. Someone's out to get you, and they went after your friend to do it. Is your- was your relationship with Mr. Grey public? Could anyone who started tracking you learn about him fairly easily?" "I, uh, heard about your...problems, in New York. That woman you fought, she's dead, and from what I saw, wouldn't likely have used guns and bombs to exact revenge if she wasn't. Is it possible she had any friends? Do you know anything about her? What did they call her, Lucretia or something like that?" "Anyone else you've ticked off recently? Have you had any hate mail? Umm, relationship gone sour, anything like that? Have you ever had anyone stalk you, because of your modelling and movie career? I understand it's not too unusual for models to get crazy fans after them from time to time. Does anyone stick out in your mind, even from years ago?" "How were your plans for the day made? Could someone have known when Mr. Grey was going to return to his apartment? Did you plan beforehand when you were going to rendezvous back at his place?" "Did either of you notice anyone following you, either before or after you all got together at Ms. Tallin's apartment?" <><><><><> Christine: "Terry never mentioned anything. I barely know Mark. We'd met once or twice, talked a little. Neither of them would have done anything to anybody. "Terry's been my personal photographer for years. He came to New York to help me... after what happened. He was the first person I called when I first... changed. I've never made Terry a secret because I was proud of the work he did and because he was my friend. I don't think anyone who looked into anything about me for long wouldn't find his name." 'And Betty's,' she recalls but doesn't say. She can't even let herself think that. "I don't know *anything* more about what happened in New York than you, I'm afraid. Maybe less, because I really haven't been able to watch the TV. I'm still... well, you can see." She pulls down her sleeve and the bruises on her arm, while faded, are far from invisible. "I haven't had any fan problems or strange mail. Just the one phone call. And I had a *lot* of calls when I got back from New York. But none of the messages were anything like... that one call. I don't even know how he could have gotten my number... "As far as today's photo session, I decided to do it right after the phone call. I told Terry and Betty when they came over, I called them early this morning but didn't mention the shoot then. We did it all today, all improvised, then Terry went to develop the film and Betty and I got dinner and went back to meet him and see how it had turned out." Christine fights to tell the story without letting her voice break, without tears. She almost succeeds. "No one could have known. I mean, we didn't plan *any* of it, we just did it. And if someone followed us... How should I know? I didn't see anything unusual until I got to Terry's and by then it was too late..." <><><><><> [GM] The detective writes notes rapidly, then looks up and says "We'll need to wait until we get all the forensics evidence back, particularly from the bomb squad. We'll of course be talking to Mr. Grey's roommate, and investigating any other possible angles on this." "However, for now, we're going to put a 24-hour guard on you. You may not be aware of this, but not long ago, there was another superhuman in Northern California who became the target of similar attempts on his life. Someone went after him with machine guns and firebombs. We were told this by the Justice Department, who also mentioned that they've attempted to contact you, but apparently you won't return their calls." He frowns at you. "Anyways, I don't know what kind of 'powers' you have, but there may be some psycho who's out there gunning for superhumans, and now he's going after the *friends* of superhumans." Betty blanches. The policeman glances at her, clears his throat, and says "Which reminds me...it might be a good idea for you to call all your friends and relatives, and, um, warn them to be extremely alert." <><><><><> Christine: "The Justice Department has been harassing me since New York, and I don't think their interest is at all in my safety, but rather in getting another body in their meta-human army. I'm not interested, and I've told them that, but they don't stop. Perhaps they would be more effective if they didn't poison what little good will they started with. "I will make the calls, thank you. But I think the guard would be better for Betty than me. I can take care of myself if it means she'll be safer for it. You've seen the film from New York, haven't you?" Christine tries to keep her confident front up, but she's frightened underneath, very much so. But she knows how to keep that hidden, at least for now. "Detective, I'd be glad to help however I can. But you have to understand that I can't hide, I can't vanish from the world. Not now. If anything, I have to be out more, seen more, because of what's happening. If I don't, I've lost everything I've worked for over years, all of my life, and it's all over. And if it works, I hope it will stop these attacks. I hope it will help people realize I'm nothing except a person with one strange talent, but still a person. They won't see that unless I show it to them." <><><><><> [GM] The detective says "Yes, I saw the film. Without knowing just what the limits of that crystalline body may be, I wonder if you really want to find out if you could survive a bomb like the one used in Mr. Grey's apartment? Assuming, of course, that you're able to transform into Crystal before it goes off. And the people who went after that other superhuman in Santa Clara used a gun that fired explosive shells. I can't force you to accept police protection, but I'd recommend it. As for Ms. Verhoff, we can put some extra patrols on her street, but I'm afraid we really can't give all of your friends 24-hour police protection as well." <><><><><> Christine: Chris feels a surge of anger, but controls it. This policeman seemed so thick it was hard to be patient, but she knew she had to. "Detective, if they were after me, they would have come after me. But whoever this is went after Terry. I think that should leave you more worried about Betty, because I know it does me. And if anyone is going to be left with nothing more than a few extra patrols in the area and their own luck, I'd rather it be me. Maybe I couldn't survive what happened to Terry, either as flesh or crystal, but I have a better chance than anyone I know." 'Anyone who's still alive,' the thought bubbles up and sends a shiver through her. Lucretia could have survived this, maybe she could survive anything. Maybe she wasn't even dead yet. And was she really even *considering* a public life with all these crazies and killers after her? <><><><><> [GM] The detective sighs. "All right, you win. We'll give your friend here police protection- *if* you allow us to keep you and your home under 24-hour surveillance. Maybe this nutcase is going after your friends for now, but it seems likely his ultimate objective is to get you. Our objective is not only to protect you, but to catch this individual, or individuals." "Assuming you agree, we'll detail some men to take you home now. I'll let you know the results of the forensics report on Mr. Grey's apartment as soon as we get it back from the lab." <><><><><> Christine: Chris frowns, knowing that she won this only at a heavy cost. How easily would she find it to convince people she was just another one of them with twenty-four hour police protection? The pictures had been such a good start, but they were lost now, and so was the only person who could have taken them. She chokes back tears again, the memory of Terry's destroyed features flooding back before she can push it away. "Yes. I think that should work. And believe me, I do want to cooperate any way I can. It's been a difficult evening..." She stands, then helps Betty to her feet as well. "Thank you, Detective. You've been very understanding. I'm sorry about the scene back on the street..." Words fail her, but there are hints of tears in her eyes, barely held back, and she reaches over to lightly rest her hand on the policeman's. "Find out who did this. Please. Before they hurt anyone else." <><><><><> [GM] "We'll try," the detective answers seriously. You are driven back to your apartment. It's a quiet ride. Betty seems to be still in a bit of shock, but she keeps glancing nervously at you, and at the policeman in the front seat. Your apartment seems unchanged since you were there last, just this afternoon. Inside, you notice that you have several messages waiting. The cop assigned to stay with you asks Betty if she needs a ride home, or if she wants to drive herself and have a police officer meet her at her house. <><><><><> Christine: "Betty, you should let them take you home. You'll be fine. We're all going to be fine, all right? And we're going to be careful to make sure we stay fine." Chris takes her friends hands, holds them until she sees some glimmer of life in Betty's eyes. Then she smiles, hoping she can manage to create some confidence for long enough to pass it on to Betty. "We'll talk tomorrow. Okay?" Once her friend is gone, she turns to her machine and begins to take down the new messages, out of habit more than interest. <><><><><> [GM] Most of the messages are more journalists, contact people for various talk shows, and so on. There's a message from Billi, asking you to call her back because she thinks she's found "simply a MARVELOUS opportunity for you, dear...", and one from Berlowitz, who says it's non-urgent and he just needs to talk with you about some routine legal stuff to cement your licenses. About the fifth message, a voice that you don't recognize, but whose tone is ominously familiar, says: "Are you scared yet, bitch?" The cop (a Detective Waselhoff), who was doing a quick inspection of your apartment to note points of entry and familiarize himself with the layout, is back in your living room in an instant, standing next to you and listening alertly to the menacing voice. "We got your faggot friend, and we know where ALL your friends live! Everything you touch will be destroyed, bitch! Then we come after you." <><><><><> Christine: Christine goes cold inside, the threat now in the open and too honest... "It wasn't the same voice, detective. Someone new, or a partner. But I think the intent is quite clear..." She knows it is. Her friends first, then her. Could she manage to protect *everyone*? And how? "I have to make some calls. I have to warn some people." She punches in Billi's number first, not that Billi is a close friend, but she is visible and public and would be too easy to target and much to hard to convince she was in trouble... "Billi, it's Chris. I don't want to hear about business right now, I have to tell you something. Warn you. Someone's decided Crystal isn't worth leaving alive and he... they are going after my friends and partners first. They killed Terry, shot him and blew up his apartment. The police are here and they're watching Betty. I want to make sure you're careful, all right? They seem organized and dangerous. The police think they might have gone after others before me and they aren't taking any chances. So you shouldn't either." <><><><><> [GM] Billi is shocked. "Terri....dead?" she gasps. "But...but why? Why would someone kill him...why would they want *you* dead?" It's hard to get off the phone with her; she wants to know more details, and then she wants to get together with you, with some notion that a publicity campaign is what's needed to protect you....even though it seems publicity is what brought this on you in the first place. [Who else are you going to call?] Detective Waselhoff is arranging to have a trace put on your phone lines. After checking in with the LAPD, he sits down with you, sipping from a cup of coffee, and asks "Just how capable are you with those powers of yours?" He looks at you with a little curiousity and a little concern. You've noticed he has a bit of the same uncertain reaction to you as most people. The 'Supermodel turned superhero, who fought a bloody battle to the death with a lunatic on national TV'-- is how Entertainment Tonight described you. Although elevating you to a 'Supermodel' was "nice" of them, you found there was entirely too much emphasis on the bloodshed, and on Crystal, rather than Christine. However, he doesn't really seem intimidated by you, just not sure about you yet. Of course, you learned long ago that your beauty alone can be intimidating to a lot of men, and being Crystal is just an additional barrier you'll have to overcome, to be seen as just another person. <><><><><> Christine: Chris was almost worried when she found herself agreeing with Billi. It was probably not a good sign, but this time Billi was right. It was only by making people understand that she was a person, not a thing, that she'd put and end to this. "You're right. I'm going to need help with this, and you're the one person I know can handle it. We'll talk details tomorrow. I need to make some more calls. And be careful, please." Then she calls a few more numbers. She doesn't have too many to call, and that worries her somewhat; does she really have so few people she can call friends? She hadn't been working that hard, had she? She calls Paula Abdul's people, leaves a message that Paula should get in touch, but her people were already good and careful, so she should be safe. She calls Tom, warning him if he isn't already off in the woods somewhere that now might be a good time to vanish. And there's one last call... but she'll do that in person. "Detective, I need to go to another apartment for a minute. Come on along, if you have to." She smiles, because she knows he does, but she also knows this won't be any sort of chore. She walks quickly through the building and knocks on the Haggerty's door. "Kattie, can I come in? We have to talk about something." -- [I'm holding off on doing the scene you started with the detective just now as I want to take care of this first] <><><><><> [GM] Detective Waselhoff does come with you, naturally. Kattie Haggerty opens the door and smiles at you. "Chris, dear, how nice to see you! How was your trip to New York?" It's obvious that she's somehow missed the news. <><><><><> Christine: Christine smiles, possibly the first really honest smile of the whole terrible evening. It was good to have a chance now to tell it all to someone who would listen, who didn't already know, who would care... "I've got a lot to tell you, I guess. Can we come in?" Once she's inside and the Haggertys are both though their hellos and offerings of something to drink, Chris starts the story. "Well, first, this is Detective Waselhoff. Detective, this is Larry and Kattie Haggerty, the best neighbors anyone could hope for. And I hope they're ready for a surprise or two..." She considers for a moment how best to start, how to explain the last handful of days to someone who wasn't there... "Have you hard anything in the news, the strange things happening, the people turning up with all sorts of comic-book super powers? Well... it's not just the news people making things up. It's real. I know, because I'm one of them. One of the people who can... Well, it's easier to show you." And she changes, shifting to Crystal with the now familiar thought she couldn't have imagined a week ago. "I found this out just before I went to New York. I just woke up... like this. I don't know how or why and I thought it was a dream, but it wasn't." She pauses, to give her friends a moment to react before going on... <><><><><> [GM] "Oh my God!" Katie drops the tea she was about to offer you and Waselhoff. "Umm..." they both stare at you. "Yes, we'd heard of all these super-people, like Paladin and Pulsar and Deathstorm... I never thought we'd actually *meet* someone...I mean, that someone we know would have these...these powers!" <><><><><> Christine: "I didn't think I would, either," Crystal says, her voice edged with the slight inhumanity of her crystal form. "But no one asked me first, I just found myself able to do this and it's... Well, I've got a lot more to tell you." She shifts back to her familiar form, then interrupts her story to help Katie clean up the dropped tea. Once that is done, she continues. "I went to New York anyway, planning to ignore what had happened the night before. But at the pre-production party, I wasn't given much choice. A woman smashed through the skylight. She flew into the room and started smashing things, throwing around anything she could touch, smashing pillars... And screaming that she could tell there was another 'freak' there and wanted to find him. Meaning me. So I had to try to stop her, but didn't do too well. I managed to blind her for a moment... My Crystal body stores light and can release it in blinding flashes. But she was impossibly strong and even though she could barely hurt me as far as I could tell, I knew she would have killed me if I hadn't gotten help. A group of government agents, including at least one person with electrical powers, must have been following her and with their help we were able to chase Lucretia away, but I ended up with a badly broken wrist and a few bruises, which stayed when I turned back to myself. "Well, I didn't have much choice then. I had changed right in the middle of a crowd, and most of what happened had been filmed. Someone would have worked things out soon enough. So the next day, I had a press conference and I announced what had happened, presented Crystal to the press. But before I could do anything, Lucretia smashed in again. She nearly destroyed the hotel lobby and I don't know for sure how many people were hurt, but there were two other people with powers even stranger than mine in the crowd and they helped bring Lucretia down again. Tyler thought she'd killed her, but what I saw on the television afterwards makes me think that might not have been true. "Anyway, I wasn't in good shape after that. I got to a hospital, and when I turned back into myself I was nothing but a mass of bruises and minor fractures. Tyler helped a lot, and Terry flew in to help me. He was great, helping talk me through too many impossible changes. I don't think I could have handled it without him." Chris is starting to cry as she speaks, remembering how much she'd needed Terry just days before, how much he had done for her just in those days, let alone the years they had worked together. For a moment, she can't continue her story... <><><><><> [GM] The Haggertys listen wide-eyed to your story, while Detective Waselhoff, somewhat more impassive, also listens in with interest. When you begin to cry, Kattie comes to your side and puts an arm around you. "There dear," she murmurs, "it must have been terrible, all these things happening to you in such a short time. Some people only imagine having powers like this, but it must be awfully frightening, especially having your body transform like that!" Larry, with a sympathetic look also, picks up the tea service that Kattie dropped. He's eying the policeman, though, clearly wondering how your story will come to the reason for a policeman to be following you around. <><><><><> Christine: "No, the powers are... well, I don't know. It's strange, but it's exciting. The powers aren't the problem, they just caused it." Chris fights back the tears, Kattie's support helping a lot with that. She has to tell them, because they're close enough they need to know and because Larry won't be satisfied until he gets a good answer anyway the way he's looking at Detective Waselhoff. "Someone doesn't like people with powers and they're going after the ones they can find. They're after me, but it isn't me they went after. They... They killed Terry. They've threatened everyone I know, everyone I care about, and that includes you. I'm frightened because I can't do anything but warn you and tell you the police will be looking out for anything supscious, but you should be careful. I... I don't know what else I can do, except try to get the message out that I'm just another person, whatever being able to turn into Crystal means, and hope that is enough to make them stop. But I'm worried because this isn't like the woman in New York. I couldn't stop her, but I could at least try to keep her from hurting anyone. Now I can't do anything..." She blinks back tears again, looks over at the Detective. "The Haggertys are good people and they know everyone who comes around the building. I think if you have people watching, they should introduce themselves to Kattie and Larry, and Kattie, Larry, if you see *anything* unusual, you should let the police know right away. They... they used a bomb on Terry's place, so nothing is beyond them. But I don't want anyone else hurt for me." <><><><><> [GM] The Haggertys are alarmed, and shocked at your story. "Oh you poor child," Kattie murmurs. "And poor Terry, he was such a nice young man. I always thought you two would make a nice couple..." "We'll certainly keep an eye out," Larry says. He looks at you and says "You let us know if you need anything, Chris, and the next time you go out of town, we'll be sure to check your apartment regularly." "Make sure you DON'T try to confront any intruders directly, Mr. and Mrs. Haggerty," Waselhoof says. "These people are *extremely* dangerous. Call the police immediately, but don't try to take action yourself under any circumstances." The Haggertys nod. "So what ARE you going to do now, dear?" Katie asks. "With these powers and all, I mean." <><><><><> Christine: Christine smiles toward the detective as he offers his warning. Since it came from a policeman, there was more of a chance the Haggertys would listen. They would pay attention and hopefully that would be enough. To make all of them safer. Kattie's question is hard to answer. She won't take anything vague, because she never does. So Chris has to find a real answer... "I don't know. I'm not going to be any kind of super-hero, though. I can't stand to see people hurt and I don't think there's much chance of avoiding that. Especially not from what I've seen. I'm hoping I can find some way to help people understand that we're still just people, no matter what we can do. I guess both groups need to understand that... "I'm going to talk to Billi tomorrow. And that's the direction we're going to go in, no matter what she wants to do." <><><><><> [GM] The Haggertys reassure you and the detective that they'll do whatever they can to help. You feel a little better when you return to your own apartment. Inside, Waselhoff turns to you and says "You know, that fight in New York probably isn't the last time you'll have to defend yourself. Whether you want to be a 'superhero' or not, you're probably going to have more crazies coming after you. Do you have any idea how to fight, much less how to use these powers of yours in combat?" <><><><><> Christine: "And how do you propose I do that, Detective?" Chrsitine knows what he's saying is true, but she wants to deny it and the conflict inside herself makes her a little angrier than she should be, makes her reply a little sharp. "Maybe I can go to the local superhero evening classes or just up for a refresher to my self defense classes with a focus on throwing around bursts of light for beginners. I don't think that's going to be very possible, and I expect I'll be busy anyway. It takes a lot of time and energy to create and develop a full media campaign, but if I don't get working on one right away, I'm history, no matter how well you protect me. If I become unsellable as an image, I have nothing left to fall back on. I know one thing and that's being pretty for the camera and if no one wants to hire me, I get to learn how hungry a glass statue can get, so why don't you concentrate on watching out for killers with guns and bombs and let me decide how to live my life, all right?" She turns away, striding firmly back into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. <><><><><> [GM] Waselhoff frowns a little as you retreat to your bedroom, but doesn't say anything else. You hear him walking around your apartment, checking windows and doors again. You don't sleep well...you keep seeing Terry, smiling, waving bye (until you seem him again, in a couple of hours/never never see him again except mangled and burned)- several times you wake up in the night, and once, you wake up as Crystal. In the morning, you feel somewhat less than in peak condition. Waselhoff is already awake, drinking coffee and watching the morning news. He looks up as you emerge, and nods silently. On the news, you see what looks like an office building in the aftermath of an earthquake. The caption in the corner of the screen says "Bellevue, WA". "Something happend last night," the cop tells you. At first you think he's referring to whatever's on the news, then a chill goes through you as you see he's not- "Don't panic, everyone is all right," he says, holding up his hand in reassurance. "But...someone DID try to scare your friend Ms. Verhoff. Umm, actually, someone drove by her apartment and raked it with machine gun fire. But Detective Liesan was on the ball...he got her down on the ground, and no one was hurt. You were right about watching your friends." Grimly, he adds "But neither we nor you can possibly watch all of them." <><><><><> Christine: In the early morning, after a rough night and without a shower and a good bit of time in front of her mirror, Christine knows she looks terrible, disheveled and far from her careful image. She doesn't care, though. Not when Waselhoff mentions Betty and what happened. "So what are we supposed to do, then? What am *I* supposed to do? If the police can't find them, I can't, and if you can't protect everyone, I certainly can't. They didn't ask me to do anything or make any demands, they just want to hurt me any way they can. And what am I supposed to do about that?" She can feel last night's frustrated anger returning, and she realizes how counterproductive that would be and pushes it back. "I'm sorry... I know you're doing your best, it's just... I hate having nothing I can do except wait for bad news. I have to do something, even if it might do no good at all." She pours herself a cup of coffee, hoping it will help clear her head, using the time to focus her own thoughts on what good she can manage now. "What do you think, Detective? About trying to turn this around by an all-out media barrage to show I'm still as human as the next person. Am I wasting my time or do you think it might work?" <><><><><> [GM] "I understand your frustration," Waselhoff says, sounding sincere. "We are taking this *very* seriously. It's a simple fact, though, that we don't have the manpower to provide full coverage for everyone that might possibly be threatened because of their association with you. We're just the LAPD, not the FBI or the Secret Service. The rest of Los Angeles hasn't gotten any more peaceful or law-abiding while these psychos added to our problems." He listens as you describe your plans to launch a media campaign. "I think it *could* work," he says, "but not if it's just you by yourself. I mean, look at the news." He gestures to the TV, where a reporter is still on the scene in Bellevue, though the sound is muted. "There are superhumans popping up all over. I know you're just as human as you were before- I mean, I don't see anything to indicate you've changed, mentally...of course, I didn't know you before." He pauses awkwardly, then goes on. "But it has to make a big change in your life, right? I mean, besides suddenly having these crazies after you. Some people, it probably affects more severely than others. And since some people are naturally law-abiding and benevolent, while others are just plain evil, and a lot probably *would* be more contemptuous of the rest of society, if they thought they could get away with it..." he sighs. "Well, in some cases, these powers are probably going to bring out the worst in people. With a little luck, it'll bring out the best in others." He looks into your eyes and smiles slightly, blushing a little at the same time. "Uh, so, what you have to do is convince people that it's not the powers that make you who you are...that there are going to be good superhumans and bad superhumans, just like there are good and bad people everywhere. Maybe, I don't know, I don't know anything about PR, but I think if you're all alone trying to sell yourself as 'just another pretty girl who happens to have superpowers', you might boost your *own* image. But if you want to ease peoples' fears about superhumans in general, you'd need some other 'good guys' to help with this image campaign of yours." He leans back in his chair. "That's what I think anyways. But if I really knew how to manipulate the media and change public opinion, I'd be doing something a lot more lucrative than being a cop." <><><><><> -- "You've got a point. And don't sell yourself short. Thinking clearly's the most important thing no matter what you're trying to do. But the only other people with powers I've met were working for the Government. Except those two in the hotel, and I don't have any way to get in touch with them... But I guess that's what the media is for. If I can't get in touch with them, I'll have to give them a way to get in touch with me. Thanks. Now, I need to get presentable and go to work, so if you'll excuse me?" He was right, and Christine is able to convince herself of that as she showers and dresses, a long process that leaves her ready for a few surprise encounters with the press, because by now what happened last night had probably been worked out by someone. Terry wasn't too well known, but they were associated for a long time and there were people who knew... She steps back out now, a different woman. A whole lot closer to the one the Detective would have been familiar with from magazines and TV. "All right, if I'm going to manage anything I have to get Billi into the idea. And if you thought I was just in it for myself, you'll just love her. She really is. I don't think this will be easy..." <><><><><> [GM] "Wow!" Wasselhoff looks at you the way men always look at you, particularly when you're all made up. "I mean, not that you weren't gorgeous before, but....yeah, you look, uh, real nice." He shakes his head and grimaces. "Sorry, guess that sounded pretty lame. OK, let's go. This Billi is a publicity agent or something?" In his unmarked car, he allows you to direct him across Los Angeles, to the glitzy business district near Hollywood where many modeling, marketing and public relations agencies occupy the expensive office space up and down the streets. Billi Cameron's agency is one of the largest, and if Detective Waselhoff was impressed by your looks, he's probably really going to appreciate the fringe benefits of this assignment when he gets to stand around and gawk at the women Billi will have coming in and out of her office. (Although you really believe you're the equal of any of them....and so does Billi, or so she tells you.) <><><><><> Christine: "Don't worry about it. If you hadn't reacted, I would have had to check to see if *you* were dead." Chris smiles, trying to find a way to do that honestly but not quite managing. Terry's fate was still to fresh a memory... But she does remember to look for one thing, before she allows too much teasing to enter her relationship with the police detective. She looks for a wedding ring. "Billi Cameron, and yes, she's an agent. A good one, with lots of big clients. She's been after me for years now, but I wanted to work alone. I guess I got too big for myself to handle all of a sudden, now I think Billi's the one most likely to be able to do what I need without taking too long to get to know me. She and I don't agree on everything, but she knows where I stand. "I just hope she's good enough..." She leads the way into the office, stopping at the receptionist and trying to be as straightforward and businesslike as she can manage. "Could you please call Ms. Cameron and tell her Christine Tallin is here to see her?" <><><><><> [GM] No wedding ring, and no tan line either. Billi comes out a few minutes later. "Chris!" she bubbles, giving you one of her light, slightly artificial hugs. "I'm so glad you came! And who's this handsome gentleman with you?" <><><><><> -- "This is the detective the police have assigned to help keep me safe. Detective Waselhoff, Billi Cameron. Billi, Detective Waselhoff. The handsome is just a fringe benefit." Chris smiles at the Detective, relaxing somewhat now, getting ready to do some serious work. "So, I hope you had some good ideas overnight, because I did. With the Detective's help, too. You ready to get to work? "Or do you want to see Crystal first, just to be sure?" <><><><><> [GM] Billi smiles, and says "Well, I must admit I'm extremely curious to see your, ah, other self. But perhaps we should do that in my office, rather than out here in the lobby?" She leads the way, with a professional stride that catches Waselhoff's eye, as it was meant to. Of course, there are plenty of other gorgeous women around for him to be distracted by. "I'm rather surprised you need protection, Christine," Billi says as you walk into her office. "I mean, on TV you were shooting light beams from your hand, and you seemed to take quite a beating there...obviously you're a lot stronger than glass, right?" Billi closes the door behind you, then turns and smiles. "Now, let's see Crystal!" <><><><><> -- Christine follows Billi back to her office, not quite liking the line of questioning already. "I'm still me when I look like this, Billi. And what they did to Terry's apartment would probably be enough to hurt me as Crystal as well. I was in the hospital after what happened in New York, remember. So whatever I'm made of, it's not unbreakable. "But it looks like this..." And she shifts, giving Billi her first chance to see Crystal in person. "Things look a little different when I'm Crystal. And I can feel light, or I suppose that's what it is. I feel it build up in me, then I can let it go like you saw. But I don't feel much else. I can feel things touch me, but distantly. I don't think I can feel pain, which scared me in New York, because I didn't know how badly I was hurt. I'm a little stronger, but it's tiring, like it's using up something inside me. I don't know what. But the look... Billi, have you ever *imagined* anything like this?" She spins in place, letting the room's light dance offer the countless facets of her exposed skin. <><><><><> [GM] Billi looks impressed in spite of herself. "You are quite a spectacular sight," she agrees. "You'll make a wonderful media sensation. But we have to get to work right away. This recent incident- pardon my pragmatism, I feel as badly as you do about Terry," (doubtful, you think) "but it's exactly the sort of bad publicity we need to counter, immediately." "First of all, you want to portray yourself as a real person, emphasizing the humanity, right? Umm, do you have a boyfriend right now, Chris? I'm sorry, but that really would help. How about family?" (Ouch! Strike two...but you knew working with Billi wouldn't be easy...) [by the way, I don't think *anything* about Christine's father was mentioned in your background info...is he dead, disappeared or what?] "Secondly, I know you're into these..." she waves her hand vaguely, "causes. All right, you don't want to be involved in anything you don't *sincerely* believe in." Billi rolls her eyes, just a little. "Fine. So what causes *are* you truly passionate about? We can find something that will make your conscience feel better *and* help your image at the same time- will that be too great a blow to your altruistic sensibilities?" "Third...have you thought about the superhero angle? Seriously! I mean, I'm not suggesting you take on Deathstorm- well, he's dead anyways, or the psycho that burned down Boston or froze that city in Europe...oh, well, they're both dead now too, aren't they? But, maybe you could stop some normal criminals, or, well, do *something* heroic." Detective Wasselhoff is frowning a little, and shifts from one foot to the other, but says nothing. <><><><><> -- [As for family, Chris' father died when she was quite young, yes. Or at least that's what Mom always told her (and we know how honest and reliable Mom was, right?)] "We don't have a choice but make me look human. I *am* human, Billi. This doesn't change anything, turning into some glass statue. I'm the same person I was. If any of Terry's pictures made it, we'll have a good start on this. We worked on it all day yesterday, it was the last thing he did. "And I've been working recently, not socializing. I'm sorry, but I haven't had time for convenient social distractions, no matter how good they would look in the press. But I'm sure we could start some good rumors in the papers if you wanted, *if* I wanted to have someone else under these crazy peoples' guns. No thanks, Billi." She doesn't go into family. Billi had to know the story, and it wasn't worth talking about. But it does remind her of the one person she didn't call and warn about the threats. Her mother deserved at least that... "Now causes I've been thinking about. You know where my heart really is, we've talked about it often enough. If you can think of some way to turn this to get more attention and money to protect the planet, you know I'll help. But I don't want to get messed up in politics any more than I have to. I've already got some government people who aren't too happy with me telling them I wasn't interested in the super-agent business. "And that's true of the super-hero business as well. I almost got myself killed twice in New York, I'm really not into that. And taking on 'normal criminals'... I think Detective Wasselhoff would say that's vigilantism or something. I'm sure it's illegal. And so I don't think it's a good idea, even if it would sell to the image people. "I think we need something immediate. Can you pull any strings on one of the afternoon talk shows? I mean, I've been all over the entertainment news and it didn't look good from what I saw. Can't we counteract that?" <><><><><> [GM] "OK," Billi sighs. "No romance, no family. You really should work on getting more of a life, dear, and not just for publicity reasons." For a moment, there's an almost sad expression on her face, but it seems directed inward, rather than at you. Then she shrugs. "All right, I'll look into the eco-bunny- excuse me, environmentalist movement, and see what high-profile events you might be able to appear at. I'm sure Greenpeace or someone else would love having a beautiful superhuman as their spokesperson. Maybe you could go to Brazil and burn holes through a few bulldozers." She chuckles a little, then sighs and rolls her eyes at your indignant glare. "I'll see what I can do. Just remember, you don't want to alienate the public, and while environmentalism is still popular to a point, the more extreme people in that movement are starting to turn people off. You don't want to be pegged as a left-wing pedagogue." "And yes, I'm sure we wouldn't want you to do anything that upset L.A.'s finest, would we?" She flashes a smile at Detective Wasselhoff, who smiles thinly in return. "Besides the legal implications," the policeman inserts, "remember that powers or not, you've got no legal protection if you screw up. You could use your powers to stop a bank robbery, and then get sued by the criminals if you leave a bruise on them." "Afternoon talk shows, yes, that would be good." Billi begins flipping through a rolodex. "Oprah would be wonderful, she's about the most highly-regarded talk show host. Sally is a bit too sensationalistic- well, most of them are, and Donahue has too much of a political agenda on his shows. Oprah's got the best chance of making you seem normal and human. If not her, we'll have to settle for someone smaller. It is rather unusual, how much bad publicity you've been getting. You haven't ticked off anybody big in the entertainment media lately, have you?" <><><><><> -- "I can handle it, Billi. I'm doing fine, except for this... Well, it's a little more than I'd ever expected." Christine had known this wouldn't be easy. Billi was good, even *great* at what she did, but everything she did Chris would rather do herself, and every way she did it... "Billi, I don't know what I did. I was just trying to make a living, flying to New York to dance in a video. I didn't want any of this. And we all know the press likes to see people in trouble more than anything. I don't think I'm getting any worse than I'd expect, especially since the only things I've done to try to turn this positive have gone bad fast. Well, the public only knows about the one... "Listen, why don't you talk to people? If I can get on TV without much pre-promotion, the crazies after me shouldn't be a problem. And maybe the journalists will take a listen and give the whole thing some positive spin when they talk about me next. I'd like something other than pictures of me in the middle of smoke, dust and ruins. Can you do that?" <><><><><> [GM] Billi nods. "Yes, of course I can do that. A little light fluff on the talk show circuit would be nice. I can do that. Give me 'til COB today, and I'll have you lined up for at least one within the next few days, maybe more. If I can finesse it well enough, and if she's interested in the first place, maybe even Oprah. I know someone who knows Oprah's executive producer." "Also, I'm going to see if I can get you a few magazine covers...I know you'd prefer to be Christine, but it might be easier to get you publicity as Crystal. Oh, and I'll check with Paula Abdul, see if there's any chance she still wants to use you. Can we get a few shots of you here, in our studio, as Christine *and* as Crystal? Oh don't worry, we'll use what Terry shot of you, I'm sure it's wonderful, but I also want some images that will sell you to Vogue, Cosmo, that sort of thing." Mid-flip through her rolodex, she glances up at you with a raised eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'd consider Playboy? I can just about guarantee you your own pictorial." "Oh! I just had another wonderful idea!" She looks at you with a sly grin. "You've seen Paladin in the news, right? He's gorgeous, he's popular, he's wealthy, he likes publicity himself, he obviously likes meeting beautiful women....*and* he's pretty near indestructible....c'mon, you wouldn't mind at least meeting him, would you?" <><><><><> -- "They've called me already. I've got notes here, names." Christine draws her pad of notes from her simple portfolio. She kept the notes well, planning to answer things herself. There were talk shows, but far more news people. And nothing at all about... "These are the people who tried to reach me. I think I'd rather avoid the news shows if I can, at least for now. I doubt they would be too friendly until we can turn around things. And I don't want to have to try to do anything after they run the 'highlights' of what happened in New York. I certainly don't want to see that again..." Chris warms to Billi as they talk business, grudgingly admiring the superior contacts and skills of the other woman. "I already spoke to Paula. Before I left New York. She wasn't opposed to it, but she was nervous. I don't blame her. But it would be nice to be able to do something after I ruined the shoot..." "I was expecting you'd want me in the studio today. Don't worry, I'm ready for it. In both forms. But I think your make-up people will have a few bruises to conceal still. I could call Betty... Or just trust your people." That was a sacrifice, and they both knew it. Chris was loyal, but she also knew when she had to give. Betty was safer staying in one place, anyway. The suggestion of a Playboy pictorial earns a surprisingly sharp glare, light flashing in Crystal's eye. "I'm not that desperate, Billi. Besides, we want to let them know I'm still human, not convince them I'm some ultra-exotic sex toy." But the last suggestion... Billi was meddling again, trying to get her into this superhero community. But it *was* a good idea. Paladin was popular, charismatic, well known... And handsome, that's undeniable. And he was a way to re-contact the others affected by... whatever this was. Another voice who could help draw them together. And if getting two of the 'superhumans' together encouraged the hatemongers to attack... well, he could take it even better than she could. They just need to make sure the first meeting isn't in too public a place... Nothing too crowded... "All right, Billi, you win that one. Call who you have to. It can't hurt to meet him, can it?" <><><><><> [GM] Billi doesn't look surprised at your rejection of the Playboy suggestion- she just shrugs with an "It was worth a shot" expression. She does look a little surprised at your capitulation on Paladin. "Great!" she grins. "I happen to know someone who's associated with 'Nightline', I think I can find out how they got hold of him. Or maybe call NASA!" She laughs, then says "Don't worry, he may not have a 1-800 number, but someone that public won't be too hard to find." Then she sends you to her studio, where you spend several hours providing more images for her own people. Billi's staff is good, probably just as good as Betty and Terry...but the personal touch, the long familiarity, isn't there, and it feels different. You're not in sync with these strangers. Still, you're a professional and you can pose in front of any camera, and you give it your best. When you're done, Billi appears, smiling beamingly. "Excellent, Chris, I've told you before you could become a superstar with the right handling, and believe me, I'm going to do that for you." She clasps your hands and gives you a look that shows more sincerity than you're accustomed to from Billi. "Trust me, Chris, I'm not going to let you be sorry you came to me." "Now, go get some rest, stay low, and I'll call you this evening or tomorrow morning with what I've got for you so far." <><><><><> -- "I know you'll try, Billi. And I hope you're right. I really do. I'll be at home if you call." She turned away then, ready at long last to leave the studio, to try to get back to her life, her home, her... She knew already that she'd made a mistake. Maybe there hadn't been a choice, maybe it was the only way, but she'd sold something now she could never get back. And that's how she finds herself wiping away a tear in Waselhoff's car. "I'm sorry... I... Did anything happen today? I've been so focused on myself, I didn't... Everyone's all right, aren't they?" <><><><><> [GM] "Uh, sure...I haven't heard of any more...attacks, if that's what you mean," Wasselhoff says. "Um, are you OK?" He drives you back to your apartment, which you're relieved to see still seems to be in one piece. <><><><><> -- "That's good. I mean, I'm glad no one was hurt today. God, that's terrible to think it's a good day because nothing bad happened." Chris closes her eyes, holding back tears yet again. "I'm sorry... it's... I promised myself I'd never do what I did today. For three years now I struggled and fought and worked so today would never happen. And I lost. I lost it all." <><><><><> [GM] "Umm..." Detective Wasselhoff reaches a hand out to you, tentatively, lightly brushes your arm, then withdraws it, looking uncomfortable, the natural desire to comfort a crying woman obviously warring with his professional obligation to "not get involved". "I'm sorry, I don't exactly understand what you, uh, lost....I mean, back there in Ms. Cameron's office. She seems to know what she's doing. But I don't know anything about this media biz..." he sighs, and shrugs. You have more messages. A few more talk shows, though none of the ones you're interested in, and newspapers. Another threat, by that menacing voice: "You think you're still a big-shot model, don't you, bitch? You think some glitzy office in Hollywood is beyond our reach? Guess we'll have to blow up a LOT of pretty faces...." Wasselhoff swears, and immediately calls the station, asking that an officer be sent to Billi's agency immediately to warn her, and increase surveillance in that neighborhood, while you contemplate what impact this may have on your relationship. Billi isn't the sort to be easily intimidated. On the other hand, if she thinks her agency and her other clients are seriously in danger, it might become a simple dollars-and-cents decision, with you weighing heavily on the wrong side of the balance sheet. And there's another message after that one: "Chris...Chris, I know I shouldn't have done this, but after what happened to you in New York, I...checked into things, to see how you're doing. Chris, I know about the death threats, and your friend. God, I'm so sorry Chris! Listen...please, call me. I may not have any super-powers, but I do have a lot of influence....I can have you protected in ways the police can't. I know you don't want to be a 'kept' woman or anything like that, but please, let me try to help you. I, ah...I miss you, Chris." It takes you a few moments, after his message ends, and you begin breathing again, before you realize that Wasselhoff is standing there with a raised eyebrow. "Mind telling me who that was?" he asks. There's just the hint of an edge in his voice. <><><><><> -- Chris smiles at the detective, not sure if she should be respectful of his self-control or happy to have chanced into one with the simple humanity to have had to show it. But it is a sad smile, hints of tears still in her eyes. "I guess you don't know much about me. Don't read the tabloids, I guess... I'm lucky for that, I suppose. Anyway, the short form is that, when I was younger, my mother acted as my manager and made sure that most everything was in her name. Including most of the money. When I finally got my career back, I promised I wouldn't ever let anyone else have that kind of control over me again. I'd made it so far and today I had to give that promise up. "And you know what frightens me? It wasn't nearly as hard as it should have been." The message has her shaking, worried. They'd followed her, in the unmarked police car. Straight to Billi and her offices and studio. She was a walking disaster, a danger to everyone around her... Or they wanted her to think that, to frighten her into inaction. Well, that wasn't going to work. She lets the Detective handle things, and watching him work efficiently at it restores a bit of her confidence. It's the next message that worries her far more immediately. "Yes, I guess I do mind. I'm sure he would, too. But I guess I don't have much choice, do I? If I just said it was a friend, you'd find out anyway and all I'd have done is make you angry." Chris sighs, not wanting to say the name but knowing that, at least at the moment, she has to. "That was Paul Lewis. Senator Paul Lewis. He's involved in the environmental movement, that's how we met. We're... friends." She doesn't want to say any more, but the message already had. Surely the detective would know better than to... Chris watches his reaction carefully. CRYSTAL Los Angeles [Christine Tallin's friend Terry Grey has been brutally murdered, apparently by the same anti- metahuman fanatics who have been threatening her. Now burdened with police protection, and forced to turn to Billi Cameron for help in repairing her tarnished image, Christine's life is further complicated by a phone call from an old...friend.] [GM] Wasselhoff says nothing as you tell him about your career. He tries to look sympathetic, but you can tell he just doesn't understand why going to Billi has you so distraught. So he simply nods, having the sense to realize there's nothing else he can say. He raises an eyebrow when you tell him about Paul, but looks only mildly impressed. It's not as if Hollywood celebrities consorting with politicians is anything new, and being an L.A. cop, he's undoubtedly seen, or at least heard of, much more scandalous liasons. "Umm, I think I remember Senator Lewis", he says. "From Virginia, right?" He shrugs in a calculated manner. "I'm not trying to butt into your personal life, Ms. Tallin...least, not more than this situation forces me to already. You understand, though, my wanting to know just who this was who can "check out" an ongoing police investigation..." And who claims the police are inadequate, though Wasselhoff doesn't mention that part of Paul's message. <><><><><> -- "It's not..." Chris stops herself, smiling sadly. "I was about to say 'it's not like you think,' but I guess it really is, or at least was. I mean, it doesn't do me any good to deny it and there's no reason to anyway, with what you've heard. But I would like it if you could try to forget it. I'm going to call him and explain things and that should be all there is to it." But she goes into her own room and closes the door before dialing the number Paul left her to call him when she needed to get in touch..." <><><><><> [GM] It's getting towards late evening on the East Coast, but that means Paul could equally well be at his Virginia home or in his Washington office. Fortunately, he's at home. The "Hello?" you hear, after the third ring, is his live voice, not an answering machine...you suddenly feel like it would have been easier just to leave a message. But hearing his voice in person brings on a flood of feelings that you'd naively convinced yourself you'd put behind you. <><><><><> -- Christine's words catch in her throat. This was supposed to be easy, he was on the other side of the country, after all. It was just... "Hello, Paul. It's Chris. So, what's new with you?" <><><><><> [GM] "Chris!" He sounds surprised, and delighted, and eager. And the old warmth and charm immediately floods into his voice. "Chris...how are you, sweetie? Not much new with me...but it sounds like a LOT is new with you." Pause. "How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do for you? You know that if L.A. is getting a little rough for you, you can always come out here..." <><><><><> -- "No, I can't, Paul. It's my friends they're after out here, so I have to stay, to try to do something. Besides, I don't think either of us would like the headlines about the Senator and his freak girlfriend." The suggestion frightens her, more than any other hint of publicity for their prior relationship. Now it would destroy him, quickly. And probably her, except for what little she could get on the "bimbo" circuit. There's nothing else that could happen. "Anyway, I'm working here. I've got some people arranging a publicity offensive, trying to counter all the negatives. I've got photo shoots, interviews, TV appearances... Or I hope I will. I've certainly had enough offers. I'm too busy to run East now, and this is too important. People are scared, Paul. Scared of what's happening. And I don't know for sure what that is, but I don't want anyone to be scared. "Now listen to me... The detective who is keeping an eye on me heard your message, and I don't think he was too impressed with the suggestion that you could do things he couldn't manage. But I think maybe you should. But be careful. There's a group, I don't know who they are, but they're in the government and they've known about this for some time. They tried to sign me up for some government super-agent group while I was in New York. I think if you go poking around, you could get their attention. And I can say one thing from experience... I don't think they're above breaking a few eggs to make their omelette. And I want to see you again in one piece, so you keep well. I'll be in touch when I can, all right?" <><><><><> [GM] Paul sighs. "All right." Pause. "I miss you, Chris." Then he continues in a more businesslike fashion. "I've...heard something about the government's little super-agent project. Details are starting to emerge, now that superhumans are popping up all over the place. Don't worry, though, a top-secret government shadow-agency is nowhere near as fearsome as a Congressional subcommittee." He laughs easily, showing that he acknowledges the seriousness of what you're telling him, but wants to put your mind at ease. "If there's *anything* I can do for you, gorgeous, call me right away, all right? And, umm, we're in the process of figuring out how to cope with superhumans even as we speak. All kinds of proposals have been brought up on the floor already, from the sensible to the absurd. It may come to a point where we need testimony from someone who knows about superhumans first- hand...someone like you. Especially if you're successful with your positive image campaign- and I think that's an excellent idea, Chris- you may find yourself drafted as a spokesperson for metahumans. Are you prepared for that?" <><><><><> -- Chris should have expected something like this. It wasn't anything unusual, she'd been asked to speak at environmental rallies because of her looks, her voice, her name recognition. Why shouldn't she end up becoming one of the official spokesman of the new superhuman community? Like there is one... she only knows a handful of other people with powers anything like hers, and one of those was trying to kill her rather than talk. "I'm not ready for it now, Paul. But I will be once I meet more people who've ended up with powers, gotten a better idea what the real direction all this is going is. And with you helping keep me alert to the problems and troublemakers 'in the beltway,' I can start now to try to not make things any worse in my TV appearances. What are the fears up there? What would I be better not to say?" <><><><><> [GM] Paul sighs. "The main problem is that right now, there's really no way to control....people like you. I mean...frankly, we've been lucky so far that the worst metahumans have ended up, err, dead. I know it's terrible Chris, but what prison could have held Lucy Golden? The Israelis have come up with the only viable solution thus far, and that's to drug the uncontrollable ones...and we'll have major civil rights problems trying to implement that here. Not to mention, drugging may not work on all metahumans. I can tell you, there are a lot of people on the National Security Committee wondering what we'll do if Paladin ever decides to stop being nice..." "The worst threat will be an 'us' and 'them' mentality, Chris. If people remember that metahumans are our sons and daughters and friends and...lovers, then you remain human beings with extraordinary powers. But if you begin setting yourselves apart from normal people, you'll be perceived as a race of gods walking among us...yet not subject to our laws. I know that may sound a bit melodramatic, but there are already some ominous rumors. Umm, I really can't tell you more right now, Chris, but...whoever is trying to terrorize you, it may be part of a larger phenomenon. I'm trying to see what the Justice Department can do, *without* their intruding in your life directly again. But...you might end up getting a visit from them again." <><><><><> -- "I know you'll do what you can. And so will I. If it means I have to put up with those people again, I will. But I don't trust them at all. The agent I met was nice enough, but his superior... I'm worried when I think people that cold are making any kind of decision at all. "But I'll be careful, and you be careful too. I just wish it was a week ago when everything was normal..." <><><><><> [GM] "I'm afraid there are a lot of 'cold' people in the government, Chris," Paul says. "Please keep in touch. And I'll let you know if I find out anything that might help you." Off the phone, you spend some time thinking, while you hear Detective Wasselhoff using the phone in the living room. When you go back out into the same room, he says "Ms. Cameron has already received death threats. The Hollywood police department is going to increase its patrols near her agency, but I understand she's hiring a private security firm." <><><><><> -- "I will, Paul. I... I need to know there's someone, somewhere..." Christine is suddenly embarrassed by what she's saying, what she's feeling. A week ago, this was all over. When she first heard his message on the machine, she wasn't going to call except to tell him that. And now... "'Bye." She hurriedly hangs up the phone and, after taking a moment to collect her thoughts, heads out to where the detective waits. "I expected that. I'm glad Billi is taking this seriously, but I wouldn't have thought otherwise." The silence that follows that observation threatens to swallow Chris, though it couldn't be that long... "Detective... I guess we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, but if we're going to have to spend time together, we're going to have to get comfortable with it. Especially because there isn't much here to fill time except talking... I spent most of my time working or trying to keep up with the social set, so there's not much here to fill time. So let's start this right..." She offers him her hand, a simple gersture. "I'm sorry about all the attitude and selfishness. I can't promise there won't be any more, because I'm a selfish person or I wouldn't have made it this far. But I'll try, and that's all I can promise. And, from now on, it's 'Chris,' all right?" <><><><><> [GM] "Um...OK, Chris." He shakes your hand and smiles. "Don't worry about the attitude...I've met worse, believe me. Actually, you're a lot more together than most women would be under these circumstances." "So," he asks, "What are you going to do now? Wait to hear from Ms. Cameron?" <><><><><> -- "Thanks... but I've been a lot worse than I should have been and I've blamed you for a lot of things that weren't your fault or that made sense. Like last night, when I snapped at you for suggesting I look into some training how to protect myself with these powers. You're right, I should. And all I did was act like it was some insult and storm away. I bet right then you didn't think I was all that 'together,' did you?" She smiles slightly, hoping this serves as some sort of an apology for last night. Then she considers his next question. "I don't really know, Detective. I'm letting other people take care of my life right now and it's hard not to be on the phone calling every person to check up, to make sure Billi's doing things right, but I know that's wrong. It would just cause trouble. I could probably use a few minutes working out, since my normal routine has gone to hell recently, but I really don't think I'm in the mood. What I'd like to do..." Her smile grows and she looks down slightly, then over to meet the detective's gaze. "Do you like Chinese, Detective?" <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff shrugs. "Like I said, cops have to deal with all kinds of angry people, and half the time we get blamed just 'cause we're there after bad stuff happens. Believe me, if I took it personally every time someone bitches me out 'cause they're under stress, I'd find another line of work." He smiles at your suggestion. "Sure, Chinese is fine." You get dressed casually to go out, and Wasselhoff drives again as you head for a Chinese place you know that's open late evenings. As he's driving, he says, "Back to the subject of your powers, it might be helpful to find out just how tough you are as Crystal...like, *can* you bounce bullets? Although, I'm not sure how you could safely test that. Secondly, that laser blast you do. If it's a natural part of you, it's probably something you can improve with practice." As the conversation turns to your powers, you notice the policeman frowning as he looks at the rear view mirror. "Uh oh." "I could be wrong, but I think maybe we're being tailed." <><><><><> -- "No, I think finding out if I'm bulletproof is something I'd rather leave for another day. But the light... I've practiced some with that. I can make it come out soft, just a glow, or bright without burning, like a camera flash. But it also burns, I guess you're right, like a laser. But it's very tiring to use it like that, like I was a battery for light and that was using it up, draining me..." His words make her stop in her discussion of her newfound abilities and she looks back herself, though she doesn't know what to look for. "What should we do? I mean, you can lose them, can't you?" <><><><><> [GM] "I probably can," Wasselhoff says, "but I'd rather nab 'em instead." He pulls out his radio, and calls for some undercover units to rendezvous and tail the car that's tailing you. The car abruptly swerves onto a side street behind you. Wasselhoff swears. "They must have a police-band radio!" He slams on the brakes, then looks at you. "So they probably are involved....maybe the other units will be able to intercept that car." He doesn't look hopeful. "Umm, you still want to go for Chinese, after their latest scare tactic?" <><><><><> -- "Police radio? Isn't that illegal? I mean, in a car?" Christine takes a moment after saying that before realizing how foolish it was. "Like that would matter after all they've done, right? Still, it means they're pretty well organized. And that this wasn't just some whim or something they're new at. These people have been after someone before, probably before there were any people anywhere with powers like mine." But she's happy to turn the conversation to simpler things. "If you think it's safe. We've lost them, I doubt they can pick us up before we make it to the restaurant. And I'd like to think I can do *something* other than hide from them." <><><><><> [GM] "You're right, these people aren't just some local nutcases with homemade bombs. But we don't know much more than that, yet." He starts driving again. "I don't think anywhere is entirely safe right now...no telling whether they'd actually try to attack you in broad daylight with dozens of witness, but I wouldn't be surprised. Still, trying to get you to hide from sight may be one of their objectives. If so, we have to balance the risk with the benefits- if you defy them and remain in the public eye, they're bound to keep coming, and *if* we're very careful, and alert, that gives us an opportunity to nail them." The detective scowls. "I don't remember if anyone mentioned to you the fact that something similar occurred up north recently, in the Bay Area. Another man who may or may not have been a superhuman was inexplicable attacked on at least three occasions. Usually drive-by shootings, but at least one was a trap set up in a library...after hours. In fact, I understand that this man also had a policeman assigned to stay with him, but he slipped away to meet with whoever was leaving threatening phone calls. Figured he'd handle it on his own." Wasselhoff gives you a meaningful look. "He was ambushed by someone armed with a heavy military-style assault weapon, *and* the library was rigged with bombs." After letting that sink in, he adds "The man survived. And I *think* he ended up being recruited by your friends, the federal government. Naturally, that's where *my* ability to track him down ends...the Justice Department isn't telling us anything else." "I don't like to believe in conspiracy theories, but the incidents do sound a little too similar to be coincidental, don't they?" <><><><><> -- "So when we're in public, we're trying to be noticed, but not in advance. No warnings, just enough so they panic and try to act without planning... Sounds dangerous. And I don't want to see anybody else hurt if we can avoid it. I know you don't either. So we're not going to do too much of this. Not until we know more about them." Christine listens carefully as the similar story is told to her. She had heard something earlier, but nothing this detailed. It was exactly what was happening to her, no question. So this was even more organized than she could have imagined... "You're right. A lot too similar." She is silent for a moment, then looks back over at him. "Do you think it would help to talk to him. I mean, the other target? I've got a number, some names... I'm sure we could work out some kind of deal with the Government if we have to." Or Paul could if she couldn't... though that is certainly a last resort... <><><><><> [GM] "It is dangerous," Wasselhoff agrees. "You're right, it's not a game we want to play. If we don't get a shot at them quickly, we'd better change tactics....probably to something involving you staying *out* of sight." "You might be able to learn something by talking to this other man. I'd guess the Justice Department will probably be willing to talk to *you* about it...though I guess you know they'll want to use it as leverage. I think I can at least get you the name of the other alleged metahuman." Nothing untoward happens as you enjoy a quiet Chinese dinner. As you finish up, Wasselhoff brings up your powers again. "Since you seem to have a natural weapon...that laser blast, your best bet is probably learning to use it, accurately. Normally, if someone is being stalked, I may or may not advise them to get a gun and learn to use it, depending on whether I think they can handle it. Some people are only going to endanger themselves if they try arming themselves. But I think you've got the nerves to defend yourself, and you've got a built-in weapon whether you want it or not, so you might as well prepare yourself to use it." "And it would also be a good idea to find out how many 'shots' you have with it. Unless it's something you can do as long as you're still standing. Do you know? I mean, I can't even guess what it's like to fire a beam of light from my hand." <><><><><> -- "You get me the name, I'll make the calls. I don't see where there's all that much choice, really." Chris is happy to enjoy a quiet meal, happy for once to remain totally unrecognized. And as the conversation turns back to her powers, she listens intently, thoughfully... "I'm not sure it will be anything constant. It's more like Crystal can store light, so being in light charges some sort of... I don't know, a battery of some sort. And when it's full, it's always there, pressing to be let out. As a glow, a flare, the laser... Letting it go is almost easier than holding it in." She considers for a moment, then looks back toward the detective. "I don't think a commercial shooting range is a good idea. Can you get permission to use the police range for this test? I mean, if you really want to go through with it." <><><><><> [GM] "I think I could do that, though it would be best to arrange sometime when it would be just the two of us." He drives you back to your apartment. There are more messages on the phone, mostly more journalists. One is from Billi. "Chris....call me first thing tomorrow morning. Very important." She sounds curt and businesslike, not her usual effervescent, deceptively bubbly self. <><><><><> -- "You're probably right... I wouldn't want to cause any undue problems for anyone, or any worry. You make the arrangements and we'll consider that a date." Chris smiles then, more relaxed after the meal than she expected to be, especially given the tense beginnings and the serious dinner conversation. But there are some things that can get better thanks to sesame chicken, and her mood is certainly one of them. But the phone call changes that quickly. "That didn't sound like Billi at all. Something's happened. I should call her now..." <><><><><> [GM] You have Billi's unlisted home number. You're not sure if she'll like you using it, though. She routes ALL her business calls through her answering service, and has been known to tear someone apart for calling her at home...one of her little quirks. <><><><><> -- "Except..." Chris stops with the phone already in her hand, the waiting hum of the dial tone leaking out. "Billi hates business on her personal line. I've heard stories... And I don't think this is something personal or she would have said. She wouldn't have sounded so..." She looks at the detective then, worry clear on her face. "Do you think whoever it is who's after me has started threatening all of Billi's people? They don't seem afraid of claiming 'guilt by association,' and if they did she wouldn't be able to... But I *need* her, I can't handle this on my own. I can't..." The phone has started to buzz, ignored for too long, but it will be ignored longer as Chris stands, shaking, unable to decide what to do... <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff lays a hand on your arm gently. "She said call tomorrow, so it isn't an emergency, or she didn't think so, anyways. Maybe she did get a threat...if so, hopefull she'll report it to the police. She didn't seem like a lady who's easily intimidated, though." "I'll call and make sure that there's a patrol car checking on her business office regularly, and if anything happens during the night...I'll wake you and let you know, OK?" <><><><><> -- "If it wasn't important, why would she call *me* tonight? She could have waited until the morning as easily as I can." Chris manages a slight smile. "Probably easier, with the way my nerves are right now." The smile fades slowly. "I guess I did over-react. But it's hard to know what to do. I feel so helpless. I didn't think super- heroes were supposed to feel helpless. I guess they made that up right along with the dramatic origin story. I mean, how dramatic is 'I woke up one morning and I could turn into a glass statue?'" She pauses, realizing that she's started to ramble. "Thank you, Detective. I... know you're doing everything you can. Thank you." <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff smiles and gently puts the phone down. "I think you're doing fine. Just get some sleep, OK? Like I said, I'll keep you informed if anything happens. We can go check on Ms. Cameron tomorrow." <><><><><> -- "You're right. Good night, Detective." Chris makes her way back to her room, pushing the door to the jamb, but not fully closing it. She doesn't need to be protected from the detective, and he might hear something in her room that wouldn't wake her up. She changes into an oversized nightshirt, then switches out the lights and tries to get past her too many worries and to sleep... <><><><><> [GM] You sleep, and you dream... Terry, when you first met...you had just had your first Cosmo cover, your star was rising, and you were beginning to get big-headed. His gentle humor, and refusal to take you seriously, infuriated you at first, but gradually you came to trust and rely on him as you did few other people in your life.... After a few too many arguments with big names in the field, you were getting a reputation for being "difficult" (the old double-standard, a man in your position would win kudos for being assertive in sticking up for himself, but you were an "uppity bitch".) And after missing out on yet another big shoot- you came so close to making the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, but then you were s***-canned and your career went into a year-long slump...sometimes Terry and Betty seemed like your only friends in the business. You were so happy for him when he won a prestigious award for the commercial photography he did for a Calvin Klein campaign...you took him to dinner at an expensive restaurant, and had a wonderful time....you reflected on what a good man he was, kind-hearted, honest, sympathetic, witty, handsome... *If only* you thought briefly... *Betty's next* That thought brings you out of sleep, shivering and tense. You sit straight up, and notice that you've transformed into Crystal in your sleep again. It's 3:00 a.m. But intruding into your dreams was the sudden, certain conviction that your sinister tormenters weren't finished, hadn't even begun, in fact... <><><><><> -- She wakes with a start, the dream so real, its information so certain... But instead of the rush of adrenaline, familiar panic, there's a cold sense of darkness, a glow leaking from her to dimly illuminate her room. Crystal... once again, she had gone to sleep as Chris and woke as Crystal. How little control does she really have? And does any of that matter if they are after Betty now? She gets out of bed, opens her door and walks out into the living room. "Detective?" She doesn't try to imagine what he will see if he wakes... A slightly glowing crystal form wearing a long nightshirt, nearly to her knees, and a worried expression. "Detective... I think they're going after Betty now. Can you call someone, warn them?" <><><><><> [GM] "Huh? Wha-?" Detective Wasselhoff rolls to his feet alertly for someone just stirred out of sleep. His slacks and sports jacket are folded neatly on the end-table, and he's wearing jogging shorts and a black T-shirt. He rubs his eyes, looks at you, then does a double-take as he realizes that you've become Crystal. "Now...you mean *right* now?" he asks. He looks around, grabs the cushion he was using as a pillow and seems reassured to find his pistol still lying there (between your sofa cushions, you think- great, but at least you're pretty sure it's not the sort of thing he'd forget about and leave there...) "Why do you think something's happening now?" he asks. "Are you turning into a psychic or something as well?" Despite his skeptical tone, he does reach for the telephone, and dial Betty's apartment. "LaClaar...yeah, it's me, Wasselhoff. Umm, just wanted to check on things- yeah, sorry. No, Ms. Tallin was just nervous...naw, never mind." He covers the receiver and says "Everything's fine over there." He begins saying good-bye to the officer on the other end. <><><><><> -- "I don't know... I couldn't guess what the limits to what I can do are, though I hadn't had any hints thing psychic before. But this felt so... I don't know, immediate, maybe. And when I woke, I was like this, so I thought maybe..." But things seem to be going well, no sign of the danger she was afraid of... "Ask him to be careful, please. I just have this feeling that whatever is going to happen will happen soon." She feels so ridiculous saying that, and Wasselhoff's reaction made it clear he didn't think much of her behavior himself. Was she really seeing some sort of psychic warning or was it just a dream? She'd been through enough, she should be expecting bad dreams, at least. But it was so intense... <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff nods, then says over the phone "Look...it could be nothing, but...let's just say I have a hunch. Be extra paranoid. You hear anything, see anything, even remotely questionable, be on guard." After he hangs up, he looks at you. "OK, if you can turn into a living crystal statue, I guess psychic premonitions aren't any more ridiculous than that, right? But do you really think that's what's happening, or did you just have a bad dream?" <><><><><> "How am I supposed to know the difference? I mean, I've never had anything like *any* of this happen. It was like a dream, but it was very real. Very intense. And I couldn't help but be certain Betty was in danger. Immediate danger. I don't know, maybe I am just afraid of a dream. But it can't hurt to make sure..." She looks down now, not wanting to meet his eyes with her weak explanation. "I don't think I want to go back to sleep right now. Could... could we talk for a while, just to pass some time?" <><><><><> [GM] "Well...I'll check on them again at dawn, all right?" Wasselhoff says. He nods when you ask to talk, though you can see he's still a little put off by your crystalline body. <><><><><> -- "Good" Crystal smiles, the expression actually brightening the room as the glow from her exposed limbs and face strengthens with her mood. Somehow, she manages to overlook the discomfort in the detective's expression. Perhaps she's used to men trying to hide discomfort with her presence in close but simply friendly situations... "You were suggesting I try to figure out I can do as Crystal. How hard my skin is, all that... Care to see for yourself?" She holds her hand toward him, palm up, curious for a second to see how the natural lines and folds translate into the countless facets of her crystalline body... <><><><><> [GM] No lines or folds are evident, just glassy, reflective "skin", with a multitude of facets so fine, they're like the ridges in a fingerprint, invisible until you inspect them closely. Wasselhoff holds his own hand up and presses his palm against yours. "How...I guess you don't know. How flesh like diamond can...bend, or flex. It defies science, right? All you...superhumans, do." He looks at you, and says "What does it feel like? I mean, do you breathe, do you eat...what happens if you stayed like that, forever? Could you live like that?" He seems almost entranced by you, which isn't something unfamiliar to you, but it's not lust that has him captivated right now. <><><><><> -- "I'm... not sure. I mean, I just move like I always did. Everything works, just like I'm used to. Except everything feels... I don't know, muffled, maybe. And I don't feel any pain, even during what happened in New York. That scares me, because I really can't tell how hurt I am." Crystal pauses, consciously trying to breath, finding it difficult to have to think about anything like that. "I tried drinking while I was like this, and I couldn't taste anything. It didn't feel... right. I don't want to try eating, at least not right now. And breathing... I don't fog mirrors, but I can talk, so I don't know what that means." She shrugs, smiling. "And I can't stay like this. I turn back when I fall asleep, at least I always have. And I guess sometimes I change when I'm asleep, like I did this time. But I've never changed without wanting to when I was awake, which I guess is something positive." <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff nods. "You look....like a piece of art, almost. Some kind of crystal statue." "You seemed pretty strong before, and you're probably a lot tougher than when you're...normal. What about your light powers?" "It's a little late to go practice target shooting right now, but you'd definitely be better off learning how much power you can store, and how to discharge it. I mean, there has to be a limit to your output, right?" <><><><><> -- "Thank you, Detective. I don't mind being 'statuesque' in that sense, and I never turn down a complement." She nods when he comments about her strength. "I've got some weights, I tried them when I first... changed. I could lift more, but it was... tiring. Like using my light, light it drained some kind of charge. It's... weird. Not like being tired, exactly..." She smiles again and her glow brightens, apparently unconsciously. "I could try to drain it out now, without actually burning anything. But you might want to shade your eyes because I don't know how bright I can get..." Once he reacts, she concentrates on the ambiant glow her body lets out, on making it brighter and brighter, pushing to fill the room with the light she feels inside her... <><><><><> [GM] You begin glowing brightly, as if illuminated with an invisible interior light source that makes all your reflective surfaces dazzling and brilliant. Then you summon a concentrated spark of energy and release it. The room explodes in brilliance. Within a few feet of you, there are only solid white shapes, all color and texture in the sofa, the carpet, and Wasselhoff being washed away in the blinding glare. At the edges of the room, the intensity fades somewhat, but still all four walls and the floor and ceiling are lit up with a strobe-like flash. As that focused burst fades, you continue to project bright light, not at the overwhelming intensity of the initial burst, but bright enough that even after Wasselhoff takes his hands from in front of his face, he has to squint if he looks directly at you. You don't feel at all drained; in fact, it felt good releasing a little bit of energy. <><><><><> -- "Wow..." The light is so wonderfully warm and comforting, the feeling of letting it flow out of her so welcome she doesn't want to even think about stopping. Crystal walks toward the nearest mirror (her apartment has more than its share of them), looking at herself. "I don't know if this is going to prove anything, Detective. I feel like I could keep this up all night. I think I'd even like to. God, it feels so *good*!" <><><><><> [GM] "Umm, well if you keep it up much longer, I'm going to have to grab a pair of sunglasses," Wasselhoff says. "OK, so you can shed light with no problem. I'll bet you'll run down eventually but...that laser thing you did in New York, that HAS to use up a lot more power than just shining. So the question is; where does the power come from?" <><><><><> -- "Sorry... I'll cut it down some." Crystal concentrates on reducing the flow of light, dimming herself down to about half the output. "I think I actually store light. I mean, when I stand in the sun or a spotlight like in New York, I can feel it flowing into me. It's slow, so maybe that spotlight didn't help much, but it's as real as anything. It felt strange, like I was feeding on sunlight or something. And when I used almost all the energy up, I was ready to drop. I've never been so tired. Not like now. Now, I think I could do this forever. The blasts... they take a lot out of me." She pauses for a second, then considers an idea. "Look, maybe I can focus this light from just part of me. Let me try that." Thinking hard, she tries to imagine the glow currently seeping from her entire form to focus just on her right forearm and hand, dimming the rest of her and, she realizes as she acts, maybe leaving a few less light-defined curves outlined against her modest but perhaps not quite opaque enough for these purposes nightshirt. <><><><><> [GM] The effect works magnificently; your arm glows brightly, while the rest of your body, while still glowing faintly, seems dim in comparison. It also seems that the light coming from your arm is more white, compared to the pinkish glow that normally emanates from you. Wasselhoff yawns, which reminds you that he's been up a long time, watching over you, and you're denying him sleep that he probably needs more than you. You don't feel tired, in your crystalline body, but he's supposed to wake up at dawn to check on Betty. About whom you still have an odd, though not as dire as before, sense of foreboding. <><><><><> -- "Look, I'm keeping you up. We should both go back to bed." Separately? Chris is almost surprised at the flash of thought. She hadn't even considered the detective as anything but a protector before now, but as he acted more and more like a friend, like the only ear she had to talk to, the forced intimacy of his presence was... No. That wouldn't be a good thing. It would... make things much to complicated. Her light fades as she wills herself back to her flesh and blood form. "Good night, Detective. We can talk more in the morning." <><><><><> [GM] Wasselhoff nods. His look is appraising, a little self-conscious, but you went over that before; you can't help the way you look, and he can't help reacting to it. You rarely take offense now when a man's gaze traces your curves, or lingers on your chest a little longer than is polite, and Detective Wasselhoff, for someone who's obviously attracted to you, and comes from the macho world of the LAPD, has better self-control than most. He double-checks to make sure his wallet, badge, and pistol are all secured where he can reach them from where he's sleeping on the couch, then turns back to you as he sits down on the cushions and gets ready to pull a blanket back over himself. "G'night, Ms. Tal- uh, Chris. Say, if I'm supposed to call you Chris, how about calling me David instead of 'Detective'?" He smiles a little and adds "But not around other cops, OK? They might get the wrong idea." <><><><><> -- "David it is. But not around other officers. No 'wrong ideas.'" But the other officers would be thinking that already. Could they imagine one of their own sleeping in the apartment with someone like her and *not*... But everything was so much simpler as long as they don't do anything. So much simpler, but was is really possible? "Good night, David." <><><><><> [GM] You sleep restlessly until morning, when you wake, feeling still a bit fatigued. More than a bit, actually, but when you emerge from your room, Detective Wasselhoff- err, David- looks more tired. He smiles at you cheerfully enough, but there's a warning glimmer in his eyes. He's getting off the phone, which you didn't hear ringing, as you were in the shower. "Your friend Betty is all right," he says immediately, before you can become alarmed, "but someone took some shots at her apartment last night. In fact, someone took some very *precise* shots at her apartment, and at the detective staying with her. Perfectly placed, over his head as he went outside to get something from his car, then a couple shots through the kitchen window. Shot a glass of orange juice right out of her hand. Blew out the tires on the undercover car parked out front, just for good measure." "Oh, and since being shot at made my buddy, Detective Loren, a little more paranoid, he checked his car afterwards, and found a very neat little bomb hooked up to the ignition. It's being taken apart and studied at the crime lab right now, naturally." He looks grim. "They were sending a message; 'We could have got you'. This isn't some deranged lunatic with a cache of military surplus weapons; this is someone very good, I'd even say professional. Still a deranged lunatic, I wouldn't doubt it.... but someone like that doesn't pull crap like this out of sheer spite. Unless you've got a bitter ex-boyfried who was a Special Forces op or something?" He looks sympathetic and concerned, as he did before, but the look in his eyes says something else as well; *Is there something you're not telling me?* <><><><><> -- "Detec... David I..." No, don't answer quickly, she tells herself. She knows a quick answer would sound too convenient, and a slow one too hard-thought. It was so easy to sound like you were lying when you really just wanted... "David, I've already told you about the only relationship skeleton in my closet. If I knew anything that could help. I'd tell you. These are my *friends* dying. Being shot at and bombed. And being able to turn into some kind of moving mannequin doesn't give me any way to protect them, all I can do is depend on you to keep everyone safe until whoever this is makes a mistake or decides I'm not what he thinks I am." Much too serious talk for the early morning, and more to come. Chris closes her eyes to collect her thoughts, then opens them and reaches for the phone. "Billi said to call first thing in the morning. Let's find out what she wanted, all right?" <><><><><> [GM] David sighs. "Sorry...I know, a vengeful Rambo ex coming after you makes for a bad made-for- TV movie, but not much of a rational explanation for all this craziness. Frankly, the thought crossed my mind that maybe it was something *else* in your background. I mean, the obvious assumption is that this has to do with your becoming a superhuman...that's what the threats said. But maybe it's possible that that's just a distraction, and they're really after you for some other reason. Not likely, I know, but worth considering." When you get through to Billi, she's abrupt and businesslike. "Have you seen the news, Chris? If not, turn it on, or go get your morning paper, and then call me back." <><><><><> -- "David, I really don't know anyone else it could be. I don't know why anyone should hate people who somehow showed these powers, but I guess I'm just an easy, public target. Maybe I never should have gone on television, maybe I should have hidden away and none of this would have happened, but I don't think it would have worked. I couldn't have hidden forever and I really do think I can do some good, help explain to everyone that we're still people no matter what we can do. That's the only way to stop this from happening again and again." Chris doesn't really allow enough time after trying to explain this to David to be ready for Billi's abrupt manner. She stands with the phone dead in her hand for a moment, then hangs it up sharply. "Something's happened. Billi said to turn on the news. I don't know why she won't just tell me, but she's the most stubborn person I know so I didn't want to try to argue." She turns the television on and flips through the stations trying to find local news or, if that isn't quickly successful, just going to CNN. <><><><><> [GM] [see news item] Two major items top the news. The first is the apparent assassination of Paladin...the world's first atomic assassination. [See news item] The second is the destruction of a Redmond office building in Washington, and Terrarizer's threat to destroy Seattle. [If you're lurking the Seattle thread, Gordon is a few hours ahead of you; his fight is occurring later this same day.] "Holy s***," is all Wasselhoff says. <><><><><> -- Chris is silent as she watches, still except for a cold shiver that passes through her. Silent as the news moves on to another story, another horror. With things like this going on, could she even get anyone's attention to try to calm the fires? If whoever was after her actually killed her, would it be any more than a footnote, something on page three behind dozens of other monstrous acts? And how could she do *anything* with things like this going on, with people who can make and use atomic weapons targeting anyone who gets too public, too popular? She presses the redial button, to get Billi back on the phone. "Billi, if this is going on... Can we even *think* about what we were planning? I mean, what can we do to overcome the hate and fear things like this have to be creating?" <><><><><> [GM] "That depends on you," Billi answers cooly. "I received a note last night...delivered to my home. Never mind what it said; it was the same people who killed Terry. Yes, I've already reported it to the police, and taken appropriate precautions." "I don't like being threatened. I don't like being intimidated. But I'm not going to commit to working with you unless I know *you're* not going to back down. And keep in mind, Chris, YOU may be doing this for some higher purpose. *I'm* doing it for the money." Which is about as bluntly as Billi has ever stated her motivations. Except that this one time, you don't think she's being entirely truthful. <><><><><> -- Chris smiles. Despite herself, despite the deathly serious nature of what Billi just said. She smiles because she knows Billi is now actually caring about something other than money. Because now it's personal for Billi, and that means something will get done if anything can possible be done. "Billi, if I give up this keeps happening anyway. I can't live like this forever and I don't want to. If I can stop it my *any* means, I will. And if stopping this means you and I have to work hard, pull every string we can find and, yes, make a good bit of money in the process, then we'll have to do it. There isn't much choice, is there?" The next question, though, will be much harder to ask. She wanted to give her instructions, announce what she had decided to do. That was the only instinct she had, and even though her own plans were half-formed and incomplete, it was harder than anything she'd done in recent memory to simply continue as she knew she had to. "So... what's our next step?" <><><><><> [GM] "We continue to do what we were going to do, but sooner. We should schedule a press conference as soon as possible, and I think I have you lined up for an appearance on 'LA in the Morning'. That's strictly local, but I'm betting if your press conference makes a sufficient impact, we can get you on 'Nightline'. After that nuclear explosion in Germany, attacks on metahumans are a hot topic. In the meantime, I still think appearing with some other 'heroic' types would be a good idea- if we can find any. Is there any way you can find those people who helped you in New York?" "I'll also need you to call that lawyer you engaged in New York and let him know that I'm your agent now, so we can coordinate contracts and licenses and the like." "You also heard about that lunatic in Seattle, right? Supposedly he's going to destroy the city if he doesn't get paid a billion dollars. I think the fool has been watching too many cartoons, but he's certainly dangerous. Now, I'm not suggesting you go fight this 'Terrarizer', but I see an opportunity for you to make an appearance and do something positive, depending on how it plays out. If he really *does* devestate the city, you can help with the cleanup, and provide a contrast, a good metahuman trying to undo the damage of an evil one. If he gets stopped somehow, you can appear and speak out against metahumans abusing their powers. And I'll look into tying it into some environmental thing, there's always some cause or another up there, logging or pollution in Puget Sound or something." The old briskness is back, and you can't help resenting her callous attitude a little; an entire city threatened, and she sees it as a PR opportunity. No doubt she regards Paladin's atomic assassination as an inconvenient glitch in her plans to match the two of you up. But then, her ability to ruthlessly capitalize on any opportunity is one of the reasons she's so good. <><><><><> -- "Okay, good. But we need to do something with the press conference to make sure New York doesn't happen again. Can we keep the location secret or hold it someplace we can secure or something? "I'll call New York, it shouldn't be hard to take care of things. "And I think Seattle might be a good idea. We should keep an eye on how things develop there, then make the final decision after the press conference. If things quiet down quickly, I'd rather stay here. I'm not sure the police would look too kindly on travel plans right not anyway." She does her best to not let Billi's manner get to her, but it already is. Working with her will be harder than Chris had thought, but it had to be done. Right now, Billi was her best hope and regardless of what she said, regardless of how petty she tried to make everything, Chris needed her help. <><><><><> [GM] "I'm not sure what place can be 'secured' against a woman who can smash through concrete," says Billi, "but short notice would probably be a good idea. We'll also make sure to have tight security. We may not be able to do much about rampaging super-powered lunatics, but we should be able to keep out gun-toting lunatics of a more normal variety." "You keep yourself safe and healthy, Chris, I'll be in touch with you later today. Ta ta!" <><><><><> -- "I will. Be sure of that. I'll be here when you call." Chris hangs up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief that it was over for now. "She wants to do a press conference, then a TV spot tomorrow, maybe a trip to Seattle if that situation looks like one worth stepping into. I hope that doesn't happen, though." She talks to the LAPD detective without really looking at him, more just to say it all than for any other reason. "I think she's taking this very seriously, maybe even personally. She doesn't like being threatened. But she's still in this for the money and I'm worried about what directions she's already starting to head things toward..." She pauses for a second, then lifts the phone again. "I have to call New York, make some arrangements." She dials carefully, the number having become familiar already when it was unknown just a week before. <><><><><> [GM] You get hold of Berlowitz quickly. He confirms that all the licensing and other legal matters are proceeding quickly, and you make arrangements for him to coordinate with Billi Cameron. "Is everything all right in California?" he asks. He probably doesn't even know about Terry yet. <><><><><> -- Chris is silent for a second, not sure how to answer. Something in her wants to be furious, but she knows that isn't right. Her lawyer couldn't know, because they'd kept everything quiet so far... "Not well. There's someone, maybe a group of people, who've decided to target me for something. They... they killed my photographer. My friend. They've shot at others, sent threats to Billi... The police are working on it, we're being careful. I don't know, but sometimes I think it was easier when I knew who was after me, even though I knew she couldn't be stopped by anything I did. Now, it's all drawn-out and... Well, I'm going to make it through, count on that. Keep things going, because it's going to be important that we can move quickly soon." <><><><><> [GM] "My God," is all Berlowitz says. He listens to your instructions, and agrees to get in touch with Billi. As you hang up, it occurs to you that he could easily become a target too. You wonder if it's occurred to him yet. <><><><><> -- Chris sets down the phone, then stretches, just awake and already stretched thin by the news. "All right, David... we've got some time. Until Billi calls, at least. Would you like to try a few more experiments on what I can and can't do as Crystal?" <><><><><> [GM] He nods. "You mentioned you seemed to have unusual strength, but not the night you first became...Crystal. Do you think it might depend on how much, I dunno, energy you have at the moment?" <><><><><> -- "It might. We'll only know if we check. Care to join me in the gym?" Chris begs a moment's privacy to change into something more suitable to the task at hand, spends a couple moments stretching to warm up, then turns her attention to her weights. "I guess we'll start with the regular me, as a base. I'm in pretty good shape already... Professional hazard, I guess. But I'm nothing spectacular." She demonstrates, choosing a weight a little heavy for herself, and she knows it. Within moments, the strain is showing. "whew... Now I guess we give Crystal a chance. I don't know how 'powered up' I am right now... I guess we'll see. Ready?" If he agrees, she shifts form and tries to repeat the experiment... <><><><><> [GM] >>>But I'm nothing spectacular."<<< "Oh, I wouldn't say that," Wasselhoff murmurs. He watches while you do a short set as Christine, then transform into Crystal. The same weight at first feels just as heavy...until you lock your joints and set your muscles. Or whatever you have that passes for joints and muscles. Then you begin pushing the weight up and down with ease. It occurs to you that the phenomenon is something like a hydraulic press. It takes a moment to kick in, and can't be applied in a hurry, but once you can bring your full force to bear, your strength definitely exceeds your normal levels. <><><><><> -- Chris smiles at David's complement. She liked those whenever she got them. "I was talking about strength, not anything else. But thank you." And the experiment continues, shifts to testing Crystal's strength... "It's strange... At first, I didn't feel any stronger at all, but now... It's like the weights had gotten lighter. I guess I have to warm up to it... Try increasing the weights, we'll see how much of a difference it makes. Add... Oh, try thirty pounds more. I shouldn't be able to budge that." <><><><><> [GM] Once you apply yourself, you can lift the extra weight with ease. In fact, David slowly increases the amount until you're at the 500 pound maximum that the machine can provide. At this level, it takes significant effort, but not overwhelming. You feel that you could probably lift even more if you really pushed yourself. "Whew!" David says. "That's not quite superhuman, but it's a helluva lot stronger than most people can get without steroids!" <><><><><> -- She lets the weights drop loudly, then swings off the bench and looks at the setting for herself. "It's amazing. I mean, I could feel it, it was heavy but... But I could probably lift more if I had to. It wasn't any harder than my normal workout. It's... I couldn't have imagined anything like this." She looks at her wrists then, the shimmering facets of her new self. She looks closely, trying to spot the remaining signs of her injuries. "I'm healing. The first night, in New York, Lucy Golden almost crushed my wrists. They were all lined with fractures and stress marks. Now... Look, you can hardly see it. It's all..." She looks at herself in the mirror again. Crystal. Like her, but so different. No hair, nothing like it, but that's the slightest change. Her shape was still the same, pretty much, but she looked so different. Everything looked different, somehow. It was so... "David... turn off the lights. I want to try something." <><><><><> [GM] "Umm, OK." He does so. <><><><><> -- She looks at herself in the dark mirror first, wondering how her reflection will look when she sees it with whatever light it is Crystal's eyes register, then she begins to let her light bleed out, watching her image now, stopping before the room is lit even as brightly as the electric lights had kept it. "I don't know exactly what I'm seeing, but I can see in the dark. Better than I should be able to, at least. And I wanted to see what this looked like last night, now I'm going to." She concentrates, moving the glow of light to focus in her arm, watching her reflection as she shifts the light up her arm, across her shoulders and down her left arm, to rest in her hand. "I need to practice that. I hope it comes across well on video." She turns to the detective then. "Any other ideas? I don't think we can test the blasts here, especially because they might reflect from the mirrors and go wild. Do you have any other ideas what I should try?" <><><><><> [GM] The special effects of your internal lighting are eerie and beautiful. You're sure you can get better with practice. David watches, entranced, while you make light pulse up and down your body, or glow from beneath your crystalline skin. "I'm not sure what else you can try in here," he says. "You might want to find a...a lab, somewhere, that could do tests like measure exactly how much energy you absorb, what you can output, that kind of thing. And maybe measure how hard your body is, so you can get an idea of how invulnerable you are without testing it the hard way." Yeah, you're sure whatever place those government agents wanted to take you to could do all that. You're reminded again of how useful some contacts in the scientific community would be right now. Unfortunately, your friends are almost exclusively in media....except for a couple of political contacts, but you'd rather not think about them right now. Especially *him*. A university laboratory might be your best bet, if you knew someplace that does a lot of work with lasers and light. And gemology. "You know," David suggests, "I don't know how you feel about leaving the city right now, but there's an awful lot of desert not far away. Wide open space with no one around, all the sunlight you can absorb, and plenty of rocks and sand dunes for you to test your power on." <><><><><> -- "That's a great idea. Once Billi gets back in touch and we've got a schedule in hand, we'll have to work that in. All the light and nothing I can really damage... Sounds perfect. "But the labs... I don't know anyone who does anything like that. My friends make movies and music and photo layouts, not scientific theories. But maybe one of the universities would cooperate. We'd have to work it out carefully, because we don't want anyone else on these nuts' hit list, and Billi might have problems with it... But I think we could try calling around, see who would be willing to help. I mean, as far as I remember from school, what I'm doing is impossible, but there has to be some explanation somewhere and someone who knows something about crystals or light couldn't hurt in trying to figure out what that is." Chris realizes then that she's been Crystal a fair amount of time and done a lot of lifting. She should be tired, but Crystal doesn't feel anything. She would, when she changed back, probably catch up. "ummm... I think I should change back to me, wash up and dress for when Billi calls. Could you make some tea?" =================================================================== [The following is a transcript of a live conference, which was used to play the next segment of this thread] ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - To begin with... Billi calls you at about 1 pm ;;[2] The Ghoul - oh, my... Chris is probably climbing the walls by then ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - And informs you that she has you scheduled for a press conference. Only local stations will be covering it live, but she says that if you present an impressive enough image, and make yourself sound important enough... it will probably be picked up by the networks for the evening news ;;[2] The Ghoul - "and what do you want me to focus on? Terry? The threats?" ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "I've been doing a little more research" (naturally), "and spotted some interesting trends..." "There are an increasing number of editorials, politicians, and the like making some...troubling statements about superhumans." "It looks like you're shaping up to be the new Red Menace, at least in some circles." "Particularly overseas, but there are some signs of it here." ;;[2] Chris - "So we want to try to head this off before it builds any further?" ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "Yes, going on the counterattack early might be a good strategy, don't you think?" ;;[2] Chris - "It can't hurt. Things have already gone two far as it is." ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "It will be hard for all those angry white males to portray a gorgeous young model who's scared for her life as a threat to Western Civilization, don't you think?" ;;[2] Chris - "I hope so... I certainly hope so..." ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "So you need to put out a convincing mixture of tough self-assurance, and vulnerability" ;;[2] Chris - (she doesn't sound too confident, but she's building toward it) ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "A positive role model for women and for superhumans, but not TOO threatening" ;;[2] Chris - "I'll do the best I can." ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "Terry should play a part, too. Don't leave that out. It will be painful, but pointing out that an innocent man was murdered will win more sympathy for you." ;;[2] Chris - "All right... I feel bad using Terry's death like this, though." "Have the police been able to save any of his last pictures?" ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "I will be circulating some targeted publicity in those media circles sympathetic to the gay community as well. I think it would be....unwise, to make specific mention of Terry's being gay at this press conference-" [you can see the old scheming, manipulative Billi at work again...] ;;[2] Chris - Chris shakes her head slightly. "You're probably right." ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "but making sure it's known, in a subtle manner, will get you more support from liberals, who can identify with yet another oppressed minority group." ;;[2] Chris - "All right. I'll keep that in mind, Billi." ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "I think you should show up as Chris, but they should see you as Crystal at some point" ;;[2] Chris - "That sounds best. I'm not going to try anything fancy like the leotard this time. That was just too comic-book. Something more somber sounds right to me, doesn't it to you?" ;;[5] Amadan na Briona - "Yes. Somber, a little frightened, and a little angry." ;;[2] Chris - "All right. Let's make it happen." (Amadan na Briona) So, what is Chris doing to prepare? (Chris) Well, she's dressing in a rather severe, dark blue, buisiness-like outfit, and making sure here makeup is minimal, quiet and unglamorous. She also spends long minutes looking at pictures Terry took of her, pictures of them together... She selects one to take with her, to see if Billi can get copies made and distributed to the press. (Amadan na Briona) All right. The press conference is scheduled for 5 pm, barely giving the news stations enough time to decide if they want to air it during the 5 or 6 o'clock news hours, or wait until 11 Wasselhoff will go with you, of course. It will be held at Billi's studio. (Chris) [okay... unless Billi insists, Chris will actually start almost right on the hour.] (Amadan na Briona) You've showered, done makeup and all that, and are putting on your dress, when the phone rings (It's now about 2:00) (Chris) "Hello?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Ummm, Hi. Christine? Ah don't know if you remember me... It's Tyler Sterritt. Ummm...press conference? Lucretia?" (Chris) "Of course... You saved my life. That's not easy to forget." "Why are you calling? Are you in LA now?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorta the situation. Listen...ah have stumbled onto a little problem that sorta relates to you, and ah don't quite know how to handle it. Do you...ummm, could you spare me a little time to talk? In person? It's...important." (Chris) "What problem? Does it have something to do with..." (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler sounded a little subdues. "Ah sorta don't think ah should discuss it over the phone. Can ah see you? AH'm in LA..." (Chris) "Of course. We can meet. I've got a bit of time. Can you come here?" (Tyler Sterritt) [subdued. Damned thumbs.] "Sure! Only...ah'm not so sure where *here* is. Where do y'all live?" (Chris) "You won't have a problem finding it. Just get a taxi." (Tyler Sterritt) "Gotcha. On my way. Ummm...Christine...thanks." She rang off. (Chris) (Chris) "See you soon." [oh, that's right...] (Tyler Sterritt) [opening the door, Chris smacks him in the eye with the doorknob] (Amadan na Briona) He says through the door- "The one who summoned that big gun?" (Chris) "That's her. She's in LA, apparently looking for me. I think she was planning to talk to the government people, so maybe they sent her with something about what's going on." "I'll be dressed soon... She'll be getting here in a few minutes." "Well, I guess... I'm not sure where she was calling from." (Amadan na Briona) "Umm, OK." (Tyler Sterritt) [one cab ride later...] (Chris) "I know, I should have asked you first. But Tyler saved my life once, I don't think we need to worry about her." (Amadan na Briona) "If she's another superhuman, I doubt I could do much to protect you from her anyways." He doesn't seem to consider her a threat, though. (Chris) "Well, she gets those things from somewhere. I don't know how. I don't think either of us could explain what was happening." (Amadan na Briona) "Did she say she was working for the government now?" (Chris) "No, she didn't. I hope she isn't, actually. I already told you I didn't much like the people I met in New York." "Tyler... Well, she seemed to have the sense to be careful around them." (Amadan na Briona) It takes about 40 minutes before Tyler is deposited outside Crystal's condo (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler arrived at the door looking a little less stringently Western than usual: jeans, lace-up ropers, a cheap sleeveless cotton shell that exposed a few inches of her flat belly when she moved. Her hair was a bulky and unrestrained as always. (Amadan na Briona) It turns out you were most of the way across L.A. from the upscale section where Crystal lives (Chris) "Tyler! It's good to see you. Have you been all right?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Yeah." She grinned lopsidedly. "Mostly." Can ah come in?" (Chris) "Of course. Come on. Have a seat." (Tyler Sterritt) She saunterred in and sat down, looking distinctly uncomfortable. (Amadan na Briona) Chris's Detective "bodyguard" is a tall, handsome man who eyes Tyler curiously (Tyler Sterritt) "Thanks. How's everything goin' for y'all?" (Chris) "Tyler, this is Detective Wasselhoff. He's with the LAPD." (Tyler Sterritt) She hopped up and extended her hand companionably. "Hey. How're y'all." (Amadan na Briona) and just a little bit suspiciously...or maybe he's trying to cover up the natural tendency to look at her bare midriff (Chris) "I've been... I've been fine, but there's been some threats." "And... You met Terry in New York, didn't you? My photographer?" [I'm not sure if they did meet, but I seem to recall they should have.] (Tyler Sterritt) "Well, that's sorta in line with what ah wanted to talk to y'all about." (Amadan na Briona) Detective Wasselhoff shakes Tyler's hand. "Nice to meet you. I saw tha fight in New York. Really....unpleasant. You look like you came through OK, though." (Tyler Sterritt) But..." she glanced at the officer, again looking uncomfortable. "Ah think maybe ah should stick to you alone, at first." (Amadan na Briona) [I don't think they did meet, actually] (Tyler Sterritt) She acknowledged the officer's comments with a small smile. "Yeah, kinda hairy there, a bit." "All ah member is y'all carted off to the hospital. Kinda bad." (Chris) "No, wait, you were gone before he got into town. It's all so confused." "He's dead, Tyler. Someone bombed his house, as a warning to me. And they've attacked another friend of mine. I'm... Well, I'm not sure what I can do." (Tyler Sterritt) SHe looked a little pale, at the news about Tery, even not knowing him. Too close. (Chris) "If you know something, *anything*, tell me. Please." (Amadan na Briona) Wasselhoff studies Tyler carefully. (Chris) "Detective... I think she'd rather talk to me alone. Can you...?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Ah will, but..." she eyed the cop again. "...sorry. Ah don't trust anybody, much, these days. Can we sorta go...?" She indicated a back room with a jerk of her head. She wasn't carrying any purse, or other baggage. A few dollars stuck out of one piocket, change from the cab fare. (Amadan na Briona) [You're in the living room now- I figure it would be more convenient for them to go into Chris's bedroom than ask Wasselhoff to go outside ] (Chris) "Tyler, he's with the police. He's been with me for days. But if you'd rather..." (Tyler Sterritt) "Y'all don't know..." she said, shaking her head mulishly. "It's related to what weird stuff ah do, and somethin' ah discovered. " "here...ah guess ah got to show y'all..." She continued to talk, albeit reluctantly. "y'all remember that Mitchell kid, from the press conference? The govern ment guys were askin' me all sorts of questions about him..." (Chris) "I told you to be careful around them. They're up to something." (Tyler Sterritt) She gestured. "So ah found out. Now, don't y'all jump; this is kinda different..." (Tyler Sterritt) She gestured. A bluish whorl of energy formed in the air behind her, swirling, widening... (Chris) (Tyler Sterritt) The whorl widens, opening into a window of sorts, exposing an ordinarylooking hotel room. (Amadan na Briona) no- stop you can't see through the portal to the other side, normally (Tyler Sterritt) OOPS. (Chris) "Tyler... what are you doing?" (Tyler Sterritt) "It's new, for me," Tyler explained. Ah just don't pull things out of the air, ah can go places, too." (Chris) "'places'?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Watch," she said. "Trust me." She stepped through the energy disjointment, to vanish momentarily. In a few seconds, she stepped *back* through, carrying her old (Chris) "Tyler?" (Tyler Sterritt) western-style purse. "See? I just went to my hotyel room and back." (Amadan na Briona) She steps back as the portal is starting to recede...it takes a bit of energy to hold it open like that (Chris) "Your hotel room? Where are you staying?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Ah can go anywhere ah been, or remember, or even if it's described to me, sort of." "Holiday Inn," she said. (Chris) "That's... Incredible. You just think about it and step through?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Here's the thing the government was interested in," she said, fishing in her purse. "Ah found it...dragged it in, sort of..." She produced a small black box. (Chris) "What is it?" (Tyler Sterritt) "Sorry," she said. "Cain't help it." A pair of needles flashed from it, stabbing Christine in the chest. Electricity surged through her. (Tyler Sterritt) Even as she fired the TASER, Tyler removed another, odder object from her purse... (Chris) (Amadan na Briona) The wires flash out and hit Christine in the chest and shoulder, immediately sending a jolt through her body She jerks, trying to concentrate... but the current keeps her paralyzed, and somehow, her body won't obey her command to transform (Tyler Sterritt) Despite a hard expression, Tyler couldn't suppress the glistening in her eyes. It didn't stop her from popping Christine with another discharge from the TASER. The odd object looked something like a gun from a Flash Gordon movie. Odd, non-metallic, bulky. (Amadan na Briona) Tyler realizes, however, that a taser isn't guaranteed to knock someone completely unconscious... and the power supply won't last long. (Tyler Sterritt) [two shots, right? either way...] (Amadan na Briona) The second shot is more painful than the first (Tyler Sterritt) "Listen, ah ain't gonna hurt you, unless you fight me. Ah just got to (Amadan na Briona) Chris spasms, slumps in her chair, lips moving.... she isn't out, but everything is black, and she can't concentrate... (Tyler Sterritt) get you somewhere else." Tyler picked her up in a fireman's carry, and headed through the gate, keeping the odd looking weapon handy. (Chris) (Amadan na Briona) Christine is barely aware of being moved, as Tyler bears her through the portal, into the Holiday Inn hotel room where Mitchell waits. (Tyler Sterritt) [that was a Sheraton. I lied.] (Mystery) Mystery steps out of the bathroom, immediately going over and touching one of Christine's bare hands, grasping it firmly and concentrating on absorbing very intensely, form and powers to the maximum. (Amadan na Briona) OK, fine, the Sheraton. (Tyler Sterritt) Meanwhile, Tyler dialed the phone. "Yeah, it's me. Ah got her. Y'all ready...?" (Amadan na Briona) Mystery touches Crystal, and feels what he thinks of as his genetic matrix changing... ...and in a matter of seconds, the teenager becomes a double of Christine. (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler began filling him in on Christine's schedule, the appearance of the room, the cop waiting back there... [am ah still going too fast...? Just assume that's her *intention*, (Amadan na Briona) Christine, however, feels even more of her energy drained away- and fights. [Making will rolls- sorry, you still haven't been able to transform] (Mystery) Mystery listens, flexing her arms and taking a step or two to get the balance. (Tyler Sterritt) assuming no other interference.] (Amadan na Briona) The beautiful model groans, to Mystery's surprise. Nancy dropped dead away when he mimicked her (Chris) (Amadan na Briona) Go ahead- dramatic license (Chris) "w..why?" (Mystery) Experimentally, Mystery tries a second draining of Christine, to try and drain her completely. (Tyler Sterritt) ROSEBUD... "Hey, that's enough!" Tyler grumbled. "Get on through the gate. Ah got (Tyler Sterritt) to close that one, so's ah can open another." (Amadan na Briona) Chris feels the last of her energy sucked out of her As Mystery is invigorated with stolen vitality (Mystery) Mystery smiles wickedly. "That works." With a nod to Tyler, Mystery pauses a moment to consider whether to take the clothes, then decides to go on through and change into something in the bedroom. (Tyler Sterritt) "Don't miss the rpess conference! And don't forget the cop, and Billi." (Mystery) "Got it!" (Tyler Sterritt) "Tell the cop ah wished myself out, that ah was too scared to tell y'all anything." (Mystery) "And messed up my clothes with the flux, too." (Tyler Sterritt) "And lose the TASER; it's on the bedroom floor." (Mystery) Once through, Mystery intends to stash the taser away in a nightstand drawer, (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler closed the gate behind Mystery, then resettled Christine on her shoulders. "Sorry," she whispered again. "Ah ain't usually like this." (Mystery) then carefully go to the wardrobe and select new clothing to dress in. (Tyler Sterritt) She concentrated again, on a hated destination. The new gate began to form..." (Chris) (Amadan na Briona) Ah, thanks. Yes, I was asking if Mitchell was nude when he transformed. (Afraid to hear the answer. ) OK, we all caught up then? (Mystery) (Possibly not nude; probably underwear.) Done. (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler began the process of opening the gate to the PUPPET MASTER's location... (Amadan na Briona) It opens. reluctantly....you've been doing a lot of long-distance gates today, and it's getting tiring. You aren't used to it yet. (Tyler Sterritt) She stepped through, bearing the somnolent form of Christine Tallin. (Amadan na Briona) "Excellent" says the Puppet Master. "Mr. Langstrom has assumed her form successfully?" (Mystery) Once Mystery is finished dressing in something reasonably attractive, she chooses a matching pair of shoes, and practices walking a moment. *The one fly in the ointment. With all my time now in female form, I haven't walked a mile in this shoe type.* (Tyler Sterritt) The combination of the exhaustion and the load made Tyler a little testy. "Yep, that's what y'all asked for, wasn't it?" She settled Christine gently as she could onto a couch or chair. "Ah just hope he don't go off the deep end again." She straightened, took a moment to be sure Christine was as well as she (Amadan na Briona) An oppressive presence in your mind crushes your small rebellious spark, and you have to fight the impulse to cower in a corner whimpering. "Temper, temper," he admonishes gently. (Tyler Sterritt) could be and comfortable, then straightened her back, stretching hard. The mental slap made her stagger; she'd gotton used to thinking of herself as an independent contractor; the reestablishment of servitude was like a punch in the gut. Sullenly, she nodded. (Amadan na Briona) "Now return to Miss Tallen's home quickly, before that impetuous fool lets his hormones do his thinking for him again." (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler closed her eyes, and tried to shake the exhaustion. "All right. Y'all want me to go along to this press conference thing?" (Amadan na Briona) "I have already reinforced in Mr. Langstrom's mind that YOU are in charge, between the two of you." "Keep him on a short leash. He can indulge in his Bachanallian fantasies once this mission is successfully completed, not before." (Tyler Sterritt) "Check. What's the plan, once we get to the conference site?" (Amadan na Briona) "Yes. And this is exactly what I want you to do, and instruct Mr. Langstrom to do-" And he proceeds to telepathically brain-dump instructions into your mind. (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler nodded, astonished at ther ease with which she could acquire information. A deep breath, and she concentrated again, trying to open the gate to Tallin's residence. (Amadan na Briona) It opens, with the strain of pushing a heavy box out of the way (Tyler Sterritt) Tyler stumbled through, breathing hard. She looked about wildly, trying to find Mitchell/Christine. She still had her purse, and the sonic weapon. (Mystery) Mystery/Christine looks up in mild surprise, eyebrows curving at Tyler's return. (Mystery) "Hi, welcome back," she greets. "Your impromptu exit disintegrated my clothes." (Tyler Sterritt) "Hey," she said. "Big Dog sent me back. Forget the cover story, ah'm going with you to the press conference." (Mystery) She winks, then composes her expression again. (Tyler Sterritt) She stuffed the weird pistol into her purse. "Where's the TASER?" (Mystery) She nods. "Good, it will be nice to have you along." She gestures to the nightstand. "There." (Mystery) Mystery/Christine angles her head toward the door, holding up a finger in a wary gesture, and she adds a shrug. "Never know." [GM] [At the Puppet Master's Lair] Your mind climbs slowly out of a dark abyss, but numbness is still the only sensation you can perceive for a long time. You have some odd, instinctive feeling that things are going on around you (inside you? why do you feel horribly NOT alone in this insensate limbo?) but your body, if you still even have one, is paralyzed and gives you no sensory feedback. You can see and hear nothing, though there is the distant rumble of something moving, or making noise. But maybe that's your imagination. Then abruptly, you're in a well-lighted room. It seems to be a nicely furnished living room, in a spacious penthouse apartment. Through the window you can see a large city below; you have no idea what city, though no buildings are immediately familiar, and for that reason, and some other, subliminal cues, you're pretty sure you're no longer in Los Angeles, and you also rule out the other major cities with which you're familiar; this is not New York or San Francisco, and definitely not Paris or Rio or London. You're seated on a dark, new-looking couch, wearing your "Crystal" costume; the spandex one you wore to the first press conference, the one disrupted by Lucretia. Except that costume was pretty thoroughly trashed in that encounter. No, it's not quite the same one, now that you inspect more closely (for a moment.) Similar in design, but in darker colors, the tones an almost...ominous, shade of silver and grey and dark blue. And very, *very* skintight, and much more revealing than your original design. The neckline plunges, exposing more of your bosom than you'd normally show outside a swimsuit layout, and your midruff is bare too. Slits along your thigh show plenty of leg and part of your buttocks. You look precisely like one of those ridiculous "bad girl" comic book characters [not that Crystal would really be familiar with them ], females wearing revealing and stunningly impractical superhero costumes designed to titillate a young male audience. And just shifting a little where you sit, you realize it's as impractical as it looks; the first time you try to run, or fight, you're going to pop out all over the place. "True, except you will be in your 'Crystal' form...in that state, your flesh becomes somewhat less likely to, ah, bounce around, does it not?" Despite the mild amusement in the tone, the voice sends numbing cold through you. A tall, handsome man is standing in the middle of the room, inspecting you with approval. But his appraising gaze, though it travels relentlessly over every curve of your body, contains no hint of lust. Which makes it even more unnerving. Other men would probably see you as a sex object in this costume. You have no doubt that you're *intended* to look like an object. But this man with silvery hair who seems to be in his forties or fifties, yet has a muscular physique that most men will never have even in their prime, is looking at you the way one might look at a tool. Or a weapon. You're less than a sex object to him. He has no interest in using you as a plaything. You're no more than a- "A pawn. Or, if you prefer, a puppet." He completes your thought, literally. You aren't sure what you want to do- run, fight, scream, demand answers? You do nothing but sit there docilely. "You should be glad," he says. "Your mind is so blissfully free of anything of value, I've decided you need not conduct any operations for me. You will be required to do no thinking. After all, it would be cruel for me to expect you to start now." His eyes narrow, and his tight, mean-spirited smile is more mocking than the words could ever be. "Ah, the life of an American glamour girl. You substitute emotion for reason, and convince yourself that this constitutes 'depth'. Be at ease, child. If your emotions become too painful, I shall drain them from you, just as I drained your self- will." "And don't fear...I have no intention of molesting you. The costume is, as you surmised, to ensure you project the image *I* desire you to project. But since I already possess you, body and soul, reinforcing my control of you in a carnal manner would be redundant. I must admit, you're quite a fetching lass. But it would be foolish of me to develop even a mild physical attraction to someone as expendable as yourself." Somehow, you sense that there's a meaning to his casual cruelty. Why torment you like this? Sheer spite? Without knowing how or why, you know that what he says is true; you hate this man as you've never hated anyone in your life, but you can't even imagine trying to attack him, or run from him, or disobey him. You know instinctively that whatever he tells you to do, you will do, without the slightest hesitation. So why play with a helpless victim like this? "Why indeed?" He still seems amused. You also note a slight accent in his speech. European, you think. Casually, he steps towards you, cups your chin in his hand, gently tilts your face up so you're looking at him. "Tsk tsk, such inner turmoil. I will tell you what I can do for you...if you wish, Miss Tallin. I can take away all the pain. Rest assured, you ARE my plaything, or weapon, or slave, whatever I wish. But I didn't bother to alter your core personality. This unfortunately leaves you outwardly an obedient little doll, and inwardly, a helplessly raging infant, consumed with self- loathing, as well as a desire for freedom and vengeance that will always be denied you. I *can* make it so you will not only serve me obediently, but willingly. A simple task. Then you will be content, all doubts and troubles erased from that pretty little head. Would you like me to do that....before I send you to perform tasks which, without such a comforting mental balm, I assure you will make your present mental anguish pale to insignifance?" His smile is warm, his expression grandfatherly. In his eyes, you see something colder than ice, as heartless as death. <><><><><> _- It doesn't take even a moment for her to consider it. His casual cruelty and insults only make it that much easier. If she could, she would rid herself of his touch first, knocking his hand away. But that thought dies without her arm responding, just as her lips can only manage the simplest answer to his question. "...no..." But in her mind she says more, and he can hear that as well. **Get out of my mind, you sick bastard. I don't care what you say or what you can make me do, you will *never* control me.** She looks at him, and if just the look in her eyes is still hers to control, those beautiful eyes burn with impotent rage. **Somehow I'll be free sometime. Somehow. If you don't kill me now, somehow I'll make sure you regret it.** She hadn't meant to even think that far, but how does one keep from *thinking* things they would never say? How can she keep anything secret now, ever hope to be free? <><><><><> [GM] The tall, distinguished-looking gentleman with the soul of a pit viper smiles at you, the way an indulgent grandfather might smile at a child throwing a temper tantrum. "Ah, the kitten thinks she has claws." He chuckles, and to your relief, withdraws his hand. "But I do control you, Miss Tallin. Everything you do, everything you ARE, is at my sufferance. You're quite right; you have NO hope of freedom. I could make you fall hopelessly, slavishly in love with me, or rewrite your personality in any other way I choose. But I think I will leave you as you are, since you seem to prefer it, and your sputtering mental fury is quite amusing." He picks up a remote and clicks the TV on, tosses the remote to the couch, and strolls towards the door. "I have to make a phone call. In the meantime, why don't you watch the news? You may find it entertaining." There's a particularly dark sardonic edge to the last comment. Your eyes widen involuntarily, and your breath catches in your throat as you see on the screen- yourself! * * * * * Los Angeles, 6 P.M, live local news, later broadcast nationwide. A crowd of journalists surrounds a small set with a podium at a glitzy L.A. modelling agency, where Christine Tallin, also known as "Crystal", has announced that she will speak publically concerning the recent metahuman-related violence in Los Angeles and elsewhere. Five minutes late, Crystal strides in, brushing past a woman and a pair of men in dark suits to stand behind the podium. She's in her crystalline form, and wearing a black and silver spandex suit that clings tightly to her glassy curves. It's cut much more drastically than the more conservative and brightly-colored outfit she wore to her first, disastrous press conference in New York. She stands in an arrogant, vaguely beligerent pose, hips canted, with silicon fists clenched at her sides. Comic book fans will later speculate that she's decided to emulate the current "bad girl" trend in comic books, which has made scantily-dressed, hyper-violent superheroines with nasty attitudes highly popular. The scowl on her face, so pronounced that it's obvious even on her normally impassive features, adds to the image of a woman with a bad attitude. When she speaks, her voice is cold and precise, vibrating with harmonics produced by crystalline vocal cords, beautiful yet chillingly inhuman. Much more so than when she first appeared; as if she's trying to emphasize her inhumanity. Despite the inhuman tone of her voice, the anger is evident. "Ladies and gentleman of the press, you've heard about the explosion at a Hollywood apartment, you've heard about the attempts on my life, you've all seen the footage of me fighting for my life against that superpowered bitch in New York- the one that killed dozens of people while the government stood around helplessly, and finally had to be brought down by me and some other metahumans." "I'm here to tell you that nothing has changed. While the government is helpless to do a thing about these rampaging lunatics, I get shot at and my friends get threatened and even KILLED just for being friends with a metahuman. What does our government do? It tries to threaten or cajole me into working for them, so I can become a super-agent that can ignore the law, as long as I do it the way they tell me to." "The LAPD dithered around after my friend, Terry Grey, was brutally murdered by some fanatic with a grudge against me. Maybe they didn't take it seriously because he was gay, or maybe because they don't care what happens to metahumans and their friends, but only a few hours later, another friend of mine had bullets fired into her apartment, and the police couldn't do a thing about it. The 'protection' they've offered is a joke! Someone is using military hardware to threaten me and my friends, and they say they have no clue what's going on? Look at the news; someone used a nuke to kill Paladin, and was willing to destroy an entire city to do it, just to kill one superhuman! Metahumans and their friends are being attacked all over the world, and innocent bystanders get killed. There's some kind of conspiracy going on, and I'm not about to sit here and be a target anymore!" "We metahumans can't depend on the police or other conventional authorities to protect us. The laws aren't written that can deal with us, and normal people don't even have the ability to stop us. We have to defend ourselves. I call on all metahumans who feel as I do, who have been threatened and are tired of hiding, to join me in forming a coalition for mutual protection. I will announce an 800-number soon that you can call for more information. It's time for us to do for ourselves what the rest of the world can't and won't do, which is look out for OUR interests." "To everyone else, if you don't want to help us, then I advise you to just stay out of our way!" With that, Crystal steps off the podium and shoves her way through the crowd of reporters. Several attempt to ask her questions; she pushes one microphone-wielding journalist away from her, hard enough to send him reeling into three people behind him. Then she grabs another microphone that is thrust into her face and squeezes. There's a whine of feedback, a sputtering, crackling popping noise, and the ruined microphone falls to the floor. A tall, handsome man in a sports jacket seems to be determined to follow her, pushing his way through the reporters in Crystal's wake, yelling for her to wait up. Crystal ignores him, snarls "Get OUT of my WAY!" at the remaining people in front of her, and holds up her fist. A flash of light causes screams of dismay, and momentarily blinds the cameras as well. The last footage is of Crystal disappearing down a corridor of the office building, with the journalists apparently too intimidated to follow. DARK CRYSTAL [Christine Tallin finally meets the person responsible for all the disruption in her life recently...a villainous telepath known as the Puppet Master. On TV, she watches as a mind-controlled doppleganger continues the process of destroying her reputation and her life.] -- As she watches, as what has happened becomes clear, Chris thinks, just for a second, that she should have let him do anything he wanted. Because he's already destroyed everything she had, every hope and dream, ever friendship and trust. And it took less than ten minutes and a sledgehammer-like treatment of the media. If this man were half as smart as he acted... No, she can't think like that. Despite everything he says, she has to hope, she has to be ready for a chance, any chance, to be free of him. And as she continues to watch, to see her surrogate storming away, leaving David behind. He had to know it wasn't her, he had to see... No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't understand it, but there was no way he could guess the truth. And Billi would be all but ruined by association, Berlowitz would be trying to lose any trail between the two of them. Everything was gone. And, for the first time ever, she tries to change to Crystal to cushion her from the feelings, to give her some buffer from the pain. But, likely, even that is probably cut off from her. <><><><><> [GM] To your surprise, you have no difficulty changing into Crystal. It doesn't dissolve the all-pervasive fetters on your thoughts and will, however. Crystal doesn't feel pain, but the despair is just as acute. Your enslaver returns a few minutes later. "Quite a spectacle, eh? You had quite a good idea, my dear, recruiting other metahumans to your cause. You just need a little assistance in organizing that endeavor." He laughs mirthlessly. A door opens and another man enters. You get a glimpse of stairs leading down, before the door closes. The newcomer has a pock-marked face and scraggly brown beard, and wears a black wool sweater and dark jeans. You can tell he's very solidly built, and he walks purposefully and somehow menacingly. He looks at you, and his expression goes from a vaguely unpleasant frown to a sickening leer. "Well....what have we here, boss?" His voice carries a slight accent as well, also European, but not quite the same as the other man (whose name you still don't even know.) "Another captive beauty...where do you find them?" "This one isn't to play with, Robert," your captor replies, with a bit of amusement in his voice that you don't like at all. "Unless of course you can persuade her with your own seductive charms." He seems even more amused, and you feel even more uneasy. "Miss Tallin is going to help us find more of our kind. In fact, I have a bit of dinner theater already planned. If you will excuse us, Miss Tallin, I must brief Mr. Gaullier on his role and yours. Feel free to change the channel." The two men leave you alone again in the living room. <><><><><> -- As Crystal, it is slightly easier to ignore the words. The leer, the sort of look she once tried to cultivate, can't penetrate her diamond-like person. But the older man's words can, and they do. They wrap themselves around comfortable parts of her mind and claim it as their home, blocking away her own ideas in a tiny, shadowed corner where they can only silently rage. She tries to build an escape from his final words, but "Feel free" simply isn't enough. Feel free to change the channel... If only she could win an order from him that would contradict his power over her, really free her... Now, she has only this. Freedom to change the channel. But she wants to take the television and throw it out the window, try to deny what it told her. She is free to change the channel, but she wants something only so slightly more... And she reaches for the television, unsure which she will manage to do. <><><><><> [GM] You can change the channel. You can also pick up the TV. However, some invisible fetter prevents you from throwing it. Conditioning that is not explicitly stated binds your actions, and you realize that this sort of violent display won't be possible, unless HE wishes it. He didn't specifically tell you that you can't start slicing up the apartment with your laser either, but you know that if you try, the action will never be completed. Alex Trebec is unveiling the categories on Jeapardy! <><><><><> -- Crystal holds the television, wishing she could finish her gesture, but realizing that the cold weight of fact says she can't. She may never be able to act freely again... No! She won't give up, she *can't*! He'll slip up, or his grip on her mind will slip. Eventually. Maybe soon. She just has to be ready for when it happens. And it will happen it has to. She sets the television back down, changing the channel just so she has any chance to exercise some freedom. Then she walks to the window and lets the sunlight warm her cold, crystal body. Cold outside, and colder within. She has to maintain that, keep her hopes frozen behind walls so he can't prevent her from her escape. There was a method acting class she'd taken, though she hadn't thought much of it and the teacher had been more interested in making broad passes as his (then actually underage) student than teaching her anything. But if she has to live in a role, in this role that is forced on her, she can learn to, and that should hide her true thoughts. It has to. And so she considers, as she stands in the window, just what this unnamed man wants from her. She'd seen the impersonator on television (or was it her on tape? No, it was live. She dimly remembers the boy who had helped save her in New York changing into her after Tyler's betrayal), so she had that to work from. Cold, angry and arrogant, hostile to normal humans, trying to draw others with powers together for... For him, certainly. But the claim is for their protection. As much a betrayer as Tyler was. Neither of them had chosen it, surely. She tries to put on the role, grateful for Crystal's body because if she was in her own, her skin would crawl at the idea. She stands more straight, her back stiff and her chin slightly raised. Crystal didn't need makeup, she was striking all the time. She concentrates on her eyes, the chill in them growing. And, when she feels as close as she can to the role, she heads toward the door the two men left through. She hadn't been told not to follow, and she wanted to be part of the planning if she was going to be part of the action. <><><><><> [GM] As you enter, the two men are conversing in what sounds like French. They stop and look at you, your "master" with a bemused, quizzical look, the other with a startled and annoyed expression. "I don't recall asking you to join us," the telepath says. "What do you want, Miss Tallin?" <><><><><> -- Crystal walks on into the room without stoping, until she stands barely an arm's length away from the older man. "You didn't ask me to join you. I decided to do that myself." Her voice has the same alien coldness she heard over the television from her doppleganger. "You've taken away all the plans I had, all of the life I knew, so I figured that I should be part of your plans. It is my future, after all, and no matter how much you control it, I think I should have a part in it. "And, if what I've seen about your press handling so far is an indication, I'm sure I can help." She rests a hand against her hip, quite conscious of the clothes she is wearing and how it must look, but equally sure that he won't care. "Are you going to send me away?" <><><><><> [GM] As you expected, the older man observes you impassively, but the other man isn't so unaffected. His gaze travels up and down your body, and he runs the tip of his tongue over his lips unconsciously. "This one really is a tigress, eh?" he says. The mind-controller smiles thinly. "She wishes to retain what illusion she can of self-determination. So be it, Miss Tallin. Would you like a drink? A cigarette, perhaps?" The other man is lighting up. "No? Well then. You are correct, I am deliberately generating negative publicity for metahumans. And you will make excellent bait to lure more of them out of hiding. Even now, advertisements are being posted in newspapers around the country. I will be sending you and Monsieur Gaulliere to meet promising candidates." The latter individual winks at you. "It will be a pleasure to work with such a lovely partner. Perhaps you will find it's not so bad as you think, non?" His leer is the sort that you would normally turn a cold shoulder to. <><><><><> -- "No. Filthy habits, both. You do want me to keep in shape, don't you?" Crystal smiles the slightest of smiles with her words, a cold curve of translucent lips. And his plans... not much to them, of course. All rather obvious. He could learn a few lessons about negative publicity, though. A lot of lessons. But her attention turns to the other man, the one she can voice her dislike of. "Oh, Robert," she begins, her tone sweet, the pronunciation of the name perfectly French. She steps behind him, cold hands draped over his shoulders. From there, she could look straight at the telepath, but she avoids his gaze for the moment. "I'm certain we will be able to work together quite well. Because I'm sure you will remember that, if it ever does get anything close to as bad as I think..." Her tone is growing frigid, and her hand snaps up to snatch the just-lit cigarette from his lips. "I won't hesitate to correct matters." And she punctuates her comment by taking the cigarette in one hand and pressing it firmly into her other palm. She expects to feel nothing against her crystal skin, but it is as she makes the dramatic gesture that she looks up, across the table. "I trust I've made myself clear?" <><><><><> [GM] The mind-controller's smile broadens as you reflect on his plans and judge them "simple and obvious". You're sure he caught that thought, and he looks amused. Robert blinks when you crush the cigarette (painlessly) against your palm, but otherwise looks unimpressed. "Mais ois, Miss Tallin. We would not want to have any misunderstandings, would we? We are all one big happy family, non?" His own smile is pure malice. <><><><><> -- [So what are our friendly Puppetmaster's reactions to this tiny feud among his 'loyal' followers? Oh, and I don't recall the scene being described. I had assumed the two men were sitting at a table of some sort, but I could be wrong. Could you let me know?] Crystal barely bothers to look at Robert. His attitude toward her is unimportant, much as he is. He'll do what he's told. Like she has to. The final thought grates harshly in her mind. "So," she says, stepping around Robert to get a better look at the head of this 'family'. And it isn't at all by accident that the former is left with a good view of the way her costume emphasizes an already quite attractive rear view. "What does Robert do?" She chooses to use his first name almost purely because he called her 'Miss Tallin.' That should define their roles if she can help it. "I'm assuming he's got some sort of power beyond leering, because after that press conference it wouldn't do for me to be accompanied anywhere by anyone mundane." <><><><><> [GM] The two men were standing in front of a neat, empty desk when you appeared. Equally empty shelves line the wall, though there are also some cabinets with the doors shut. The Puppet Master [no, Crystal hasn't actually heard that term yet, but I'll be using it now for convenience] observes the exchange between you and Robert, still looking perpetually amused. "Ah, still vain," he says. "Mister Gaulliere has some exceptional talents of his own, I assure you. You will learn what they are when and if you need to." "Point for me, non, cheri?" Robert lights up another cigarette. "I know what you can do, but you don't know what I can do. Might make you think twice about getting too much attitude with me, hmm?" "All right," says the Pupper Master. "That's enough. I am not going to tell you how you must feel about one another- though I could." (He can't seem to pass up an opportunity to point out his domination over you.) "But you WILL work together. Miss Tallin, if you let any personal disdain for Mister Gaulliere cause you to fail in your assigned task, I will turn you into his most ardent admirer, your slavish devotion to him second only to that for me." Robert seems to like that idea, but the other man then turns his steely gaze on the Frenchman. "And you know better than to think that I won't do something that will make the point equally well where *you* are concerned." Robert wipes the smirk off his face, and nods somberly, but there's still a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Now," the older man continues, "Miss Tallin, before you go change into some clothes appropriate for walking about town- don't worry, I had some of your wardrobe brought here- did you have any ideas in particular regarding publicity? I will admit that thoughts generated of your own volition tend to be more inspired than thoughts pulled from your mind by force. I'm curious to know just what you think you can contribute." <><><><><> -- Crystal has no problem ignoring the threats this time. What she can't prevent she needn't worry about, but she's made it clear what she thinks and how far she'll cooperate. "Simple enough. The press conference was nothing. It upset most of my friends, but not so much it could be explained. And it may have panicked a few people who already thought people with powers couldn't be trusted, but that's not very hard either. What you're missing is that if you really want me and my line to be a draw for our kind, we need positive press, not just negative. They say there's no such thing as bad press, but there is such a thing as 'no press.' Another couple stunts like that conference and no one will bother with Crystal, no matter how sexy the costume is. That sort of thing is boring, it gets a couple days' attention then nothing. If we want real attention, we need to do things that will play well in the tabloids. That's assuming you want bad press, which goes with the image you picked." Chris had never tried for negative press before, and had very little except the bits she earned by being pickier about her shoots than most. But she knew the tricks. "Am I going to be staying in Europe? Because if so, I need to do a little more to get anyone's attention. But I can handle it. You want him in the stories? I'd recommend someone a little more photogenic, but we could play the 'beauty and the beast' angle if that's your style." <><><><><> [GM] "You underestimate me, Miss Tallin. Of course I don't expect a few temper tantrums in front of the cameras to provoke the response I want." He looks amused at your question about Europe, but doesn't answer. Robert frowns, and blows smoke in your face at the 'beauty and the beast' comment. His contemptuous gesture is wasted, since the smoke doesn't bother you as Crystal. "In the room across the outer den from this door is a bedroom," the Puppet Master says. "You'll find there a suitcase with some of your wardrobe. Return to your flesh and blood form, and go put on some normal clothes over this costume...something appropriate for walking about town." <><><><><> -- "I can only work with what you tell me. So far, I don't see much, but I call it like I see it." Crystal ignores Robert's gesture. Taunting him was too easy. She starts to turn, even before she can think about it, to obey the instructions. But she stops. "What town? Or don't you care if I try to be in style? And did you bring any makeup for me? I'd rather look good, no matter what role you've picked for me." <><><><><> [GM] The older man hesitates, then shrugs. "You are in St. Louis. Not the most 'stylish' of towns. Don't dress up too extravagantly; you're only going for a little walk. And I told Miss Sterrit to pack all your necessities. I presume that includes a makeup case, but if not, you can acquire one quickly enough." <><><><><> -- The Saint Louis revelation almost shakes her, but Crystal's less flexible features make it a little easier to hide. She should have known, with the TV in English, but everything had suggested Europe... She'd overplayed her hand already. "I have everything Tyler thinks I need? I'm sure I'll be just *fine*." Her voice drips out with sarcasm, but she doesn't have any excuses to stay any longer, so she makes her way as he directed, locating her belongings and selecting something appropriate. Something cut so it will hide the costume. And then, only reluctantly, does she shift back to her own form, trying to brace herself against the rush of emotional pain, anger, embarrassment, frustration... But Chris holds her reaction in check, as best she can, choking back her feelings just like Crystal had to. She takes what supplies she has and tries to make herself look more presentable, though the style she chooses is not hers at all. The makeup screams cheapness, a tawdry gloss on her beauty that matches the new personality she's forced to play. She can't match the clothes to that look too well if she's to cover the costume, and she doesn't have too much by way of appropriate clothes anyway. She'll have to do some shopping. When she's ready, she puts as much of Crystal's cold remoteness into her mind as she can and strides back into the room where the two men were. "So, we ready to go for that walk now?" <><><><><> [GM] "You and Mr. Gaulliere are going," says the Puppet Master. "I am not. If you need anything, feel free to do some shopping." He looks at Gaulliere for a few moments, then the Frenchman nods. Robert moves to the front door, and opens it for you with mock courtesy. "Apres vouz," he says, gesturing for you to precede him down the stairs. <><><><><> -- "Did you pick that out of my mind or come up with it yourself?" Chris tries to make her tone as disdainful as the thought is, but even that degree of hostility toward her mind's master is difficult, if not outright impossible... "So am I supposed to do anything but walk around and attract notice? Or is that supposed to be a surprise?" If she gets no real answer, she turns and heads out at Robert's suggestion, her hips swaying with just a bit more emphasis than usual. The better to taunt him with... <><><><><> [GM] "Mr. Gaulliere will fill you in on your role," says the Puppet Master. "You do not need to attract notice just yet." Leaving the apartment, you notice the world famous arch, a few miles away. Clearly there wouldn't have been any point in his concealing your location from you, once he decided to send you outside. Out on the street, Gaulliere paces alongside you silently for a while, puffing on his cigarette. Then he says, "You have a pretty nasty attitude. Understandable, under the circumstances." You notice when he's not trying to be 'cute', his French accent becomes MUCH less pronounced. "It occur to you maybe I don't have any more choice than you do?" <><><><><> -- It hadn't. Not until then. But to react would break her role, and she needed to build some trust for the psycic, if that was possible. "No choice, huh? So you weren't born a pig, you just let our friend back there make one out of you. That makes me feel a lot better." She doesn't even look at him. That makes it easier to ignore his attempt to humanize himself. "So, can we go wherever we want or do your orders have some destination in mind?" <><><><><> [GM] "Yeah, just like you 'let' him make you a bitch!" he laughs, sounding amused rather than offended at your taunt. "Or were you always one?" "I know exactly what you're doing, cher. Trying to be someone you're not, so you can pretend it isn't really you doing these things. I do it myself. Yeah, he is going to make you do horrible things, so you might as well learn to enjoy it." He takes a last drag from his cigarette and tosses it into the street. "We have to be somewhere later this evening...that's when you get to see what Monsieur Puppet Master has in mind. We have a little time before then. You have something in mind? I know I do." He winks at you with a leer so obvious you know he's just trying to goad you. <><><><><> -- "What I do or don't enjoy is none of your business. And I doubt it ever will be." Is that what she's doing? Trying to hide behind an act so she can deny what she's forced to do? Or is she really trying to win her freedom back...? Robert's observation makes her doubt her own motives. What he suggests explains what she's doing a lot better than what she told herself... "'Puppet Master,' huh? He pick that name himself? Sounds like it... Anyway, my plan is to do like he said, some shopping. I guess you have to tag along, right? Well, I need a lot of more appropriate clothes and makeup, so I hope you don't get bored carrying packages. I just hope he isn't going to make me wear this ridiculous costume under everything, because I will *not* spend the rest of my life in clothes cut to cover a bodysuit. And you'd rather I don't as well, wouldn't you?" As if the earlier hostility and insults were forgotten, Chris turns to her escort with a look that could only be described as seductive. She had no plans of actually letting him touch her, let alone anything else, but he seemed so easy to lead on that she had to test his limits... <><><><><> [GM] Robert smiles, but there's just a little too much cynicism in his eyes. "You think you're just the sexiest thing on Earth, don't you, cher? Don't play that game too much around some of the other men working for our employer. Not everyone serves him unwillingly, and they might ask him to make you their reward for good performance. And it might amuse him to do it." He speaks as if he's warning you, but you get the impression he likes that idea himself. "But don't worry- I don't see that happening as long as we have our luscious prisoner to play with. Sad to say, she's much more beautiful than yo-" He suddenly winces, and jerks his head as if trying to shake something out. Then chomps on his cigarette fiercely and looks at you with a slight glare. "Well, you need to buy some things, let's get on with it, eh?" <><><><><> -- The wince catches Chris' attention. Was that what would happen to her if she tried to speak beyond what this 'Puppet Master' wanted to allow? And what was he saying... A prisoner? Something she would need to find out more about, perhaps when he was distracted and likely to slip again... She seems to ignore it now. But his warning... that couldn't be ignored, at least not easily. She had been threatened with that already, directly, and it worried her, somewhat. To avoid it, she would have to do a good job at what he wants her to do. Better than others were managing. Which means she has to be very subtle with her other plans... "You know your way around here? I hope there's something better than a K-Mart, though I suppose *real* clothes are out of the question. I suppose we'll have to go to the local mall, hmm?" The idea had some potential... [BTW, when Chris was dressing, did she have her ID and credit cards and such among the things Tyler lifted for her or is she without means to pay for what she's looking for?] <><><><><> [GM] You found none of your identification or credit cards; hardly surprising, since if you somehow escaped the Puppet Master, being stranded in a strange city with no money or proof of ID would undoubtedly be a great hindrance. "We can go wherever you want, cher," Robert says. "I don' know Saint Louis that well, but if there's some big fancy store you want to go to, lead on. We certainly want you to look your best, don't we?" <><><><><> -- "I don't know what 'we' want, and I'm not sure I care. I know that I need some more appropriate clothes and other things, so if you've been told to tag along, I guess I can't stop you." Chris starts walking, then, with no real direction in mind. She looks for a taxi, or some sign that might direct her to someplace appropriate more quickly. She doesn't really pay Robert any attention, but knows he'll follow closely. If she manages to hail a taxi, she will instruct the driver to take them to the finest clothing store in the city, expecting that, in a place as provincial as the Midwest always was, a store with some more recent and, given her current role, decadent fashions would be relatively nearby. The thought of worrying about paying for the ride or the clothing has yet to even enter her mind. <><><><><> [GM] The cabby takes you to the mall in West St. Louis, which features a number of fine clothes shops, as well as Nordstrom's and other upscale chain stores. Nothing like where you usually shop, but it will have to do. It finally occurs to you that you're without funds. Robert smirks as he pulls a twenty out of his jacket and pays the cab fare, then holds the door open for you. <><><><><> -- "Wonderful. Mass market fashions. I suppose I'll manage to find something... Do I have a budget? And how much time do we have, since only you know the rules?" The question is asked with a bitter tone, expecting that she'll get a rather limited answer. <><><><><> [GM] "Spend as much as you want, cher. The boss gives us a pretty big expense account. He also prefers we pay in cash, though." Robert hands you a roll of $50 bills. "Is that enough? Just make like you're one of those eccentric Hollywood types." He smiles faintly. "We meet back here in four hours, kay, cher? That be enough time for you? I got a couple of things to do myself, and the Puppet Master isn't worried about you causing trouble. Believe me, he's put all kinds of little tripwires in your brain, set to pull you up short if you try to get out of line." He says the last part with a touch of bitterness. <><><><><> -- "Thanks. I should be able to manage." Robert's warning sends a chill down her spine. The idea of tripwires in her brain, things she could try to do only to have her mind refuse to go along, is the worst thing she can imagine. She had thought letting Billi manage her PR was a betrayal. Now she knew what it was like to have no control over any part of her life. And, as she had always thought she would, she hated it. The early shopping isn't too difficult. She finds the makeup she needs, far more than she's used to, and more harsh and obvious. Already she was far enough from her usual look that she didn't expect to be recognized, though this shopping trip was the biggest risk of that she could imagine. She lingers, hoping someone will make the connection, but not expecting success. She goes to every decent clothing store in the mall, finding enough to create at least the basics of her new look. It wasn't a pretty look. It was designed to shock, do assault the onlooker and demand attention. Many of the selections were daringly tight, almost indecently cut. She wouldn't think of wearing anything like these clothes on the street under normal circumstances. But she wasn't under normal circumstances now. This look would fit with the costume he'd chosen for her, and the predominant colors were deep blue and black. Even out of 'uniform' she would look her part. She even finds a few that could be worn over the uniform, though most want far too much exposed skin to allow that. She has everything packed and sent to the mall's service desk. She wouldn't be bothered carrying it all herself. The final selection is an addition to the costume. It needed more, an even more definite statement of the new attitude. She found that statement in black leather, gleaming chrome. The jacket would fit over the body-hugging costume and just scream attitude, rebellion. The exact opposite of what had really happened. But a chance to see what sort of attention she could get. She takes the jacket in one hand and, ignoring the heavy weight of the security tag, walks out of the shop. [Obviously, this could all stop if someone recognized her earlier or if PM's tripwires include something to keep her from calling attention to herself by this little bit of inaction. Just let me know what happens... ] <><><><><> [GM] [I'm not sure I understand her intentions-is she deliberately trying to shoplift the jacket?] <><><><><> [Well, actually what she's trying to do is get *caught* shoplifting the jacket. But I guess that assumes the attempt to shoplift the jacket . [And succeed or fail, she's really going to hate herself for even considering this... If she wasn't able to balance this against whatever PM is going to force her to do, which will doubtless be much worse, she wouldn't even be able to imagine herself doing it, I'm sure.] <><><><><> [GM] You feel self-conscious, stupid, and increasingly embarrassed as you head for the door with the jacket slung over your arm. "Super-Model arrested at St. Louis Nordstrom's, for Shoplifting!" Just the thought of that kind of headline makes you wince. You'd never be able to show your face in public again. But compared to the sort of headlines the Puppet Master might be forcing you to generate, this seems like a trivial thing by comparison. What's an embarrassing bit of celebrity misbehavior, compared to the utter ruination of your entire life? Any trepidation you might have felt about getting caught shoplifting, however, pales to insignificance when the pressure in your mind begins to push against you, pushes against your free exercise of will. {contrarywrongdisobedient} It's as if there's a little Puppet Master there, inside your head, scrutinizing your actions and judging their appropriateness. In some inexpressible way, you realize instinctively that it's not really a seperate entity, it's YOU censoring your own behavior. Your own faculties have been altered, to the extent that you stop yourself from doing anything "inappropriate". Inappropriate to your master's goals. The way it feels is still just as horrible as you feared; you slow to a stop and stand there, looking at the door, and you can no more step through than you can make your eyes pop out of your skull, fly around the room, and jump back into their sockets. You may have the desire, but it's not even as if you're straining to do something and your body won't obey; you simply can't issue the neurological commands that will cause your body to react. Somewhere in your brain, between the part where you make decisions and the part where decisions are translated into signals to be sent out through your nervous system, the message just disappears. You can stand there as long as you like. You can turn around and go pay for the coat, or put it back on the rack, or wander around the store carrying it...but you can't go out the door, when you know the consequences will be contrary to your master's desires. Your traitor self won't let you go on, but it will let you cry, and that's what you're dangerously close to doing. <><><><><> -- Chris shudders and stops, then tries to argue with herself. This sort of public embarrassment is just what he wants, better than anything he's told her. It shows her disregard for the rules others live by, it's the perfect active expression of the "Get out of my way" her double snarled at the press conference. (It won't get her arrested and taken away or raise questions about how she got her so quickly or allow her a chance to...) It *is* what he wants... But perhaps not dramatic enough. Standing where she is, she slips the jacket on, glancing at a mirror to assure herself it was a perfect choice for her new look. There. This is perfect... And she tries to press forward again <><><><><> [GM] You try, but meet the same resistance. You can't "trick" yourself, it seems. The Puppet Master's inhibitions go deeper than your surface thoughts. A sales assistant, probably noticing the odd way you've headed for the door twice and stopped, approaches you. "Are you interested in this coat, ma'am?" she asks, politely but with an unmistakeably suspicious look in her eyes. In your old life, you'd be dying of embarrassment. <><><><><> -- "I'm not sure. Does it look right to you?" Chris drops back into the role, to keep herself from burning with shame. What was she doing? Had she really sunk this far? She holds out her arms and spins around once, then looks at the clerk again. "What do you think? Is it right for me?" <><><><><> [GM] "It looks...quite daring," the clerk says. "If you do a lot of clubbing, it'll look fantastic on you." She hesitates, looking at you again, and for a moment, you fear/hope that she may be about to recognize you. Then her face becomes the solicitious plastic smile of a sales assistant again. "Would you like me to wrap it up for you?" <><><><><> -- Chris runs her hand along the slick sleeve of the jacket, part of her mind rebelling against the horrible betrayal of her friends wearing leather means, part of her knowing this really is, no trick, the perfect accessory for the new Crystal. Or would be when she was done adding to it. "No. I'll wear it out." It doesn't quite go with what she's wearing, but it will be perfect when she strips down to Crystal's costume. She pulls the much-shrunken wad of bills from her pocket and peels off one more than she needs to pay for the jacket. "Keep the change." That was harmless enough, but maybe it would help her be remembered, maybe she'd sell the story to the press, the tabloids, and someone could piece together what was happening to Chris... It was so improbable it wasn't even enough to hope for. And, hopefully, it was nothing the Puppet Master's trips would prevent. She holds up her arm where the security tag hangs. "Don't forget about this thing, okay?" <><><><><> [GM] The sales clerk looks a little taken aback...probably not used to receiving tips, which is pretty much what you hoped. She looks around guiltily, as if not sure it's allowed. "Umm, thanks," she says, abashed. "Thanks very much." She quickly removes the security tag, and rings up the sale, handing you the receipt. "Let me know if there's anything else I can help you with, ma'am." One insignificant act of treason against the Puppet Master's will...but you did it. It probably won't have any effect at all, but his awareness is not, after all, omniscient. You have a few more hours to see just how much far your strings extend. <><><><><> -- Now that the coat was hers, more ideas were coming to Chris's mind. The costume was sexy, no question, and it made a statement. But it didn't say enough. It didn't scream the self-reliance and anger the press conference had. It wasn't ready yet. She needed more. But where to find what she needs... She hadn't ever expected to be shopping at Sears, but she hadn't planned on turning into Crystal or being in Saint Louis under the control of a telepathic puppeteer either, so she was getting used to surprises. It was easier and easier to roll with the punches. She finds the hardware section easily enough, digging through the shelves until she finds the two colors she needs, two spray cans one in a deep blue close to that of her costume and another much lighter shade. She pays for them both, then smiles at the salesman as she walks out, shaking the cans, to stand outside the mall and look at freedom she knows better than to run for. She stops at the first trash can she finds and removes the new jacket, draping it over the top of the can, the back toward her. She shakes the dark can some more, pops off the lid (it's harder than she expects, but it's only a short struggle) and sprays a long, steady curve along the back. It starts just below where her right shoulder would be, curves up to just below the collar then down her left side and flattens out to cross back to the right. She lets it dry for a second as she opens the lighter colored paint, shaking it for a moment without looking around at anyone else entering the mall. She then paints the second curve as a highlight to the first, holding the can closer to get a smaller line, following the inside of the single letter to emphasize it. It'll do. Chris takes the store bag, the two lids and the still almost full paint cans and tosses them into the trashcan. She gives the paint a moment to dry, then lifts the jacket, admiring her work again with a smile. Crystal's logo in a new, more forceful, way. Then she put the jacket on and started to consider what else she might need... [I don't know, the limits on what she can do might kick in again here at about any point. But I went on to the end just to be complete. Feel free to step in at any point.] <><><><><> [GM] You get some strange looks from passersby, but no one stops you...and neither does any invisible tripwire in your mind. <><><><><> -- Chris puts the jacket back on and walks back into the mall, sweeping by everyone she passes with an aloof air she normally tries to avoid. She considers using the remaining time to do more shopping or find even more stark accessories for Crystal's new look, but then she sees a discount, walk in hair salon. Oh, that was necessary too. Christine Tallin's salon-perfect look was all wrong for Crystal, even though Crystal actually has no hair. People would see her in her normal form as well, and she needs a new look to go with her new style. She steps in and asks how long it would take for a coloring, cut and styling. She has a picture in her mind that asks for the blackest of black hair, cropped into an angry style to match the jacket. It would make her less easily recognized at first, but no one would forget it later. The possible drawback, of course, is that there might not be time... <><><><><> [GM] You don't have to wait too long. The salonist comments that you have lovely hair, and asks if you're *sure* you want such a radical change, suggesting some decent (though sub-par, for you) stylings she could do instead. At your insistence, though, she does what you want. When she's done, it's getting close to the time you have to meet up again with Robert. <><><><><> -- "Thanks for the advice, but I know what I have to do. Do the best you can, all right? I'm sure it will be fine." But she isn't. Chris can barely look at the mirrors as she lets her carefully developed appearance, her always perfectly kept hair, be totally changed, dyed dark and cut away. If she doesn't look, ignores the time, she can imagine this is just another transformation, like Crystal, and she'll be able to go back when she wants to. She can imagine that, but she knows it isn't true. She forces herself to believe it, though, but barely manages to keep up any level of conversation during the process. She wants to be either personable or rude, something that will be remembered, but she can't manage either and just passes the time in numb shock. And then it is done and she pays her bill, again with a significant tip (though here that is more expected) and makes her way toward the rendezvous with Robert, stopping only to find herself a pair of moderately priced black sunglasses, just to finish off the look. When she arrives where she should be, she looks for Robert but tries to keep him from noticing her. If she succeeds, she then walks past him, seeing if he notices her. And she waits, not far from him but without turning her back toward him for long, until she is actually just late enough for him to begin to look a little nervous. "Robert," she says, just loud enough for him to hear her, her voice clear and level, cutting through the crowd around them. She lowers the sunglasses and glances at him over the rim, sarcasm rising in her voice. "Looking for me, _mon cher_?" <><><><><> [GM] Robert again proves to be sharper than he seems...he does miss you when you first walk by, but catches you on the second pass. "Well," he says, "that's a new look. Not bad, a little...cheap, for such an expensive lady, though, non? What's the matter, cher, feeling a little tarnished?" He looks at his watch. "Come on, I'm sure you're dying to see what Monsieur Puppet Master has in mind for us." He begins walking, towards downtown. "Tell me, cher, have you ever killed anyone before?" <><><><><> -- "Only by the company I'm keeping," Chris says, more angry at how quickly he stripped away all the lies she'd told herself than anything else. "And I though if I have to play along, I might as well look the part. Don't try to tell me you don't like it." And then he leads her away, continuing to talk. She tries to ignore him, not wanting to hear what he has to say anyway, but the words are all too clear. She stops dead in her tracks, staring at him from behind the mask of the jet black glasses. "no," she says, not half as much in answer to his question as in firm, if, she dreads, impotent refusal. <><><><><> [GM] His grin becomes even more mocking, triumphant. "Not such a tough girl now, are you?" You have no choice but to follow him. "It's very simple," he says, as you head deeper into the darker downtown area. "There's a kid, a metahuman kid, that the boss wants. We have to recover the boy, AND foil the federal agents that are about to try the same thing. If possible, we make it look like we're saving the boy from the cops. Oh, and of course the federal agents have at least one superhuman among them...who we're to kill, if possible." He smiles humorlessly. "No doubt there's more to this whole scheme than that, but that's as much as the Puppet Master felt necessary to tell this humble servant." <><><><><> -- "I'm not going to kill anyone. I can't do that. I..." She has to follow, and she knows she has to obey. Does that mean she will have to kill? That can't be possible. He can't control her that much. It's easier to ignore it, to hope the order is never put to the test. "What about this 'kid.' Did he say anything about him, what he could do or whether he has any reason to be friendly?" <><><><><> [GM] "Apparently, he's a little puppet master himself," Robert says. "He's got a street gang doing his bidding. The Puppet Master said he just arrived in St. Louis...I guess he works fast. But the gendarmes must have been on his trail already. So maybe the kid is friendly, if we rescue him from the big bad federal agents, or maybe he attacks us, and we get to see which puppet master has stronger strings." He laughs. "Maybe that's what our master really wants to find out, but I'm sure he wouldn't send us against this kid if he really had any doubts about the outcome." <><><><><> -- "Great. Just what the world needs more of." Chris' bitterness is totally unhidden now. The idea of two people like the Puppet Master is too much to take. Unless, somehow, they could cancel each other out... "So, how showy does the Man want this? I'm pretty good at flashy if he wants the attention, but I can't say I'm much use if this is supposed to be a quiet snatch." <><><><><> [GM] "He thinks that a team of federal agents is already staking the kid out, and is about to move in on him. So we stake THEM out, wait for them to move, then come to the rescue." The neighborhood is becoming dingier. Normally, you'd be very uncomfortable in this part of town, but it hardly seems to matter now, even if you couldn't turn into Crystal. Robert keeps walking, across an intersection towards a shopping center considerably more downscale than the one you just left. People loitering at a liquor store on the corner eye you and whistle, but no one seems inclined to actually harass you, as the two of you keep going. "There's a video game arcade in here where the boy and his friends like to hang out," Robert says. "I figure we watch from the roof across the street. Oh, don't look at that green sedan by the laundromat, but a couple of the federal agents are in it. Probably a couple others sitting inside the Dairy Queen. Guess we a bit late." He begins walking around the corner, and into a garbage-strewn alley that runs behind the shopping center. <><><><><> -- "You take me to such romantic places, Robert," Chris says, her voice dripping again with sarcasm now that she has managed to smother her denial. She wouldn't kill for anyone, no matter how much power he had over her mind. She knew that, but she also knew that her body might betray her. She could only endure this as best she can. "So when they act, we move in as Crystal and... well, whatever it is you do. This is supposed to be a big show, all the front pages and everything, right? I mean, why send me otherwise?" <><><><><> [GM] "Frankly, I gave you all the orders I have, cher," Robert answers. "He didn't specify whether it was to be flashy or subtle. I can speculate why he sent you, though." You step gingerly over some refuse in the alley down which you're following him. "He may have schemes for you and using you for publicity, but he's also got a finite number of superhumans to send on these little missions of his, non? I think he just wants this kid, and you happen to be here, so you get sent with me." He turns and smiles at you. "But what do I know, I'm just the help?" Suddenly he wraps an arm around your waist. Before you can react, before you can protest, he says "Up we go, cher-" And you're ten feet off the ground, and rising. Robert is levitating towards the roof of the building, carrying you with him. <><><><><> -- Chris is readying a sharp reply when Robert's sudden action catches her by surprise. But not so much by surprise that a new reflex can't kick in. As he holds here and they float upwards, the body in his arm changes from warm, soft flesh to cold, sharp diamond. Once they are atop the roof, she pushes away sharply, her eyes literally glaring at him, with a light all their own that is visible even though the dark plastic sunglasses she wears. Then the light moves, gathering in her index finger with a dangerous intensity. "Nice trick, Robert. So you fly. The bitch in New York flew, too. But if you touch me again, you'll regret it, _non_?" <><><><><> [GM] "Ah, cher, you play hard to get so sweetly," he says tauntingly, but you notice he does casually take a step backwards, out of reach. "tch tch," he adds, waving a finger. "The fact is, you can threaten all you like, but neither of us can harm the other unless Monsieur Puppet Master wished us to, for some reason." Still, he seems careful not to turn his back on you as he moves to an air-conditioning vent on the roof, and pries it up to pull out a large black plastic envelope, the sort one carries a suit in when travelling. "I have to change for the occasion, cherie," he says, beginning to peel off his shirt, after glancing around to make sure there are no other rooftop observers on adjacent buildings. "Please, feel free to watch." <><><><><> -- Her sharp features turn into a frown and she turns away from his offer without even dignifying it with a response. But if he was changing into some sort of "costume," she probably should as well. That just meant removing the clothes she wore over it, then replacing the jacket that was part of the costume now. But still, she walks a short way across the roof first and finds a tall vent of her own to offer some privacy. And she doesn't change back to flesh. Not in this ridiculous costume where even breathing risked indecent exposure. Crystal doesn't need to breath... <><><><><> [GM] When you return, you find Robert pulling on a pair of heavy black boots. He's now covered from head to toe in a black bodysuit, with enough solid "padding" beneath that you suspect it's not merely a costume, but armor as well. Kevlar, perhaps. Unlike yours, it's not particularly decorative or flashy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Aside from an abstract, vaguely sinister red design over the face, it's virtually featureless, just an unrelieved black suit that's probably ideal for skulking around at night. He looks at you, and standing there like a supervillain out of a comic book, he looks impressive despite your best efforts to be disdainful. The padding enhances his build, and he visibly has changed his bearing somewhat. You have to admit, seeing that dark-suited figure rushing at you would be a little unnerving, especially if he's flying. His expression, of course, is invisible beneath his mask, but his voice, echoing from beneath the mask, is solemn, with no trace of the mocking banter he maintained before. Even the tone of his voice has altered, becoming deeper and more sinister. "Take up a position at the edge of the roof, and keep your head down. We'll move at my signal. Can you jump from a second story building and land without injuring yourself, or do you need me to carry you down?" <><><><><> -- "I can handle myself." She isn't sure of that, but she thinks it has to be true. If she could take the punishment Lucy Golden had dished out in New York, she could drop a couple stories, no problem. That had to be true. "So, do you have a clever little nickname to go with the sinister look? I doubt you want me to call you 'Robert' during our mission, right?" <><><><><> [GM] "Good point. I haven't worked with a partner before. It had never occurred to me to adopt some comic book name like 'Crystal'." He walks to the edge of the building and crouches down. "Hmm. I suppose 'Glider' will do. Not very 'sinister', eh? But I never was particularly concerned with getting attention." You can see a number of teens and pre-teens loitering in front of a video arcade, next to a 7-11. And as you watch, you see three men in dark suits casually walking along the front row of shops perpendicular to the building in which the arcade and convenience store are located, across the parking lot from the building on which you and Robert are perched. "Remember," Robert whispers, "if we see a government metahuman...we try to kill him." And you're terribly conscious of the fact that he's said nothing about what to do with the kids, who, if his description is correct, may well turn into mind-controlled puppets fighting against you and the government agents, when things get hot. <><><><><> -- "It's not bad. But it's boring. If we get a chance, we should tell the press to spell it with a 'y' or something. You may not like attention, but I live for it and I've found you're often judged by the company you keep." She frowns as he reminds her of the darkest part of their instructions. The expression could easily be lost except that the facets of her face shift and twinkle in the bits of reflected light. "I'm not going to kill anyone." And she hopes that saying it again will make it have a better chance of staying true. Then she turns and watches the building, waiting for something she doesn't want to happen... <><><><><> [GM] The agents continue moving in on the kids loitering in front of the arcade. The next few moments are a confused blur. The kids suddenly jump up in alarm; two produce small automatic weapons from beneath their jackets. The G-men produce large pistols, and you're horrified that government agents would shoot *children*, then a few shots ring out, fired by one of the kids, and a blur is moving among them, like a half-visible shadow that flits from one place to another before your eyes can rest on it long enough to make out even an outline. Two kids are collapsing to the ground, and one of the agents fires, but though the gun jerks in his hand, you don't see a flash or hear a detonation- silenced? Yelling and screaming from inside the arcade, more kids collapse suddenly, a man by the door runs headfirst through the glass windowfront, shattering it as he tumbles inside, and Robert says "Let's go!" and leaps off the roof, not merely gliding but shooting rapidly through the air, a black blur himself as he descends at an angle towards the video arcade, and though you wish you could hang back, you know you can't. <><><><><> -- For the first moment, Crystal almost moves on her own. The government can't do this... They can't get away with this. But then she realizes that her purpose here is not any more noble than theirs. Would the Puppet Master avoid shooting at kids for his goals? Of course not. He would destroy anything or anyone to get what he wanted. And he already had her. She leaps from the roof, panic growing in her for a moment before she drops heavily to the ground, trying to land on her feet. And once she is on her feet, she rushes forward to the arcade, trying to figure out who is who and where she should go without standing there and making a target of herself... <><><><><> [GM] The ground rushes at you, and instinctively you wince at the thought of the coming impact, which hits sooner that you thought. The landing jars you, and you don't land anywhere near as gracefully as you'd have liked, your legs folding beneath you and slamming your knees into the pavement, followed by your shoulder as you fall to your side. But you don't feel injured, just shaken. Your diamond-hard body made an impression in the parking lot. You rise, rush towards the arcade, and see both government agents and teenagers gaping at you in astonishment. One kid is raising his Ingram to point it at an agent, then collapses suddenly, shot (?). Robert slams into the nearest agent, sending the man back into the wall of the store hard enough to rattle windows. The man collapses, with blood pouring from his mouth. There's a flash, a blur zooms past Robert and the Frenchman exclaims in pain as something hits HIM, hard. He spins in the air, almost collapses, then shoots up into the air as the blur zips around in a U-turn and tries to make another pass. For an instant, the blur stops, resolves itself into a man wearing a dark bodysuit not too different from Robert's, but without the mask. The man raises a pistol, and there's a "whipwhipwhip" sound. Impacts as whatever he fires bounces off Robert's bodysuit. "GET HIM!" Robert shouts at you. <><><><><> -- The shock of the impact is more discomforting than anything. And it probably tore the knees out of her uniform, and a few other places. She'll have to avoid that sort of thing later. Things are moving too fast. The man is moving too fast, impossibly fast. He must be the government meta-human. The one she's supposed to... Robert is in trouble. His armor probably won't hold out forever and whatever he's being shot with... Chris tells herself she's going to blind the government meta-human, a blast of light to burn in his eyes and disable him, at least for a few moments. That's what she tells herself. But there's an order, one she probably can't resist, and as she raises her hand toward him and lets the light that gathers in her flow out, she isn't entierly sure just what form it will take... <><><><><> [GM] Your arm glows, and blazing light radiates from your fingers. The beam that lances out at the man in black might be merely a blinding flash or might be a lethal attack- you're saved from finding out because the man isn't there anymore. You don't have time to see what happens when your bolt hits the wall across the parking lot, because you're suddenly knocked off your feet. "OUCH! Dammit!" The blur zips to halt, shaking his hand. Robert takes advantage of the distraction to dive towards another government man. You see something appear in his hand with a "snap!" It's a row of spikes protruding from the back of his fist. It also seems to you that Robert is moving unnaturally fast as well, though nothing like the government metahuman. Too fast for the agent in the suit to evade him. Robert's arm swings in a blur, and the agent falls to the ground, as blood spatters the wall in an arc behind him. Kids are running in all directions, and you continue to hear gunfire all around. <><><><><> -- Chris has no wish to turn and see if her blast left damage on the distant wall or to see if Robert had finished their 'mission' for them. For the moment, she could turn her attention to other things, to their primary goal. There was too much gunfire, and she didn't know if her crystal form was proof against it, but she had a better chance than these kids did. She gets to her feet and runs toward the arcade, trying to put herself where she can shield the kids and, if she gets a chance, using her power to blind any armed agent she sees taking aim at her. <><><><><> [GM] As you approach the arcade, you see one prone teenager lying on the ground, hand still loosely wrapped around a cheap hangun. Stuck in his side is a dart of some kind. A dark-suited man is pointing a gun at you. You raise your hand and pulse a flash of light at him, even as he squeezes the trigger. A sharp 'crack' precedes the impact of a projectile against your chest. It bounces and spins to the ground, another dart, the needle broken off after hitting your diamond-hard skin. The agent is rapidly backpedaling, blindly groping his way towards cover behind a parked car. Someone swears, and gunfire roars not far away. From inside the arcade, one of the kids is ripping off rounds with an uzi, as he backs deeper into the establishment. He's sweeping the parking lot, but his aim must be pretty bad, since he's not hitting any agents. On the other hand, they did scatter and duck when he cut loose, and the few shots they fire back at him go whirling into the electronically-illuminated cavern of the arcade, or make spider-web impacts against the glass storefront. There aren't any kids left standing conscious outside the arcade. <><><><><> -- Darts. The government men are using darts against real guns. She's on the wrong side, that is what a sick feeling in Crystal's gut tells her. But she has no choice. "I'm here to help," she calls into the arcade, her voice firm despite her internal doubts. "Let me in, we'll see what we can do." She raises her hands, palms facing the arcade, realizing even as she does it that this actually would make it easier for her to attack them by surprise. She tries to keep that idea out of her head, watching for any reaction from inside and, if nothing seems too negative, rushing forward and through the door. <><><><><> [GM] "Not so fast, lady!" A pair of hands grabs you by the shoulders, and yanks you backwards, off your feet, before you can react. You topple back, landing on your rear with an asphalt-chipping 'crack!', and see the blur, twenty feet away and making a u-turn almost too fast for your eye to follow. Robert is splitting another agent's head open with the blades projecting from his forearms. You try to squelch your revulsion and nausea, and focus on the speedster, who's rushing at you again. This time, a kick to the stomach knocks you off your feet. He spins around and comes to a momentary halt, while your dismay at the situation turns to anger- he's running circles around you, and there doesn't seem to be much you can do about it. He's too fast to evade, too agile to hit. Then suddenly he shudders, and stiffens where he's standing. He seems to be trying to move, but can't. <><><><><> -- Chris tries to remember her self defense classes, but they didn't cover anything like this. He isn't really hurting her, not so she can notice, but he's keeping her from doing what she (doesn't want to/would love a reason not to/wishes she could avoid) has to do, getting inside. And then he stops. Stops right in front of her. What's happening? A trick? Or... the kid inside was supposed to be another Puppet Master, maybe he was doing this somehow. Giving her a chance to get past, get inside. A chance to kill... She tries to keep that idea from her head, tries to keep her hands down, tries to ignore her "orders" and rush on by, inside the arcade. <><><><><> [GM] You move towards the arcade.... and stop. You can't even describe the feeling. It's not as if a string was suddenly pulled, taking over your body. Nothing that overt (though you wish it was.) It's not like warring factions in your mind- what YOU want with what HE wants. Deep down, you DON'T want to do this. You wish you could refrain. But there's a compulsion, or an urge...the need to satisfy your master's demands. He wants you to do as Robert told you, to kill the government metahuman. So you want to kill the government metahuman. You don't really WANT to....but the volitional part of your brain is telling your body that you do... You have enough self-will to cry, mentally, as you send a burst of laser light into the speedster's chest. And, if you really thought about it, you'd realize that you aren't really putting everything you've got into it. You're not pumping every bit of power into the blast, like you did when facing Lucretia. But it's enough to burn a smoking hole in his chest. He falls to his knees with an agonized cry, then topples face forward. And now you're free to proceed into the arcade. <><><><><> -- Even as she hurries into the building, the image of the government agent is frozen in her mind. Screaming. Falling. Dying? Probably... She couldn't resist the order to kill, she couldn't just go on and obey the more harmless orders. She had used her powers to kill, in cold blood. Even if she does get free from the Puppet Master, her life was over, totally destroyed. She had committed murder, a government agent was dead because of her... Her body continues to move on mechanically, obeying orders while her own will, her own personality, is lost in grief and rage. When she steps inside, she looks to one of the uzi-carrying kids. "Where is he?" <><><><><> [GM] The kid freaks, and fires a single burst at you- "BRAAP!" Tiny fists moving at several hundred miles an hour slam into you, knocking you back several steps before you brace against the impact. The front of your costume is shredded, but around you, video games shatter and explode as the bullets ricochet off you. The kid winces, then suddenly jerks upright, flings the uzi to the ground, then staggers, and blinks again, confused. "Where is WHO?" someone snaps, from farther back in the electronic cavern- as a fist closes on your mind. Not a wholly unfamiliar feeling, yet it's different in quality from the Puppet Master. The Puppet Master's control is subtle, silently invasive, almost unnoticed until you actually trigger one of his imbedded commands. This is a mental assault with all the subtlety of a kick in the gut...and about as pleasant. Your body stops responding to your commands, and you stand paralyzed, exposed to both gun-wielding kids in the arcade, and gun-wielding agents outside. (Another impact hits you from behind- a dart, probably- but you find it quite easy to ignore.) "Hot damn," someone mutters. "A super-chick, like some kinda crystal statue." "Who the hell are you?" the first voice demands, the voice of a boy in his early adolescence, which some instinct tells you is the same person who holds your voluntary motor control in an unbreakable deathgrip. But, you notice, your mouth and throat has been left under your control. <><><><><> -- "I'm Crystal. Don't you watch television? I'm here looking for you." That was honest enough. And while the child had left her voice untouched, she feels as she tries to warn him that the Puppet Master hadn't... "I... I'm here to keep the government agents away from you." She can't say she's here to sell him out to a greater threat, probably to kill him just as surely as she had the agent outside, even if not with her own hands. Her suppressed sell wails within her head, chained and unable to act... <><><><><> [GM] "She's that chick in New York, the one who blew up the other chick!" one of the kids says. "She's like a model or something," another adds. "Hey, you got yourself a super-babe coming to your rescue, Chad!" "Great, cover our escape," says a younger boy whom you still can't see. "Zap them all or something while we go out the back, then follow us." His words throb in your mind as well as in your ears, reinforced by his telepathic control. <><><><><> -- "I'd rather come with you right now," Crystal says, fighting the mental command long enough to speak. "You'll be safer..." But his order is clear, and even though she hasn't seen him yet (she could light the room, make it possible, but that would also make them all targets for the men outside) she does want to help him. Really help him, more than just what the two mental commands tell her to do. For all the abuses this boy could use his powers for, he couldn't match the Puppet Master and if she can keep him from becoming that... Or if he could somehow free her from... She can't even afford to think about that. Not now. She turns and reaches for the light inside her, feeling it build before focusing it toward her outstretched hands, then releasing a blinding arc out the front of the building, the best cover she can provide... <><><><><> [GM] Your light causes the agents to duck or shield their eyes, a few of them wincing. More darts skitter off your diamond-hard surface. Your costume is taking a real beating...not like in comic books, where heroes and heroines get shot up and somehow maintain a certain minimal standard of decency. You're baring more glass than you'd like already...when you change back to flesh and blood, you'll be hanging out all over the place. Robert, oddly enough, is nowhere to be seen. Then that iron grip on your mind flexes again. You're withdrawing into the arcade, following the retreating kids, without even knowing that's what you want to do. The boy is simply moving your body like a puppet, even more blatantly than the Puppet Master. In the alley out back, they're piling into a car, while firing at agents who have this side of the building covered too. You get your first look at the metahuman preteen, a rather average looking boy with black hair and a sharp, unpleasant expression. He spares a few seconds to look you over, then says "We gotta get down the street. You laser 'em while we try to break for it." He slides into the back seat, and compels you to slide in next to him, using you for cover. Other kids, most of them a few years older than him, are exchanging fire with the feds. It seems this side of the building is rather thinly covered, though. <><><><><> -- "I'd be able to do better if you'd let me use my powers myself. I know a little more about how they work." Crystal sits beside the boy, realizing now that there was little difference between him and the Puppet Master except age. They both used people as toys, both knew nothing but what *they* wanted and cared nothing for what it cost to get it. He wasn't going to help her... And she feels the blazing energies building inside her at his command, sharp to kill again, and she fights that with all she is able, to use less of the power, to aim high or wide, to simply give them cover rather than attacking the agents who are, she understands now, certainly in the right here. <><><><><> [GM] The control on your mind, as usual, leaves *some* leeway for interpretation...so long as you're accomplishing the stated command, to clear a path out- if diffusing your beam at a wider angle will be more effective, you don't feel compelled to use a more lethal, narrow beam just because you can. Dark-suited agents duck as your light bursts scorch overhead, a couple howl as a laser flashes across their face...you may not have killed them, but permanent blindness is a possibility. The trigger-happy kids in the car fire bursts from their Ingrams and Uzis, though one slumps and hits the floor as a dart catches him in the throat. You hear a couple of sharp cracks, rifle fire, and see at least one agent topple to the ground, spattering blood. But the shots didn't come from the car. A police cruiser that's pulling in to block your escape at the corner hastily lurches into reverse when you melt the hood with a searing laser bolt. The cops are already spilling out of the car and taking up defensive positions behind the doors, and unlike the federal agents, they're using regular pistols. One bullet smacks your face and bounces off, shattering the windshield of your car and provoking a startled cry from the driver, nervous looks from Chad and the other kids as the consequences of ricochets off your diamond-hard skin sinks home. The impact startled you, but didn't seem to really hurt, and the cops hit the ground and roll as a burst of automatic weapons fire answers their service revolvers. "Zorch the gas tank!" Chad says eagerly. "Make their car blow up!" You also note that even with the surprise value of your powers, and the over-armed teens piled into this car, you are, or were, thoroughly surrounded, and shouldn't have been able to break out this easily. <><><><><> -- "I don't kill people." Crystal repeats the refrain, as if to focus her thoughts and provide herself the extra edge she needs to fire her first blast well high of the mark, a warning if the police abandoning the car are smart, before doing as she was told. It would be harder than it looked in the movies. She remembers and effects man complaining about that during the work on her one foray into action movies. It took a lot of energy to ignite a gas tank and explode a car. But she had a lot of energy. She tries not to think about the cracks the bullet might have left on her face or about how they would look when she... No. She can't think about that. She lets loose the light from inside her again, this time aiming closer, to obey orders... <><><><><> [GM] The first blast, slicing through the cruiser's roof, makes the cops duck. Chad frowns, and jerks your aim lower...which actually gives the men more time. Chad can't aim your arm by "remote" very well, and just makes your beam slice downward, melting the front window and part of the door. "Shoot the *gas tank*!" he demands insistently, adding telepathic force to the command, but letting you carry it out yourself this time. You release a surge of energy, noting that if he keeps forcing you to expend your power at this rate, at least you'll run out soon. You burn a neat hole through the body of the police car, above where the gas tank should be, hold the beam there for an instant- *KRUMP!* The explosion isn't as loud or fiery as Chad was probably hoping for. Cars don't go up in spectacular flaming displays without the help of explosives, and the police car simply bounces a foot off the ground as its fuel tank bursts apart, sending a concussive blast through the rest of the vehicle that bursts the windows outwards, buckles the doors and roof and hood, and sets the entire car on fire. You see the cops scrambling away, though you can't tell if they were injured, then you're zooming past, bullets and darts still whizzing past you. The boys all cheer exuberantly. Chad smirks. "YEAH! We did it!" As you hurtle through an intersection, you see another police car rushing at you from down a cross-street. Chad stares at it, and abruptly it swerves to the side, wheels spinning, to slam into a car in the next lane, and drive both up onto the sidewalk. Chad laughs. One kid, a grungy white teenager with the scraggly beginnings of a beard, says "Dude, we better get into hiding or something...I mean, we can't fight off the whole St. Louis police department!" "Can't we?" Chad asks. He smiles at you. "Kyle's right, man" says a chunky black kid, wearing a blue beret. "'Sides, I think some of those guys weren't cops." Chad frowns. He looks at you more closely, speculatively. Which unnerves you almost as much as the way some of the older boys are eying you, clearly speculating along different lines. Chad ignores them, and says "Who were they, glass lady? For that matter, who are you?" DARK CRYSTAL Part II [Christine Tallin, aka "Crystal", has been mentally enslaved by the evil Puppet Master, then was sent to prevent another mind-controller, the young Chad Reiter, from being captured by federal agents. That mission was successful, but she now finds herself merely with a new master...] -- "No, we can't. I can only keep this up for so long, then my 'batteries' go dry. And I don't think either of us want to see that happen." She takes a moment to adjust her jacket, trying to cover her shredded costume. It had started out revealing to a ludicrous point, she doesn't even want to consider what it will be like when she changes back to flesh now. These kids obviously reached the same conclusions sooner. "They aren't cops. They're from the government, a secret organization that's trying to gather up everyone who turns up with powers. Or put them down. I've run into them before." And she should be *helping* them, or at least not working so actively against them. Damn the Puppet Master again... "And me... I'm Crystal. Don't you watch television? I'm here to keep them from getting their hands on you." <><><><><> [GM] "Oh. Okay..." Chad says. One of the kids says "Hey, she was in like this fight in New York City, with some crazy superchick with a mohawk! I remember watchin' that on TV...it was way cool! They totally fragged the s*** outta this bitch!" Chad frowns as the car abruptly spins around a corner. "Hey, drive more careful...we don't want to catch the cops attention AGAIN, do we?" he snaps. He turns back to you. "OK, you're like a superhero, with powers. Howcum you're helping me, and how'd you find me, and how'd the government find me? And what else can you do, besides bounce bullets and shoot lasers and stuff?" <><><><><> -- "I don't know how they found you, but I came after them. I'm helping because they and I don't get along. Because I don't want to see anyone else sucked into what they're up to." And because I have no choice. Can't you see the marks of another mind forcing me... or are you not paying attention? Crystal screams inside, but it's hopeless to try to say any of that. "And there isn't much else I can do. I can lift more than I can in my normal body, but only for a little while. No fancy mind tricks. I hope you're not disappointed." She smiles slightly, trying to see what sort of reaction that could get from Chad. <><><><><> [GM] "So you're like a supervillain, not a hero?" Chad says. "That's cool." He grins. "Yeah, I can use you." He could very well mean that literally. The car proceeds into an even grungier section of St. Louis. "We'll camp out at Mel's place," Chad says. It's unnerving, watching the authority he commands, with a gang of kids who are mostly much bigger and older than him. You detect more than a little fear from some of them, as well. "What are we gonna do next, Chad?" asks one. "I figure with a supervillain on my side, we can take over the neighborhood even easier than before," Chad says. "Hey, maybe I should even look for more superpeople!" "Man, that's stupid!" snaps a lanky black kid. "You keep running around with people like her, attracting all this attention, the feds'll just-" He stops in mid-sentence, and suddenly jerks his head forward, smashing his face into the window, hard enough to crack the glass. He blinks, stunned, then groans, pressing a hand to his broken nose, gushing blood, and split lips. "I told you not to call me stupid, asshole!" Chad says calmly. He looks back at you. "But maybe you got a point. I probably should move to another city, at any rate. What do you think, Crystal?" His expression is an odd mix of childish uncertainty, looking at you as a grown-up who must have answers he doesn't, and a predatory instinct beyond his years, through which you are just someone else to use. And ironically, you're beginning to wish Robert, or "Glyder", would catch up. Assuming he can do something besides become another slave of this miniature puppet master. <><><><><> -- Crystal winces at the label 'supervillain,' but perhaps her less expressive crystal features hide the emotion somewhat. "I'm not a supervillain or a superhero. If I have to be something, I'd rather still be a supermodel." She smiles thinly at the joke, then worries that the last thing she needs to point out to these boys, boys who had just survived a life-or-death combat and for whom she might have been an occasional adolescent fantasy. "I think taking over a city is the wrong direction. You've got a gift and you can do a lot, but there are people who won't stop at anything to keep our kind down. They bombed a friend of mine..." She doesn't mention that Terry had no powers at all... she doesn't feel the need to. "They used nuclear weapons on Paladin. They won't stop at anything to take you down." She tries to think what to recommend. Her mind is torn, conflicting orders from herself, Puppet Master and Chad warring to determine what she will say is best. She wants to warn him, but she knows she can't. She wants to tell him to turn himself over to the government, but she doesn't trust them any more than she does anyone else involved in this. She just doesn't know... "I think you need to get away. Someplace away from people and distractions and work out how to do what you need to do but do it right. There's a lot of people trying to stop you and they have plans, people and money. I don't think I'm enough to swing the balance toward you yet. We need to have a plan." Putting herself into his group would make her skin crawl if it wasn't cold diamond. But Chad was probably better than the Puppet Master, younger and easier to fool. And if his orders could overpower the other's... <><><><><> [GM] "Our kind? You mean there's like, someone out to get people like us, with superpowers?" Chad's eyes widen at your reference to the nuclear attack on Paladin. "You mean the government did that?" he asks. "I thought it was like, terrorists or something!" He frowns. "Well, I can mind control anyone." But he's clearly thinking...he seems bright enough to see the wisdom in your words. He also seems very stubborn, and you've already seen ample evidence that he has to be handled *very* carefully, especially if you want to convince him he's wrong about something. "OK, what direction DO you think would be the right one?" He runs his fingers along your arm, feeling your crystal surface, curiously. Impersonally. Like someone handling a new toy. "How do you eat and breathe and stuff while you're like this?" he asks. "Are you like this permanently, or can you turn back into a normal person?" As the car pulls into a garage beneath a rundown three-story apartment building, you realize this is exactly the direction you'd rather the conversation *didn't* go right now. If he has you change back to normal...Chad is *probably* too young to think of using you as anything besides a weapon. But some of the boys with him certainly aren't. <><><><><> -- "Somebody had to get the nuclear weapons in the first place. That had to take some cooperation from somebody's government. And I know everyone is afraid of us." And Crystal knows angry, greedy people like Chad and the Puppet Master are feeding on that fear, building themselves armies to conquer. She had wanted to calm the fears, to help people understand... Now, she was as afraid as anyone. "What we do next... That's always the hard question. Right now, I need to rest because I'm almost drained out. I can only hold so much light. But if you want me along with you, you'll need to start making plans to move. The government won't take long to find you again, and they'll come in force next time. You're going to have to move to keep ahead of them." Keep ahead, or maybe be thrown so off-guard they'll be able to snatch you with ease... Good advice and bad advice are impossible to separate now... "And yes, I can eat and drink like this, but I don't taste anything, so I prefer not to. And of course I can change back and forth. But I don't think anyone would let me claim to be just a 'normal person' when I do. After all, with a thought, I could be back to this again..." She lets a little bit of light flicker along her fingertips, glistening but not hot enough to do any damage. Just a hint for the smarter boys in Chad's puppet gang. <><><><><> [GM] It's hard to tell if any of the punks got the point...they're more entranced just by the fact that you CAN make light pulse within you. And there seems little doubt that Chad scares them more than you do. As you get out of the car, Chad says, "You better make yourself look normal, while we go upstairs, case any of the other losers who live here poke their heads out." He looks around in disgust. "Man, with powers like ours, it's about time I cleared out of this dump. It ain't like we don't have the money to get a nicer place." He looks back at you and smiles. "Now I have a respectable-lookin' adult to do things like write checks and use credit cards." <><><><><> -- "I can change back to flesh and blood, but if you think I can somehow manage to look only 'normal' you're giving me a lot more credit as an actress than I probably deserve." Chris smiles the sort of self-pleased smile she always hated in others, the sort that fits her new Crystal persona so well, then looks over her arms and exposed crystal skin, checking for fractures. Then she checks her face in the car's rear-view mirror, remembering the bullet that rebounded there. If none are found, she wraps her jacket tight, zips it up, then wishes away her crystal self, ready for the wave of minor aches and pains she'd almost started getting used to missing. "You're thinking ahead. That's good. You're right, an adult probably can help you get some things you couldn't manage with just your powers. We'll see what I can manage. But first, I'm going to need some rest. I burned up a lot of energy getting in to you then out again and I'm exhausted." <><><><><> [GM] You seem undamaged. When you transform back, you do feel fatigued, but not really sore. Bullets seem to have had less effect on you than Lucretia's fists. The other kids stare at you in earnest now. The chunky kid whistles and leers, and a general appreciative murmur circulates among them. "Weren't you that chick in a bikini who gets dumped into a giant glass of Diet Tab?" says one, dredging up one of your more embarrassing commercial appearances. "I think I had a calender of you," says another. Not at all reassuring, as you hurry upstairs, through a real dive of an apartment building, into a two-bedroom unit that looks and smells very much like it's occupied by a bunch of adolescent males. Inside, two very large, very muscular young black men are waiting. They're clearly the biggest and baddest of this bunch, and they're holding machine guns, very visibly...but they immediately approach Chad like a pair of puppy dogs. "Hey, Chad, m'man, everythin' ok?" The other one is almost panting in eagerness. "These guys cool, you need anyone straightened out?" Something about them seems...odd. They're sweating, and their eyes seem wild, slightly glazed, and there's a desperation in them, as they hover solicitiously about the young boy. They don't demonstrate fear of Chad....it's closer to devotion. Devotion that comes of obsession. "Just stand guard for now," Chad says. "Don't let anyone disturb me an'...Crystal here, 'less it's an emergency." "No problem! You got it man!" "Ain't no one gonna bug you, dude!" They glower menacingly at the rest of the gang. Chad opens the door to one bedroom, gestures for you to precede him. "Hey, when you done, any chance you let US spend some time alone with her?" one of the boys snickers. Another mutters "Ain't like he's even gonna know what to do with her..." Chad turns and gives him a chilling stare. The kid turns pale and stammers "Hey..just kiddin' Chad, a joke, y'know?" His two personal guards level their guns at the offender. "Yeah. A joke." Chad's expression is cold and frighteningly unchildlike. "Hey, maybe I should make you go swallow a pack of razor blades. Just kidding. A joke, y'know?" Chad follows you into the bedroom, and closes the door behind him. <><><><><> -- Chris shudders slightly at the atmosphere Chad surrounds himself with. He obviously abuses the gift he has in a crude, child-like parody of the cruelty the Puppet Master's own uses. The two of them are hard to compare to see which might be worse... But she gets alone, into the room, before she says anything. She makes no move to remove her jacket. "So... I guess you're going to show just what you can make me do now, right? Does it matter to you at all that I'm really not interested?" <><><><><> [GM] Chad goes and sits down on his bed, looking tired. The malevolence in his expression has dimmed somewhat. He looks at you, and says "You're scared of me, aren't you?" He brushes his hand against a stack of books sitting on the cheap wooden nightstand next to the bed. There is also a peeling dresser, made of the same cheap wood, stacks of laundry and junk food wrappers scattered around the floor, a huge, expensive, state of the art color TV console with stereo hookup and various video games attached, sitting in the corner, and an overstuffed, hideous orange chair behind you. "You should be. Grown-ups are funny, they want us to obey them and respect them 'cause they're bigger and can beat the s*** out of you if you talk back. You got nothing against using power to make people weaker than you do what you want. But if YOU'RE on the receiving end, oh yeah, it's 'Gee, you really should think about others' feelings' and 'It's WRONG for you to make someone do things against their will.' You, you're just the same way. You came running into a fight, shootin' lasers and beating people up, and you SAY it was to protect me, but how do I know what you really intended? Now things turned out differently, and you're in trouble, and you stand there shivering trying to think of a way to convince me not to abuse you. Adults, you think you're SO smart, but I know just how you think." He picks up a book- "Origins of Psychology", which looks a little advanced for his age, and has a library sticker on it. "I'm not gonna make you have sex with me. That's what you're worried about, right? Now siddown!" He says it commandingly, but without putting his power behind it. <><><><><> -- Chris doesn't bother to hide her surprise. And there's a bit of happiness in that surprise, as Chad's bitterness is a pleasant surprise. "You're right, Chad. I should have remembered that, with all the fights I had with my mother. And I'm not going to act like I know better, because I don't. But if you really want to know why I was there tonight..." Her expression hardens, her smile narrowing to a firm line. "You're going to have to make me talk." <><><><><> [GM] Chad scowls at you, his temper rising again. "What, is that a dare or something? Don't piss me off, lady! If I have to MAKE you talk, I'll show you just what else I can make you do." He seems to get agitated very easily when challenged. You've met men a little like him before, especially in Hollywood. Men who have a lot of power by virtue of their position, who know it's just a quirk that they're in control of people who are bigger and better than them....so they have to reassure themselves constantly, by reminding everyone else who's in charge at every opportunity. From the way he treats his gang, there seems little doubt he'll give you a demonstration of what he can make you do, at the slightest provocation. How unpleasant a demonstration, you'd hate to guess. His casual violent displays of control may be an insecure little boy's attempt to keep the "big kids" respectful of him (he obviously has made the classic mistake of assuming fear equals respect)...or they might be a sociopathic child's means of entertaining himself. Or both. <><><><><> -- "I'm sure you could make me do a lot of things I'd never even consider doing otherwise." She knows that because she already *is* doing things she would never consider doing, because of the Puppet Master. And Chad is just a junior-sized version of the same thing, a child's energy and ego instead of the elder's purposeful cruelty. Their powers were similar, but could she even hope they would somehow be able to cancel each other...? "But if you don't make me talk, I can't." <><><><><> [GM] Chad's eyes narrow further. "You CAN'T talk? What do you mean?" You feel his mind close on yours again, more forcefully this time, his irritation making his crude manipulation even more tangible than before. Your body actually jerks as he seizes control of you, and says "OK, you want me to MAKE you talk...." And another grip, stronger but unfelt until now, writhes in your brain and severs Chad's hold on you. **Very clever, Miss Tallin** says the Puppet Master. Chad jumps in startlement, and stares at you with renewed malice...and a touch of fear. His mental assault lashes out at you again, slamming through your thoughts and scrambling whatever volition you were beginning to muster. Then the Puppet Master counterattacks. It is a truly unique, and extremely unpleasant, experience to have a telepathic battle raging inside your mind. You're a helpless spectator as you feel Chad trying to assert control over your neural pathways again. The Puppet Master doesn't directly contest him...instead, he allows Chad to control you for an instant, then delves into your mind and severs those contacts, while strengthening his own....which you now realize were there all along, just so inobtrusive neither you nor Chad could feel them. The Puppet Master has been here, in your mind, all along. He let Chad take control of you, but now, with surgical precision, he counters Chad's control attempts. Chad screams for help, while his mental assault changes from an attempt to control you to a brutal mental bludgeon, which the Puppet Master shields you from just a little...enough to keep you conscious, but enough leaks through the Puppet Master's deflection to give you a headache the likes of which you've never experienced before. Stars dance in your vision as you slump in the chair, gasping in pain. Chad finally seems to realize that it's not you fighting him. You feel his mental presence turning, trying to strike at the Puppet Master directly. But the Puppet Master isn't there...Chad strikes at empty ether. The more experienced telepath merely reinforces his control of you, and you feel Chad's presence in your mind become weaker and weaker, as he's forced out. You have to blink tears out of your eyes, as the pain recedes (not entirely, though), and you regain focus. **Collect the boy and bring him out front** the Puppet Master commands. **I'm afraid I can't allow you to injure him, however much you might like to. But you may give him a spanking if you wish.** His laughter echoes malevolently. Chad is still yelling, and heading for the door, which is next to you. <><><><><> -- Her head throbs, her body should be sluggish and slow, but it reacts to orders not hers quickly. Damn him. He predicted every bit of this and was waiting for it. Damn him. She shifts to crystal, her solid form proof against any attempt by Chad to protest, and she reaches to snatch him. She expects he'll be dizzy after the battle over who would pull her strings and easy to corral. Damn them both. They pulled her back and forth like children fighting over a toy. No. Like a child and an adult fighting over a toy, one-sided always and that side looking all the more infantile and selfish for taking part in the contest. She kicks the door open, since she can't kick either Chad or the absent (except in mind) Puppet Master and then strides into the room outside. Her body glistens where it is exposed, bleeding out light energy as a warning. Don't make me fight, don't make me have to... She speaks to them all as she tries to cross the room quickly. "Chad and I are going for a little walk. You don't want to try to stop us, do you?" <><><><><> [GM] "LET GO OF ME YOU F***ING BITCH!" Chad screams. His mental attacks continue to hammer at you, but the Puppet Master, now fully in control again, deflects most of the pain. Most of it. Chad flails and kicks and even tries jabbing his fingers into your eyes...all futile. "I swear to God if you don't lemme go I'm gonna have you crawling on your hands an' knees in a back alley giving blow jobs to street bums!" he snarls. But the rage is mixed with a growing portion of fear...clearly, he's become used to having complete control of everyone around him. Losing that control is sending the boy into a panic. As you slam open the door, you see that there's no need to face off against Chad's gang. They're all lying slumped on the floor or in chairs, apparently asleep. Robert, still in his "Glider" costume, is standing in the center of the room, arms folded. You can't see the smirk beneath his mask, but you're sure it's there. "Did you miss me, cherie?" he asks. Chad stares at him. "KILL THIS BITCH! MAKE HER LET ME GO!" Robert shivers for a moment, but the result of Chad's struggle for control has the same result as with you. Robert laughs. "I'm afraid not, young man." He walks closer, and a blade pops out of his wrist-sheath. He points it at Chad's face. "Now, please calm down. You're a very obnoxious young man, and I'm sorely tempted to hurt you, so behave yourself." Chad turns pale, and his struggles become feeble and half-hearted. "Who the hell are you?" he whimpers. Robert's masked visage turns to you. "Well, would you like to carry this bundle of joy back to Monsieur, or shall I? Oh, I know. You can hold him on your lap. I'll drive." He throws his head back and laughs, as he starts for the door. "Non, actually there is a van waiting for us downstairs. Come along, ma belle, toute suite." "Someone else," Chad whispers. "Someone else is already controlling both of you." <><><><><> -Crystal>- Crystal ignores Robert's jibes, that having been something she hadn't missed one bit during her all too brief 'escape'. She simply holds Chad tightly, ignoring his struggling since he can't hurt her Crystal body except in the mind and he isn't likely to stop that. "Very good, Chad. Now maybe you can start thinking about what 'someone else' is going to do to you." She walks toward the door without even turning to her 'partner'. "Let's get out of here, Robert." <><><><><> [GM] One of the Puppet Master's sullen blond goons is waiting in a van downstairs. Chad tries to control him too, and Robert's hand lashes out in a blur, smacking Chad across the mouth. Even as hateful as the boy is, it makes you wince to see a grown man striking a child like that. "I'm telling you this for your own good, boy....you'd do well to learn to mind your manners very quickly, because the man we're taking you to, he is not so tolerant and patient as the lovely Miss Tallen and myself." Chad huddles against himself and shivers on the drive back. "You were being tracked all along, of course," Robert says. "You didn't really think the Puppet Master was going to let you accidentally escape, did you? He was there, using his powers to hamper the federal agents and facilitate your escape. I flew overhead. I WAS going to swoop down on them as soon as they stopped the car, but he told me to wait." Robert peels his mask off, and smiles at you. "I suppose he was curious to see what Chad would do with you." <><><><><> -Crystal>- "I suppose he was." She sits in the van, her jacket wrapped tight around her, still protected in her crystal body. She was being used all along. She was never anywhere close to on her own and even her attempt at rebellion was carefully choreographed, doomed before it began. She was trapped, indefinitely, by this monster. But she sits, stock still, and keeps her feelings from her faceted features. She won't give Robert the pleasure of seeing her hopelessness. <><><><><> [GM] The rest of the drive back to the Puppet Master's penthouse is quiet. Robert pulls out a cigarette and begins smoking. Chad tries to withdraw into himself, glowering at both of you. At least his mental attacks have stopped. The Puppet Master is waiting, as you and Robert bring Chad in. Robert pushes Chad forward, so the boy stumbles, before jumping to his feet. He stares hard at the older man, trying to look belligerent but mostly looking scared. "So, you've got powers like mine," Chad says. "I guess you're stronger 'cause you're older. Well big deal. I'll get older too. Unless you kill me, but if you wanted to kill me, you could've just had your crystal bimbo or the cheap Wolverine clone do it." The older man looks at him with a cool expression, then smiles, then laughs. "Very good, child. You are a very bright young man, aren't you? Yes, you're quite right, you are more useful to me alive than dead. And I am stronger than you because I am older. You have great power, but no idea how to use it." His eyes sparkle. "I can teach you." Chad stands, in his defensive posture, trying to size up the tall Russian. The Puppet Master continues. "I think there is one thing we should be perfectly clear on, though." Chad screams, clutches his head, and falls to his knees, then curls up on the ground. The Puppet Master shows no sign of doing anything, merely keeps speaking, calmly. "*I* am the master here. You are, IF you learn your lessons well, and continue to be useful to me, a pupil. You will do everything exactly as I tell you, without question. I expect, youthful impertinence being what it is, that you will make several more attempts to resist my authority, regardless of what threats I hold over you. I will tolerate a certain amount of rebelliousness, since it is the only way you will learn the futility of trying to match your unhoned mental faculties against mine. But rest assured, each lesson will be successively harsher and more painful than the last. I trust not many such lessons will be required. My patience is not infinite." Chad whimpers. The Puppet Master looks at you. "Miss Tallin...get the boy cleaned up, and calmed down. I will be waiting for you both in the study." He turns away. "I prefer that my suboordinates learn to cooperate without my constant supervision. So if you decide to abuse one another, I will not intervene. I will, however, not be pleased should one of you inflict permanent damage on the other." He looks at Robert. "Mr. Gaulliere, you are dismissed for now." Robert nods, with a mock salute. The Puppet Master strides out of the room. Robert looks down at Chad disdainfully, then at you. "Need any help, cherie? You don't seem like the motherly type." He laughs, and draws on his cigarette again. "Poor kid...just learned one of life's harder lessons. No matter how bad you be, there's always someone badder." <><><><><> -- "I wouldn't be too sure that is the lesson," Crystal says, still in her diamond-like body, unwilling to shift from it now. The jacket only provides so much by way of modesty. "But you're right. Taking care of children isn't a genetic trait and I can't say I'm looking forward to it." She almost found herself smiling, but then remembered who it was she was talking to. "If you can get started, I'd like to change into something a little less destroyed." She also wanted a chance to get away from this, even if just for a minute. She knew it would only be an illusion of not being part, but she needs that illusion, needs any hint of hope. After tonight, there was so little left... <><><><><> [GM] "Ah, you look good in 'destroyed' clothing, Miss Tallin," he says, in mock imitation of the Puppet Master. He nods. "Go ahead, change into something softer and more appealing to the eye, I take care of the kid. You know, you should maybe think about being nicer to me. After all, I have more autonomy than you. You're still a pawn. I'm maybe a rook or a knight." He laughs. "When we all just playing pieces, you need all the help you can get, non?" He pulls Chad roughly to his feet as you leave the room. <><><><><> -- "Only if you think your only choice is playing the game." She turns and walks quickly to the room she was given, knowing her bravado looked as hollow as it was. She was a pawn, and Robert was right. But she had to keep fighting, somehow. He had made her kill, and if she goes along with him, lets him win, then it is Christine Tallin who killed that man in fact, not just in appearance. And she won't have that. She closes her door behind her and strips off, first the jacket, then her crystal body, then the shreds of the ridiculous costume she'd been forced into. She could use a shower and her heart begs a chance to let the pent frustrations free, but she hasn't the time for either. She chokes back tears and quickly dresses herself in simple, casual clothes from those Tyler had chosen, ignoring her purchases from earlier [assuming they have even arrived here by some means]. And she studies herself in the mirror, taking a moment to take in her new look, her cropped, blackened hair and nervous eyes. Would she be able to stand or would she break? Could anyone stand up to this? Tyler had seemed strong enough when they'd met in New York, but she had seemed like the perfect puppet, spinning clever lies and not offering any hint of a warning. Could she have done differently? She has to believe she could and hope she won't be tested. She swallows back her frustration again and heads back from her room, to get a better look at the rest of her prison. <><><><><> [GM] Chad is standing again, wiping his nose, but the belligerent glare has returned. He slaps Robert's hand away and sneers at you. "Ok, let's go see the high an' mighty bastard," Chad says. "At least you're just as big a sucker as me." Robert laughs, as the two of you leave the room. Approaching the door to the study, Chad mutters "That's what you meant, I had to make you talk, right? You were hoping I could break his control over you." He smiles sarcastically. "And I guess then you figured it would be a cinch to break free from me, 'cause I'm just a little kid." <><><><><> -- "If that is what you'd rather believe, Chad. But I thought it was a last attempt to warn you. For all the good that would have done." Chris can't look at the boy she was used as bait to trap. Because he is, in part, right. Because perhaps by not meeting his eyes, he won't see everything in her head. Because she hates having to admit to such a complete failure. "For either of us." And after that final, quiet phrase, Chris pauses to collect herself as best she can, closing her eyes and taking a final deep breath to at least tamp back the dread and then she leads the way into the study. <><><><><> [GM] The elderly man is sitting behind a fine oak desk. The study is lined with bookshelves, but surprisingly few books, and the impression you get is that they haven't been here long. You notice many of them have covers lettered in Cyrillic alphabet. Some seem to be works of literature, but there are a number that look more like scholarly journals, and atlases. He is staring distantly into space, seated in a plush armchair, his fingers wrapped lightly around the stem of a glass of cognac. At first he seems to take no notice of either of you. Chad stands in front of the desk, arms folded, glowering, but shifts uneasily as the Puppet Master doesn't deign to say anything, or even glance at the boy, or at you. "He's in la-la land," Chad whispers. "High an' mighty mind-controller's goin' senile-" The Puppet Master's eyes focus again, and he looks at Chad with a dark smile. "Not at all, young man." Chad tries not to swallow too hard, while the senior telepath pours himself some more cognac from a bottle on the corner of the desk. "Care to indulge, Miss Tallin? No, I suppose not." He takes a sip. "You really need to learn some respect for your elders, Mister Reiter," he continues. "Yeah, 'respect for my elders', translated as 'I'm gonna beat your ass until you do what I say'" Chad sneers. "Ah, what a sad and tragic life you've had, young man." The Puppet Master shakes his head sympathetically. "You see, Miss Tallin, how young people grow up, directionless and with no moral character, when not raised properly?" He gestures to Chad. "Sit down. Both of you." His voice has that commanding edge again. Chad obeys reluctantly, sitting down next to you. "Mister Reiter...you have great telepathic potential, but you've learned only the crudest forms of menta manipulation," he says. "There is a great deal I can teach you." "I know what I need to know," Chad mutters. "You know how to seize motor control of unprotected people, and to a certain extent, override their volitional instincts as well," the Puppet Master says. "You have no idea how to insinuate yourself into someone's mind and make subtle alterations in their psychological composition. You have learned nothing about reading thoughts, transmitting noncompulsory messages, manipulating the locuses of emotive control-" "Man, I don't even understand half those words!" Chad says. "Don't interrupt me!" the Puppet Master snaps. Chad sits up straight, startled. The man glares at Chad for a moment, then relaxes slightly. "Yes, I can see your education is woefully deficient." "I can see you like showin' off big words," Chad shoots back. The Puppet Master gives him a long, silent stare, though from the way Chad's face drains of color, you suspect it's silent only on the audial level. Finally, he speaks out loud again. "I will teach you things. Gradually. We will develop an understanding along the way." He looks at you. "This is not to say that you won't be serving a useful purpose immediately, both of you. Tomorrow....I will be moving my current base of operations. I have various tasks you will perform to help accomplish that mission. However, Miss Tallin, I want it understood....from this point forward, your purpose in life is Mister Reiter. You will accompany him wherever he goes-" "'zat mean she follows me into the bathroom?" Chad cuts in. The Puppet Master gives him another lethal warning glare, before continuing, "You will see to it that he has whatever he needs, so long as I approve, you will ensure his well-being." "Oh boy, you an' me, Babe!" Chad grins at you in his best imitation of an adult leer, elbowing you in the side. But he's still shaken, and young, and his attempt to mimic lecherousness- to your relief- comes off very unconvincing. The Puppet Master is obviously not one with a great deal of patience for children. He sighs, watching Chad's antics with a dour expression. "Rest assured, young man, we will be...communicating...at great length, as to the role she will play from your point of view. First and foremost, she is to protect you from harm. You will both be dealing with other metahumans, and sometimes, your mental powers may be insufficient to ensure your safety." Chad slumps back in his seat. "Yeah, great. Who protects me from you?" The Puppet Master smiles. "You are dismissed for now, Miss Tallin. Stay in the townhouse. You may watch television, or read, if you wish. Or play chess with Mister Gaulliere." He chuckles. "But no phone calls." <><><><><> -- Chris is silent during the part of the audience she is allowed to attend, not responding to the Puppet Master's jibes at all, simply sitting at his order and watching him with level, cold eyes. His order isn't unexpected, not since his last order to her. As if she knows how to look after a teenager just because she's a woman. She hadn't chosen not to have a child just because it would take her away from her work for too long or because it would be too much work to get back into shape afterwards. It was because she strongly suspected... no, more than that. Because she *knew* she didn't have what it took to be a parent. She'd never even had a good example what a real, caring parent was like except in movies. But maybe she would be able to do some good. Chad would need someone other than Robert and... Even a clumsy pseudo-mother had to be better than either of them in trying to help the angry boy into something more than he was now. Not that she had to like the role. In fact, just because he wanted her to do it was enough of a reason to dislike the idea. "I thought I was going to be the cover girl for a national 'coalition,' not a den mother. Or did you already give up on all the ideas you had that duplicate spout on television? I already told you I don't like what you're doing or being part of it, and you know that's true as well as I do. But since you won't let me not be part of it, can't you at least let me know what I'm supposed to be doing more than a few minutes in advance so I can do it right? I mean, this is hardly a maternal look." She points up to her cropped, dyed hair and smiles thinly. "You're a lot more subtle than Chad, sure. But I've been used by people who didn't have the advantage of mind control and you've got as much to learn as him. Maybe more, because he at least sees how little he knows, even if he won't always admit it." Then she stands, as he suggested, and walks to the door, turning back just before she exits. "Ohh... You didn't tell me if you liked the new look or not. Am I supposed to guess you approve since you didn't stop me?" <><><><><> [GM] "Oh yes, you will still be, publically, a magnet for other metahumans," the Puppet Master says. "I believe Mr. Reiter, once his talents are properly cultivated, will be an invaluable tool in that regard." "You are welcome to share your expertise in generating a desired public image- later. As for your appearance, so long as you do not adopt too outrageous a guise, I see no need to dictate to you the length and color of your hair." <><><><><> -- "I'm overwhelmed by your trust," Chris says, her instincts overwhelming her decision to attempt to gain his trust. As if she could disguise the disgust every time he gives her an order... But she won't get any hints of what she will be forced to do next now, that is clear. And that means being anywhere except in the room with him was far, far better than being here. She turns sharply and leaves, deciding first that it would be good to explore this place, even if they are leaving it tomorrow. Robert had mentioned a prisoner, and surely there were other puppets. She had to know more, in case there was ever a chance to use the knowledge... <><><><><> [GM] The townhouse is very nicely furnished, but it doesn't have much of a "lived-in" look. This is apparently just a temporary headquarters for the Puppet Master. Aside from a few more books written in various European languages, mostly Russian (or something else that uses the Cyrillic alphabet), there is very little of interest. He apparently also doesn't keep anything of high informational value here. Robert seems to have left. On the ground floor, you find a pair of muscular, hard-looking types with disassembled machine guns spread out on the floor in front of them. They are cleaning the gun parts, while watching a football game on the television. They look up immediately when you come down the stairs, their expressions immediately turning to the predictable lustful stares. "Hello, miss," one says. "You going to keep us company?" His grin is probably what passes for 'inviting' in his mind. <><><><><> -- "Oh, no. I wouldn't want to tear you away from your guns and football. I'm just wandering..." These two are yet another example of how little difference there is between the Puppet Master and Chad. They both seem to go for the basest brutes as their troops. But that doesn't explain why he came after her... Anyway, she would have to work with these two and it might help if they kept exactly the feelings they had now, if only so they would give her a bit more attention and maybe more of an opening if one ever happens... "I'm Chris." She continues down the stairs and stops a few feet away from the men. "I guess we'll be working together, so we might as well be on a first name basis." She offers the marginally more polite Neanderthal a cover-girl smile, no feeling but enough charm he won't notice. And she pointedly avoids looking at his partner. "So, is there anything interesting around this place? I'm not much on television and the upstairs was dull beyond belief." <><><><><> [GM] "I am Kolya," the man you're addressing says, with a slightly friendlier expression. "A pleasure to meet you, Chris." He peers intently at the bolt carrier of his weapon, scrapes off a bit of carbon, and sets it down carefully. "I am afraid there probably is not much here interest you. If you are bored, maybe we think of something...?" He cocks an eyebrow at you with a smarmy smile. The other man says something to him in Russian. Kolya answers, they exchange a few more words, then Kolya says "Ivan speaks English less than me. Ah, you are one of the Colonel's ubermen, yes? A...conscript." There's a bit of sympathy in his expression, albeit overshadowed by lecherousness. <><><><><> -- "'conscript,'" Chris repeats, her smile vanishing all at once. "That's one word for it. A lot nicer than the one I'd have choosen. But yes, I am one of your Colonel's... 'supermen.'" A thought and she is Crystal, reflecting the television's glow in her shimmering form. She holds out her arms and spins slowly, practiced in showing herself for critical appraisal. "So," she continues, without changing back just yet, "is it really just you two, the Colonel, the kid, Robert and I? Don't you ever get visits from Tyler and her chameleon friend? Or anyone else?" <><><><><> [GM] Neither of them seem intimidated by your transformation, though it does surprise them a bit. Kolya smiles. "The Colonel has not seen fit to enlighten you much, obviously. Well, I'm sure he has his reasons. But no, Ivan and me, we are here, how you say, errand boys, if something comes up." He chuckles as he begins assembling his submachine gun. "Whatever the Colonel has in mind for you, Chris, it is only a small little part of his plans. And we, we obey him as we always have." Ivan speaks to Kolya in Russian again. Kolya shakes his head as he answers. They speak for another few moments, then Kolya makes a dismissive gesture and snaps something at his comrade. "I apologize, is rude to speak in front of someone when they do not understand, no? Ivan is very suspicious of you. But I am sure if the Colonel wished you not to talk to us, you would not be here." <><><><><> -- "You seem to trust his judgement, don't you? Well, I have my doubts with that kid. I think he's a lot more trouble than he'll ever be worth." Chris shifts back to flesh and blood, feeling all the more helpless in her natural self and wanting that feeling now, wanting to see hints of these two being more than puppet thugs. Had he left human feelings there or just a mask of them? "I wish I could say the same for myself... But I don't think I was any trouble at all. Just one little phone call and I opened my door to him... You know, you're right about him not being worried about me. He said I could do almost anything I wanted around here. Except make a phone call. I guess that might be him being nice or something, keeping me away from the phones up front rather than leaving me to try and then freeze one digit from finishing a number or not be able to speak or whatever..." She's letting herself ramble and the desperation creeping into her voice is far too easy to summon up. In fact, as it builds she worries she won't be able to stop it. "He won't tell me what he wants to do with me. He makes it sound like I'm going to be part of some big public show, then he uses me as a babysitter and kill..." She freezes, suddenly, in the middle of the word. Killer. She had killed that government agent, and maybe more than him. She had tried to deny it at the time, but now it was so clear. He rebellion, her independence, her little games, they were all a joke. If she'd kill for him, she'd do anything he told her to do. There was no use pretending. Her stream of words jumble and are lost, unspoken, and he turns even as hot, angry tears begin to form. She had been trying to see what she could learn from these two, but her act had turned all too real. There was no use playing at this. She wanted to be alone, she had to be. They were just as helpless as her, so they couldn't be any help. Chris rushes from the room back up the stairs to the room they had put her few remaining belongings in, as well as her new purchases. She ignores all of that and drops into a chair looking out the window. She sees her own features reflected over the tiny view of the world now out of her reach. The free world she couldn't return to. She leans her forehead against the cool glass and cries. <><><><><> [GM] The sun sinks, and the room grows dark. You hear some movement in the house, indications that the Puppet Master and his puppets are still acting out his schemes, but you are mercifully left alone. You don't even feel his looming presence in your mind...but then, you already know that he doesn't have to perceptible to you for him to be closely monitoring your every move. Your every thought. He seems to have more than a tiny sadistic streak. Maybe he's laughing right now, drinking up your pain and despair, reveling in his total control of your life. Then again, he could be enjoying his total control over you in another obvious way. Most men, assuming they were as soulless and amoral as the Puppet Master seems to be, wouldn't hesitate to enjoy having your body as their compliant plaything. Aside from some veiled threats of turning you over to his men, he's shown no inclination to abuse you in that way. So perhaps you are just an insignifant cog in his schemes....the destruction of your life, the unthinkable cruelty, is just an unfortunate side effect of his plans, and your anguish is beneath his notice. Neither line of thinking is very productive, or at all cheering. You don't know what time it is, or how long you've been sitting by the window, when the door opens. Chad is standing in the light. "His big high an' mightiness said to tell you to make sure I go to bed," Chad sneers. "Hell if I know why he didn't just tell you himself, in your mind. I don't need no one to tuck me in-" For just an instant, he pauses, his face reflecting uncertainty, as he notices your anguished, tear- stained face. Then the belligerent attitude falls back in place like a hand slipping into a well-worn glove. "-so if you don't mind, just sniffle quietly." He kicks off his shoes, and pulls his shirt off, and climbs into the bed next to the one on which you're sitting, wearing his stained jeans and dirty socks, and pulls the covers over his head. <><><><><> -- Nothing had resolved itself by the time Chad came back to the room. The only explanations that made any sense left her just as helpless, just as hopeless. But the boy's return reminds her that she does have things to do, she has to keep trying, as hopeless as it looks. Chad needs to be looked after, and she needs to find out what's being said about what happened on the news. If she'd been recognized. How many died... She looks at the lump in the bed that was Chad moments ago and shakes her head. She couldn't do much good for him either, between not knowing how to deal with children and the negative influence of Robert and the Puppet Master himself. He would just hide behind years of anger and stay just as hurt and bitter as he already was, and all she can really do is watch. She waits until it sounds like he actually has gone to sleep, which shouldn't take long after the day he's had (and possibly with the Puppet Master's help... can he do that as well, or are there at least *some* limits on his control?), then she slips quietly out of the room, finding a bath to clean up her face, then heading back to where she saw the television, hoping she's somewhere near the right time to find some local news... <><><><><> [GM] Kolya and Ivan are still down in the TV room. Their weapons are now assembled and sitting next to them, and as luck would have it, they are watching the evening news with interest. You see cameras outside the strip mall, showing the shattered exterior of the video game parlor. [Evening news broadcasts, nationwide] "Another alleged metahuman incident has occurred in St. Louis, Missouri, resulting in at least two dead. The incident took place at this small video game parlor in the downtown section, only eight blocks from the riverfront." Cameras show a strip mall, with the shattered exterior of a video arcade, blown apart games sitting inside behind destroyed windows and cracked and burned walls. The laundromat next it clearly suffered some collateral damage. "Federal agents were involved in an alleged attempt to capture a young metahuman who was playing video games at this popular teen hangout. According to witnesses, when the law enforcement agents moved in, some of the teenagers in the arcade produced pistols and submachine guns, and a battle broke out! Though details are sketchy, witnesses definitely saw at least one man who appeared to be flying overhead, and a glowing figure who fired what has been described as 'beams of light'- possibly lasers- into the firefight. There may have been other metahumans involved, but the St. Louis police and the FBI are both refusing to release any details of the incident at this time. NBC news has been unable to determine even *which* agency was responsible for the raid, and whether they had a warrant to attack a location known to harbor large numbers of children." "It is unclear on which side, if any, the metahumans were fighting during this incident, but several law enforcement agents and children were taken to the hospital. Some are listed in critical condition, and we have unconfirmed reports of at least two dead." "Though she was not specifically identified as being the alleged 'glowing figure' in this incident, the world of modeling was shocked today when the FBI, at a weekly press conference, announced that supermodel Christine Tallin, more recently revealed as a metahuman herself, with the adopted pseudonym 'Crystal', is now wanted for questioning, though no arrest warrant has yet been issued." [A short segment follows, showing a few photos of Christine Tallin in celebrity shoots, then a brief recap of the events surrounding her transformation into a metahuman; the two battles with Lucretia in New York, then the press conference in California, where the spot focuses on her 'temper tantrum' and intimidation of the journalists who showed up there.] "Coming later this week, on 'Dateline'; What IS the government doing about metahumans? We encountered closed doors and 'unconfirmed rumors' nearly everywhere we went, but from around the country there are reports of government agents hunting metahumans, sometimes with metahuman help themselves. Is a shadow agency operating without a charter, right here in the U.S.? And CAN we really do anything about superhuman terrorists like Deathstorm, Cyclone, and Terrarizer? So far, the only effective countermeasures against metahumans have been other metahumans. Are we helpless against this 'new breed'?" Kolya looks at you. "This was first time you were in battle?" he asks solemnly. <><><><><> -- "You saw the tape. Lucretia doesn't count as 'battle' to you? She almost killed me, twice. That was a lot worse than this." But she knows what he means, and she knows he's right. Lucretia was a psychotic individual and fighting her was fighting to survive. What she did to the government agents, what she did to their metahuman... What Lucretia did to her healed in days. What she had done (been made to do, she reminds herself, clinging to the last scrap of hope) would take much longer to recover from. Her sharp anger fades as quickly as it rose, and her voice is soft as she speaks again. "A month ago, all I cared about was being a pretty face, a good picture for the cameras. Now people are dying because of me, I'm being used as a weapon to kill people... All I wanted to do was help people, make the world better. And all I've managed to do is make it worse." She looks at Kolya with eyes that barely hold back renewed tears. "What am I supposed to do to make things right?" <><><><><> [GM] "What is right?" Kolya asks. "I have no answers for you, Chris." He reaches out and puts his hand on yours. "I cannot set you free, but there is anything else I can do?" <><><><><> -- Chris blinks at his touch, not sure how to react. Was the honestly concerned, understanding, or was his only thought the familiar lust she'd made a career out of toying with? And, just now, did she care? Or did she just need at least an illusion of comfort, at least for a moment... She smiles, a slight, frightened expression, tentative. His hand is warm and strong above hers, her eyes search his for something, anything that might show a sign of depth to his action, a hint that he really does understand... "Just... what you're doing. Please..." She raises her free hand, lightly trapping his, her fingers delicately tracing the feel of him as her mind tries to shut out everything else. <><><><><> [GM] Kolya smiles. "OK." He holds your hand, and moves to touch your cheek with the other. You find no answers in his eyes. His smile seems sincere enough, but he doesn't strike you as the most empathetic sort. Maybe a pretty female in distress just had a softening effect on him, typical for men, or maybe he's just trying to take advantage of your vulnerability. Or maybe he's in the same boat as you, as Robert hinted earlier. You don't know him at all, how can you judge? But it's the first remotely human contact you've had in what seems like forever, even if it's been only a few days. <><><><><> -- Chris leans against his hand, her cheek warm, tears beginning to drip slowly from her eyes and wet his fingers. She knew better than to trust him, to trust anyone she met here in the Puppet Master's circle of agents and thugs. But she needed someone, anyone, just for a few minutes of time with simple humanity. No words, just the simple presence of him next to her, giving her a grounding, a hint of support. If only there was some hint of a way out, some sign that freedom was possible, even only as a dim hope in the future. But her situation was hopeless, and even if she was freed, she would have to answer for what she did and her life would be over. She was trapped, forever. And Kolya was the only hint of anything other than cold inhumanity around her. She sighs lightly, snuggling her cheek against his touch. <><><><><> [GM] Kolya pulls your face gently towards his. "I do not have any pretty words to give you, Chris," he murmurs. "I am not so good at English, and I am soldier. But you are very beautiful, and is sad to see you cry so." <><><><><> -- She looks at him, wondering. Is he an free man, following the Puppet Master out of his own twisted desires or locked in some military sense of loyalty, or is he another puppet? Is this all another manipulation, of her of them both? Does any of it matter now? As she looks in her eyes, she finds herself drawn forward, so close now, her tears stopped but still glistening in the corners of her eyes. She should get away from him, now. The Puppet Master would be only to pleased to have her giving in to desperate need for human contact. Or would he be happier to have her hurt and empty, alone and helpless? Was she helping herself or hurting herself? Does any of it matter now? It takes only a small movement forward to allow her to press a kiss against Kolya's lips, even as she tries to determine if this is making a decision or simply trying to better understand his motives... <><><><><> [GM] Kolya returns the kiss enthusiastically. He's not a bad kisser, though a little aggressive. The hand that isn't on your face moves to your side, stays there though you can almost feel his stifled impulse to start roaming elsewhere. Behind Kolya, Ivan looks at the two of you scornfully, then slouches in his chair and fixes his attention on the TV screen. <><><><><> -- She is suddenly sure she shouldn't be doing this. The man is a stranger, almost totally unknown to her, a soldier for the Puppet Master who is only thinking about a beautiful woman he wants, not about a person, not about her. She is suddenly sure this is exactly what she needed. The touch of another human being, something to anchor her, to give her hope in the turbulent, collapsing world she is trapped in. She is suddenly sure that she has no idea what she should do next. But she knows that she will have to have acted before she can think this all through. Their kiss continues, Chris enjoying his strength, his forcefulness, frightened of his strength, his forcefulness. Torn between turning away and guiding him forward, she simply continues where they are, unsure how she should react and so surrendering the initiative she took by starting their kiss. <><><><><> [GM] Kolya's hand *does* start to roam, as he presses you back against the couch, still kissing you hungrily. His lips go from your mouth to your throat, as he continues taking the initiative you've relinquished to him. He seems either unconcerned, or to have forgotten completely, about his comrade. <><><><><> -- Chris finds her body racing ahead of her mind, reacting to Kolya's touch, to her own adrenaline- drenched day, by moving almost wantonly against him, seeking his hands, reveling in his fingers and lips... It has been so long, she thinks. Despite no end of offers, Chris knew it was better to be careful than not. And while her mind had not yet decided about this strange Russian, this man who may well serve her cruel master willingly, her instincts push her on like they hadn't since Pa... NO! She can't think of him, not here and now. She pushes all thought of him away, trying to keep the Puppet Master's mental hands away from him, away from... She can't even consider what he could do with that sort of 'puppet' and she can only pray it will never happen. She'd stiffened at the thought, probably enough that Kolya noticed. She has to clear her mind, fill it with other things. With the easiest thing at hand... She leans forward to whisper in his ear. "Do you want me, Kolya? Because if you tell me you want me..." She pauses to nibble at his earlobe, her hands moving to slide down his back. "Just tell me that and I'm yours..." DARK CRYSTAL Part III [Christine Tallin, still enslaved to the Puppet Master, has found the only escape available to her...in the arms of one of the Puppet Master's Russian henchmen.] [GM] Kolya's breathing is heavy and his hands and mouth on you are more forceful, far more demanding, than P- than anyone else's who you've been with. He's as eager and unsubtle as a horny teenager in the back of a car, but not nearly so clumsy or inept. He continues to, not quite force, but definitely guide you, onto your back, sinking against the couch as he looms over you, hard, unhesitant hands moving over you and stirring passions which no longer seem inappropriate, even if this time and place and this man would have been inconceivable to the old Chris Tallin. He lets you nibble his earlobe a little bit, as he kisses your throat, then moves lower. "You like to be admired, yes?" he rasps, as his hands pull at your shirt, almost tearing it from your body. "Oh yes, I want you, Chris." <><><><><> -<><><><> [Kolya demonstrates a sadistic streak that makes Chris increasingly uneasy. Their tryst is interrupted briefly when Chris demands protection- Kolya sends Ivan to get it, and while he's gone, suggests Chris sleep with both of them, which she refuses. Kolya reluctantly accepts her refusal, and Ivan returns, after which Chris and Kolya finish what they started.] <><><><><> -- And, all too soon, it is over. And as the glow of the moment fades, the doubts sweep in like a storm. What made her pick *this* man? He showed every sign of being cruel and abusive under the thinnest of disguises and she shouldn't even have *considered* doing anything with him. Will she be able to get away from him now, or will he consider her 'his'? So far as she is concerned, this was a one-time thing and its over now, never to be repeated. She doubts he thinks similarly. And what about the Puppet Master? Was this a little game of his, set to subtly twist her mind into this sort of uncharacteristic behavior? Or was it just a random event that he was sitting back and playing mental voyeur into? But the new persona she created for her enslaved self, that tiny, false part of her is happy. This is what she would do, regularly. A different man every night, several others teased and forgotten. Maybe she should add that game to the act. It would be a whole lot better than spending long hours dreaming of freedom that may never come. She slips free of Kolya's embrace and gathers her clothes. She slips on her panties and shirt, drapes the rest over her arm. She also retrieves the remaining condoms. The cold mask of her act slips into place. "Thanks, soldier. After the day I've had, I needed that." She turns, then, and goes back to her room. <><><><><> [GM] You're still gathering your clothes when a heavy knock shakes the door. "Tovarisch!" Without waiting, it swings open, and Ivan and three other men crowd in, all wearing full black commando outfits and holding automatic weapons. They pause for just a moment, ravishing you with their eyes, but seem more concerned with something else. "Shto?" Kolya demands, looking annoyed but not embarrassed as he quickly pulls his pants on. He asks questions, rapid-fire, getting terse answers. You can't follow the Russian conversation of course, but something is up. Something that has them agitated, and dangerous. You'd be frightened, except for the security of Crystal that you (hope) is always ready within you, that and the fact that you seem to have become inconsequential to those soldiers. Just a half-naked woman decorating their domicile, like the weapons and gear and other supplies. "Forgive me, Chris," Kolya says, with something of the charm he showed initially. Not much, though. It's chillingly obvious; he accomplished his mission, and now either no longer cares about your sensibilities, or believes you're his. "Will you excuse us please?" It seems you're being dismissed. <><><><><> -- A reflex reaction has Chris covering her nudity, as little good as that does. She turns away from the soldier's eyes and manages to cover herself, at least nominally. And, quite suddenly, she realizes what Kolya is doing. He was treating her like an object, a simple thing to be used then sent away. He was treating her (just like she had decided to treat him) inexcusably. She glares at him, but the right words won't form. Hadn't she expected this? Wasn't this what she wanted, an all but faceless, unattached physical fling, over as quickly as it started? Or was it just as empty as she'd always known this sort of 'relationship' has to be, clearly shown so very quickly? She gathers the clothes she isn't wearing and pushes through the group of soldiers, making her way to her room and, once there, tosses the clothing down, finds a modest robe, and makes her way to the bathroom. She needs a shower. <><><><><> [GM] A hot shower cleans your body, though it doesn't touch your soul. While in the bathroom connected to the room you are now forced to share with Chad, you hear movement in the townhouse; Kolya and his men seem to be moving around, possibly joined by others. The commotion has ended by the time you emerge. In the dim glow of the small nightlight you left on so you could maneuver about the bedroom, you see a glint of light reflecting from Chad's open eyes. That makes you involuntarily gasp, but Chad isn't even looking at you. He's staring up at the ceiling. <><><><><> -- The heat of the shower does little to clear away Chris' growing disgust with herself. Was she really trying to present a loyal face to the Puppet Master to win his trust (how do you fool a mind reader by acting loyal when he can see behind the act and know the truth?), or was she trying to use extreme behavior to give someone watching a clue what had happened (sure, it was very likely that they'd decide she was acting like this because her mind was controlled, not because her new powers had gone to her head), or was it all just an excuse? Was she actually *enjoying* the adventure of a criminal life, the sleazy side of her life finally set free? The water doesn't wash away doubt or guilt. But, eventually, she has to give up trying and return to her room, try to sleep. But Chad is awake, staring at the ceiling... "Chad? Are you all right?" <><><><><> [GM] Chad mutters "I'm fine." He blinks, then smiles slyly. "You don't feel it, do you?" He chuckles a little, almost a giggle in his childish voice. <><><><><> -Christine Tallin>- Chris's world is suddenly narrowed, focused on Chad and whatever it is he is observing. A chance to escape...? "Feel what? Is something going on?" <><><><><> [GM] Chad looks at you. "No, nothing's going on. Go to sleep." He rolls over, turning his back to you. <><><><><> -Christine Tallin>- "Chad..." Chris's voice is suddenly maternal, disbelieving. She knew Chad didn't really trust her, had no reason to trust her since she had been the bait that brought him into this trap, but she knew that being sharp with him was the worst possible response. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so. There's no need to lie to me." <><><><><> [GM] Chad stirs, and looks back at you, with an unfathomable expression. "Go. To. Bed." he says carefully. His look is intense, but not malign as you've seen before. He seems to be trying to convey something, but it's opaque to you. Is he trying to mind-control you? You don't feel anything, but it could be that the Puppet Master put a lock on his powers to prevent him from using them on you anymore. <><><><><> -- "Chad, I..." Chris is about to correct him for his behavior, but then she notices his uncharacteristic manner. Was he trying to tell her something? He hadn't understood her all too hidden warnings earlier, she couldn't afford to miss his... "All right. But I hope you'll be more cooperative if... no, that's *when* we have to appear in public." How *was* she going to explain him in appearances? A victim she was protecting personally? That wouldn't hold up long if he'd behaved anything like she'd seen him in the days before they met. The press would eat her story of an innocent, helpless child for breakfast and then have her for lunch. She had to do a lot better than that. Or not, if she wants to fail. Could she willingly do something she knows won't work to defy the Puppet Master? Probably not. But it is worth considering... She slips off her robe, now wearing only a long and somewhat dull nightshirt. She slips into the bed she supposes must be hers and, after a moment of looking toward whatever it was Chad saw on the ceiling, not expecting to see anything, closes her eyes and hopes sleep will come without dreams. <><><><><> [GM] Your sleep is disturbed, not by dreams, but by voices. Robert, and (from the quality of his voice) one of the Russian thugs, you think. Speaking in barely-suppressed tones not far outside your door. Chad is unmoving; whether he too has been awakened or not, you can't tell. <><><><><> -- The voices wake Chris with a start. If she had any hopes of this being a horrible dream, they were dashed now. She had awakened right back in it. As damned as when she went to sleep. But she listens, trying to see what it was Robert had to say that was so important he didn't even bother hiding it from her. <><><><><> [GM] The reason Robert is unconcerned about your possible eavesdropping becomes frustratingly apparent....they're speaking in French. And your two years of required high school foreign language is unfortunately insufficient to pick up more than a word here or there. Abruptly, the conversation drifts briefly into English, as one of them- sounds like Robert- is leaving. Flunky: "....other woman....telepath?" Robert: "....otherwise....kill..." Flunky (with a notable leer in his voice): "...fun with....first...Kolya." Robert (coldly): "Not my.....think so." <><><><><> -- Why did he have to speak French? There's so little she knows about what's going on, every little bit is another treasure of hope, another glimmer of a chance that she might be able to escape. To what, she doesn't know. Perhaps just the life of a fugitive or a prisoner. But a life that was hers, entierly, not just hers for the desperate moments she fights for, and then only gains as what are probably illusions. But she's awake now, and so she rolls to sit at the side of her bed. She won't get back to sleep easily, so she might as well have a look around, meet some new people. And if what she had heard was any hint, they probably all expected her to flounce about half-dressed now. She'd hate to disappoint them, and it would be at least a minor victory to watch them trip over each other to try to follow in Kolya's 'footsteps.' Not that any of them would. He'd been an impulse thing, but it might be a good lever for her. Now they all had reason to hope, they thought, and she could get something for that. She stands and crosses to the door, listening to see if they are still just outside... <><><><><> [GM] Robert is gone. One of the Russian commandos, who you saw earlier but whose name you didn't catch, is dressed in dark, bulky urban street clothes, and holding a submachine gun. He was leaning against the wall, just outside your door, lighting up a cigarette. He looks up and half- raises his weapon when you crack the door, then grins, showing yellowed teeth, with one prominently missing. "Dobri uchie, tovarischa." He struggles to produce a few English words, "You...not sleep? Come out, yes?" <><><><><> -- "Yes, I'm awake. And yes, I've decided to come out. Are you supposed to keep me from doing that or is that gun just part of the look you've chosen?" Chris doesn't care what this man wants or thinks, she wants this chance to explore and this time won't be distracted. After all, the gun couldn't stop her as Crystal... Could it? <><><><><> [GM] "No, you come out is okay," the soldier says. He tries to touch your cheek. "You cannot leave, but." <><><><><> -- "I know I'm not allowed to leave. I got that order directly from Him," Chris says, even as she turns away and snags the soldier's hand before it reaches her, holding his wrist. "But I'm allowed to walk around *inside* the house, aren't I? He was pretty clear that I could." <><><><><> [GM] "Sure, you walk around," the soldier says. Your stopping his attempt to paw you seems to amuse him more than frustrate. He follows you with a stupid grin as you pace the townhouse. "But nothing here." Which seems to be true; it would appear that you, Chad, and your transparently lecherous "guard" are alone in the building. <><><><><> -- "So we're all alone, are we? Robert got out of here quickly, didn't he? And you won't tell me where everyone's gone, will you?" Chris doesn't expect any help from this man, and won't be disappointed without it. With no one around, she's free to explore the house as she's wanted to for some time, checking each room she finds, starting on the ground floor and looking for a basement, which she'll search out as well. But she won't turn on light