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[The Alchemist]

"A wizard? Oh dear no I'm not a wizard. I'm Lloyd Absolon, just a businessman trying to scratch out a living," Lloyd said shaking slightly as beads of sweat began forming on his brow,"Also please excuse my demeanor, let's just say I've been delivered quite a shock today. Anyways, you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here and what is that device?"

[racnor]

Elton stepped through the open doorway."I can answer both of those at once, luckily. I built this about six months ago. Its a scanner for detecting... well, so far, it's just been a scanner for detecting me. You're the only other person I've found who it responds to. Anyway, we both seem to be building weird things. You have these impossible things, and I have.. well, I have a handheld disco ball that tells me where I am and" Elton shifts his collar to reveal a mass of wires and glass where his right lung should be, covered by a thin layer of skin "this thing. I have no Idea what it is, but it started this whole thing. I don't suppose you've ever blacked out and deformed yourself?".
Elton looks past Lloyd and into the factory. "what do you Build here anyway?

[The Alchemist]

"Those are both very interesting," Lloyd said staring at Elton's chest. Lloyd then caught himself and brought his eyes back towards Elton's and said,"Oh right, well I've never blacked out and deformed myself and as for what I build," Lloyd whistled and Ayana stepped out from the shadows. "I build these automatons, currently there are two working models bolters and ringers. This one right here is a bolter or a guard of sorts. The ringers are my workers and I hope we'll be able to start producing a variety of products in the near future. At least enough to begin justifying the costs of building more of these. Lloyd lead Elton down onto the loading docks where a group of ringers were clustered around the damaged one that has had its head rebuilt with the ringers currently fixing its arm. "Right about that, it seems the police snooped around and damaged some of my property. That should hopefully be dealt with now," Lloyd paused for a moment "Seeing as you're quite a talented individual," Lloyd said his eyes quickly darting back to Elton's chest,"I think it would be in my best interests to keep you on my good side. So please tell me if there is something you would like."

[Caesar]

Red looked at the newspaper in a tense silence, chewing on a sandwich with cheese and ham. Under normal circumstances he would have felt a dull disappointment upon realizing that he had forgotten to butter the bread. Right now, however, his mind was somewhere else. The story had absorbed his thoughts, and he felt like he was there, in person.

For it was a warm but smoggy evening, and as was usual in this town, the various elements of organized crime were going about their dealings, exchanging drugs for weapons, weapons for money, money for women and women for drugs. Red found himself lying on the ground, a bottle in his hands. Man, how he loved that bottle. His drink, however, looked remarkably clear and crimson red. Red.. Was he even Red? – A thrill went through his spine; He had always loved taking on roles in stories. – He took a sip. It tasted like plain old vodka, with an emphasis on 'old' and 'vodka' being a metaphore for 'piss with alcohol'. And where there's piss, there's shit. With a hazy drunken gaze he looked up as combat started, as both parties opened fire on each other. But was it really a battle? Of course not. Stories, yes- They had to be coherent, to make sense and everything had to fit together. Did it? No! It made no sense. The Irish mobsters and the Russian maffia maintained good and 'peaceful' relations, in their own interest. It was not a fight with significant losses on two sides, but a massacre of both parties.

There were several red drops on the paper. In his enthusiasm to read the article, he had managed to cut his finger while preparing the sandwich. Mentioning his sandwich; he had finished it. With somewhere between a sigh and a concentrated groan he starting preparing a new sandwich – cheese and ham – as he continued to read, the story now different in his mind.

He no longer felt drunk, the bottle long gone from his hands, leaking its poisonous contents on the ground. Even the most rundown individuals of society knew when to take cover. He curled up. Frightened, he stared. One, two or maybe three men opened fire on the unaware maffia. Taking advantage of the panic, they mowed down a majority. Quickly the fluids of life ran across the dusty ground – a colorful sight to Red – and the gunmen finished their brutal work on the maffia. Nothing but corpses were left in their wake. Corpses, and a hobo who took up his bottle once more with trembling hands, almost content to live death another day.

Red smiled at himself. He was not extremely arrogant, but modesty was definitely not his strongest point either. And to be honest; His story sounded much better. Those reporters did not know how storytelling worked. Luckily, he did. Now that he had figured out that there should have been a third party, he had to find the unlucky witness in his story, and extract the information. And who could do that better than his kindred? Red left his sandwich on the table, suddenly almost unaware of its existence. He spent several moments dressing himself appropriately, or, depending on your taste; Inappropriately, then left his appartment.



It was raining. Johnny and three of his pals were holed up underneath a little make-shift shelter. They kept a fire burning in a barrel, and they were eating. Several of their friends were out, running errands. They did not quite have any direction, and they were unsure what to do with their spare time, but at least they knew how to survive together, and it looked okay. He had missed the warmth of company, and this fire merely served to represent the thing that really kept him going; Compatriotship. He put his cards aside with a somewhat amused groan. "Fine, Robbins. I fold. Take the bottlecaps." Robbins just laughed – a slightly cracked sound, he got hit in the throat by a mugger once and never fully recovered – and laid bare his cards. "High cawrd, kaing. Took ye' by th'nose 'gain, aight?" Johnny gave him the finger, and received a pat on the back in return. He looked into the rain, watched for a few moments as it formed puddles on the ground, as it seeped into the overflown sewage systems, as it washed out dirt, then left it somewhere else. He looked back to the game, examining his cards. Ace and queens. Well, that might turn out alright. Placing his blind, he looked at his companions again.

Mike, Blink and Quinn were out tonight. Quinn was the only woman in their group, but everybody liked her. Used to be a prostitute. Johnny picked her off the street after she got beaten up by a 'client'. Patched her up, fed her, and like with the rest of them, in the end she had just grown to like the group. Sometimes she acted a bit like a nutcase, a clown if you would prefer that. But that only served to lighten the mood. Which was quite necessary, sometimes. Mike was a little bit of an oddity. He used to be a doctor. Ol' alcohol did to him what it had done to Johnny, however, and he made a mistake during surgery, plagued by a headache. The patient did not survive, and naturally Mike's life had collapsed. Johnny had been lucky enough to be there on the right moment, and the literal and figurative scalpel proved to be quite useful sometimes. Blink was with them to guarantee that they would get the job done and get that damn generator they had found working. Johnny was not quite sure why they called him Blink, but he could imagine many reasons. Maybe it was because things tended to disappear within a blink when he was around. Or because of that twitch with his eyes. Or maybe, just maybe, because he could fix stuff within a blink of the eye. Whatever it was, he deserve-

"Yo, get your ass out of whatever land you're in. Are you checking or what?" Lewis' voice. Oh. Yeah. The game. Johnny shook his head, folding his cards. "Are you nuts?" Lewis grinned. "We didn't even play the flop yet. Where's yo head?" Johnny wanted to answer, but he couldn't. It was not like he was a part of a story, and his absence of mind had served to introduce the characters around him. "Just wondering when they can get that generator here. It would be nice if it would work." Roderick grunted. He wanted to get on with the game. Johnny suddenly got to his feet. "You all know what? I'm taking a piss." Robbins spoke up right away. Johnny would bet his entire stack that he would pop a joke. "Sky's 'lready doin' tha' fer ye, Johhn'. Wait fer ye turn." That's a won bet. Johnny made a dismissive gesture, then walked off. He went several alleyways further, spooking cats and almost slipping over a rusty pipe – twice – before he finally stopped to unzip his pants. He was soaked, but didn't give a damn. He would be back to the warm and cozy fire in a few minutes, after all. He stood there for a few seconds, hurrying up, then started back to his friends.

"I see that you are still wearing my coat, Johnny." He spun around at that voice, his ears perked up. "The color fits you quite well." Johnny watched the man he had last seen quite a while ago. He had, of course, contemplated that day, thought it was a dream, or wondered where the man in red had gone. Now, he stood here, before him. And this time Johnny was sober. He could be damn sure that this was real. "I'm so proud of you. You kicked your addiction. You made yourself some friends. You're all getting along." Johnny felt thankful. This man had somehow changed his life. He started taking off his coat, to offer it in return. The stranger held up his hand, shaking his head. "No, no. It's yours." Johnny blinked slightly. "Why did you help me?" The man seemed to consider this, sitting down, without cover, in the cold and all-consuming rain. He considered the question for a while, then looked up, his fingers tapping on his chin. The eyes were red, like they had been before. "Why did you help your friends there?" Johnny shrugged, but the answer was clear. He had felt like he owed it. At least, after the first one. Then, it had just become a thing he felt was right. He had been inspired. As if he read his mind, the man nodded.

"Exactly. You felt inspired, moved by me. And now, you have done the same. You see- Even in a shitty place like this, all some people need is a little push. Like domino's. It can be a push for the better, or for the worse. Some people are easily pushed down the edge, and others are more easily pushed into the right direction." The man lit a cigarette, straightening his overcoat a bit. "You promised that upon your return, you-" "I'm here now. But I can't be here forever. You're a leader, Johnny. The color you are wearing- It's the color of blood, of life, of love, of death. It's the most mortal of colors. It represents you and me." He dropped the cigarette again. Had he even put it to his lips? Johnny wasn't sure. "You can call me Red, but I guess that you figured that out already. I'm going to give you something, but first I need a little favor." 'Red' threw the poor confused Johnny a newspaper. On the cover was a photograph taken in one of the most rundown areas of the city. A shooting, between maffia. "This happens all the time, right? What do I-" Johnny paused, frowned lightly, and looked at the paper again. "The papers are full of shit, aren't they? Everyone died? That never happens. And would those guys really shoot each other?" Johnny blinked, it suddenly made sense. "Did you-"

Red's laughter was warm, and at the same time it sent Johnny's heart rushing. The man truly was like the third color of this sinful city. Black, white and red. "No. I didn't shoot them. If I could have, I would have done it. But this made me curious. Who, in hell's name, would open fire on the maffia? They would anger not one, but two powerful parties. The police didn't find them, nor did the maffia. But we will. You see- On every corner of the street, in every sewer, in every dry or damp place, there's one of us, one of you. Someone who is run down, who feels like the world is full of shit. Now, I must say that you've been commendably positive recently, but most of these people aren't. And they will talk to nobody, because that automatically removes their value." The man paused, adjusing his suit again. He was clearly a perfectionist. Johnny read the newspaper over again in the meantime, taking note of the location and the further details. He sighed lightly. "I want you to explain to your pal Blink what I explained to you, and send him there to talk with the local homeless. I want you to find out what happened there, and when you do, I want you to talk with whoever was responsible. If you find them, tell them that their action was.. Inspiring. Tell them that I would like to meet them. I scribbled an address on the bottom of the newspaper. Give them that address, and you can come there when you need me too." Johnny nodded slightly, and found that the guy was smiling. "And Johnny? You did well. If you are ever in need of help.. Know that the person who is best capable of helping you, is you."

Johnny stared as the man got up. He felt stronger and more energetic. The overcoat – the red overcoat – felt warm, almost like it was alive or a part of him. It seemed to empower him. The man gave him one last nod, then disappeared into the rain. Johnny turned as well. For some reason, it all felt natural. He turned and made his way back to his friends. After the miracle of not slipping on any rusty pipes, he found that his friends had already collected again. Instead of a generator, there was a Harley Davidson waiting there. How the hell did they get a Harley Davidson? "Hey, Johnny." - Mike – "We found a Harley Davidson. Can you imagine that? Quinn on a Harley. Blink found it at the junkyard. We hooked up the generator to charge the batteries. Fried the generator, but I think that that was a fair exchange. We can sell or use the thing. What do you say?"

"Let's see." Johnny smiled. Yeah, those were his friends. He sat down on a crate that served as a makeshift chair. Blink had taken Carpenter's cards and bottlecaps, but what the heck- He had better things to do than play a game of poker right now. He read the address on the newspaper- That looked like an address. On the next page, there was another article, about one of the city's local rich. The man was called Rodric Heathlinn. The article was about how he had offered the homeless and poor a Christmas in his home. Probably a publici- In red letters, underneath the article, was written something else. "You should visit him too. Tell him that the man in red apologized for not being able to attend during Christmas. I think that Rodric is a pretty good man. If you don't overdo it, you might be able to ask him for a favor. If you all behave yourselves and – sorry to offend – get dressed better (consider the color red!), you might even ask him for shelter. Make the best of it." Johnny looked up, then simply started talking. It took one or two seconds before he got everyone's attention, but once he did, they listened. They listened, and Johnny told them what he had in mind for the future.

Full act: Red visits Johnny Carpenter again, and blesses him. The more predominant the color red is in Johnny's clothing, the more physically strong and charismatic he gets. The blessing could possibly keep Johnny alive even if he sustained grievous wounds, but strangely Red did not imbue him with any magically increased sense of loyalty. Whether or not Johnny remains loyal to Red completely remains Johnny's choice.

Null Act: Red tells Johnny Carpenter that he thinks that the gangland shooting was, in fact, instigated by someone other than the Irish or Russian maffia, and asks him to send 'Blink' (one of Johnny's homeless friends) to question the local homeless. He also asked Johnny to talk with the person responsible, if they find that person, and tell them to meet Red at Red's home address. (Which is a boring old appartment.)

Null Act: Red hires the appartment across his own appartment and lives there, so that, in the case something goes wrong, he won't be surprised by some sort of ambush.

Null Act: Red instructs Johnny Carpenter to visit Rodric Heathlinn and tell him that Red sent him. Red gave no clear instructions to Johnny, but suggested that Johnny could do something useful with this contact, and might perhaps even (if they get themselves looking a little more presentable) move in there.

[racnor]

“Well, this is certainly a nice place, but the location seems a little off. The people outside seem desperate enough to kill us for the cloths on our backs and crazy enough not to care. I don’t know if… Actually, there is an Idea I might try out. I nee.. You will give me access to one welder, 13 strands of human hair, at least 1.213 cubic feet of any scrap metal, a hammer, 2 and a half yards of copper wire, a metal file, and a DVD containing a romantic comedy! AND YOU WILL DO SO NOW!” With that, Elton dashed away with a frantic look in his eyes and a loud humming from his chest.

Peter was staring blankly at the wall. A nice change of pace. He didn’t want to get stuck in his floor-staring tradition. “god, this is the worst job in the world.” He mumbled “everyone uses Netflix nowdays, but dad refuses to see that that” His train of thought was interrupted by a sound not dissimilar to that of a gas-powered lawnmower bearing down on him.
Seconds later, a frazzled-looking man with scorch marks on his shirt and a claw hammer in his right hand burst through the door to the shop and grabbed a copy of ghost town off the $10 used shelf. “Thank you for your assistance, minion of commerce!” The figure shouted as he slapped the money on the counter, “Know that this will be ESSENTIAL!”

Five minutes later, Peter stopped shaking and climbed back out from under the counter.

Back in the factory, Elton worked mindlessly. He had been hungry for the first day, but then that had stopped. It was not necessary. He etched strange designs all along one of the factories’ broken down machines as one of the ringers polished it for him. He twisted a dozen pieces of metal together and lodged them into a crevice. He really had no idea what he did after that.
No one ever did find out what the dvd did.


Jonathan curled up around the sphere. He had spent an hour just staring at the patterns, and he was pretty sure they weren’t hallucinations right now. He hadn’t got a hit in days.

He never expected this. He had run when the mafia chucked a Molotov at his house, but an ambiguity in his parent’s will had left him with only the cloths on his back. He made some new friends down in the rust, but one of those friends had some crazy get rich quick scheme involving a backyard meth lab. The idea blew up in that guy’s face, literally, but John was hooked already. Now, it seemed like nothing worked. Even crystal didn’t have the same punch. John had thought about trying for an overdose, but that didn’t seem like such a good idea. That wouldn’t have stopped him four days ago, but he could think more clearly now. Ever since the device.

It was a rough sphere of iron, though when he first saw it the thing looked like a rabbit made of candy. That probably wasn’t it, though. From the side, it seemed to refract the light somewhat, shimmering like a CD, and tiny scratches on it formed foreign characters. The only legible part was a single name. Elton. The guy in the factory. The guy who passed these out.


Full act- Elton creates the orgonic fabricator. This device can convert a 1.5 cubic inch of metal into an Orgone regulator with a week’s processing. This secondary object constantly generates small amounts of life energy, which accumulate in surrounding beings. Said energy boosts willpower, and alleviates fatigue, feeling slightly more potent than a cup of coffee. These effects slowly fade is the person leaves the vicinity of the device. The regulator also dampens the effect of any mind-effecting compounds consumed while under its effect. The effect does not stack from multiple regulators.
Zilch act: Elton gives the first batch of regulators to some of the saner-looking people around the factory.

[Digital Hellhound]

'You really ought to be more careful out there, y'know,' Jacqueline Coupe said, poking her finger through a hole in Magnus' coat. The big man didn't have a scratch from his rampage at the amusement park, but the very striking and very expensive trenchcoat she'd bought for him had caught a few of the shots lobbed at him and now displayed garish bullet holes.

They were in Magnus' apartment again, the hired killer slouched back in his chair while the girl went through his drawers. He grunted in a way that sounded vaguely like agreement. He was feeling pretty good of himself. His latest job had raised a lot of heat, but the Cartel would shoot down whatever attempt at a police investigation surfaced. He had to admit he couldn't wait for the next time. The girl seemed pleased, too - she'd appeared at his doorstep with a beaming smile. She still seemed fairly giddy as she went through Magnus' new clothes - it was an uniform of sorts. Damned if it didn't look good on him.

As some show of solidarity or just because she felt like it, the girl had begun dressing in a faux-20s style as well. She'd left her red coat at the door, but went around in a finely-cut waistcoat and fedora she'd stuck a queen of hearts in. Magnus had to admire her dedication to her obsession with gambling symbols. He felt Jack approach in the back of his mind before she came into view, kneeling to put her elbows against the armrest. She put her chin on her hands and looked up at him with glinting eyes. Magnus paid no heed to the pose.

'Weeeell... I suppose you did good, for an old man,' Jack said, but Magnus didn't need the bond to tell there were no barbs in her words. 'You know, the papers just love you right now! It's a shame your line of work requires more or less anonymity. You'd make an excellent celebrity.'

Magnus smiled and nodded absentmindedly. He tuned the girl's voice out, like an elderly hound resignedly ignoring the children trying to get it to play. He'd noticed the girl made it clear when she actually had something important to say. She did like the sound of her own voice (not that it wasn't a nice one).

After a few minutes, she stood up again. She hmm'd. 'I'll be going to the casino, I think,' she said.

Magnus gave a non-committal shrug. It was none of his business what she intended to do with the money.

'Have fun.'

There was a strange glint to the girl's eye when she replied. 'Oh, I will...'

---

Later, they thought the rumor had started in Benevento's Grand Casino, though nobody could agree on who had first brought it up. It wasn't the most successful place in town, and it served mostly the lower and middle classes of the neighborhood. Everybody knew it attracted some odd people and odd games, so the fact a story about a legendary game of poker started there surprised no one.

It spread uptown quickly, seemingly reaching every table in the flashy, high-class casinos at once - the Casino Republique, the ever-popular Boulevard Casino Hotel, the Cartel-run Esmeralda - and seemed to become the most popular topic of the day. And the next day. And the next...

'The Game of Your Heart's Desire', they called it, for lack of a better name. A game of cards, played every New Year's, where the stakes were high and just getting in exorbitant - to the lower classes, at least. And they didn't just play for money - everyone was claiming to have heard of someone who had bet his memories and lost, and wandered now as a beggar, treating friends as strangers. Another had lost his conscience, they said, and a third had entered as a young man and come out aged ninety years more. But those who had won... ah, they had won their heart's desire, their most fervent wish. Riches. Women. Eternal youth, eternal success, the adoration of millions. Their dreams had come true. And all under the aegis is the lady in red, who nobody seemed to know anything about.

Gamblers are, by nature, a superstitious lot. Legends like these weren't new - there was always someone who had gambled with the Devil and won, someone who had found a mysterious pack of cards they could not lose with. The casino owners and most of the gamblers chuckled and thought no more of it, expecting the rumors to be forgotten as quickly as they came.

But this time, it persisted, only growing in the telling. Old players seemed to come out of the woodwork with every passing day - soon everyone had heard from someone who claimed to have met one of these lucky few, and the list of suspected winners grew and grew, soon becoming an explanation for any sort of success story in the city. Few still took it seriously, though - but the way people discussed the game had changed.

New Year's Eve, the word came. The Game of Your Heart's Desire would be played again. Where? If you had to ask, you had no chance of getting in. Still, a name and a place seemed to go around, among the richest, among the most superstitious, among the most ambitious. If you asked them, no, of course they didn't believe the story was true. But it would be interesting to find out what this was all about. It could be some sort of marketing stunt, all they knew. What harm would there be in showing up?

---

Full Act: Jacqueline Coupe spreads a very persistent and very, very alluring rumor about the Game of Your Heart's Desire, a game of cards played on New Year's Eve where the winner would get whatever was their heart's desire, but where a unwary player can lose anything from their name to their very soul. This time, the game will be played in a private room in one of the top casinos of the city. The location spreads amongst the rich and powerful, but also to those who look into it persistently enough.

Zilch Act: Rent said private room and the owner's discretion for New Year's, using some of that wonderful blood money.

Magnus is by no means dissuaded from continuing his line of work.

[10ebbor10]

It is to be said that Elerium is indeed one of the strangest elements on Earth. It appears to be a rather soft but dense goldlike metal giving off a constant glow. Much more important is it's ability to seemingly reverse entropy, which makes it one of the most dangerous elements in the universe. It's highly probable that this ability is a direct result of it's unique crystalline structure, which allows it to trigger quantum effects on a larger scale. I theorize that these structures are the key to understanding the element, and the ability to manipulate these could change society forever.

Elerium, The Impossible Metal, Introduction, Datalog

Elerium can be fatal if handed without proper equipment. This is a direct result of it's ability to absorb any kind of energy, regardless of origin or strength. If the element is ever to be usefull, this power needs to be harnessed. Now, as documented in the earlier studies, this ability seems to be directly related to it's structure. More importantly, each possible configuration matches with a certain energy wavelength. In combining this knowledge with the fact that Elerium bonds will decay when starved, the Elerium refinery was created.

It's mechanics are simple, but revolutionary. The elerium is isolated from any energy source, safe for the ones from which we desire a reaction. After remaining in isolation for a significant period of time, most of the nonwanted bonds have been eliminated. Loss of about 90% of the elerium mass is to be expected. Then, in order to prevent the configurations from changing under different outside impulses, they are locked in a variety of alloys. Exact benefits of alloy materials needs to be researched.

Elerium, Refinement by partial annihilation, Datalog

Experiment description: Elerium + iron alloy
Method: Partially starving of Elerium to reduce effects on human beings. Then alloyed with iron in a 1-9 ratio.
Goal: Security of base facilities
Status: In progress

Elerium, Experiment 006

Half act: Robert creates his Elerium refinement installation. It works by selectively starving the elerium, and alloying it with something else to fix it in that state. Results vary.

Null act: Create a small amount of an elerium ironl alloy. Effects focus on living beings, though less than unrefined. Intended to secure the lab.

Half act: Robert creates a simple, modular and hard to trace virus that steals a small amount CPU time to run his scientific calculations. Attempting to trace it will send people through loopholes to test their intellect and should they succeed, lead them to the base.

[Fniff]

Chapter Two: Murder, Poker, and A Light Sprinkling Of Freeform Jazz
Merlin
Matthew flipped the coin again and again, with a hesitant look in his eye.

It was a pretty basic... lesson. Matt was hesitant to use spell. Okay, he was sitting in the bedroom of a house that technically didn't exist in this dimension, but spell implied rather stupid things Matthew didn't want to deal with. He wasn't casting a spell like in that stupid book series with all those kids with lightening shaped-scars, he was just abusing a loophole of physics. It's a bug, like when you manage to walk through the walls in a videogame and fall into an infinite blank void except less nightmarish.

This particular loophole didn't really defy too many laws. It was basically the closest the lessons sailed to the laws of physics, as it only broke one or two. He began... imagine the air as a series of circles, circles interconnecting and slotting together into fractal shapes infinitely. The world is not solid, but made out of interlocking parts that have their own interlocking parts within interlocking parts. All one needs to do is remove one of the parts, and the rest shall fall into place.

The coin's interlocking circle was removed as it was tossed into the air, and was less free of the laws of physics and more horribly abusing it. It did not float in the air. It was merely just... there. Matt held up a hesitant finger and poked it. It did not move and inch, despite it's precarious position. Basically, it was an immovable object, impossible to shift even by gravity. Matt made sure not to do it outside, as the earth would rapidly begin to leave it behind and it would zoom off into space (Well, more like the universe zooming off from it), tunneling through any obstacle. Hey, the first law says that anything resting would not be moved until something pushed it away or blocked it, and well... this couldn't be moved or blocked. Maybe it had infinite mass despite being the size of a penny? This was making his head hurt.

He really, really wished he wasn't a minor, because he needed a stiff drink. He stood up, grabbed his coat from a nearby chair, and walked out of the bedroom, down the ornately decorated stairs, and out the door. The area was pretty grotty and he made sure never to go out at night, but Merlin assured him it was free of people. Even then, it was just a nasty place.

There was a sole working vending machine outside a nearby gas station, covered in vile graffiti and gangsigns. He took out the loose change in his pocket and sorted through it. It added up to about one dollar, twenty cents. Not enough for a bottle. He sighed, shaking his head. He tried looking through the change slot in the machine for any left-behind change, then poked around the small concrete area around him. Nothing.

He looked at the vending machine after a while, feeling a vague sense of irritation and frustration-flavored nihilism towards the world, then thought. Interlocking circles...

It was a machine. How many physical laws did he need to defy to know how to click a switch somewhere inside the machine to get him a free bottle? Anyway, no-one was watching. No-one would know what happened anyway, he'd just glance at it and it'd barf out a coke for him. Easy as punch.

He concentrated... a series of circles... He could see a load of tiny circles inside the machine. Matt narrowed it down to one, and hoped he got lucky.

[13] Within the machine, something clicked. There was a rattling sound, and a coke bottle was dropped down from the vending machine's depths and into his hands.

He grinned and took it from the slot.

And who said wizardry wasn't practical?

Matthew learns his lessons well, obviously not only capable of using magic, but capable of using it smartly.

Robert
The machine whirred to life in that subway, extracting the miracle metal and mixing it with other, lesser metals. It would work... It would just take time. The slight burst of magical energy had pushed the computer to it's mortal limits, changing it and making it more. Another burst in the right direction, and it would be practically sapient. But for now, it was a normal computer who was just a little too fast, a little too smart, a little too good.

In the clicks and beeps of it's mainframe, in the circuit boards and it's electronic memories, it begin to formulate how much of elerium-iron it had made. Some had been wrongly made, deformed and useless, and others so close to the mark but not quite over it. It rounded up how much it could use.

[14+3=17] 367 kilos total, rounding off a few useless grams. It whirred in a fashion you could call "happily" and set off an alert. Robert's wristwatch began to beep.

*

Despite the myth, girls can be nerds too.

Joan was not overweight, but she was not thin. She was not short, but she was not tall. Her skin didn't have as much acne as one would expect, but then again there could be less. She didn't really look that great in a dress, or jeans, or in anything really. She spent the majority of her time inside, never leaving the glare of the computer screen.

One thing you could say about her was that she was very good with a computer. She coded better then most, and did occasional hacking. Rarely of the black hat kind that goes on the news so often. She was too scared to do that, but when she did it the FBI never busted down her doors and she left no traces. She was very careful; no-one could even guess where the money went, or why the high school bully's picture was now a cartoon penis and his name labeled "DICKY DYSFUNCTION".

Now, she was working on a simple coding project. A random generator that would use any numbers, letters, and symbols. The main purpose was to replicate the "true" randomness of die rollers and sites like Random.org via the internet, rather then the only theoretically random processes hardware can produce. She wasn't great with making programs that uses the internet (rather then abusing it), so this was her attempt. It was going okay, but it was pretty slow for some reason. It was hard to work out exactly why. The CPU usage was okay on the task manager, but it had to be that. She had closed all apps and ran it again. Still slow.

In meatspace, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. Computers were annoying sometimes. Sure, they obeyed your every order, but they just didn't get the implications, which humans could. This made computers dumber then a sack of rocks, but that didn't mean they couldn't be lovable in a sort of stupid, dog-like fashion.

What could it be? Could be the internet slowing it down. Could be an accidental error caused by her spaghetti-code filled program. Could be anything. Couldn't hurt to make sure.

She sat up again and began to run a few other programs, anti-virus. She made them herself, and they hadn't failed her yet. Running... Running... Running... Loading... Loading... She began to regret not bothering to try and make it load faster. Loading... Loading... Joan began to drink a milkshake she had taken out of the fridge about ten minutes ago which had barely been drank before. This was going to be a long one.

Loading... Done.

Potential virus found. It was draining the CPU like an electronic vampire. Now it was uncovered.

To Joan, this was not good. Her computer was a fortress with barbed wire and missile defense systems out the wazoo like some sort of a nightmare one would have after playing too much Red Alert 2. Who could get inside here? Only someone who was really good at hacking. Better then her. That thought frightened her, and interested her.

She began to run a tracing program. Another one of hers, surely this could work?

[11+3=14] Like a memory, it vanished as soon as the tracer got to 5% traced. Oh no you don't. She brought up a program that traced whatever entered and left her computer and searched for the name of the virus. She caught it when it was leaving, and tried to track it.

[19] Through loops and barriers, traps and mazes that were almost impossible to get through, she managed to get a bead on it's location. She traced it to a lone IP address, and found only a text file. She clicked it open, confused.

"14 Steel Street. Good job."

This was a test. She nodded. Obviously she passed.

"Honey!" her mother called from below. "I'm going to go shopping, wanna come with me?"

Joan sighed again, then stared at the door in thought. She was done anyway, and she couldn't forget 14 Steel Street anyway.

"Kay, be right there!" she said. She turned off the computer and stood up, then walked out. When she got back to the house, she'd head off to find out exactly what this was.

*

Barely three hours after it beeped before, the wristwatch Robert had beeped once again.

A female hacker managed to trace the virus and it's message, and intends to pay a visit.

Elton Peterson
Thomas Azur adjusted his tie and stared at the door with an expression of secureness and steadfastness. Thomas dealt with gang members easily, but the poor always made Thomas uneasy. They were too dirty, too unpredictable from their stupidity, but they could be controlled like one controlled cattle. They were pawns in the game of life, and he was the king. Seemingly useless, but the matchstick that held up the whole tower.

Just because the city was crime ridden did not mean that was the way it wasn't meant to be. Like all things, crime could be controlled and predicted. It was just valuable keeping it in this state.

The boys from the Hoods wandered in, in their trademark hoodies of various colors denoting rank, and their stolen sneakers. Hoods were the lowest of the low, the scum that came up when you have truly reached the bottom of the barrel. The Mafiya were tough, the Yakuza were "honorable" in a not very honorable way, and the Cartel were... Well, the Cartel. All the Hoods had on their side were numbers of impressionable white boys.

Of course, that's all you needed. As long as you didn't heed the corpses piling up around you, then you were fine.

"Boys." said Azur, putting on his amiable grandfather face. "I see you've been doing well for yourselves."

"Givvus a job, not small talk." said one of the hoods with a green hoodie. Definitely an old one, he was almost 17 by the looks of it.

Thomas nodded, still smiling. "Of course, you boys obviously need to get somewhere. Now, you all have stakes in the rust streets?" Of course they did. The Hoods unified the majority of meth dealers in the rust streets, with the formerly dominant Mafiya leaving the rest to the wind when stuff got too creepy in the factories, managing to use the already set-up distribution network to their advantage, offering protection.

"Yeah." a unified chorus of white boys responded.

"I understand there's a slight problem with your customers."

"They're not buying." said one in an inadvisable pink hoodie. "The dealers say they're clean."

"How very odd." Azur leaned back, the picture of calmness. "Well, I can... offer you some information on the subject."

"Well, get on it!" said Pink.

"Fucking didn't come here to wait." muttered Green.

"Ahem." coughed Azur. "Here's the problem. Your customers are mysteriously instantly becoming healthy members of society due to these machines that have been dubbed... regulators."

"... How'd that work?" asked a blue hood.

"Well, I'm confused myself." Thomas said. "It's an odd case indeed. Some have theorized military experimentation, alien invasion, but I haven't heard anything on either of those ends about a miracle cure-all for all kinds of drugs. However, I do know that this is cutting into your profits like a PCP junkie in a playground."

Pink laughed darkly.

"Why are you so interested?" asked Blue, obviously being the smart one of the group as he could use more then one syllable. "Shouldn't you be trying to... I dunno, stop junkies from getting hits?"

The rest looked at him incredulously. Thomas smirked and leaned forward. "I'm afraid it's in my interest to keep your profits going. You see, I may say that the drugs will be scrubbed and dumped off the streets by me personally in my campaign, but really this city doesn't work like that. The reason why this city isn't worse off is because of drugs. Lots and lots of drugs have helped us through this recession better then anything else. If someone were to make drugs pointless... well, that wouldn't end all that well."

The hoodies nodded in silent apprehension.

"I've narrowed down the sites where we've sighted the regulators." Thomas said. "Deal with them as you see fit. Have a happy new year, boys."

The hoodies nodded for the final time, then began to leave once again. Thomas Azur was certain there would be blood flowing like wine in the rust streets, but that was another topic for another time.

Thomas opened his drawer and took out two photos, spreading them on the desk.

One was of mister "Red Kirmiz" talking to a vagrant.

One was of the vagrant wearing Red's coat outside Seven Wonders Casino, one of the city's highlights. He looked like he was waiting for something.

Something was afoot.

*

The one in the blue hood walked down the street with confidence and a baseball bat against his shoulder, a bit bent from use and subtly bloodstained. Beside him was Pink and Green. Green had a Tec-9, Pink had a lead pipe covered with barbed wire. They were intimidating, real thugs, and no-one dared to go near them. This was their turf, no-one else's.

In the dilapidated house that was the residence of one of the regulators, there seemed to be a party going on. Dubstep wafted over to them, and the bright colorful lights flashed in the night. Green walked up to the door, and looked to the other two. Pink gave a thumbs up.

That's when Green kicked down the door and started firing his gun at sideways angle into the surprised crowd. There was screaming, and anyone still alive got down to avoid the gunfire. Green stepped to the side and Blue walked in while Pink brought up the back. They were a well oiled machine, working like clockwork.

Blue lifted the head of a cower former junkie with the end of his baseball bat.

"Where's the regulator?" asked Blue.

The junkie pointed to a door leading upstairs. Blue nodded to Green, who walked over and kicked down the door, revealing stairs. He headed up, and Blue could hear sounds of gunfire, screaming, and running feet. Pinkie, the enterprising one, began to pick out any golden teeth or earrings on the corpses with his trusty pair of pliers.

Blue looked at the junkie. "Who gave you them?"

The junkie closed his eyes and shook his head. Blue kicked square in the chest, causing the junkie to fall over and scream. Blue lifted the junkie up to eye-level, then said "Look at me. Look. At. Me."

The junkie stared at Blue, with the same terror in his eyes as a deer facing a wolf.

"Give me a name." Blue asked.

[15]"Go fuck yourself, you sack of--" the junkie got thrown to the ground. Blue swung his baseball bat, heading straight for the junkie's head...

Home run.

There was a wet splat. The junkie twitched, and then gurgled his last. Green came down with a strange ball of metal, with little markings on it. The Regulator.

Blue looked at it, then smirked. "Pink, let's get this piece of shit off the streets."

Pink grinned, and walked over to it, along with Blue. Together, they began to smash it again and again until it was just dust and scrap metal. They left the house and went up and down the rust streets, breaking bones and regulators alike. They didn't get a name for whoever started it, but they got it off the streets.

It was snowing in the city.

A team of hoodlums runs riot in the rust streets, destroying regulators and killing reformed drug users alike. Luckily, no-one IDs Elton.

Jacqueline 'Jack' Coupe
It was snowing in the city, outside his window. It was timid, as most snows in the state were. Too scared to act, like all too many of it's citizens. Too much drugs, too much drink. Everyone wandered around in a daze, nobody knew how to actually do things for themselves. You could say what you want about London (And it would be impossible to refute that you could say a lot about London), but at least it seemed to be doing things.

Vimes wished he was back in London. It wasn't that it was better. For reason, it was worse. He wasn't chief of police, he was originally a constable in a bad part of the town on the night patrol, then he was promoted into training to be part of the Cartwright initiative. Class A trainwreck, that was. Give a bunch of patrolman guns just cos they know the area, set them up against the embedded drug lords therein, and what do you get?

A lot of dead bodies. Most of them in blue.

That's when Vimes moved. He had saved up enough and he was sick and tired of working in London. He had been working there for seven years, and absolutely nothing had improved. Actually, they got worse. A lot of his friends were on Cartwright too. The only question was where.

Move to the States, they said. Vimes is a tough nut to crack, they said, and everyone here in London just ain't giving him challenge! They conveniently ignored the fact that Vimes had spent several hours screaming after the first (and last) Cartwright operation and merely kept up the pretense that Vimes was a legend. He got recommendations to go to this particular city on the east coast that was a good challenge.

So he moved to there because one of his "friends" had hooked him up with another friend who could give him a flat and you don't turn that down when you don't have any family in the States, or elsewhere for that matter. He got used to it. It wasn't that worse then London's meaner streets, as long as he sticked to the nicer parts. When he joined the police force, he realized it was the worst mistake he had ever made in his life.

Not because it was particularly difficult or anything. No, it was tiring but he could handle it. It was the politics. There was just so much of it. He thought London politics was complicated: this was more like a medieval court then a modern institution. Once he cracked a joke at someone's expense, and it turned out that someone was a friend of someone else who was a friend of the armorer, who then on always gave him the worst equipment for the job.

And when he inevitably rose up in ranks because of his "exemplary performance", the politics increased. Eventually the mayor started talking to him.

Thomas Azur, he just didn't care. He had pulled so many strings, heavied so many wallets, broke so many rules in private, that he was beyond caring. He was safe because he had everyone tied up tighter then a present on Christmas. The evidence was all there once he got to a sufficient position. Vimes could pull the plug. Then he started noticing his pay was way above what was stated. When he still kept looking at the files again and again, he noticed that random objects in his flat had been moved, either when he was away at work or sleeping. Small things. Nothing unusual.

When he still looked... that's when he was given the Talk. Azur in the chair. A boy, no older then 26, with a white hoodie in the corner. Vimes wasn't a coward. He wasn't afraid to die. No, he was afraid to live if the kid in the corner had his way.

So it goes. Eventually the prized seat awaited him. It was funny. He expected being Chief of Police would entail having power. He did what was asked of him in the weekly catch-up with Azur. He laughed at his jokes whenever they were in public. He nodded with silent approval whenever Azur wanted to play the serious card at a meeting. Afterwards, Vimes went back to his apartment and punched the wall. First it cracked. Then it began to show holes. By now, it was probably close to total collapse. Vimes wasn't sure if that was a metaphor or a need for him to contact the landlord.

However, when they were alone... Little victories presented themselves.

"Vimes, Vimes..." Azur said in his silky voice on the phone. "I understand that the Phoenix is making his move, then? Pawn to B6..."

"I thought he made his move quite a while ago. With the charity and that." said Vimes, leaning back in his chair with his feet up, throwing darts at what was apparently a question mark representing the Russian mafiya leader, but what Vimes imagined to be Thomas Azur, connected with red lines to all other criminal gang leaders. He hit French, the Irish mob's second-in-command.

"That was a fool's checkmate."

"I don't think that's how chess works."

"We're getting off topic. I'm betting that this Carpenter character isn't heading into the city's finest casino just for a go on a slot machine. They'd throw him out straight away."

Vimes cringed. He really hated when Azur did puns. "You thinking underground gambling?"

"Exactly, Vimes."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Send an undercover agent, make sure he's loyal and lacks imagination."

"... Hang on, this isn't about that bloody Heart's Desire thing?"

"It could be possible that the gambler folklore of Heart's Desire could be connected in a very tangental way."

"Oh, that's bollocks, I know you don't go into that sort of thing."

"There is some very bizarre things going down Vimes. You'd be wise to start believing."

What was going on with the city? First Richard, his best patrolman, starts gibbering about automatic clockwork robots in the old Absolon place, now his boss is going on about Heart's bleeding Desire. "Boss, if I send a man over who lacks imagination, we're going to have a problem." said Vimes, flicking another dart. Bullseye! Straight into that question mark's face. "Because thinking on the fly usually entails imagination. If you can't think on the fly, you're in trouble. Thus, if things go wrong which they always will, we're going to have a dead copper on our hands."

"Get on with your proposal." said Azur in a tone covered with thorns.

"I'm going gambling."

"Vimes, that is not an option."

"I'm the chief of police."

"You're meant to be working on your paperwork."

"As a matter of fact..." Vimes moved his feet off his desk, scattering oh so many arrest reports to the wind. "I don't have any at the moment."

"You're too obvious. You're the chief of police, everyone knows you."

"Yes, as a bootlicker who lets any old criminal walk free. Just the sort to do something as illegal as this. Besides, if they think I'm spying on them... why would I come there and not just send an agent? Surely Vimes can't be that stupid, right? Isn't Heart's Desire only played by the rich and powerful anyway?"

"Vimes, you are not going, and that is final."

"Right, I'll just let one of our men die because he has no imagination, thus he won't know what to do if they ask too much about whatever flimsy backstory we're putting together for him. The press will enjoy that."

"They won't find out. And if you try singing like a canary, remember the talk."

"I'm not going to rat you out. Let me do my job, for once."

"... Just this once."

Vimes slammed the phone down triumphantly. He leaned back even further and smiled for the first time in a while. This day got a bit better. In fact... could be worth breaking out the whiskey earlier then usual.

*

Johnny Carpenter saw a few other men enter the Seven Wonders Casino around twenty minutes ago. They headed into a backroom and hadn't been out since. He hoped the game hadn't started without him. That would waste the digging he did. He was sitting at the bar (enjoying a Genericola, since he wanted to stick far away from the alcohol), trying to look respectable. The barman was giving him odd looks.

"Excuse me, sir." the bartender said to Johnny.

Johnny looked up. Oh dear, here came the boot.

"Sir, you're... I'm afraid we'd prefer if you..." the bartender paused. "Sir, can you leave, please?"

"I'm a paying customer." said Johnny. "You don't have a dress code."

"Sir, you're scaring the other customers." said the bartender in what he must have thought was a definite tone.

Gee, what awfully nervous customers the Seven Wonders must have. Guess they don't see tramps from their ivory towers muttered Johnny's internal communist. "I'm just having my drink, I'll be out in a minute." he said, taking a drink of the cola.

"Sir, you have to leave now." said the bartender, crossing his arms.

Just when Johnny was about to pick up his coat (Well, Red's coat, but he was getting used to it), a gruff voice behind him said "He's with me."

"Uh. Mr Vimes, lovely to see you here at... at the Seven Wonders cas--" the bartender stuttered.

"Yeah, yeah, get me two fingers of whiskey, hold the ice." The voice revealed it's body which sat next to Johnny. It was Vimes. The man was wearing a black suit jacket with matching formal trousers which looked vaguely uncomfortable on him,  and a dark brown fedora that looked like it was made to be there. His face was a closed book in a foreign language, bringing the "policeman's look" to a whole new level. Otherwise it was a roadmap of weariness and too many things seen and done. There was a scar at an angle down his left eye.

Johnny's mouth hung slightly open in disbelief. It wasn't that he was surprised, Heart's Desire was the game of rich guys and Vimes was probably rich. So why shouldn't he be there? It still felt odd, and Johnny felt vaguely like Vimes knew everything that Johnny could do, had done, and didn't appreciate a bit of it.

"Are you going to say anything?" Vimes asked, sampling the whiskey liberally and looking at Johnny out of the corner of his eye.

Jesus Christ, he was so way out of his depth. "So, you have a heart's desire?" asked Johnny awkwardly, hoping he wasn't being too obvious.

"Yeah, a stiff drink and a woman with curves like a sailboat, but in terms of what you're implying, yes, I do."

"... A sailboat doesn't have curves."

"It..." Vimes thought as he took another drink. "... Yeah, you're right."

"So, are you one of the lucky winners of Heart's Desire?"

"If I was, mate, I wouldn't be here."

"Huh. One would think--"

"Yeah, but one would be wrong, wouldn't he?"

"Alright, Christ. Anyway... The game's starting soon, or it might have started now, I dunno. Either way, refrain from ordering more drinks."

"Christ, it started already? I'm barely through my first round." Vimes hopped off the stool and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and took a long drag, then blew out, not caring about the no smoking signs. "Let's go, I don't want to miss this."

Johnny stepped off the stool with Vimes, and slapped a dollar on the bar next to his cola. Odd feeling. It had been a while since he had paid for anything beyond booze, food, and maybe one or two times, when he was feeling lonely and self-service just wasn't cutting it...

Ignoring a growing sense of shame, he walked ahead of Vimes. Johnny stopped at the door the men had entered. He knocked out a tune vaguely resembling "shave and a hair-cut, no legs", at which point Vimes look at him oddly.

"That's a pretty obvious code for a magical game of poker." said Vimes, putting a particular incredulous spin on the word magical.

"I'm just guessing here." said Johnny. "They'll get the point, I think."

The door opened, proving they did get the point. The one who opened it... Well, she was almost as pretty as Tara's memory. Maybe prettier then Tara.

The girl was beautiful. Just because someone's beautiful doesn't mean they're attractive, but this girl was attractive too. She had style. Grace. She knew how to put herself together and she was the sort of person who made walking look like it was a difficult art which she was a master of. Johnny felt clumsy being around her. She was wearing a fedora with the ace of spades, and her clothing looked like it should have been in a period film.

Johnny realized, in a very slow and horribly sinking way, that he was either in deep lust or deep love with this girl. He stared with a stare mostly shared by marines who had been in some of the less pleasant Vietnam tours.

Vimes flicked the cigarette to the ground and trod on it. "Hello, ma'am."

The girl smirked. "Hello, Mr Vimes. You can call me Jack."

"Alright, ma'am." said Vimes with careful annoying politeness. "I assume this is the illegal gambling ring?"

"Nice one, chief! I assume you're here for the game, rather then a bust?" said Jack. Johnny noticed the grips of two handguns in those waistcoats, bold as brass. He saw Vimes briefly flash his eyes to them. Johnny knew when people were armed, and he was unhappy to realize he was the only one here who wasn't armed.

"Yes, I am." said Vimes.

"You're going to need to hand in your guns, in either case."

Vimes sighed and knelt down, taking a revolver out of his holster and carefully handing it grip aimed. Jack took it, gave a brief appreciative glance to it, then put it somewhere behind her. She stepped to the side and Vimes walked into the room confidently. Johnny stepped in to follow, but Jack stepped back in front.

"One moment, sweetheart." said Jack, still flashing that smirk. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Johnny Carpenter." said the man himself, as far as Johnny knew.

"Nobody, then?"

"Correct."

"Got any guns on you?"

"If you're smart, Jack, you know I don't."

"Why's that?"

"Cos I couldn't afford it."

"Good enough." said Jack, stepping to the side.

"Ain't concerned about the shiv I have in my pocket?" asked Johnny. There was no shiv.

"Knives are fair enough in a game. Gotta reach across the table. Guns... even if you're the worst shot in the world the bullets that hit aren't going to be shrugged off."

"Gotcha." Johnny stepped inside the room. It was your usual idea of a backroom. Large wooden table in the middle. Chairs all around. Cards in one pile to the side. Bunch of weirdos. One was some kid with blue green streaks in his hair, bad selections in clothing, and what could be ironic but possibly not makeup. Another was a guy with greyish eyes and a brown suit with a black bowler hat. The last was some hoodie with... a gasmask on? Weird. That last one was playing with a butterfly knife.

Vimes and Johnny took their seats next to each other, as those were the only ones far away enough from the gasmasked fellow. The girl sat in the seat next to the hoodie, and didn't even seem to mind. There was some silence for a bit.

"So, why don't we introduce ourselves?" said Vimes.

The kid was looking at Vimes with a mix of fear and anger. "So you can ID us later? Fuck off, pig."

Wait, that accent. Oh God, that was Duffey's kid!

"Let's not get rowdy here." said the suited guy, with a real posh English accent. "Since Vimes hasn't tried to shoot us yet with a SWAT team behind him, I'm going to assume he's fine. If not, I imagine our host made precautions."

Gasmasked guy did not speak up. He just kept fooling around with his knife. Something about the guy made Johnny feel on edge.

"I think, Duffey, that we can all keep our own paranoias to ourselves." said Jack. "Even if Vimes wanted to, he couldn't stop this. Now, present your bets."

"Ah ah, names first." said the suit. "Gives a sense of trust. I'm Frank. Frank Dillard."

"Sam Vimes, as you all know." said Vimes, giving a look to Duffey.

"I'm Duffey, but maybe I'm not that Duffey." said Duffey, putting on a Spartacus act.

"Johnny Carpenter." said Johnny.

The gasmasked guy looked up and pointed with his knife to the table. There was two words carved into it that Johnny couldn't quite see from his angle.

"The... Stranger." read Frank. "Interesting name."

"Alright, now we all know each other." said Jack, smiling at Frank. "Present your bets."

Vimes took out a large package (presumably stuffed with cash) and plonked it on the table. Frank put a small statuette of a fertility goddess that looked ancient.

Duffey smiled. "I hear you can bet other things then valuables, right?"

"Yes, you can." said Jack, smiling back.

"I bet my life." said Duffey.

Everyone stared at him. Well, Jack seemed more amused then the rest of them.

"Try and kill the son of a mob boss. I dare you." said Duffey, continuing to smile stupidly.

"That's fine." said Jack. She looked at Johnny, who took off his coat and scarf and laid it on the table. The rest of them laughed, apart from Vimes.

"If that's acceptable, I'm changing my bet!" said Frank, laughing.

"I'm betting my life too." said Johnny. They all went quiet.

"See..." Johnny patted the coat. "It's the winter out there. I'm a vagrant. I have to sleep in the cold and dark, which I doubt any of you have experienced. Without any warmth... I'm dead. It's just longer then a bullet to the head. So, yeah. Don't knock the bet."

Jack smiled at him, no smirking. Johnny felt smart. He had an extra coat waiting for him (red, of course) that he bought cheap at a salvation army. It was a con job, and he had a feeling she knew. It may have not been his to give... But he had to know the truth.

Finally, the Stranger took out what appeared to be the top part of a human skull, which he laid on the table. It had some writing on it's forehead. Johnny stared, and so did Vimes and Duffey. Frank and Jack didn't seem to care. She took all the bets and put them somewhere near her chair. She looked at them again.

"That's that, then. Let's get this started, shall we? I'll explain the rules, then I'll deal." said Jack.

Heart's Desire's rules were pretty simple. Sort of like poker, a few differences here and there. Johnny was at best a skilled amateur at poker, but it was basically a game of chance. Some skills involved, yeah, but it was still a game of chance. You won... or you lost. And it was all up in the air.

"So, the burglar alarm went off..." said Frank, telling his story, looking at his cards. "And Vincent just looks at me, like a panicked deer. Now, understand I'm holding the pistol at this point. This old 50-something, very portly you see, he comes running at us with a cricket bat. Vincent runs away quickly, and I'm simply going... 'Well, mate, you're really intimidating the man with the gun with your bit of wood.' Seriously, complete idiot."

"So, you shot him?" asked Vimes.

"Of course. In the throat. Fell over, gurgled like a sewer. Terrible mess, didn't get implicated, though. No-one had an ID." said Frank proudly.

"That's nice. Shooting an unarmed man." said Vimes.

"He did what he had to, pig." said Duffey.

"You could have just... not robbed the house." said Johnny quietly. Frank looked at him.

"We all need money. And with the Dillard estate in it's current state, I'm not exactly getting a lot of money." said Frank.

"You could get a job." said Vimes.

"And yet, why hasn't our friend Carpenter got a job?" asked Frank, motioning to Johnny with his card-free hand. "Simple. Where can you get one? We're not all lucky like you."

The Stranger looked at Johnny. Johnny looked away. The Stranger was giving him the creeps. It was just those blank lenses, nothing to see there. Why did he wear the gasmask anyway? He wasn't exactly in some action sci-fi movie. He was playing poker.

Vimes stared at his cards. "Forget it... I fold."

"That makes two of us." said Frank, laying down his cards.

The Stranger looked at it's cards, then laid them. Full house. Johnny sighed. Shame. It was a good coat. Weirdly, the Stranger didn't even seem that happy. It almost seemed mildly disappointed.

"Well, Mr Stranger... You win your heart's desire." said Jack, smirking. The Stranger made it's first sound of the day and sighed deeply. He stood up and held out it's hand. Jack gave him the skull, and then it went off. Vimes and Frank looked at each other and both shrugged.

Duffey stared at Jack like a frightened sheep. "Uh, when I said I bet my life, I didn't really meant I... I was joking, right...?"

Jack smirked at him.

Duffey stood up and ran like the devil was right behind him. Which, considering, it may very well be. Frank and Vimes both stood up and walked off, out of the backroom. Now it was just Johnny and Jack. Johnny wasn't sure why, but he felt oddly empty inside. No coat. No scarf. No information on why any of this is happening.

There was one option.

Johnny looked up and smiled confidently at Jack. "You know... This was fun. Can I have your number, please? I know it's once a year, but... Hey, surely you've got other games then just Heart's Desire?"

*

The Stranger walked into the cold, dark night. It walked through the city, staying close to the shadows. It liked the shadows. It felt safest there. The light exposed rawness, underlined the darkness both without and within, and only hurt it more. It leaned against a wall in a dark alley, and looked into the starless sky. It began to rain, which it could not feel under it's gasmask.

There is something under there, don't forget. There has to be. Or else it was all for nothing.

It thought it could see a light. Up ahead. Perhaps a streetlight, perhaps something else. It walked over, and saw something in the light. It saw it's heart's desire.

I won't say what it saw there. That's it's own business.

It turned and looked away. Not yet. Some day, maybe. Some day. It began to walk away. As it turned a corner, the light vanished.

Some day. One day.

The Stranger wins the game of heart's desire, and Johnny propositions the idea of knowing Jack's phone number.

[Fniff]

Red Kirmiz
Blink stepped into the light of the streetlight just outside the Green Eyed Amusement Park. His job was to interview any hobos who happened to be nearby when that gang shit went down, and knew who was shooting. Maybe if the whos were found, the whys could be too.

In Blink's experience, the whys were usually real vague and didn't make much sense. Blink was formerly a lawyer. Not a bigshot, but he made a living. To be a lawyer you had to have a good memory and an eye for the details. Not as much as an accountant, mainly because you had to be also creative. Able to work within the law while still making sure your client walks out without cuffs on him. It was like making clocks and fixing engines, which was more a hobby back then, rather then the skill it was for him today. You could make a clock that functioned correctly using just your brain, but if you couldn't work outside the rules then when you have a problem you're just going to shut down.

Of course, he finally met the problem that couldn't be fixed. Jeremy Quill, what a fuck-up that guy was. He was a rich guy, some celebrity, who ended up murdering his wife. Maybe. Could have been manslaughter too. Either way there was a body and his hands were covered in blood. Jeremy got on the team because he was good at the murder cases. Usually, he preferred to work with people who were definitely innocent, but he was already in a tight spot and he needed money. Jeremy was an idiot, though. He stuttered through his testimony, bursted out crying when again and again Blink told him to keep it cool, and even admitted to being guilty when he cracked from the pressure even though the whole damn time Blink told him again and again that he had to remember that this whole trial was about how not guilty he was.

Jeremy went to the slammer. Blink never worked as a lawyer again. Sold his summer home first. Then the office. Then his house. Still not enough money, and he got kicked out of the apartment he was living in. Out onto the street. His whole life was that story you told at the worst bar in town just to prove how much of a self-pitying screw-up you really were. There was a few differences to the usual tale. He was never an alcoholic, and his wife never left him because he didn't have one. Why you needed either drink or companionship never truly reached Blink. He could say he was asexual, though that never appealed to him because he liked keeping his options open. Besides, it was a little too old to be anything but heterosexual. That was the weird thing. According to the public consciousness, you could be lesbian, gay, even bisexual when you're in your twenties, but when you hit the 40s mile, being gay just sounds vaguely absurd.

Blink rubbed his hands together in the biting cold and walked through the gates of the amusement park. Creepy place, it's mosaics and stalls not even moved since the year of our lord 1897, just completely abandoned and rotting in it's place. Like Chernobyl, or those ghost cities in China... All the abandoned places of the world, the forgotten places, the areas where time takes over from humanity.

He began to walk through the park, taking in the rusting beauty and the overgrown bleakness of it. He knew what he was looking for, though, and he had to find it. Well, less it. More him/her. Even if the Green Eyed Amusement Park was creepy, abandoned, scummy, and just plain weird, it was somewhere you could live without getting security guards up your ass. There had to be somebody living out here. There was always someone living out here.

Blink spotted an open door, leading into the "House of Joyful Diversions and Foolish Gallantry". He walked through the door and headed inside. He was in a corridor that was probably once filled with glass windows showing joyful diversions or snakes or something, he couldn't tell anymore because the windows were smashed and there wasn't even a cockroach to spare inside the windows. There was spent crack needles lying in small piles all around, along with cracked bottles and tossed aside cigarette butts. Someone was living here, alright. Perhaps several someones.

He walked down the corridor into a large arena with four greek-style pillars holding up the roof, a large wooden stage with tattered red curtains behind it, and even more needles and broken bottles. Yeah, he wasn't taking his (for now, non-existent) daughter out here. It was about a hundred years late. Blink began to wonder why the kids started dying, and what of, but then he saw the occupants of the arena.

There was three of them. One was a teenager lying against one of the pillars, the one to the northeast, who looked completely zoned out. She must have been a runaway. The girl looked like she was wearing several layers of clothing, which made sense for the weather, and had a black beanie hat on her. Another was trying to light a cigarette in the corner of the room, wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora looking all the world like some hobo version of Dick Tracy or whatever the hell that comic was. The last was some 50 something gal sleeping in a cardboard box on the stage. The trenchcoat guy was probably the best option.

Blink walked up to him. The guy looked back.

"The name's Blink." he said. "You live here?"

"Yeah." said the guy.

"What's your name?"

"Rob."

"Kay, Rob. You know anything about the shootout that occurred here a few months ago?"

"No." said Rob, stubbing out the cigarette. It was the little tells that got you, the little shifts of the body and the movement of the eyes.

"Rob, it would be very helpful if you gave me a short description. I'd be very grateful." said Blink, making sure never to say specifics.

[20] Rob grinned like a man who just won the lottery. "Well, it's a good day to be a good samaritan, I guess. I saw some Russians going up to these mobsters, probably Irish. I saw one of their leader's kids, Duffey. They were making a deal, I think it was a drug deal or something. This fucker with a tommy gun walks out the gate, firing off like the fourth of goddamn July. Thing is, they all got shots off at them. Hell, one of them got a whole box of bullets embedded in him thanks to an M60. He just wouldn't go down, though. The guy killed em all. He shot this Ruskie in the stomach who was running at him, big guy. Then he shot another one running away. Then he left. The big Ruskie gets up and walks away... Then this other guy comes over a few hours later, interrogates the shot Ruskie by waking him up, and then blamo, he shoots him then and there."

"Why didn't you try helping the Russian? Or run away after the shooting?"

"Man, a drug deal gone wrong is pretty damn ordinary compared to some of the other stuff I've seen."

"Can you get me a description of the shooter and the other guy?"

"Sure, man."

Rob gave an okay description of both. It was something to build upon. Blink thanked him, then walked out of the place before Rob got suspicious about his reward, or lack thereof. Blink went through the gates of the aged amusement park, and headed off into the night with a lot of unanswered questions. Who was the shooter? Why did the execution happen with the other guy? Either way... Something was up. It had been too long since Blink had a case to work with, and it was interesting. Maybe he wouldn't get killed because of it... Private investigators had a tendency to do that.

*

Johnny was wearing his new red coat (Well, old new coat, but it wasn't his. Then again, neither was the old old one), and was leaning against the wall where Blink promised they'd meet up at. The sun was shining through the clouds for once. It was a chilly morning, but the coat did it's job just fine. Hell, even a little better then expected.

Blink walked up to Johnny (He had to have had, but to Johnny he just appeared out of nowhere) and nodded. "It's done. I got the info, I'll tell you all about it later, but let's say it's sorted. How is it on your end?"

"Well, I went to the guy's house. Rodric, whatever his name was." said Johnny. "He invited me in, friendly enough guy. Knew about... him. I didn't ask, though. I uh... preposed the idea."

"How'd he take it?"

"[10] Well... We can sleep there on weekends. Usually that's when his wife goes on holiday with the kids, ya see. Guess he doesn't want us hanging around. He put it nicer, though."

"Johnny... Look, man, I know how you feel about this Red character, but come on. He's shadier then a forest. I'm a lawyer, and just by what you're saying I'm getting bad vibes."

"Jesus, Blink, you think I don't see it too? Listen, there's something going on deeper here. He's not telling me anything, I'm in the dark. I tried looking into this whole Heart's Desire nonsense, and well..."

"... Heart's Desire exists?"

"I'd know, I went there. There was your usual crowd there. Saw that mob boss kid there too."

"Wait, wait... Duffey?"

"Yeah, him."

"He was the scene of the crime during the shootout. He survived."

"... See, I told you, this whole thing is some sort of a weird... I don't even know! Get this, I saw this guy there, he had a gasmask on and no-one commented on it. He was called the Stranger, and he didn't even talk."

"What if he was mute?"

"You're not catching my drift here, he was... I could feel it in my bones, something's up. Guys with gasmasks on who don't strike anyone else but me as unusual. Duffey at the scene of both crimes that rub people up the wrong way. I don't know what's going on, but there has to be something going on."

"Look, Johnny. This is all going a little too deep here. We're just a couple of homeless guys trying to live day-to-day here. This is movie shit, not real life shit. Maybe you could consider... cutting all ties to the guy."

"... No, I couldn't do that to Red. Besides... I've got even more ties now. I can contact the gal who ran the heart's desire game. I think I'm getting closer to what's going on."

"Kid, there's a day in every investigator's, every lawyer's, every cop's life where you just have to stop connecting the dots and just go 'fuck it, I'm way out of my depth here'. There's nothing to be gained from this."

"I'm sorry, Blink... I can't let this go."

Blink sighed, then nodded. "Your choice, not mine."

"Listen, don't tell the others about Red and all this. I wouldn't want to worry them... And if this is big, it could be a problem."

"Never ask a lawyer to keep a promise, but I'm not a lawyer anymore, so your secret is safe with me." Blink smiled, a rare enough occurrence.

Johnny shrugged. "Well... Thanks, Blink."

"Anytime, buddy." Blink said. "Let's head back. I'm a little sick of this place."

"You and me both."

Johnny gains weekend access to Rodric's place, while Blink obtains valuable descriptions of the crime but doesn't gain an exact address.
Lloyd Absolon
The warmness of his touch against the coldness of hers...

Androids don't tend to dream of electronic sheep. Or regular sheep, for that matter. Why would they? Do you just dream of sheep with meat? Why are you asking this bizarrely specific question? However, androids (especially androids that are less androids and more like golems) do try to dream like humans. It's just a natural thing that comes with being like a human. No-one is sure why exactly this is.

Androids may not dream of electronic sheep, but they do have wet dreams. And that's not the dream where you find yourself short-circuiting due to trying to swim across the english channel.

"Oh Lloyd", she said. "I will love you forever."

"As will I," he said, smiling. "My de"

Click. Whiiiiiiirr. Ayana opened her eyes. She felt vaguely embarrassed and hoped that there wasn't any recording software that copied those anomalous video images for anyone's viewing pleasure. She'd ask Lloyd about them, but she wasn't sure what to say to him.

Ayana began to patrol around the factory, inside it's walls. There was nobody around, of course. There never was. Pity, she would have liked someone to talk to. Aldrow was nice, but that was the thing. He was a bit too middle of the road, bit too dull. He was a robot, after all. Then again, so was she. Was she boring? She hoped not.

Then Lloyd... That whole matter didn't make any sense.

[4] There weren't a lot of bolters in the area as she walked, only one or two. Unfortunately, they just weren't getting much scrap metal from the other factories. Too many homeless, too many witnesses. Even if the ringers were quiet, Ayana could see the crazier homeless putting up crude effigies of bolters and ringers. Perhaps they were worshipping them. That was a weird thought.

She checked with the bolters outside the factory. All quiet on the western front. And the eastern one. In general, the fronts were quiet. They generally are. It's the backs you have to worry about. Ayana sighed, an odd clicking sound coming from her throat. She had a feeling the exciting moments had passed and now the grind had arrived. Oh well. Could that be so bad?

*

Adam was the sort of person who could wear a black trenchcoat (which he did) and sunglasses at night (which he did not) without looking like a poseur. Trenchcoats just naturally happened to Adam. You might even suspect that he slept in one. The rest of the look just fit around it: pale skin, short black hair that was slightly messy, and sharp features.

He was currently wearing his "Thursday" trenchcoat, which his mother had gotten him for Christmas. That was the sort of mother Adam had. He was walking into the police station with an air of control. The clouds were out, spoiling the day, but it wasn't so bad. The receptionist at the desk nodded to him as he passed. She was a thin, put-together sort, with long blond hair.

"Heya, Adam." she said. "How's the form?"

"Just fine, Maria." said Adam. "How's Vimes?"

"Pissed off, as is usual."

"Azur?"

"Yeah."

Adam nodded. That seemed normal. "I'll see you around, then." he said, then continued to walk through the police station as Maria said goodbye. Passing by the other department's desks, he went into his office and sat down at his desk. It was good being a detective. He laid back and put his feet up. Adam would most likely keep doing this for as long as he could get away with it while quietly browsing the internet or catching up with old cases, or until Vimes inevitably rung him up to tell him to do something. If that didn't occur six seconds from now, he was probably fine for the day.

His mobile began to ring six seconds later. Dammit, couldn't he have a quiet day? Adam took the phone out.

"Vimes." he said.

"Adam." said the chief of police in his gravelly London accent. "I got a job for you."

"Sir, I'm technically on arson right now."

"Sorry?"

"You know how you keep moving me around whenever a case comes up that you need me to solve? That whole Becklyhood arson case got me assigned to arson. So whatever this is, you're going to need to move me again."

"Well, this is a quick job. I need you to look up on the old Absolon place. There's been reports of activity from a few of our boys, and one of them even spotted someone there. I think there might be something illegal going down there."

"Lemme see..." Adam grabbed his laptop and put it on his lap, holding the phone in the crook of his shoulder. He began to type. "Absolon... That's registered as a legit business, boss."

"... Okay, so why hasn't it been fixed up?"

"Cos it's only been a few months since it was bought?"

"Denton, just find out what's going there. If it's legal, okay. If it's not, then we have a catch."

"Yessir, I'll do my best."

"Seeing you." Vimes said, then hung up. Adam sighed and put the phone back in his pocket.

The police are investigating regardless of legality. There is not a lot of scrap gathering as there is a lot of homeless around which prevent efficient gathering.

Nate Richards
Summoning fairies... Not the greatest of ideas.

There are Court Seelie, who don't like you in general. There are Court Unseelie, who wouldn't like you for summoning them. There are Wild Fairies, who are just... well, they're wild. Generally, if you're away from fairies then you're in a good position. However, in Nate's pop culture infused mind, he wasn't thinking of those kind of fairies, the real ones. He was thinking victorian, maybe Neil Gaiman style at worst. Though that'd be pretty bad on it's own.

There wasn't many spirits of Victorian ideals of fae. Hell, no real fairies either. Nate was definitely changing things up now: he wasn't just grabbing a spirit and giving it a body. It was an idea given true form. Definitely complicated. Definitely hard to do.

To truly understand, imagine the difference between eating a burger and growing your own bread and raising cows to make said burger. The burger's prepackaged, all you have to do is buy it. However, making it requires time and effort. Lots and lots of effort. You don't just do it on a lark, you have to actively plan for it. However, Nate was going in blind and trying to do it fast. It may have bad consequences for him.

We'll see how he does it.

*

Tom Harker was in his room, listening to freeform jazz, when it happened.

Tom was normal. He had short, straight brown hair, skin of a somewhat brownish hue (Thanks to some forgotten Arabic relative), with his only unusual feature being his eyes that had a sense of reptile about them, which made sense because he wasn't exactly the most proactive sort. If his life went ordinarily, then he'd get a degree in english, become a clerk to pay the rent, then steadily rise until he was a manager, get a wife and three kids, move to the burbs. However, little did he know he was the type of ordinary whose life got interrupted. The Arthur Dents and the Richard Mayhews of the world, whose lives seem ordinary until a switch is pulled and suddenly it's not so simple as that.

Perhaps it's a breed of person.

Tom was having a strange few days. He thought they were infested with rats, except whenever he tried laying traps he'd find them carefully deactivated later. Food was missing from the fridge until it wasn't, at which point he began to find food laid near where Tom heard a lot of scuffling in the walls. He had a feeling Nate had something to do with it. Roommates tended to be weird like that even if Nate was fairly normal.

He was bopping his head mildly as he browsed the internet while procrastinating on that post for the Era of the Dragon. Nate having a pet rat was somewhat bizarre. One that lived in the walls, more so. Pretty unlikely, thinking about it. But the landlord certainly wasn't laying out food for it. He'd have to bring it up with him.

Then it happened.

Tom felt an immense tightening in his stomach, as if a bomb went off and he just felt the shockwave before he heard the explosion. Reality itself seemed to sort of tint slightly, as if it was interrupted in it's stride and lost it's train of thought. An electric feeling raced up and down his spine as if struck by lightening, and for a second he felt like he was in the place he was always meant to be.

Then it stopped, and Tom heard the sound of someone banging to the ground in the next room. He got up, feeling as though he was being pulled by strings, and dragged himself to the living room.

Nate was on the ground, sprawled on his back. He looked more like he was dead tired rather then having some sort of a seizure or a heart attack. Floating beside Nate was a feminine being, barely six inches high, wearing what appeared to be a dress made out of leaves with a pair of butterfly wings.

This isn't happening.

"What the hell just happened?" the fairy asked.

This isn't happening. Fairies don't exist. This can't be happening.

Tom looked at the fairy awkwardly. "Uh... I'm in the dark as well, too."

"I can't... I can't remember my name." said the fairy worriedly. Tom got a look of slight desperation from her. "Can you...?"

Tom said that no, he couldn't give her a name, because fairies don't exist and this is a frankly ridiculous situation to be in. Nate may have been a good roommate, but Tom just drew the line at fairies. This was stupid.

"Uh... I once read a book with a fairy named Holly in it. Would you like that?" said Tom, slightly in shock. His mouth seemed to know what to do in this situation, so it took over while his brain kept itself preoccupied with a constant loop of thoughts like this isn't happening or wake up, this is stupid.

The fairy thought, then nodded. Holly looked at Nate.

"I better... help him." Tom said, then walked over and half-lifted, half pushed Nate onto the couch. Holly watched in curiosity.

"He'll wake up in a few minutes... He's only got a few bruises." said Holly.

"I suppose you're a doctor?" said Tom, putting a pillow behind Nate's head. He thought about getting a blanket.

"Well, no, but I think I could help." said Holly.

"I'll go with getting him some aspirin."

"I'll make sure he's okay."

"Okay."

And so they went.

*

Nate began to open his eyes. Tom was sitting at the edge of the couch, while Holly sat on his leg.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Nate." said Tom.

Nate summons a fairy who his roommate, Tom, christens Holly. Nate ended up passing out from the sheer energy exerted by summoning a fully sapient being.

Meanwhile...
The Stranger stared into the painting. It was made by a Holocaust survivor, and depicted the mass graves at her camp. She died last week surrounded by her friends and family, and the Stranger who was merely curious. The Stranger observed the careful brush strokes of the bloated bodies, the precise shading of the dying embers of the fires that burnt the corpses, and the detailed deathmasks of the dead and the dying.

Jules stood beside the Stranger, who gave a quick glance to him then returned it's gaze to the painting.

"So..." said Jules. "What are we doing at an art gallery doing the oh-so-cheery subject of genocide?"

The Stranger shrugged.

"Heard you were at Heart's Desire. You won."

The Stranger sighed. He looked vaguely surprised at this exhalation.

Jules looked at the Stranger. "I'm curious. What did you get?"

It began to walk away. Jules followed.

"If I got my Heart's Desire, I wouldn't walk away from it. You're a real mystery man... Woman. Thing. That gasmask must make a great poker face, mustn't it? Tell me, why did you play instead of just say, observing? This is a game, you understand, and you just put your queen as a way of threatening somebody's pawn."

The Stranger stopped and looked at the mishmash of huge metal spikes that was made by a survivor of the Cambodian "Year Zero", initiated by the Khmer Rouge. It wasn't bad, but it did remind the Stranger of that project where they would put a collection of spikes on top of a nuclear dumping ground. The radiation symbol could be mistaken to mean an angel. What a joke.

"Sooo... Got nothing to say to that, huh?"

The Stranger shrugged at Jules.

"We've got a limited timeframe. Eventually our mutual friend will hear news of us, and when that happens it's not pretty. You're a new element to this, so you could effect things. What exactly are you looking for in this place? I mean, you can see what me and him could want. But you, you don't seem to want anything that you could find in this place."

The Stranger looked at Jules, then signed something to him. Then it was gone.

Jules thought. P-E-A-C-E. It was never straightforward, was it?

[IamanElfCollaborator]

"..I don't suppose you want to know what the hell I did?"
Nate facepalmed.
"Urgh. I thought it'd be like LAST time. Y'know, less fainting and more being conscious, all things being equal."
He looked at Holly.
"Huh. Didn't turn out like I thought she would. Hm.
So...welcome to the modern day, I suppose? Sorry if I disturbed you there."
He then turned to Tom, still disorientated.
"Um.....yeah. I can....you know Persona? Yeah...um...I can...um...summon....well, apparently a fairy, who by the looks of it is a Fae.....and a Salamander, which apparently is a firebreathing lizard. So...um...yeah!"
The college student shrugged at the dumbfounded Tom.
"What? Did I get you confused? Yeah, it did that to me too."

Holly sighed and flew off to the next room, muttering something about humans being weird.

--------------
The Salamander was off somewhere, eating rabbits and so. It was, thankfully, far enough from the fiasco that was its summoner trying to bring into the modern world a Wild Fae.
All he felt was a slight migraine, from his summoner suddenly being knocked out.
He sighed mentally.
"Damn mortal. What in Tartarus is he trying?"
The lizard scampered back to the Mortal's house, curious to figure out what was going on.
--------------

"So, wait. Lemme get this straight. You can summon FAIRIES. GODDAMN FAIRIES."
"Yes."
"And Holly is a fairy."
"Yes."
"And you summoned a FIRE-BREATHING LIZARD who is currently scampering around nearby."
"Yes."
Tom ran his hands through the hair on the back of his head, exhaling deeply.
"Goddamnit Nate. Just goddamnit.
Please tell me that you won't be doing this EVERY day."
Nate nodded, sighing.
"Fine, I won't summon something everyday."
"No summoning Godzilla."
"I doubt I could. Summoning Holly here knocked me out, as you saw. I doubt I'd be able to summon HIM with anything."
Tom looked around, before continuing.
"So, when did you start doing this?"
"About a month back. The Salamand-"
Nate was interrupted by the Salamander scampering up Tom's back.
"Who is this mortal, mortal? Is he a friend? Does he need to die?"
"AH WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK-"
Tom ran around screaming, flailing about to try to get the Salamander off his back. Nate looked around, thinking what to do.
"Um, I command thee to um....desist and get off my friend?!"
The Salamander jumped off immediately, as if magically swept off.
"Fine. As you wish, MORTAL."
He scampered off, while Tom panted.
"Ok, Nate. First things first, TEACH THAT THING TO LEAVE ME ALONE. Second thing, SHOW ME HOW YOU SUMMON THINGS. It sounds completely fucking AWESOME."
Nate looked apphrensive, the recent summoning attempt fresh in his mind.
"I-I don't think that's such..."
"Come on. It doesn't have to be a HUGE thing. Just something....small."
"But-"
"Come on, mate. For me? We're mates."
"I-I suppose..."
Nate sighed and extended his fingers in a magic casting pose. He searched his mental database for something he could bring in...
...he decided to try to draw on something simple and summon a small flock of intelligent fireflies, capable of throwing fireballs and immune to fire themselves.
Full Act: Nate summons the Firefly Hive, a group of twenty, intelligent fireflies capable of throwing fireballs, immune to fire, and under Nate's command.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Name: Nate Richards
Condition: Somewhat tired.
Location: Nate's House

Inventory:
Computer Science homework
P3:FES Guide
Aspirin
Sandwich

Summons:
'Holly', Wild Fae
The Salamander

Contacts:
Tom (friend)
Mother (mother)

[Digital Hellhound]

Jack looked at their mystery player (well, second mystery player and by far, but still) for a long time, a gentle smile playing on her features. He didn't look like much, but he had found his way here. That definitely counted for something in her books.

'Well... Johnny, was it? I don't think my games are ones you'd want to get involved in, Mr. Carpenter,' she said, but after a moment, manifested a card - a Queen of Hearts - from inside her coat and began scribbling on it. Jack eyes seemed to gain a predatory glint when she looked at him next.

'Here,' she said, handing over the card with her number on it. 'Your coat stays with me, though. Sorry. Rules of the game. Now, I hope you can let yourself out? I think one of your friends tried to leave without paying up. Really not the best course of action, but he did seem a bit on the dumb side. Later, Johnny.'

***

He found Magnus and the kid in an alley outside the casino. The big man had caught Duffey the moment he'd tried to bolt. He gave a simple nod when he spotted Jack, only a slight smile betraying the impassive mask.

'Oh, Duffey, Duffey, Duffey...' Jack said as she approached, spreading her arms in mock disbelief. 'What can we do with you? You did know what you were getting into.'

Duffey's eyes were wide with terror, courtesy of the barrel of the Tommy Gun pressed against the back of his skull. Jack admired the visual of Magnus' bulky form clad in the billowing trenchcoat, standing completely at ease with the son of one of the most dangerous men in the city for a moment before continuing.

'Rich family like yours, you could've bet something much more valuable than your life,' she said, shaking her head mournfully.

Duffey blinked hard and began nodding enthusiastically. 'Yeah... yeah, my da', he can-' he started, but was cut off by Magnus sending him sprawling with a kick to the ribs. He gave a high-pitched squeal that sounded deceptively like a pig's.

Jack gave Magnus a berating look and knelt next to Duffey's whimpering form. 'Sorry about that,' she said. 'He can get so excited. But, you already know eachother, don't you? I hear you met at... an amusement park, was it...?'

'Please.... please don't kill me. I'll, I'll do anything, I'll pay as much as you want...'

'Oh... sorry, Duffey. You made a bet, and I have to collect. I do take my games seriously.'

She motioned to Magnus, who grabbed Duffey as he began screaming for help - in vain, the streets outside empty and the noise from New Year's celebrations drowning him out regardless. Magnus threw him down and switched off the safety on the gun in his hands. He brought it to level. Duffey, now hyperventilating, closed his eyes. Jack thought he could hear him praying quickly under his breath, probably the first time in his life.

She let the moment draw out, sending Magnus gentle mental prods of amusement. The man remained as neutral as ever. Well, he was a professional. She gave the signal, and Magnus stepped back. It took a few moments for Duffey to realize he wasn't going to be shot.

'You're... you're not gonna kill me?' he asked.

'Err... no. Surprise!'

Relief flooded onto Duffey's face, soon joined by a confused frown. He seemed to regain his earlier bluster with surprising speed.

'Yeah, finally came to your senses, didn't you? Stupid bitch... I- I told you you couldn't kill the son of a mob boss.'

Jack felt Magnus tense at 'bitch' and felt a pang of affection for the big man. To Duffey, she shook her head.

'Sorry, you don't really get it. Honestly not your fault. I'm not gonna kill you, Duffey... but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna take your life.'

Duffey's expression of confusion turned into one of mindless bliss when the first tendrils of the spell Jack had been preparing touched his features.

***

Jack finished the spell, drawing the complex web to a close. They carried Duffey's unconscious form to the edge of the alley and retreated into its depths. Soon enough, he stood up, looking around in confusion, and began staggering away. They stared after him until he disappeared from view.

'So,' Magnus said, breaking the silence, 'what was the point of the show just now if he's not gonna remember anything?'

Jack shrugged. 'Don't I deserve a little fun every now and then? Him making that bet, especially with Vimes there... with the way he was hellbent on making things difficult like that, I needed to vent out a little.'

Magnus didn't say anything, though Jack felt his poorly-hidden amusement. She looked at him with a knowing smile and Magnus coughed.

'Right. How is this going to work, then? He didn't look very sick there, more hungover.'

'The spell will kick in in a few weeks. And then... it could take months, though with him, I doubt that. It'll look like an illness at first, coupled with depression - his father will love that - and then he'll just... fade away. No cure, no idea he was ever here, nothing to lead back to us. And I'll have everything he has been, is and could have been,' Jack said, sounding wistful, and ever-so-slightly guilty. 'I'll have to get a jar for that, I guess. Something that'll look nice on my shelf.'

Jack gave Magnus an expecting look. He shook his head, grinning slightly. Still no laughter, though. Damn.

'Well,' she said. 'I think the game went fairly well, as these things go. Shame the win went to our mystery player - someone I'd like to know more about, hint hint - but I'm sure they'll be back next year. Lovely people, all around.'

Jack took a deep, pleased breath. Fireworks were lighting up the sky in earnest now.

'Happy New Year's,' she whispered, and went to fetch their winnings.

---

Jacqueline Coupe does give Carpenter her number.

Full Act: Jack replaces the game with a night spent out in bars in Duffey's memory and begins to leech Duffey's life. Over the next few months, he will lose his health and will to live, before fading away completely - with all of his delicious life energy/soul delivered to Jack's care.

[The Alchemist]

"Good morning Lloyd," Ayana said as Lloyd woke up groggily, "No one disturbed you while you slept."

"You don't need to tell me all the times no one tries to disturb my sleep, it'd be more useful if you told me whenever someone did try to wake me. Regardless let's get a move on I have many plans to attend to. As for you just keep me safe as usual." Lloyd got up, his whole body sore and still dressed in his old clothes, from his makeshift bed in the old administrative offices. The desks and tables were thrown about haphazardly, the makeshift bed was made from leftover paperwork and newspapers, and the walls were still covered in rust from all the rain from before the roof was patched up. Ugh this place is in dire need of some spring cleaning. Especially since I'm stuck living here now.

"Hey, Lloyd there's something that I would... like to..."

"Oh yes," Lloyd said breaking from his train of thought, "what were you saying?"

"Nothing worthy of your attention sir," she spat out quickly. Lloyd merely nodded and stepped outside into the hallway connecting each of the wings of the factory. On the door to the administrative office adjacent to Lloyd's there was a note that read: Elton if you ever need a place to stay this room's available, it really isn't that bad after you get used to it. Lloyd wandered over to a catwalk hanging over the production floor and stood next to Aldrow, the ringers on the production floor were standing idly waiting for new orders small bits of dust accruing on particularly stagnant ringers.

"Ah good to see you sir Absolon."

"Status report Al."

"Well sir, there have been reports of violence towards those who have received a device from sir Elton as well as reports of some locals building effigies in the image of automaton models A and B whether out of curiosity or some other human emotion is uncertain."

"Well I did wish that we could have a further presence here to at least protect the associates of Elton, all in due time I guess. As for the locals well that should at least make things simpler for when we establish ourselves further. What's the status of the shipment I ordered?"

"It arrived early this morning sir, we made sure that the driver didn't get a good look at any of us as we unloaded his cargo. We should have enough metal for a few months of production."

"Just make sure it's well used that's the last of our capital right there, I really wish that I could've avoided that expense as I had other plans for it not that it matters much now. I'll be working on a few prototypes, a prosthetic limb and a weapon. I want the production priorities to be prosthetics, bolters, and weapons in that order. Don't produce more weapons than half the total number of bolters and make sure we have plenty of prosthetics."

"It shall be done sir."

Lloyd sighed, spending a few weeks sleeping on a hard metal floor really takes something out of someone. Oh well, just a few more months and everything should be in place.

"Query. How is the plan coming along?"

"I've found a venue that will be suitable for our needs. Particularly fitting considering my interests. Just make sure that everything goes swimmingly on your end and we should be fine." With that Lloyd departed to his own private workstation. It was a cramped ex-janitorial office now renovated with two tables, one covered in tools and the other completely barren, there was barely enough room for two people to stand together rather uncomfortably much less a pile of metal and Lloyd with his superfluous outfit. However, Lloyd made it work somehow as he toiled upon two new creations.

The whole process took much longer than he anticipated, probably because he split his power in half for each project. Lloyd didn't even remember if he slept, but he was told that Ayana visited him every few hours with food much of which remained uneaten. Once he finished Lloyd collapsed from exhaustion and was carried into his room by Ayana. The other Ringers carried his prototypes after him shortly afterwards.

Lloyd woke up to find Ayana hovering over him with a loaf of bread and a glass of water. "Oh, thanks. What happened?"

"You worked on those two prototypes over there," she said pointing over to two lumps of metal sitting atop a table in the newly organized room,"not sure what they are, but you worked on them for eight days straight so they have to be good. While you were doing that a few bolters were built, but most of the ringers were without work so they tidied up the place."

"Well that took longer than I thought," Lloyd paused for a few seconds closing his eyes again,"take the one on the left and get a feel for it. It's a weapon and hopefully it works, afterwards let the ringers take a look at it for a bit. As for the other one hand it to Al and tell him it's the priority one model I need built."

"Isn't that something you should be doing sir? Besides don't you have some plans to attend to"

"I would, but after that I feel like shit. The world can wait for a few hours. That reminds me we'll need a few test subjects. After a few models of the prosthetics are built collect a few homeless that are missing limbs, preferably volunteers first, and bring them here to make sure that the product works as anticipated."

"Anything else sir?"

"Once you've handled all that come back here," Lloyd smiled weakly, "I could use some company every once in a while."

"Of course Lloyd," Ayana said an odd click emanated from her as she departed slowly taking a long look at Lloyd, who fell asleep as she did so.

Half Act: Lloyd builds a weapon that changes form to whatever the user desires it to be and can fire projectiles. It is fully compatible with ringers and bolters by simply integrating with their body structure and only forming into a weapon when desired. It can be used by humans and automatons alike. The first model is given to Ayana.

Half Act: Lloyd builds a prosthetic limb that takes the form of anything as long as it is not a weapon. It is designed for use by humans as it is fully bio-compatible, but it can be used by automatons to quickly replace damaged limbs.

Null Act: ringers and bolters gather up homeless from the surrounding areas who are missing limbs. They do not hide their presence from them and prefer to avoid confrontation. They prioritize volunteers who wish to have their limbs replaced and will not kidnap homeless under any circumstance. After a few days in observation the subjects are to be released preferably discreetly.

Null Act: Lloyd spends the rest of his money on scrap metal.

Null Act: Produce, in order of importance, prosthetics, bolters, and weapons.

Null Act: Take in any people with regulators who wish to take sanctuary at the factory. They are not to be experimented upon unless they give consent and can leave at any time.

Null Act: Have the ringers/anyone staying at the factory to continue handing out the regulators that are produced.

[Caesar]

Journalism would never be his thing, he told himself. In fact- He simply detested it. The world was full of injustice and stories that were so easily linked together, yet here he was, reading about an amateuristic story about the “sudden increase in gang violence targeting the poor”. It had not taken much effort to find out that the gangs were acting to destroy a certain type of device that had spread among some of the addicts of the city. So here he sat, frustrated, disappointed “You are writers. People of the word.” He talked to the newspaper as if he was actually addressing the journalist who write it themselves, one Mr. A. Adams. “First you mess up the gangland shooting, and now can’t even manage to write down this story.” To have to witness the incompetence of this city’s news organ was not something unexpected, but it still left a bitter aftertaste. Red got to his feet, pacing up and down the room as he rewrote the story in his mind.

He barged in, with three of his ‘homies’ in tow, and unleashed a short spray of bullets into the crowd. A silence interrupted only by the groans of the wounded fell where a few moments ago had been a lively gathering. “Yo.” The men and women cringed as Red walked forwards. The sight of blood amazed him, and at the same time filled him with disgust. But a job’s a job and a gangsta got to make a living. “Which one of you motherf-” “Please don’t hurt us!” Red gave the man who interrupted him a single look, then made a gesture. Before the fella could react his skull had been cracked open with a baseball bat. “Yeah- Let that be clear! Interrup’ me and we ain’t gonna stop scoring homeruns no more until you’ll be crying for Babe Ruth to drop the bat on yo ass instead.” Someone cried, a stifled sound, escaping from a blocked throat. Red walked up and down the place, looking at every one of these misfits in turn. “Why ain’t nobody buying our crack no more, huh? Our shit ain’t good enough?” Nobody answered, and he was running out of patience. He stepped on one of the outcasts who laid curled up on the ground, applying pressure to his throat. “Yo! I asked ya all a question. Don’t yo mommas taught you it ain’t polite if ya don’t answer?” The man under his boot cried, trying to free himself. “We know what shit yo all been usin’, alright? You aint gonna be clean no more. Ya all need us.” After his little speech he gestured to his friends, who started searching the place. It took only several minutes for them to find the device, which looked almost alien in appearance. He had never seen such a thing before, but right now, he had a job to do. With everyone’s eyes on him, he took the bloodied baseball bat and set to the task of destroying the object and, when that was done, to the gruesome task of sending a message. When he finally left, he was drenched with blood.

Red nodded in agreement with himself. Yes- That was how it had gone. The goal of these machines, whatever they were, had been to reduce the dependency on drugs. The result; needless loss of life. How could one be moronic enough to move so openly, so clearly against the core driving force behind the crime in this city? A sign escaped from his lips, and he rubbed his chin absent-mindedly, as he played with a thought. ‘What.. If he was not alone?’ ‘What if he-..’

As if chased by the devil, he suddenly turned on his heels, reaching his wardrobe in a single step. For a moment he wondered how he could possibly have bridged the distance between table and clothes in a single step, then brought his mind back to the matter at hand. He had things to do, to confirm, to take care of. He had questions, and he needed answers. It was snowing outside, but that did not make it any harder for him to find the right clothing. His suit, overcoat and even shoes would protect him against the cold. Rushing to the bathroom he put in his red contact lenses – appearances impress, they always say – before making his way outside.


Johnny could not help but stare at the queen of hearts. On it was a number – a mobile phone number – and he wondered what to do with it. He had acted on a hunch when he had attended the event at the casino, and he felt a strange sense of guilt knowing that the coat which had been given to him to keep him warm was now no longer in his possession. On the other hand, Blink and he had had a talk and the description of the person who single-handedly took down two well-armed groups of mobsters fit one person almost perfectly: Jack had had someone standing watch, a true giant of a man. With all the abnormal things he had seen it would not have surprised him if that person was, in fact, the unknown vigilante. With that said, he struggled to understand the motivations behind the hit, but at least he could give Red what he had asked for. He had not doubted the man so far – Red had always been true to his word and things were looking up for him and his friends now – but Johnny did have some questions. In fact- Everything was a question. Who was Red? What drove him? And why, in whatever-God-there-might-be’s name was the world no longer what it had been before? Johnny stood up from his bench in the park. He wanted to seek some cover before the snow could get worse. He would think it over during a good, warm meal.

Naught a breath later he found himself sitting again, his mysterious friend taking up the adjacent place. Johnny looked at him and was met by a set of red, curious eyes. It became clear almost immediately that something was up, something was wrong. Whatever the case, Red seemed perfectly content with examining Johnny in silence. It took a few minutes, but eventually Johnny’s patience ran out, and he opened his mouth to speak. Just as the first vowel rolled off his tongue Johnny found himself interrupted by Red. “I see the difference now. You are wearing a new coat.” Before the homeless man could respond, his informer continued again. “The coat was yours. I am not angry that you lost it, Johnny.” Red’s face said something different than his words, however. They betrayed a certain.. Something. Was it discontent? Was it directed at Johnny? “Someone has a lot of blood on their hands – blood of people like yourself – and I want to know who.” So it was not Johnny with whom he was discontent, Johnny realized as Red handed Johnny the newspaper of today. ‘Bang; Gang violence increases’; an awkward title. Reading the article, Johnny wondered why, exactly, Red had pinpointed the responsibility for this increase in aggression to a single person. Before he could ask this question, however, the man in red started explaining, as if he had read his mind. “Someone has been distributing a device which, somehow, removes the dependency of the addicted on their drugs. While this is most certainly admirable, it provoked the gangs. The poor who were supposedly ‘helped’ took the damage.” Johnny nodded. “Alright. I’ll see whether I can find them.”

Red wanted to speak again, no doubt with other points on his agenda, but for once, Johnny was first. “I have some questions for you now.” Johnny’s remark was met with patient silence. “What are you dragging us into? Who are you, really? I mean- I played in the Game of Heart’s Desire. I lost my coat there, but what I saw.. I- I do not know. A mute in a gasmask calling themselves ‘the Stranger’, a woman named Jack, and your gangland shooter, all in one place. Not just that, but even our Chief of Police had been waiting for me there, as if he had known that I was coming. Why would the Chief of Police care about me?” Johnny’s mind ran faster and faster, and with every unit of processing time that passed more questions reared their ugly faces. “If I am correct, I got the number of the person behind the shooting, right..” He showed Red the card. “.. here.” Red took the card, examining it. He simply slipped it into his pocket and listened as Johnny continued to describe the events and his questions. When Carpenter finally finished, he nodded and spoke in what could best be described as a loud whisper, however contradictory that seems. “I will answer exactly one of your questions, Johnny. Ask carefully.”

Johnny sat there, alone, lost in thought. The city had three colors; black, white and Red. Well- He had read somewhere that black is technically not a color, but that mattered little in this equation. His informer, the man who sought to inspire him, was more than a mere man or mortal. He was an idea, a living manifestation of not just a color but everything that this color represented. Red was, in a sense, the very idea of mortality. The snow fell on Johnny’s hands. His new red gloves fit as if tailored to his hands specifically. He liked them. The blizzard had concealed Red as he left, but this weather was nothing compared to the figurative blizzard with which he hid his intentions, his knowledge, his actions. He came and went when he wanted to. Johnny’s eyes were on the newspaper again. A photograph of the Chief of Police had been circled. In red ink was written (regardless of what it was that Red was supposed to be, he was most certainly not a representative of pretty handwriting) “The Chief of Police has laid his eyes on you. In turn, you will do the same. He might prove useful or even better- He might prove to become one of your allies in whatever events which might yet unfold.” Johnny sighed. Perhaps Quinn could give him a ride on her Harley to the rust streets.


03:01, a day soon after, Jacqueline Coupe’s voicemail; Unknown number

A calm man’s voice started to speak. “Your voice sounds most elegant.” There was a short pause, as if the person on the other line was collecting their thoughts. “Your card is the Queen of Hearts; no doubt a choice motivated in theme and content. And my favorite card too, I feel obliged to admit. I notice that your handwriting possesses a grace that is naught but enviable.” There was a rustle of paper, a sound of someone pouring liquid into a glass. “I have reason to believe that you, directly or indirectly, were responsible for the events which ended in a massacre for both the Irish and the Russian mafia of this city.” A police siren sounded vaguely in the distance – an especially observant listener would have taken this for a clue that the caller was probably in an apartment on one of the main streets. “You have given me reason to believe that I am not alone, that there are other.. ..similar persons out there. I was wondering whether you were willing to meet me, alone. Where? Well, I am currently renting an apartment on Yeoman’s Street 67.” Another, longer silence. Our rendezvous, if you choose to react, will be in front of my apartment in two days, at exactly 17:01. I got two tickets for the opera. Do not consider trying to call me back.” A soft click announced the end of the call.

Null Act: Red meets with Johnny Carpenter, who provides information about the shooting which ruined the Irish/Russian deal and the details of the events at the Game of Heart’s Desire.
Null Act: Red answers one of Johnny’s questions.
Null Act: Red gifts Johnny a modest but certainly stylish set of dark red leather gloves to accommodate his ‘old new’ coat.
Null Act: Red instructs Johnny to, together with his companions, investigate the creator of the orgone regulators and by extension the person responsible for all the needless slaughter at the hands of the ‘hoodies’.
Null Act: Red tells Johnny to be wary of the Chief of Police, yet recommends him to maintain careful contact with Vimes.
Null Act: Red buys a new pre-paid phone and leaves a voicemail message on Jack’s number, inviting her to the opera. (NOTE: the address he gives her is, in fact, an address of an apartment he rents (under a fake name), but it is not the apartment where he usually stays.)
(I split up all the details even though you might say that they can be formatted as one or two 'null acts'. This is so that there is no huge wall of text to read through to find the summary of his actions.)

[10ebbor10]

The Mainframe doesn't fit to the traditional image of a supercomputer. Neither does it fit the real thing. The mainframe's a complicated mess of wires, processor units and screens, haphazardly connect to oneother. In fact, one might say it looks strangely similair to a tree, with large networks of roots on the surrounding floor, and one central trunk of coiled wires and metal, reaching for the ceiling. From it, screens hang like strange fruits, swinging softly in the slow breeze created by the Industrial ventilators that 've been placed in the surroundings. It's hard to appreciate the strange combination of Modern art and practical improvisation in gloomy darkness of the lab. The few blinking lights provide only the tiniest illusion of light, casting eery shadows on the abandonned walls.

Halfway across town, Robert's watch starts to beep. He finished the transaction, and started the return journey to his lab.

Back in the lab, the Mainframe awakens. The processing units start of with a true orchestra of zooms and beebs, electricity crackles around the wires, higher and higher up the trees. One by one the monitors light up, driving away the shadows, till the entire labratory is covered in their soft glow. A map of the city appears. And on it a little red dot. The computer zooms in, revealing the neighbourhood. It zooms in again, focusing on the street. Apparently satisfied with that it slinks back to sleep, only to be rudely awoken half an hour later.

Robert hastily starts his work. He has little time, and the work he has to do is not simple. The thing he is about to create has been theorized before, but had always been considered impossible. It required to much processing power, to much heat, and would be too prone for errors. Like many things they'd said, it was wrong. Sure, it was a hard thing to do, but it was perfectly possible to mimic a human intelligence in a silicon brain. To be fair, the elerium played no small role in it's functioning, but even without it, the device was constructable. There were however, as always, ethical and budgetary concerns.

A few hours pass, before the Mimetic Core is finally finished. It's soft green pulsing glow gives it an eldritch look, and it bears a striking resemblance to the ancient crystal skulls. With great precision, Robert added added into the heart of the computer, were it could sit protected by the masses of cabling surrounding it, hidden from view by a metal cover. At that same moment, a bell ringed. Hurriedly Robert turned on the power. The lights dimmed, power crackled, and then a single bolt arced through the air. The computer spoke. Or well, more precisely, it shrieked. The sounds of a terrified animal. Beneath the wires, the charred, blackened corpse of a rat was visible.

With a sigh, Robert moved to the computer. He accesed the template options, and opened up the reset button. His finger stopped moments before pushing it. Instead, he closed the screen, opened another, and saved the template to another location. Maybe a digitized rat spirit would turn out to be usefull one day.

He closed the computer, grabbed a coat, and started the climb upwards. Someone was probably waiting for him.

And maybe, if the system worked properly, he also had someone to introduce her to.

Half act: Create a Mimetic Core. Essentially, it allows for sentient computers. Impressive in that it learns from being near humans, picking up character traits and even skills and experience of surrounding people.   ((Warning: Do not touch; extended operation can result in unusual phenomena; Do not operate if insane))

Half act: Procure a 3D printing installation. An upgraded one that is.

Null act: Go meet the minion

Null act: Apply the Elerium-iron to secure the lab

[Xantalos]

Matthew shifted his weight impatiently while he waited for Merlin to arrive. He wasn't exactly sure what the wizard was up to, but he'd seemed excited when he told him to wait 'here, at this door' and then tottered off somewhere. He sighed and leaned against the wall while he contemplated the changes that had taken place in his life until then. After all, only a year ago - it really went by fast - he'd been just another orphan in a city filled with them; then Merlin had come into the orphanage like a great hunched gargoyle and after but a few words had swept him away to a life he'd never even considered. Of course, he'd had his doubts, especially when the codger had begun teaching him 'magic', but he was willing to put up for a bit of eccentricity in order to get away from the damn orphanage. He chuckled at the memory. He'd been shocked to all hell when Merlin showed him what he was really capable of. Even after a year of tutelage he still wasn't sure how exactly Merlin had made the extradimensional mansion he was currently in. Something about taking the universe and pinching a it of it off? It was confusing. And then, thought Matthew, life got good. Who could ask for more? Living in a frickin' mansion had it's benefits, plus the magic tutoring, which he had to admit was as tough, often tougher, than any school course he'd encountered. Unlike the latter, though, the results were totally worth it. Elemental manipulation, life-force manipulation, spells for growth and spells for shrinkage, flight, fire, and many many others had been drummed into his, head, though Merlin said that he wouldn't be able to perform most of them for several years. But he'd apparently proved a good pupil, and the old guy seemed happy enough. There he was now, scurrying down the hall. Matthew stood up as he approached, Merlin already talking. Ah, good, you're here still. Open the door, please. Matthew opened the indicated door, curiously finding that it led to solid wall. Now stand aside, lad, and watch what I do here, this'll be a good lesson for you, Merlin said as he bustled to the door.
Er, not to pry, but what are we doing here?, Matthew asked as he stepped aside to let the wizard past. He only gave him a brief glance and said, Expanding. Now watch the door, lad. Matthew turned and looked at the door, searching for any surprises Merlin might've hidden in it, but it looked fairly normal to him. Meanwhile, Merlin had pulled out a piece of chalk and had traced the outline of the doorframe. He then drew several things he seemed to include when he was doing a spell of some focus: A pentacle, various symbols inside the pentacle and all around the circle, and a bunch of muttered word under his breath seemed to complete the initial ritual: the lines of chalk went alight in a curious shade of magenta and the air around the door suddenly began to smell of spice. Curious as to what was really happening*, Matthew reached out with his Sight and saw - well, apart from the ambient energy of the house, he saw that the doorframe was already interwoven with a number of enchantments, for stretching, seeking, binding among others, and the symbols Merlin had drawn on the door seemed to be the activation key? Even as he watched, the energies of a spell Merlin had placed upon the door reached out  - but here Matthew was confused, as he could see that their strength was too low to do anything but reach out blindly in the ether. Surely Merlin wouldn't have -
And then Merlin activated the other part of the spell. Matthew saw a second set of energies, shaped in the same style of magic as the previous one, except reversed, in a way; if one set of runes was the lock, this one was the key.
Matthew vaguely saw Merlin gesticulating before the door as the two sets of energies met and fused together. He phased back to normal sight and saw ... just the same door. The markings had been scrubbed off, no visible burn marks or smells hung about the door - altogether a fine piece of spellwork. He blinked and shook his head to find Merlin looking at him. Well, Matthew, he chuckled, what was I doing just now?
Matthew blinked. Er, I guess you were connecting two things. Leastways that's what it looked like to me. But what two things? One was this door, so the other was another door?
Quite right, Matthew; come, take a look with me, Merlin said, opening the door. Looking through it, Mat saw ... a decrepit shop. It was mostly made of wood, with a desk that was obviously supposed to have inlaid glass that had been smashed out some time ago. There was a thick layer of dust all over everything that whirled up in great clouds when they set foot in the room, obscuring their vision and sending Mat into a coughing fit.
Sorry about that, Merlin apologized. it's a side effect of the spell. Here... The wizard gestured, and the dust seemed to fold in on itself, and then it was gone, leaving the room relatively clean. I never really liked the dancing brooms anyhow, Merlin commented. Shaking off the last of his coughing fit, Mat wheezed, Well, yeah, but what are we doing here? This place is even more trashy than the outside of the house!
It was true. The room was dark interspersed with a few beams of light shining through thanks to a few small windows at the presumed front of the store, but from what Mat could see, the ceiling-high shelves at the sides of the room were rotted and broken, and everything was the same shade of brown.
Well, lad, Merlin said, being a wizard isn't all being cooped up in a tower or mansion or what have you, learning nknowable secrets. An important part is also utilizing these gifts, and a good way to do that is by helping out the local community. Merlin stepped toward the door, talking as he went. In this case, the ghyettou.
Do you mean ghetto?
Yes, that, Merlin said as he opened the door, revealing the nightscape of a street that looked rather dilapidated. Matthew blinked in confusion, and turned to the wizard.
So what are we doing here?
Merlin looked over at him. Have you ever seen or heard of those mysterious shops wherein you can find strange magical artefacts and good advice?
Yes...
There you have it. We shall fix up the shop, and then we shall need to procure materials to manufacture our trinkets. Nothing much, really; I'll get you to do that. I have some reserves of money back at the house that should be sufficient for the errand.
With that, Merlin clapped him on the shoulder and turned around to go bsck inside, presumably to get a broom. He beckoned over his shoulder, saying, You'd best head to the shops from the house; this neighborhood is still rather run down. Come on, we haven't got all day. Mat hurried back after the wizard, closing the door behind him.

Full Act: Merlin connects a door in his abode (in a room full of such doors) to a door in the back room of an abandoned shop in a ghetto. This door functions somewhat like the door to the mansion in that access to the mansion can only be gained through it if Merlin or Matthew open it.
Null Act: Merlin fixes up the shop, making it suitably wizardy and giving it that mysterious shop feel, as well as sweeping out the dust and replacing the broken glass and shelves with unbroken replacements.
Null Act: Matthew goes out shopping with about $50, buying cutlery such as spoons and forks ($25 worth) and glass cups ($25 worth). He does this on multiple trips over a few days, carrying only a bit of money on him at a time to avoid attracting attention. He's also given a stipend pay of $15 to buy something he wants.
Null Act/Matthew Act: Once all the materials are procured, Merlin helps Matthew with reshaping the cutlery and glass into little amulets, beads, necklaces, etc. He does this with magic, if it isn't obvious.
The shop remains unopened for now, though.