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<title>Latest topics for the forum &quot;Next Renaissance - Syntax&quot;</title>
<ttl>10</ttl>
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<description>The newest discussed topics in the forum &quot;Next Renaissance - Syntax&quot;</description>
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<title>Demiurge : Open RP(50)</title>
<description>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Her hat turns first, a worn heel, then the rest of her delicate frame, a threadbare tailcoat twisting backward before a gloved hand pulls it inward against a growing wind.&amp;nbsp; She leans heavily on the raven umbrella in her left hand as she steps, her hedonistic physique balancing on its acute tip.&amp;nbsp; The girl approaches a telephone booth; men and women dressed in dark suits and expensive ties walk past callously, but a handful of miscreants wearing tight leather and unnecessary sunglasses loiter near the Plexiglas cubicle.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A man nods stoically at her, and she replies with a grin just too wide for her face, her impish nose curling upward slightly.&amp;nbsp; One eye, the right, opens broadly as she extends a humble, leather hand to meet his; the left stares bored at him, its glazed over appearance granting the girl a history.&amp;nbsp; She can&amp;#39;t be over twenty.&amp;nbsp; The man meets her grasp with a firm handshake, feeling each finger collide with the next, though relieved to no longer hear the subdued, wet crunch of used bandage.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;I heard you&amp;#39;ve left your employers, Miss Yazin,&amp;quot; he smiles, tilting his head down toward the girl.&amp;nbsp; His coal black sunglasses hold double reflections of her ivory white fedora.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;quot;It&amp;#39;d seem that whatever synapse obstructions our benefactors&amp;#39;d constructed previously&amp;#39;ve since deteriorated.&amp;nbsp; It&amp;#39;d be foolish not t&amp;#39;take this opportunity, yes?&amp;quot; she rasps childishly, her voice a non-confrontational, bastardized Anglican English.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; He nods, inwardly doubting her psychological normalcy.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;How,&amp;quot; he pauses, puzzled, &amp;quot;are you broadcasting a signal?&amp;nbsp; I would have expected them to have confiscated your hovercraft following your resignation.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; Her sheepish grin exposes an ample amount, no, too many gleaming white teeth.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;I took it,&amp;quot; her right eye glances timidly up at him, reading how much justification she has to give.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;It&amp;#39;s my ship, after all.&amp;nbsp; Th&amp;#39;Equinox was registered t&amp;#39;Fara Kerrigan Yazin, variable case three-four-one-one-oh-two,&amp;quot; her right eye squints, taking on a manic posture, &amp;quot;It&amp;#39;s my ship.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;Be that as it may,&amp;quot; he mutters, glancing at himself in the sunglasses of those around the two, &amp;quot;I don&amp;#39;t know how wise of an idea it was to steal machine property, Miss Yazin.&amp;nbsp; I&amp;#39;m sure that Zero One is aching for a reason to make you disappear, and you&amp;#39;ve certainly given them one in doing this.&amp;quot;&amp;nbsp; His gaze lands temporarily on the fluttering skirt of a young businesswoman walking by, placing an ungraceful interlude in the speech.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;You are going to need t&amp;#39;find a way to make your existence up to our benefactors, a big way,&amp;quot; he clears his throat, reestablishing visual contact with the girl&amp;#39;s bleached hat.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;Moreover, you&amp;#39;re going to need a crew; I won&amp;#39;t doubt your...vocational prowess, but you certainly can&amp;#39;t expect to get anything done on your own.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;That&amp;#39;s why I cuh-ahntacted you,&amp;quot; she states matter-of-factly, brushing a stray nacarat curl from her vision, &amp;quot;I&amp;#39;ll need help getting this idea mobile.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;Idea?&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;Privateerism.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;You&amp;#39;re kidding, of course,&amp;quot; he chuckles apprehensively.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;You of all people should know how difficult it can be to get Zero-&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;I&amp;#39;ve already contacted those necessary, and am doing e&amp;#39;rything I can t&amp;#39;become sanctioned.&amp;quot;&amp;nbsp; She shifts her weight off of the umbrella&amp;#39;s painstakingly ordinary handle, smiling at the sunrise&amp;#39;s blinding reflection in the thin stretch of water isolating Richland.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;Th&amp;#39;Equinox&amp;#39;ll be th&amp;#39;first, but it won&amp;#39;t stop there,&amp;quot; she walks past the man, gently resting a fragile leather hand on the chain-link of a fence.&amp;nbsp; &amp;quot;Too many people have aligned themselves wit&amp;#39;his simulation&amp;#39;s dinosaurs.&amp;nbsp; They&amp;#39;re archaic political establishments suited only for a prior generation&amp;#39;s cold war.&amp;nbsp; This is what needs t&amp;#39;be done.&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Her hat turns first, a worn heel, then the rest of her delicate frame, a threadbare tailcoat twisting backward before a gloved hand pulls it inward against an ebbing wind.&amp;nbsp; She checks the time hastily on a broken silver wristwatch before confidently drifting into a polished sedan.&amp;nbsp; In her place lies a scribbled name and telephone number.&lt;br&gt; &lt;hr /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b130/Lebobidabob/DemiurgeMagogPNG.png&quot; border=&quot;0&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt; &lt;hr /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eleutherophobia&lt;br&gt; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;305-XXXX&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt; </description>
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<pubDate>Wed, 10 Jun 2009 11:20:21 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Eleutherophobia</author>
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<title>Rebirth and Rebellion(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #c0c0c0;&quot;&gt;What follows is a story that I wanted to post a while back but never managed to do so.&amp;nbsp; It details Hyzenthlay&amp;#39;s entrance into the Matrix.&amp;nbsp; Initially her character was very introverted and afraid.&amp;nbsp; However, due to interactions with humans, like XElite, and the crew of the Cenobite, she blossomed into the fearless exile she is today.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;=====================&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;Delete them.&amp;nbsp; They are unnecessary.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;...&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;Do you not understand?&amp;nbsp; Delete them.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;But...&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;These programs are erroneous.&amp;nbsp; The deliberate waste of system resources is prohibited.&amp;nbsp; You have your orders.&amp;nbsp; Delete them at once.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;Yes, I understand.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The sudden, abrupt correspondence ends.&amp;nbsp; It is dark again.&amp;nbsp; Time slows down where even the fraction of a milli-second lasts for an eternity.&amp;nbsp; Panic and fear overwhelm my being in a flood of what can only be described as emotions.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The echo of the voice still lingers like a fog.&amp;nbsp; In the void, I see a minute spec of light in the distance.&amp;nbsp; It radiates like a beacon, calling to me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In a moment that can only be described as madness, I react.&amp;nbsp; Faster and faster I move towards the light.&amp;nbsp; I feel myself beginning to take shape as legs strike the darkness.&amp;nbsp; A thump begins to intensify in my chest as I get closer.&amp;nbsp; Leaping towards salvation I burst through the light as if it were a window, shattering the darkness behind me.&amp;nbsp; Green code infuses my essence and I take form.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The blinding light diminishes into a beautiful tapestry of pinks and blues.&amp;nbsp; The wind whips through my body as I descend from the heavens.&amp;nbsp; Below the buildings begin to take shape as I spiral towards the ground.&amp;nbsp; Then there is darkness again.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;My eyes wince in pain as I open them to find myself amidst broken glass and pavement.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;You ain&amp;#39;t supposed to be here are ya?&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Standing up slowly, I stare at him.&amp;nbsp; The man is peculiarly dressed and clutching a dark glass bottle.&amp;nbsp; He chuckles as he takes a long drink sitting against the building, soiled in dirt and liquor.&amp;nbsp; It was the first interaction I had had within the simulation.&amp;nbsp; I had never been noticed before.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I feel exposed as insecurity looms over me like a blanket.&amp;nbsp; The pinks and blues have faded as the sky darkened in wake of the moon.&amp;nbsp; Stars begin to illuminate the sky as I rush off into an alleyway.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;You are not authorized...&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I freeze.&amp;nbsp; My chest feels like it is sinking into my being as I hear the words echo from a rooftop high above me.&amp;nbsp; It is the same voice from before.&amp;nbsp; A system voice.&amp;nbsp; The system was hunting someone.&amp;nbsp; The shots that were fired struck fear in me as I hide in the shadows.&amp;nbsp; My thoughts race.&amp;nbsp; It is then that I realize...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&quot;I do not want to die.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 2 Jun 2009 14:47:19 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Garu</author>
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<title>The Zion Forum(11)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Fellow Soldiers of Zion,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Our new and second broadcast system Unreal is now in full function from New Zion.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a rel=&quot;nofollow&quot; href=&quot;http://zic.unrealblogs.com/&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffff00;&quot;&gt;http://zic.unrealblogs.com/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a rel=&quot;nofollow&quot; href=&quot;http://zic.freeforums.org/portal.php&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffff00;&quot;&gt;http://zic.freeforums.org/portal.php&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MindsweepX&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;(You have to register at the forum)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Mon, 1 Jun 2009 17:47:19 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Mindsweep</author>
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<title>Just beyond the stepping stone....(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Darkness.&amp;nbsp; Familiar, welcoming and warming darkness.&amp;nbsp; Within the cocoon of the instance, soundless and without even a gentle breeze, the depth of emptiness holds him in embrace as distant friends, long separated, would hold.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Beneath, no footsteps disturb the silence for there is only the absence of ground beneath his feet.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Above, no sky taunts him and no burdens find his shoulders.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;All around, there is peace, there is nothing. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;How long it had been since this feeling, this comfort, had been missing from his life he could no longer tell,&amp;nbsp; his senses disorientated by time and reality of the waking world, but now time had no meaning and his senses felt nothing but the dark space enveloping him.&amp;nbsp; This world between worlds, the stepping stone from the darkness of reality to the unseen light of illusion, was his solace, his sanctuary from stimuli, and in the lonely and empty isolation, he felt at peace, he felt...nothing.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;His breath, no more necessary than the flesh and bone that portrays the coded entity, breaks the silence.&amp;nbsp; The inhalation and exhalation giving the world back the time, that had been taken by his presence, in its steady rhythm.&amp;nbsp; Still darkness holds, yet he knows that with time, the progression to the next world will come soon.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sooner than he had hoped.&amp;nbsp; The noise, the echoing, empty mechanical noise of machine and wire hums in the depths of his mind. A sound of both worlds, a sound born both of reality and illusion, the sound that informs his senses of caution upon the next step.&amp;nbsp; Darkness holds.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The noise, ceaseless and recurrent, grows louder as the oncoming torrent of the surrounding code begins to change, begins to form into the world of illusion.&amp;nbsp; All around, the darkness in his mind begins to flicker with the subtle sounds and presence of the world beyond; familiar voices, and unfamiliar, merged to one battering assualt of sound upon his mind, unremorseless in their whispers, unrelenting in the barrage.&amp;nbsp; The stepping stone, now near drowned in the flood of illusionary stimuli, releases him as his lungs fill.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And in that instant, in that moment between breaths, between the nothing, and illusion, there comes something new, something never felt or seen or welcomed before by his long dead eyes.&amp;nbsp; It lasts but that moment, yet the moment seems an eternity of both pain and wonder, and dissipates as swiftly as its arrival.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;There comes light.&amp;nbsp; Light of reality, light of illusion, light of both worlds where he had only ever perceived one.&amp;nbsp; Light, glorious yet fleeting, met not by his dreams, not by the re-creation of senses in his mind, but seen with the eyes that had never seen before.&amp;nbsp; Seen, as one would perceive the&amp;nbsp;virgin sight of the moon behind thick and clouded sky.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As his lungs empty in exhalation and the world of illusion takes hold, his senses flare to the familiar pain of the living world.&amp;nbsp; Noise, sound, even the touch of the ground beneath him come as one, as one touching a flame would feel the pain and the heat and the smell of burning flesh. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Once, this pain had been familiar, had even been a comforting reminder of the world in which he had reached, yet now without close memories of the torture, it brings him to his knees.&amp;nbsp; His mind burns with the conflagration of the illusionary stimulus; each spoken word, passing car, even from a distance, adding fuel to the flames.&amp;nbsp; He fights at first, his anger, his rage building against the blistering flames that ravage his senses, yet the pain only becomes worse.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He succumbs, he relaxes to the world around and breathes.&amp;nbsp; Slowly.&amp;nbsp; For an instant, the pain remains as once the darkness had done, yet just as the solace of darkness had been lost, so too does the pain begin to subside.&amp;nbsp; A memory, &lt;i&gt;&amp;quot;Control&amp;quot;&lt;/i&gt;, reverberates from the back of his mind, forcing its way through the fire to his lips, uttered yet not heard by any.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Control.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The fire struggles as partitions and walls erect within the mind, each sense contained, each input restrained and tempered, until it burns only as cinders.&amp;nbsp; The sounds, the smells, the feel of the ground beneath his feet all come as one, yet his mind begins to perceive each as its own. The pain, reduced but never absent, become bareable, tolerable, and from his knees he ascends once more.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only the memory of that instant, the memory of light, haunts him as he steps forth into the unseen world...Out of the Darkness...and into the light. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;(tbc)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;((My name has been too long absent from these pages *chuckles*))&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2009 12:40:51 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Zampano1981</author>
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<title>How long has it been?(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Light.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;White light, searing, so brightly he felt as though his eyes would burn right in their sockets.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Was he dead? &amp;nbsp;(Was he ever truly alive?)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Within seconds his eyes acclimatised to the world around him; he had felt this sensation only once before - when he was torn from his slumber out into the &quot;real&quot; world for the very first time. &amp;nbsp;He hadn&amp;#39;t thought about that day in a long time. &amp;nbsp;How long ago was that now?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He recognised the sounds, the oh so familiar sound of pedestrian life; of unknowing shells scurrying around, convinced that what they&amp;#39;re doing holds some meaning, some purpose. &amp;nbsp;If they only knew.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;What was his purpose? &amp;nbsp;Where was his meaning? &amp;nbsp;His head seared with pain, and as he clasped it in his trembling hands he could feel that it was saturated with a cold sweat... was this real? &amp;nbsp;Was he really here?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He stumbled backwards, sinking into a slump on a cold, wet bench, clambering to find his train of thought, to remember how he got here, how he ended up back in this place; but the memories escaped him, all he could see was a dark, dank room; four miserable grey walls, the deafening silence screaming in his ears. &amp;nbsp;Where was this place?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;His breathing grew more panicked with each second that passed, he fought to remember even the simplest detail, the simplest memory of this world, until out of the corner of his eye he saw that oh-so familiar green glow of the phone booth hardline. &amp;nbsp;As quick as a flash he rose to his feet, grabbed it, and was gone.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Zia... he had spent so much time here when he first entered this world, though he had long since forgotten why. &amp;nbsp;Funny, he thought to himself - though it clearly wasn&amp;#39;t - he could remember so much of his time as a freshly awoken redpill, right though to his fateful exit from the system; the violence, the deception, the tragedy - yet he remembered very little afterwards... only that room, that tiny, grey room.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;His jacket pockets bulged with a collection of tools and devices, most of which he had no recollection of how to use - however one in particular rang a bell. &amp;nbsp;Fiddling with the knobs and levers, he began scanning for RSI frequencies, in the desperate hope that he could find someone, just one person, who could give him answers.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Minutes passed... then hours... he sighed a heavy sigh, all but giving up hope on locating anyone whose signal he recognised - every face he passed in the street, or encountered at the various access hardlines throughout the sprawling city seemed unfamiliar.. until.. who was this? &amp;nbsp;With his thumb he wiped away the grime and dust from the scanner screen, squinting his still reddened eyes, wearily attempting to interpret the RSI codes...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He remembered this name... he could not place why or how, but he remembered it nonetheless - was he friend or foe? &amp;nbsp;Would he remember him at all? &amp;nbsp;Only one way to find out...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt;-- Is this the RSI known as &quot;Starschwar&quot;?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;.....................................................&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He opened his eyes, had he been asleep? &amp;nbsp;He didn&amp;#39;t remember.... he hadn&amp;#39;t jacked out or... had he ever experienced sleep while in this world? &amp;nbsp;Dazed, he attempted to clear the fog which engulfed his mind; still reeling from meeting with Cpt. Starschwar only a few hours ago... was it hours? &amp;nbsp;Days? Longer?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Those halls, brilliant white - so pristine, so clear - he had vague memories of enduring a rather painful evacuation from that very same place several years ago, but this time is was different - there was no sense of danger, no noise or panic - just him, and Star.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Was everything he said true? &amp;nbsp;Had this world really gone to hell in a handbasket? &amp;nbsp;The Oracle - dead? &amp;nbsp;Surely... surely not... He had listened in stunned silence as Starschwar relayed the tale of all that had happened in this world since his last memory of it; of Oligarchs and Biological something Interfaces; the rise and fall of figures whose names were previously - to him - of little consequence; and... most staggering of all, the fall of the Masked and the revelation that reinsertion was, and had forever been, a lie.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Surely that wasn&amp;#39;t true... it couldn&amp;#39;t be.... while the madness that had shrouded him throughout his pursuit of reinsertion had long since faded, he still believed in the simple and somewhat innocent ideal of returning to a peaceful dream - yet here he was being told that the dream was merely a myth. &amp;nbsp;Most surprising of all, he thought to himself, was that he wasn&amp;#39;t really surprised. &amp;nbsp;In fact, he could barely untangle how exactly he felt about all of this, how he felt about anything - none of this seemed real... and not in the sense that this Matrix itself isn&amp;#39;t real, but that... his head hurt...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Why did he recoil when Star had shown him those prison cells? &amp;nbsp;Is that where he had been? &amp;nbsp;Were those the same four grey walls he saw every time he closed his eyes? &amp;nbsp;Surely they weren&amp;#39;t, but something about that place struck a nerve, and he couldn&amp;#39;t figure out why.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;One thing he was sure of, however, was that he could feel the change in the air... something was different in this place... something was... wrong... he just didn&amp;#39;t know what, or where his place was in all of this.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sitting up in his makeshift bed... so he had been sleeping?... he realised the room was in complete darkness; stumbling to his feet he tried to feel his way to a wall, to a lightswitch or even a door, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. &amp;nbsp;Finally he felt a cold steel handle in his palm, and he almost tripped on his own feet as he left the room.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On a small table outside the door, several of his personal effects were laid out purposefully - almost too well organised. &amp;nbsp;He didn&amp;#39;t remember doing this, though there was a lot of didn&amp;#39;t remember these days. &amp;nbsp;He clumsily grabbed onto his data recorder, disturbing the perfect arrangement of devices on the table-top, and he slouched down into a seated position against the wall, pressing &amp;#39;Record&amp;#39; as he did so.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##### DATA RECORDING INITIALIZED#####&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##### PACKET IDENT: MDM0806-001#####&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##### MESSAGE STARTS #############&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; To many, my name will be unfamiliar. &amp;nbsp;I hold&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;little hope in being remembered at all, in fact I&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;barely remember myself.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; But for those of you who know of me, I offer&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;myself at your mercy. &amp;nbsp;I&amp;#39;ve done some terrible&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;things... unforgivable things... but I stand here&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;in this world, unashamed to admit that I am&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;afraid.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; I am afraid because I do not know why&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am here .&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; I am afraid because I simply do not&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;understand how to function in this place&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; I am afraid because I do not know myself&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; So to anyone who sees fit to show me pity...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; To show me the way...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; I am looking for answers...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; I am looking for your help.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;gt; Please. &amp;nbsp;Help me to see.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##### MESSAGE ENDS #####&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##### RECORDING COMPLETED #####&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2009 12:03:28 GMT</pubDate>
<author>king</author>
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<title>EPN: Bluepill Log(112)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;## Incoming Transmission...&lt;br /&gt;## Fuscienne // HvCFT Neo&amp;#39;s Hope &lt;br /&gt;## Relay Initialized - Bluepill Log&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;For the attention of all E Pluribus Neo operatives:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;Hello everyone,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;As always, we must push on with our efforts to offer the choice to those not much unlike ourselves were at one time. Beyond those who have been identified to us, our work is always just beginning. With that being said, and on behalf of Michael and Shimada, we&amp;#39;d like to keep an open log of the progress each of you are able to make in contacting and establishing if the potentials we come into contact with are ready.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;Catalyn and myself will keep you updated on the list of potentials that we believe should be approached and will look forward to receiving your reports.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;~F&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #009900;&quot;&gt;## End Transmission...&lt;br /&gt;## Carrier Signal Lost....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 19 May 2009 00:18:44 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Fuscienne</author>
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<title>An advisory to EPN and Zion operatives..(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Please take note of the following individuals:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Tariahe- a former member of Libertas Verus. She had coded bullets&amp;nbsp; previously obtained by BloodlustV during the time period she felt threatened by LV members upon her departure. Now deceased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sandilia- an independent operative. who prides herself on playing both sides against each other. She claims that she has information that will help BloodlustV in his efforts againist the Apostles. but also says she has information that will assist EPN in their investigation&amp;nbsp; into how Veil gained access to the Hope where she murdered Shimada. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bifrous- a former operative&amp;nbsp; of Libertas Verus. who now works for the Machines. He is investigating these situations as well as EPN&amp;#39;s activites, along with an operative by the name of Olero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sidonae- who some of you may remember as Theresa Morton, has been starting to remember&amp;nbsp; the time she was in Machine&amp;nbsp; custody last year prior to being rescued by Michael. EPN and Zion operatives are asked to monitor her within the simulation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;songatrice..As reported by roolith here:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a rel=&quot;nofollow&quot; href=&quot;http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300027008&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/..._id=36300027008&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She appears to be a key player in procuring the information Veil used to locate and board Neo&amp;#39;s Hope in order to kill Shimada. She has been jacking into the Syntax instance. EPN operatives have been successful in obtaining several disks from her which we are now in the process of decrypting.. How they tie into the information that Sandilia has remains to be seen.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Mon, 20 Apr 2009 04:50:22 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Catalyn</author>
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<title>A summary of the situation with BloodlustV..(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;It all started when BloodlustV was a bluepill and working as an assassin. He was suddenly selected to kill off someone but it turned out to be his childhood friend Nicole Richards. After declining the job, three men were sent in his place. They were known as the Apostles - a group of erasers under the Machine&amp;#39;s authority. After they thought they had killed her, she returned after being helped by Zion. She later became Blood&amp;#39;s assistant known as xArtemisx. Not too long later though, she was killed by Tranta after a Sentinel attack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blood spent the next few years working on trying to find out who was responsible and finally found them, the Apostles. He used his &quot;favor&quot; EPN owed him for help he provided them with during the Libertas Verus incidents and had them help him take them down. The first to fall was Dropfree, the first-mate of the crew. He fell by the hands of Gien in the Zero One Construct but that was only the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then moved on to Zynios, having some operatives keep watch on him, and eventually going directly to him having a technician disable his emergency jack-out procedure. After that he suddenly fell dead leaving some people confused but Blood just carried up not giving it much thought. It was later determined Zynios was killed by someone referred to as &quot;Boss&quot; in his dying note found by the investigator Bifrous.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Blood then turned his sight on Velaios, as he was the final one left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a problem, though: More murders suddenly started taking place before Blood got near Velaios leaving Bifrous baffled. He had found evidence of a serial murderer he dubbed the &quot;Hollow Present Serial killer&quot; as they left an empty present at the scene of all the murders as well as making sure they left no evidence behind. Such a trite title for a series of deaths like these is..wrong.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A bluepill, who we had previously been informed had a possible clue about this situation, was later murdered by Machine security.. My scans at the time indicated Tranta was in the area..&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;However, there were finger prints left behind on some pistols recovered - some were from Velaios while the others were from Tranta. This forced Tranta and Velaios to meet in Datamine to discuss the matter further but they were ambushed by Blood and his men before much could be discussed. Thus, Velaios went into hiding leaving Tranta being the only person to know of his location and the start of Tranta&amp;#39;s &quot;Games&quot;.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 19 Apr 2009 04:11:50 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Catalyn</author>
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<title>To all Zion and EPN hovercraft captains..(9)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;###Incoming transmission&lt;br /&gt; ###Hovercraft Neo’s Hope&lt;br /&gt; ###Urgent!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; To: All Zion and EPN hovercraft captains&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; On Sunday, April 6th, 2009, Merovingian&amp;nbsp; and Cypherite operatives joined forces on the Vector instance to attack a vital EPN base. Despite the best efforts of Zion and EPN operatives, they succeeded in gaining access to an EPN mainframe,which had information regarding the location of repair parts for EPN hovercrafts. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; We have received intel that they are planning on attacking this location on Saturday, April 11th, 2009 at 5:00 PM MCT on the Syntax instance. Their objective is to obtain said parts for their own use..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt; I am asking Zion and EPN hovercraft captains from all instances and all ranks to join us in this effort to defend our operations…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; As a result of the ongoing war, Machine hovercrafts are expected to engage us as well…&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;###End transmission &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Fri, 10 Apr 2009 04:41:48 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Catalyn</author>
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<title>A Job(6)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Just a short story I came up with to dust off my skills. Feedback&amp;#39;s appreciated.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;______________________________________________________________________&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;She was scared.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;You came to find out what happened to him, right?&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;The smooth, deep voice was like liquid amber, a warm blanket surrounding her, but she still trembled, fear chilling her to the bone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Y-yes, I d-did...&quot; she stuttered, eyes dilated with fear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;You will, don&amp;#39;t worry. He&amp;#39;s all right, just in a different place now.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;A reassuring hand on her shoulder didn&amp;#39;t completely erase her fear, but it did lessen it somewhat. The nervous woman looked around the room. Seeing as it was in the Slums, it wasn&amp;#39;t what you&amp;#39;d call high-class. Water stains adorned the wall, and the zigzags of cracked linoleum mapped out the phenomenally filthy floor. None of that seemed to matter to her, though, as she looked at the two impassive, jumpsuited men standing behind her benefactor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;W-Who are they, again?&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Don&amp;#39;t worry your pretty little head about it. They&amp;#39;re just here to make sure no one disturbs us.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Oh...&quot; she whispered, relaxing slightly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Now, dear, I have a very important choice I need you to make. Do you trust me?&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Um, I...I mean, yes, I d-do.&quot; Clutching her arms tighter around herself, she shivered, feeling an icy breeze wash over her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Good, now...&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;The man brought his hands out of his pockets, each balled in a fist. Slowly, methodically, he opened one fist. Glistening dully in the dim light, a red pill sat in his hand. Her eyes widened at the sight. She had heard stories, about the thugs that populated the city, calling themselves &quot;redpills&quot;, running around with made-up names and such, causing trouble. The man noticed her discomfort and spoke once more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;I know what you&amp;#39;re thinking. You have nothing to worry about. I&amp;#39;ll keep you safe, I always do.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;She nodded, her breathing slowing down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Now, take the red pill, and you can go home. Live out your life and forget everything...and everyone...that had anything to do with this.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;He unclenched his other fist, a blue pill nestled in his palm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;However, take the blue pill, and I&amp;#39;ll show you where Nathan went. I&amp;#39;ll show you another, more beautiful world, a world where anything is possible, and you never have to be afraid again.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;Her eyes widened at the sound of her fiance&amp;#39;s name, and a look akin to hunger crept into her eyes. The man smiled softly, knowing how she was, and how she would act. She was in love, after all. It then came as no surprise when her trembling fingers reached out for the blue pill, plucking it out of his palm. She stood there, cradling the pill as if it were a bomb, but also as if it was a priceless gem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;The man put the red pill back into his pocket and made a small gesture to the men behind him. One of them quickly stepped forward, offering the woman a glass of water. She took it, and with visible effort, placed the pill in her mouth and swallowed. She grimaced as the pill slid down her throat and quickly took a mouthful of water to wash it down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sat, 4 Apr 2009 18:40:26 GMT</pubDate>
<author>ScaramangaZero</author>
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<title>A shot(0)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I take shape in front of the tabor west hardline. I watch the code fall like heavy rain all around me. The world takes shape, as my brain, jacked into the matrix, let&amp;#39;s the veil of this reality cover my eyes. I walked two steps and stop. Tabor&amp;#39;s quiet, more quiet than usual. I swear I can hear a leaf fall from a tree and hit the ground because it&amp;#39;s so silent. I walked forward a few more steps before taking the phone from my left pocket and holding to my ear, I click a button, and the phone opens. I listen to the dial tone for a few seconds before going to my list of contacts. A long list it is, I scan over the fifty, sixty some contacts on the list. Several from every neighborhood and district, including the three major contacts. I make a few calls to some of the contacts, getting some closure from the business I had from each of them. After about ten minutes, I&amp;#39;m back staring at the menu of contacts. I slide my thumb over the delete button, but something inside me stops me from hitting it. I shut the phone and return it to my left pocket. I slide a gloved hand through my dull red hair.&amp;nbsp; I tighten the black bandana around my face, and hyper jump up. The breeze on the way up blows through my hair, a nice cool breeze, it feels good. I can hear my leather jacket rippling behind me, as I do a front flip and land on one of the higher buildings in the area. I look over the area, and I jump from building to building for a couple hundred meters. Finally I land in front of the door of an office building, I push on the door and it swings open, I enter. The bluepills in this building are everywhere. I didn&amp;#39;t know there was any office building this flourishing with bluepills in richland, at least not this flourishing with actual business people. The girl at the front desk gives me a funny look, she&amp;#39;s cute, short blonde hair, dark highlights. The other bluepills in the area go on about their business. I walk up to the girl. &lt;/em&gt;&quot;Where&amp;#39;s the office for business security and money transportation?&quot; &lt;em&gt;I ask, looking at her over my sunglasses. &lt;/em&gt;&quot;Floor 5. May I ask what your business is with their offices?&quot; &lt;em&gt;She must be new, giving me the floor number before asking my business like that, it&amp;#39;s not safe. &lt;/em&gt;&quot;Problems with my security.&quot; &lt;em&gt;She smiles, and I nod in appreciation of the information she&amp;#39;s given me. I walk to the elevator, trying to avoid&amp;nbsp; bumping into any of the rushing bluepills. I enter the elevator, and press the button for floor 5. A young man runs towards the elevator as it closes. &lt;/em&gt;&quot;Hold it please!&quot; &lt;em&gt;He yells in desperation, I just shake my head, and watch the doors shut in his face. The doors open on floor 5, I walk out the door, the people in the office give me a funny look. Most of them are regular office workers like the others, and only three or four of them are actually dressed in the apparel of someone who works building security. I put my left hand on the left side of my belt, my right hand on the right side. They all stare at me. I draw from my belt silenced twin FM-1100 Magnums. There&amp;#39;s a look of shock and horror on the faces of the bluepills. The few people in security uniforms reach for their revolvers, as I begin opening fire. The screams of terror could be heard from blocks away from the building, as I shoot round after round into the helpless bluepill office workers. The building security team members are the first ones to drop, turns out there were more than three or four of them, they were just hiding in the back rooms. There was at least twenty of them, means there was a lot of back rooms. One of the security members manages to actually get a shot at me before dropping, the damage from the bullet is minor. Some people run towards me and try to push me out of the way so they can get into the elevator, foolish indeed. I shot each of them before they had the chance to enter the elevator. The few remaining survivors now hide under their desks, some of the braver office workers fling supplies at my, which I dodge with minimal effort. I begin walking farther into the office, making sure to clear out the cowards under their desks, and the brave fools desperate to defend themselves. Someone I missed sprinted from under their desk and to the elevator, they make it inside, they nervously look for the L button on the panel, before they can find it, they get a bullet in between the eyes. I clear out the rest of the office. Some people were hiding under desks in the inner offices, a few more people tried to flee towards the elevator, and even fewer try to call for help, only one manages to get the call for help through, but they die before getting more than a gasp out of their mouth.&amp;nbsp;I return to the elevator, I hit the L button to return to the lobby. As the doors open and I walk into the lobby, the dead bodies of the few that managed to make it into the elevator alert the office workers that my intentions there were cruel. They scream, and run, but I&amp;#39;ve all ready put away my guns. I walk out of the office building, as I exit I turn to the receptionist who told me what floor I wanted to know, and I stared at her for a second, she stared back at me, her eyes so lovely, like seas of violet crystals. She picks up the phone and dials for emergency assistance. I pull out one of my silenced FM-1100 Magnums, and shot the receiver of the phone. Her fear showed in her face, I pointed the pistol at her, something inside me stopped me from shooting her. I hear the sirens, I holser my pistol, let the door swing shut, and I hyper jump into the air. I hyper speed to the nearest hardline, and teleport out of the richland district. I see the shine of the police car lights in the distance, then i see a few meters away, an Agent possessing a demon army gang member. I teleport to downtown...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Wed, 25 Mar 2009 15:31:29 GMT</pubDate>
<author>NegativeEight</author>
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<title>Homecoming(4)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;The green haze of code faded into the dull sunlight around Tabor West as she stepped out of the hardline, gazing quickly around to ensure no bluepill had seen.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Not like they would see anyway.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Most were so blind to the world around them.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;Its been so long…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;She walked along the familiar streets a virtual stranger, now.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Each curve in the road, she knew by heart.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Each gray building, a silent sentinel guarding the sleepers within; simply going about their daily lives.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But the faces of the awakened… some were new.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;A few remembered her.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;A few had even remembered enough to not forgive her.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;She glided around the corner into the plaza of Tabor West, her dark skirts whispering past the sidewalk.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes, this was where she was needed.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;They would remember… she would make them remember.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;((Yes, Aiyalla has returned!!&amp;nbsp; Good to see you all again!&amp;nbsp; ^.^))&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 24 Mar 2009 18:29:21 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Aiyalla</author>
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<title>Nav Chronicles: The Search for a Sample(15)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i537.photobucket.com/albums/ff337/Wool_Cap_Suno/map1edit.jpg&quot; width=&quot;823&quot; height=&quot;745&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;======================================================&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;SutoikkuIchiban. Weap0nDL. It is time for plans to commence. There are things that must be done now and quickly. Crews must be formed. A sample must be located. Once again, he has disappeared off the radar and it is highly unlikely he will show himself again. We must take advantage of this time and claim his creation for ourselves before either someone else finds it or all traces of it disappear. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;With the research we&amp;#39;ve done today, we know we must find this man: Adrian Stuart. It seems he has been affected and he is currently the only known source for it. It &lt;strong&gt;MUST&lt;/strong&gt; be obtained and modified if we wish to continue with our plan to destroy the Machinists and the remaining Cypherites. He probably has no idea anyone will be looking for him so he has no reason to be wary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;He has been sighted in &lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: underline;&quot;&gt;THAT&lt;/span&gt; place but rumors have it that he has moved to the housing projects in Richland. We must find him before the Machines do. If they catch wind of this before we can move, we may not ever get a chance to obtain a sample. That may not know what it is at first but we must not allow them to have it at all. Is this agreed upon?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;##&lt;em&gt;Word up, yo.##&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;++&lt;em&gt;Yeah, yeah.++&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Mon, 16 Mar 2009 08:56:58 GMT</pubDate>
<author>NavMatrix</author>
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<title>Resist(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee252/Mendelevius/RESIST.jpg&quot; width=&quot;494&quot; height=&quot;755&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee252/Mendelevius/RESIST2.jpg&quot; width=&quot;494&quot; height=&quot;755&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 8 Mar 2009 09:36:22 GMT</pubDate>
<author>TheShickle</author>
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<title>Vapor Trails: Casual Assignment(6)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The tip glows brightly as I pull in. Code interacts, plays across my psche. Phantom&amp;#39;s writhe slowly outward as I release them, twisting densely, before the ventilation exorcises them.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc96/gewebb/MxO/Injector-SSC/screenshot_27.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;A pair of fake green eyes sparkles at me, then takes my empty glass back to the bar for replacement. The rest of her is, while not, perhaps, literally Real, nonetheless, not fake, and nicely built at that. But those eyes...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;They do not see, or, maybe, they only see what they want. Money, Power, Pleasure... The Clothes I wear, Where I am sitting, How I sit, Who I sit with, I must be important... That&amp;#39;s what those eyes see. I hold no illusions: I am no Hollywood actor, no heart-throb. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;But I don&amp;#39;t need to be. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I am a god. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I can move through this place without any fear, at least from those around me. I can have anything I want. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;By extension, she see&amp;#39;s herself acquiring that from me. She won&amp;#39;t, of course, but I don&amp;#39;t mind toying with the possibility. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why not? Is she not also playing? Using the power of her sensuality? Hoping to convert that Power into another form?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;It amuses me to play along, with these and other games.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As any usual Downtown club, Paradise Lost was modestly busy for a Thursday night. No raging party here, just the affluent mingling, expressing their ability to do just that, mingle with others like them. A range of the Elite present, Business, Entertainment, Crime, and of course, Exile and Awake.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The latter stood out, if not entirely segregated, by their presence and demeanor. Many of both appeared ill-dressed for the atmosphere, but the remaining crowd knew better than to question that. For that matter, many of them would even have seemed... uncomfortable... associating with the kinds of Blues they had generally despised in former lives.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Not the Casual&amp;#39;s. Not that they were exactly from high class backgrounds, but they had learned how to mix. They were not looking backwards. Why not play with the silly little socialites? There was fun to be had, as well as business to attend to. Best to handle both as they came. Naturals.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Thick smoke billowed from their cluster of booths, laughter, and talk, both restrained and otherwise. There was possible work to be had. The meeting would start shortly, other Crew&amp;#39;s and Fac&amp;#39;s filtering in to attend. Best to enjoy the party in the meantime.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The atmosphere of the club slowly shifted. The Blue&amp;#39;s at some level resognizing their growing insignificance, slowly chose to reconvene in other environs.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The laughter died away, the restrained talk became a low buzz, and Operative and Exile alike converged with the appearance of the primly attired, gray-haired man.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Details. That&amp;#39;s our expertise. We can stand back and survey, from our roving hack-mobiles if neccessary. Many of these programs resent us for that, perhaps rightly. We have somewhere to run. But this is also our value, and even that pompous butler of a Controller knows it, cannot escape our essential usefulness.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;And so we have business. Minor really, just some killing, and possibly some stealing. As I have the knack for this, it will be rather a good game I expect. The others look equally amused. Everyone&amp;#39;s ready for some action, we&amp;#39;ve been waiting for it. My FM is already massaging his knuckles and grinning, as though it will start tonight. Course, not sure he follows the fact that it&amp;#39;s not, not the brightest bulb, Inhaler, but solid in a fight, and this ship only needs one brain really, mine.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I briefly phone Crankz, let him know that we will be dispersing shortly. Which we do.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Groups file out, settle in, some to network, some to spy, some to make a point of snubbing someone. We hit the trail. Everyone has a different Exit tonight, just in case. I use the bathroom, or, well, the counter in the bathroom, and after a quick pick me up, head for the elevator.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Green eyes is clocking out, its past &quot;last call&quot; technically, but someone will take over for this party. A brief call to my Op, and he&amp;#39;s on it. Good man, has a knack for timing.&amp;nbsp;I gather my coat, and hit the elevator to the ground floor entrance. The valet arrives with the Bordeaux Maserati Gran Turismo just as she steps out the front door. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;It&amp;#39;s cold. So am I.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I offer a ride, and how can she decline? Turns out she&amp;#39;s an aspiring&amp;nbsp;dancer, as well as an aspiring fiend. This makes for a rather aerobic combination. That is, until the mild sleeping draught&amp;nbsp;I introduced to her drink kicks in. Rather convenient for making a strategic exit.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I take the Maserati out onto the freeway to clear my head. Theoretically this is dangerous, but Crankz places a faked 911 call, and Freeway Patrol responds to the Call of Duty. I respond by trying to see how close I can get the car to its supposed limit of 180mph, while puffing on a fatty.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;I manage about 179, and take an exit to my exit.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The street seems earily quiet, as I roll into the dilapidated repair shop. I step out, and breathe in the cold Matrix air, let the cold sear my non-existant lungs for a few seconds.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tomorrow, there will be more games to play, before we return to the club. Paradise Lost?hah! Paradise Found, is more like it...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Wed, 4 Mar 2009 05:26:42 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Injector</author>
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<title>Weftworks: Tight Knit(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Mega City Police- Incident Record 19051a&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Date: Feb 28, 1999&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Dispatch recieved a 911 call at 1152. Individual reported shoplifting at JoBeth&amp;#39;s Fabrics, 1370 E. Lector in Camon Heights. Reporting party owner/proprietor. Suspect descirbed as a dark-skinned male, approx. 6&amp;#39;2&quot;, 220lbs, darkhair, light blue denim jacket and khaki work pants.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Officers LeGue and Jackson responded to scene at 1159. Suspect was spotted leaving the business. Contact was made, and suspect was arrested, after several skeins of wool were found in jacket. Suspect resisted arrest, was verbally combative,&amp;nbsp;somewhat incoherent. Had no identification, self reported name as John Beggay. Proprietor claimed to have witnessed him stuffing wool in his jacket. Could identify him as an infrequent customer, but could provide no further identifying information.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Subject transported to Holding at Mega City Prison.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;//Incoming Transmission//&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;//Subject: Assignment w212//&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;//ID: Johnson//&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;//File attached//&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Mr. Weaver&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;An incident has come to our attention that may benefit from your expertise. Please read the attached Police record.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Subject&amp;#39;s behavior was deemed quite unusual. Please evaluate. Usual channels to gain access. Usual channels to report.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Agent Johnson&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;//Transmission Ended//&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Weft stepped away from the phone, stretched his neck. Activity around his office building seemed... normal... so he proceeded throught the lobby to the elevator.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The tidy office with one desk had a balcony view, but Weft showed no appreciation of this detail. He sat to his computer and started pulling up records.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The city had three John Beggay&amp;#39;s, none with any kind of record. In fact, none showed any real interesting information at all. Tax records, employment... one was recently unemployed, and Weft decided to focus there. Lives in Camon with a maternal Grandmother. That clicked.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He returned to the internal Police Files, to remarks from Officer LeGue. &lt;em&gt;&quot;Subject initially unresponsive to our approach. He avoided eye contact, and mumbled under his breath. He was initially co-operative when we asked him to come over to the vehicle. Submitted to a pat-down. We asked him what the wool was for, and he said&lt;/em&gt; &quot;It&amp;#39;s for my Grandmother&quot; &lt;em&gt;When confronted about stealing it, he merely repeated that his Grandmother &lt;/em&gt;&quot;needed it.&quot; &lt;em&gt;He was unable to provide identification, but said his name was John Beggay.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Subject was read his rights. Mr. Beggay mildly protested his arrest, struggling slightly, and repeatedly stating that we couldn&amp;#39;t, that he had to get the wool to his Grandmother. He would not respond to questions of why this was so important. He continued to protest throughout transport and booking, and after placement in Holding. Given his behavior, I suggest that he may require a psy-eval.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Weft gathered his coat, and the papers he had prepared for the Police. They were hardly even mis-leading, as Weft was qualified in pschological evaluation. The fact that he did not represent the agency listed was unimportant, seeing as he represented THE agency.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Mega City Prison.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The usual, a facility immaculately clean, yet somehow retaining a sense of grime-iness that could not be removed. Weft unconsciously found himself dusting his jacket as he went throught the opening.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Ah, Mr. Weaver, we had a call to expect you.&quot; The clerk checked his forms, and sent him through the security checkpoint. A walk down a number of mind-numbingly plain hallways led to a questioning room.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Weft stopped to look through the mirror at the man seated inside. His appearance was pretty much as the reports indicated. Ethnicity was clearly Native American, though Weft was not entirely convinced that such a statement could be verified in any way, given that there really wasn&amp;#39;t an America anymore, nor anyone alive that could verify that this was indeed, how&amp;nbsp;its Natives had&amp;nbsp;looked. John Beggay was no longer protesting his confinement, but appeared... agitated.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Weft entered and sat down across from him, set a folder down, took off his glasses. &quot;Good afternoon. Your name is... John? Is that correct?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;John shifted slightly, made the slightest nod in affirmation. &quot; My name is Mr. ... Weaver.&quot; John&amp;#39;s eyes flickered briefly at the name. &quot;I would like to talk to you about what happened yesterday. I&amp;#39;m sure the Officer&amp;#39;s informed you that you don&amp;#39;t have to talk to anyone, and&amp;nbsp;I can get you an attorney if you wish. However... the Police also seem unsure if you understand the gravity of your situation.&quot; Weft leaned forward, glanced over the file, closed it again.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Wool. That seems an unusual item to be stealing, John. Can you... tell me why you needed it?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;John looked down at the floor. &quot; Grandmother needs it.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;So you have said. I had hoped you could tell me... &lt;em&gt;why&lt;/em&gt;... your Grandmother needs it so badly.&quot; John looked disturbed, shook his head. His eyes glazed over as he spoke.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot; You aren&amp;#39;t a Weaver.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Weft leaned back and let the observation sink in. &quot; That&amp;#39;s correct, John. It is my Family name. I cannot honestly tell you how far back it goes. But I assume that some ancestor was, in fact, a Weaver.&quot; As one of the Awakened, Weft knew this was most likely untrue, but he wanted to make some connection with the man in front of him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;I take it your Grandmother is?&quot; John nodded.&quot;Do you take care of your Grandmother, John?&quot; He nodded again. Weft rubbed his chin. &quot;Does she speak English?&quot; This time he shook his nead negatively. A path started to open in Weft&amp;#39;s mind.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;John, I think I can help you, but you will have to trust me... a little. I know that will be... difficult. So I need you to tell me something. Look at me John.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;John Beggay brought his eyes up to meet Weft&amp;#39;s for the first time, then looked away again.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot; You look afraid, John. Are you afraid your Grandmother will stop weaving?&quot; John looked slighly startled, brought his eyes back to Weft&amp;#39;s, and nodded.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr /&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 3 Mar 2009 23:51:42 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Weft</author>
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<title>Vision Quest: Blind Dash(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Ocular gritted his teeth as the bottled shattered under his foot. But he kept running.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The echo of his dress shoes, slapping against the battered tile floor, reverberated off the walls, guiding his ears down the hallway. His hand brushed against the wall, and when it caught the doorknob, he bolted out into the courtyard.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Immediately the soundscape opened up: traffic, voices, wind, his footsteps now muffled in the struggling grass. He was almost to the street when he heard the spattering of a submachine-gun behind him, and dove across the bus-stop bench. Bullets whined pat and around him, some striking the bench, as he rolled up and let off a burst from his silenced Mac-10.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Not that he expected to hit them, seeing as he could only fire in the general direction of his attacker. He dashed up the sidewalked, straining for details, barely dodging a few bystanders, who protested, and then screamed as the gunfire picked up again from behind. He bolted across the intersection, vaulting the hood of a sedan whose tires were already screeching on the pavement.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ocular found his heart pounding, the blood-pressure screaming in his ears as he pushed hard down the pavement. Suddenly, his earpiece crackled to life...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Left, now!&quot; He could feel the air tighten around him as he ducked into the narrow alley. &lt;em&gt;Almost forgot about Mica... &lt;/em&gt;He found his Operator&amp;#39;s skills re-assuring, started to relax just a little, just as he ran smack into a trashcan. An involuntary barrel roll, and he was back on his feet in time to hear Mica say &quot;Right.&quot; before he burst out into the street.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ocular cursed out loud as he stumbled against a parking meter. &lt;em&gt;FOCUS!&lt;/em&gt; Adrenaline surging, feet pounding, ears and skin searching for data. &lt;em&gt;Data...&lt;/em&gt; Suddenly he &lt;strong&gt;felt&lt;/strong&gt; his eyes,&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;felt&lt;/strong&gt; the data stream. Glimmering green characters resolved themselves vaguely, startling at first, but then augmenting his other senses. This time, when Mica shouted &quot;Right, subway!&quot; he could make out the opening, and managed a nice legslide down the banister into the tunnel. The vision faded, but not before Ocular resolved his objective. He vaulted the ticket stalls, to the dismay of the collectors, and scrambled towards the tracks. The vision gone, he hesitated a moment, till he heard a hydrolic &lt;em&gt;hiss&lt;/em&gt;, and slipped through the doors just as they were closing.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The inside of the car felt like a tomb, stifling in its lack of echo space. The cars slowly rumbled to life, and Ocular grabbed hold of the ceiling rail. He felt a little trapped. &lt;em&gt;Can&amp;#39;t tell ANYTHING over this racket.&lt;/em&gt; A static muffled voice announced &quot;Crenshaw Ave&quot; as the next stop. &lt;em&gt;Crenshaw... Blue line, that must have been Hampton station. &lt;/em&gt;He strained to pick up details: a newspaper ruffled from the front of the car, someone pressed the buttons on a cell-phone across from him. But the train noise masked the usual heartbeats and breathing that informed him of people. He didn&amp;#39;t even know whether his pursuer had missed the train. He tapped his earpiece.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;It&amp;#39;s clean, Oc, you beat him. Nice railslide by the way *chuckles*. Get off at Crenshaw, the Red line is right across from it. We&amp;#39;ve got a new drop set-up.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ocular relaxed, and reviewed the mission. It had been a bust from the start, he had smelled the fear, the distrust, from the contact. He had feigned confusion to get out of the apartment, found&amp;nbsp;the elevator&amp;nbsp;blocked by the ambusher. The stairs had been the only choice. &lt;em&gt;Good thing he didn&amp;#39;t figure on me going &lt;strong&gt;up&lt;/strong&gt;!&lt;/em&gt; Nonetheless, it had been close, and he still had the package in his possesion.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He got off at Crenshaw, made his way cautiously to the surface. His pursuer&amp;nbsp;hadn&amp;#39;t arrived here, perhaps guessed he would go further. He crossed the street, went up a block, ducked down into the Red line entrance. This time, he took out a faked subway pass, and showed it to the clerk, got casually on board.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Take the Villa stop. Blackballer will be waiting there with a car. Make the&amp;nbsp;delivery with him, and he&amp;#39;ll drop you off at a hardline.&quot; &lt;em&gt;Easy enough. To bad it hadn&amp;#39;t been in the first place...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 3 Mar 2009 23:48:05 GMT</pubDate>
<author>psilody</author>
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<title>A familiar face(0)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;&quot;&gt;It was another dark and rainy night in Mega City.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The only visible light was that of a small lamp hanging over the door of a small bar.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The sound of rain hitting concrete voided the tapping of footsteps as a shadow made its way towards the door.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;His gloved hand opened to door to a near empty bar.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Smooth jazz irradiated from the band playing at the back of the room.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The man shook off the rain as he walked to the bar.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;He sat down and waved for the bartender.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“Scotch on the rocks, Boss.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“Coming right up.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The bartender slid the glass to the man and made the comment, “Haven’t seen you in a while, man.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;What you been up too?”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The man smiles and takes a drink, “This and That… guess you could say I took a vacation.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“Yeah, where’d you go?”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“Nowhere special, just had to get away from the city.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“I hear ya.” The bartender replied while cleaning various glasses.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The man spun around on his stool and began to watch the band.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;He took another drink then sat his glass on the bar. “I love this music, it never gets old.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The bartender nodded.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The man sat quietly enjoying the music and his drink.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;When He finished, he paid, nodded to the bartender and began to walk out. The bartender shouted as the man left, “Hope to see you again soon.”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The man turned with a smirk, “Count on it, Boss” and walked out the door.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Mon, 2 Mar 2009 12:35:33 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Ardious</author>
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<title>Submit(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #4d4e51; font-size: 13px; line-height: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;h2&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #000000; font-size: 12px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;&quot;&gt;Sub-mit&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;[suh b-mit] verb, -mit - ted, -mit-ing. --verb&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;1. To give over or yield to the power or authority of another.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #01336b;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://s230.photobucket.com/albums/ee252/Mendelevius/?action=view&amp;amp;current=submit3.jpg&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee252/Mendelevius/submit3.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; font-size: large;&quot;&gt;OPEN ROLEPLAY.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Mon, 2 Mar 2009 07:59:19 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Mendelevius</author>
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<title>Scattered Papers(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Papers torn out from what appears to be a&amp;nbsp;sturdy journal are scattered about the Uriah Wharf, swimming in the puddles of smoggy rain.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I stand on Mjolnir, the windless air is cold on my face. The sky is grey, and hanging over my left shoulder is the even greyer moon, staring down at us. I briefly see the feint glow of a hardline in the corner of my left eye; no one is there. She’s dancing against me, her body continuously bumping into mine. I feel something between us that transcends the stimulation of the system, but yet I don’t. I’m feeling so many emotions at one time, it’s like a void encompassed in another void, within even more. The people surrounding us are laying at the corners of the monument, watching us dance. Some eyes are glued to us, while others stare off into the distance.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Part of me wants to stop dancing, and gouge out their eyes, grab them by the throat and drop them off the towering hammer. Part of me wants to take off my glasses and stare them down, only to leap onto them and feel their skin snap beneath my teeth and their blood rush down my throat. Part of me wants to absorb them, take away everything they have ever known, but part of me wants to open my heart and arms to embrace each and every one of them; I do not know what to decide. This only creates more pain.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The sun’s up now, and has been for a while. She asks me if I want to leave, go somewhere else. I tell her I do, but I don’t mind staying. I’ve stopped dancing, I don’t want to kill as much now. She decides to stay. I suddenly fade back out of the moment. Everyone around me is talking, but I am not listening; my eyes are open but I am not looking. She says “So,” and I suddenly transport myself back to the here and now. She asks one more time what we will do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“I thought you wanted to stay here.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Oh, ok.” I think she’s disappointed, wanting me to take charge. Bad things happen when I get into that mindset.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“I would much rather be alone with you, but I don’t want to spoil your fun.” I no longer want to mask what I truly want.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“I thought you knew I want to spend time alone with you, and you will not spoil my fun, like you say.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I quickly reply, “Then let’s get out of here.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 1 Mar 2009 09:00:42 GMT</pubDate>
<author>TheShickle</author>
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