#(+ 2 unidentified fellows lurking around ...)

[delta-bw]

Happy Halloween! Stay safe & don't get tricked!

2023 Halloween Piece

[heisthq]

hats and pastels and mint juleps, oh my ! as jockeys and spectators alike jostle for spots on derby day, our merry band of thieves slips into the mix unnoticed. their targets have only gotten bigger and bolder as their success mounts, and their confidence has soared as preparations are finalized. but a sinister reminder lurks in the back of their minds, lingering in the form of a note — they aren’t alone.

the saturday portion of the event on may 9th will commence at 2 PM EST. the sunday portion of the event on may 10th will commence at 6 PM EST. 

below you’ll find the goals & individual team roles for the heist. these are simply preliminary roles — as i mentioned in the heist guide doc, nothing is set in stone, and your choices and rolls can affect the outcome ! as such, feel free to divert from these tasks, switch them around, modify them, or ignore them completely in favor of a different strategy.

IMPORTANT INFO.

all members have comms in their ears to be able to communicate with one another, though it’s considered best practice to go through the eye in the sky as they have the best vantage point and can work with the mastermind to communicate what to do next / relay information. 

remember that the heist is taking place in louisville, kentucky, at churchill downs for the kentucky derby. the in-character start time for the event is may 9th, 2020 at 12 PM.

the dress code for churchill downs is track casual, so your character should be dressed accordingly if they are posing as a guest. if they’re infiltrating the mansion, however, their attire should be more formal. finally, if they’re in disguise as a staff member, they should blend in with the rest of the employees ( for example, this is what waiters in the mansion wear ). concierges, however, are expected to adhere to the same dress code as guests, albeit in a more subdued manner.

OOC reminders: remember, you don’t have to roll every time you have a turn ! dialogue / normal actions are perfectly fine and can help spur things along. also, if your next move doesn’t depend on anyone else’s response, you can write it up ahead of time while other members are taking their turn.

GOALS.

FIRST TARGET — part of a deal going down in an ultra-exclusive club called the mansion: a flawless 100-carat diamond that fetched $25 million at an auction in 2015. access ( either as a guest or staff member ) has been pre-authorized by eye in the sky.

the purchase is set to go down between an unidentified seller & buyers — all identities have been kept secret for the sake of the exchange. from what the team has sussed out, it’s highly possible that payment has already been arranged & this meeting / handoff is mostly a formality. however, it’s not completely certain. they do know that there is a code that the seller has arranged to ensure the validity of the deal, but there’s no electronic record of what the code is. 

the crew must dispose of the buyers, figure out the code, and obtain the briefcase containing the diamond by any means necessary. it has a complex electronic lock system that eye in the sky can only take care of in person. 

members assigned to this target: ace in the hole, getaway driver, inside man, mastermind, star of the show, watchdog.

SECOND TARGET — the team is targeting a chunk of the $30 million ( more or less ) that’s physically spent on betting every year at the track. 

multi-pronged attack: eye in the sky will focus on digital bets while other members target cash bets. they must encourage high bets, collect the money, then ferry it outside of the mansion without arousing suspicion.

members assigned to this target: bleeding heart, career criminal, eye in the sky, hired gun, new kid on the block, second in command.

EXTRA INFO — this is more important for the second target, but these are the types of bets often placed at races such as the kentucky derby ( info was taken from a betting guide here ). be wary of guests with real stakes in the game, such as breeders or owners of thoroughbred farms. some may not know anything about their investments, but others may poke holes in your logic. they should be few and far between in such an exclusive area of the derby, but you never know who’s taken a special interest.

WIN — bet on the horse you think you will win the kentucky derby.

PLACE — get paid the place price if your horse finishes first or second.

SHOW — a show bet pays the least, but you win and get paid the show price if your horse finishes first, second or third.

EXACTA — predict the first two horses in the correct order.

TRIFECTA — predict the first three horses in the correct order.

SUPERFECTA — predict the first four horses in the correct order.

SUPER HIGH FIVE — predict the first five horses in the correct order.

KENTUCKY OAKS / DERBY DOUBLE — pick the winner of the $1 million kentucky oaks (for 3-year-old fillies) and the $3 million kentucky derby. 

ROLES.

SATURDAY / SECOND TARGET.

BLEEDING HEART — pose as a reporter from town & country magazine, given exclusive access to the mansion as part of a story you’re writing on the modern derby. this will give you the freedom to talk to both guests and fellow team members without appearing suspicious. stick close to second in command if you can and help encourage higher bets, under the guise of analyzing the betting habits of the rich & famous. however, you’re free to check in on other teammates if they need assistance.

CAREER CRIMINAL — attend the event as a guest, preferably undercover, accompanied by new kid on the block. converse with other guests to drive up betting prices ( discuss your own bets, encourage more / higher bets ). work with bleeding heart & second in command to accomplish this as well as doing it on your own. #peerpressure

EYE IN THE SKY — disguise yourself as a high-level technician who has arrived to oversee electronic betting systems & make sure nothing goes awry during the races. when granted access to the back rooms of the mansion, work to redistribute electronic bets into an offshore bank account set up for this heist. communicate with the team via comms to make sure they’re getting by / update them about your progress.

HIRED GUN — go undercover as a bartender / waiter / staff member in order to gain access to the kitchen and back rooms of the mansion, accompanying eye in the sky so that they’re allowed through more easily with a staff escort. assist with collection of cash bets from second in command, or continue to assist eye in the sky if they need backup. stay alert on comms and dispatch of any threats that crop up, including guests or staff that ask too many questions.

NEW KID ON THE BLOCK — pose as a concierge for career criminal. guests can only access the mansion when accompanied by their concierge, so stick close. if necessary, function as a messenger between hired gun & second in command, especially in regards to physically carrying cash bets for an easy getaway once the heist is completed. 

SECOND IN COMMAND — go undercover as one of the mansion’s betting advisors. accept as many cash bets as possible, and actively encourage them to promote a higher payout for the heist. work with bleeding heart & career criminal to gather higher & more complex bets, such as trifecta, superfecta, and super high five ( see definitions of bets above ). as a supposed expert, guests will trust your expertise. 

SUNDAY / FIRST TARGET.

ACE IN THE HOLE — pose as a buyer for the diamond alongside star of the show. find the seller, and obtain the diamond either by convincing them that you’ve already paid or by alerting other teammates to create a distraction to allow it to be stolen from under their noses. preferably, the theft will occur seamlessly with the code discovered by fellow team members.

GETAWAY DRIVER — assist mastermind & watchdog with dispatching the true buyer(s) and finding out the code for the deal. communicate this information to inside man ASAP so they can inform other team members. stick around to mingle as a guest once this has been completed; if things go awry, cause a distraction to facilitate a last ditch opportunity for the theft to still take place. 

INSIDE MAN — go undercover as a concierge for ace in the hole & star of the show. guests can only access the mansion when accompanied by their concierge, so stick close. keep a close eye out for getaway driver, mastermind, or watchdog so that they can communicate the code to you.

MASTERMIND — accompany getaway driver & watchdog to discover & waylay the true buyer(s) as well as find out the code for the deal. communicate this information to inside man ASAP so they can inform other team members. once this has been completed, mingle as a guest and check in on ace in the hole & star of the show if they need assistance with obtaining the diamond. 

STAR OF THE SHOW — pose as a buyer for the diamond alongside ace in the hole. find the seller, convince them that one ( or both ) of you are part of the deal, and obtain the diamond by any means necessary. ideally, this will be done quietly with the code discovered by other team members.

WATCHDOG — work with getaway driver & mastermind to find & dispatch the true buyer(s) for the deal. use any means necessary, but do not get caught. any major disruptions will interrupt the deal. as soon as you find out the code, communicate it to inside man ASAP. stick around and mingle as a guest in case you’re needed for a distraction or escape.

again, if you have any questions about the information in this post or in the heist guide i sent out, feel free to dm me or ask in the heist-questions channel on the server !

ONCE YOU HAVE READ THIS POST, PLEASE LIKE IT.

[blogging-time]

Boots and Heels - Chapter Two:

Chapter Two: These Boots Are Made For Walking

Summary: Roman has been lying to Virgil. Now the truth has been revealed.

Based on this adorable head-canon by @2queer2deer!

Warnings: One instance of censored swearing.

Word Count: 3,271

👢 Chapter One 👠

~ ~ ~

Approximately three months, four days, seventeen hours, thirty-four minutes and seventeen seconds later hardly anything had changed-

“How’s the weather down there, Jason Toddler?”

-Except for the specific short-jokes Roman used against him.-

“Heated by your irradiated ego. How’s the air pressure up there? Are those few remaining brain cells of yours getting enough oxygen?”

-And while Virgil made his best attempt to deflect Roman’s repetitive remarks-

“D’aw, is little Virgil concerned for my well-being?” Roman chuckled to himself, “Is that because you’re always looking up to me?”

-Unfortunately for Virgil, word-play was Roman’s forte, and beating him at his own game would require greater retaliation that a single mediocre insult-

“Keep dreaming, Sir-Sing-A lot.”

-But alas, for now at least, that was all Virgil had to offer.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Virgil. I maintain height expectations for you.”

~ ~ ~

“You’re never going to live this one down. You know Roman too well to believe he’ll ever let this one go,” Virgil thought to himself for the umpteenth time. When this lone, once unproven thought first ventured through his anxious little mind, Virgil hadn’t taken himself too seriously. There had to be some degree of certainty present of course, otherwise the thought would never have arisen, however, after his little debate with Logan, Virgil had made a mental note not to jump to conclusions so readily. In other words, the whole ordeal almost seemed like a comedic aside at first; one Chandler from “F.R.I.E.N.D.S” may have had if only the show had been a little more self-aware, or was still producing any episodes for that matter.

However, even now, Logan, with his incomparable intellect, mathematical prowess, and certified studies in statistics, could not deny the gravity of the situation, or hope to deny the overwhelming amount of indisputable evidence wagered in Roman’s favour.

The logical conclusion: Virgil was doomed.

The illogical solution? Allow these thoughts to plague Virgil’s waking mind to such an extent at which he found himself lying awake at 11:50PM, blasting PG13 music through his now decaying headphones.

The plastic shell that once encased the vital wires was now decaying, exposing what was essentially the vital organs of the head-piece. If you peered closely enough, you could even see where some of the wires had frayed, and strayed away from their formally integrated streams of current. Virgil had been attempting to rectify the situation for the past three months or so now to no avail, but every time he attempted to conjure himself up a new pair the wires seemed to come back in an even worse state than before, leaving him no choice but to endure the damage of his original pair. It had been an inconvenience at first, but over time Virgil’s fingers memorised the exact formation they would be expected to maintain in order to stop the music from sounding like radio static, or cutting out entirely.

Therefore, Virgil did with these newfound negative thoughts as he did any other and buried them out at sea beneath a tidal-wave of sound, meanwhile praying to whatever deity there may be that none of them washed back up on the shores of conscious thought any time soon… or worse yet that the water, gently lapping around his feet, harmlessly spraying the frays of his jeans, suddenly became of powerful wave that outstretched violently towards him, capturing him within its powerful confines and dragging him out to sea alongside all that which he had attempted to discard. That’s when the music would stop playing, and Virgil would begin his frantic struggle to stay afloat. Some days, he’d find a life-ring, or some shaky buoy to cling onto. On others, he’d find himself being pulled down beneath the ice cold waters that pierced his skin until he went numb. Beneath the depths there were no treble clefs, only sharks.

Watch your steps around these words ‘cause:

They’re gonna get you, they’re gonna get you in the end.

Regardless of how seemingly easily he drifted along the water’s surface tonight however, Virgil couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut attempting to convince him that something was very wrong. That his head wasn’t in the right place. That his mind wasn’t in the right time. Something was wrong. Impossibly wrong. Unidentifiably wrong… So Virgil turned up the volume on his broken headphones, and bolted his tired eyes shut.

I swear it’s not a disease, it’s just a game of pretend.

A game of pretend.

Still, the uncomfortable feeling persisted.

Why is it me they’re after? Couldn’t pick another one.

Resigning himself to mobility with a sigh, Virgil turned to face the one semi-functional clock in his room - that being the one located on his bedside. As he did so, the time glitched forward from 11:51PM to 11:52PM. The green, glitching lights stung the anxious side’s eyes for a solid few seconds before he was able to rapidly blink away the unwelcome stinging sensation in exchange for a more comfortable numbness.

Despite the haziness of his tired brain, even Virgil knew this wasn’t a healthy hour to be awake at… especially not for a third day in a row. On nights like these there was very little that would help him fall sound asleep.

1.     Sitting quietly in Logan’s room, contently lulling off to sleep as he listened quietly and politely to the logical side’s ramblings. The vastness of space, which would terrify Virgil spilling over the lips of any other, appeared oddly intriguing, and in an even stranger way, comforting when conveyed through Logan’s enthusiasm. Logan was never shy to share his love for astrology with Virgil, however, he had warned Virgil he would be going to sleep earlier tonight in preparation for a lecture later that day.

2.     Asking Roman to conjure up a tale just for him. Virgil had never been a huge fan of fairy tales when he was younger. The idea of mythical beasts had terrified him beyond belief, and because of that, Thomas couldn’t stand to look at images of dragons until he was about eight years old. However, having the hero himself tell the story from a past-tense perspective provided Virgil with a sense of security he was otherwise lacking. It provided him with the heart-warming sense that his demons could, and would, be defeated. But alas, Virgil had already attempted knocking on Roman’s door half an hour ago to no avail.

3.     A warm drink. On long, dark nights such as these, Virgil always knew he could go to Patton and ask for the best cup of warm, hot chocolate to ever grace the mindscape… but he rarely ever did so… The sad look concealed within Patton’s eyes whenever Virgil turned to him for help was unmistakable… In his heart, Virgil knew the paternal side would do anything for him, but unbeknownst to Patton, Virgil would do the same for him. He would allow his best friend to sleep for the night, even if that meant forfeiting hot chocolate.

While hot chocolate may have been out of the question, a hot beverage was still attainable, and so, with a heavy heart, and even heavier eyelids, Virgil begrudgingly pried himself from the cosy confines of his bed, and traded it for the hardness of the cold night floor. From there, the only step he could take to rival his initial reluctance was the first step.

“Just one foot in front of the other, kiddo,” Virgil firmly whispered to himself as he finally shakily slid off his precious headphones, and took his first step towards the doorway… then his second… third…

In no time at all, Virgil found himself standing at the foot of his bedroom doorway, or, as he more colourfully phrased it: “The Precipice Of Disaster.” He opened the door slowly, doing his best to minimise noise and avoid stirring his fellow sides, while simultaneously stealing microscopic glances down the dauntingly dark corridor, as if to ensure there was truly nothing else there, hiding in the dark, waiting patiently for him.

With one last shy look, Virgil steeled himself, pulled out his phone, switched on the built in flashlight, and gently closed over his bedroom door so that the inner mechanism was resting lightly against the doorframe. This was a common tactic employed by Virgil: Closing the door just enough to make it appear closed to any passers-by, while simultaneously leaving it open just enough to ensure he could quietly re-enter without alerting anyone, or anything to his presence.

Despite fulfilling the dutiful role of Thomas’ “dark persona,” Virgil himself was not exactly an avid fan of darkness. The veil of night was composed of the harshest materials, and was designed to only ever sit properly over the face of its victim, obscuring the eyes and making a spectacle of the bearer. It was sheer torture. Deprivation of sight was one of Virgil’s greatest weaknesses. The lack of situational awareness… The fear of being caught off guard… The idea of being unable to protect those he held closest simply because he couldn’t fulfil his primary objective, and warn them about potential dangers.

Then again, nobody is ever truly afraid of the dark; they fear what they believe lurks within it.

~ ~ ~

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

Virgil counted each step he took meticulously.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two Three.

It was a plan Logan had devised for him: Divide the number of steps you take into sets of three, then keep track of how many sets you’ve done.

To anybody not following such a seemingly absurd routine the whole ordeal may seem… well… absurd. However, to Virgil, it was an excellent coping mechanism. Evaluating the steps he had taken in terms of threes provided him with a higher sense of accomplishment: Like the journey had been shortened somehow. He still didn’t enjoy his journey through the dark and narrow corridor, but it made it a little more bearable.

One. Two. Three.

Virgil stopped.

As he reached the first step on the staircase and took a cautious peek down, Virgil couldn’t help but notice a faint light emanating from somewhere downstairs… All of a sudden, Virgil’s body began to tremble lightly, as though a gust of cold air had suddenly passed by. Why would one of the downstairs lights be on? Virgil could have sworn all his fellow sides were sound asleep. Perhaps somebody had left it on? No… Logan was too much of a perfectionist. Patton was too considerate, and Roman had an unhealthy habit of turning room lights off every time he stepped out, even if there were other inhabitants still situated within the now-dark room.

It couldn’t be a burglar. Nobody could break-in to Thomas’ head. However, what if something broke out. Roman’s room contained a number of mythical creatures… Dragons. Witches. Dragon-Witches. Was that why Roman’s light had been left on? Had he been…?

No… No Virgil couldn’t think like that. There had to be some other more… logical reason for Roman to have not answered his door… but, in the event something dangerous was lurking in the mindscape, Virgil couldn’t just evade it. If something was posing a threat to his family and to his host, he had to be able to alert them. He had to know what it was.

In an instant, Virgil let out a loud breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, then quickly covered his mouth, biting down harshly on his already chapped lips as though to punish himself for being so empty-minded. His entire body was shaking. The light peeking from downstairs was now gently glinting against newly formed beads of sweat. His knuckles had long since turned white from maintaining a vice grip on his phone. It was a wonder he hadn’t cracked the screen.

Still, with a single deep breath, and all the willpower he could muster, the anxious side slowly made his way down the stairs.

Even at a slow pace, it didn’t take Virgil very long to reach the final step, where he idled cautiously. With some reluctance, he disabled the flashlight on his phone and slid it back into his pocket, hoping to not reveal his position. Now that he had two hands available, he grabbed onto one of the staircases pillars, and gentle leaned outwards, to try and get a clear view of his surroundings. As he had suspected, the light was coming from within the kitchen, and as anticipated, he wasn’t alone. Over the half-wall that divided the kitchen from the living room, Virgil could clearly make out a humanoid figure, donned in pristine white and royal red. Relief quickly washed over him.

“Roman?” Virgil called out.

The humanoid figure then reacted with a shriek, as if it had been caught off guard. In an instant the light from the kitchen was turned out.

“…Roman…?” Virgil asked again, more cautiously this time as he descended the last of the steps leading into the living room. “I know you’re there.”

Finally, Virgil earned a response.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Roman, what are you doing?”

“…It’s not Roman, it’s… Patton.” Roman lied.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil responded, clearly unamused.

Each side may have shared the same base voice, but nobody could replicate the softness unique to Patton. Similarly, nobody could replicate that tiny flare that underlined almost everything Roman said, nor could he consciously conceal it.

In one fluid movement, Virgil pulled his phone back out of his pocket and unlocked it, before turning the flashlight back on. With it, he could just about illuminate the area “Patton” was currently shifting awkwardly in.

“Are those new pyjamas, Patton? They look awfully similar to Roman’s.”

“…Small mindscape?”

“Indeed,” Virgil responded as he rapidly closed the distance between himself and the entry-way to the kitchen. “You don’t mind if I turn the light back on, right, Patton?” Virgil asked mockingly.

“No, wait-”

But it was already too late. Before either side could utter another word, Virgil’s hand found its way to the light switch and flipped it on without a moment’s hesitation. Big mistake. The sudden brightness of the room overwhelmed both sides, causing each of them to rapidly blink away the sudden stinging sensation.

“Nice one, Fro-don’t,” Roman snapped, wiping away the last of his shock with a pristine white satin sleeve.

“Oh my word, Roman?” Virgil taunted, finally regaining his vision, “I never would have seen that one coming.”

“Perhaps you’d have better vision if you didn’t insist on nearly blinding us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Proclaimed the literal embodiment of anxiety?”

“Proclaimed the literal embodiment of stupidity?” Virgil retorted.

“My, my Virgil. I could have sworn you thought more highly of me,” Roman teased with a grin.

Big mistake. For it was then that Virgil noticed something rather peculiar about Roman’s appearance. In a flash, Virgil’s eyes narrowed. Roman’s widened.

“Anyway, I really must be getting back to my-”

“Stop,” Virgil commanded, the firmness of his voice freezing his creative counterpart to the spot, “Don’t you dare move a muscle.”

Roman swallowed back a witty retort as Virgil slowly marched towards him with beading eyes, looking him up and down repeatedly as though he were attempting to scan him… Was this how shop-window mannequins felt? Trapped? Powerless? Over-analysed? Roman wasn’t accustomed to such a foreign feeling. Feelings such as these were the property of his anxious counter-part. Speaking of which… the more Roman thought about it, the more he realised how much of a subconscious role reversal they’d undergone.

When Virgil finally looked him dead in the eyes, his heart stopped entirely. Virgil wasn’t looking up. He wasn’t tilting his head. He was looking straight forward. Then he was looking down… down at Roman’s bootless feet… then back up again, but his eyes were not so curious anymore. No, now they were conclusive.

“Roman.”

“Virgil.” Roman replied, attempting to hide his nervousness behind a curious expression.

Now more than ever, Roman wanted to make a short-joke at Virgil’s expense. Something along the lines of, “How can I help you, Mickey Mouse?” or “Need help reaching the cereal, short-stack?” just to lessen the amount of tension building in the pit of his stomach, but even he knew it would do more harm than good. Instead he settled for lightly tapping his fingers on a nearby counter-top, and prayed his nervous fidget would slide easily under Virgil’s built-in radar.

“Did your ego shrink any over these last few hours? Or was it just your height?” If tone alone could kill a man, Virgil would be on trial for man-slaughter.

“M-my height?” Roman mentally cursed himself for stuttering.

“Yes, Captain Obvious. Your height.”

“What about it?”

Perhaps if Roman played the clueless card, Virgil would second guess himself and drop the topic. It worked when they were children.

“Well, I wouldn’t say there’s too much of a difference,” Virgil began, certainly implying something, “But tell me, where is that ‘two inch superiority’ you’re always boasting about?”

“Ah, that! Yes… You see, I had a run in with the Dragon-Witch earlier and she-”

“Let me guess,” Virgil interrupted, clearly unamused, “The Dragon-Witch stole your precious boots and heels.”

Roman couldn’t help but take a cautious step backwards as he laughed nervously to himself. There was no escape for him anymore. It was the fishing trip all over again, and he, most certainly, was the fish. Virgil had caught him in his lie, hook line and sinker.

“I can explain,” Roman attempted, but he knew his words were falling on deaf ears, “I…” One more glance at Virgil and he knew he was wasting his breath, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to play it off. “It is possible that my boots add a little bit of height,” Roman attempted, “But I also think it possible that this late hour is warping your perspective somewhat. The heels truly aren’t as significant as you may think.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, and Roman wondered to himself if his nonsensical ramblings had actually proven successful in disarming the situation.

“I see,” Virgil finally responded.

Roman released a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.

“Well if that’s all cleared up, I guess I’ll-”

“I see you’re full of sh*t,” Virgil snapped.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice at all, now, was it?” Roman replied, almost completely exasperated.

“For the past three months, four days, seventeen hours, forty-four minutes and twenty-eight seconds-”

“You’ve been counting?”

“-You’ve been making fun of my height, and all the while, you’ve been the same height as me?”

“Look, call me a liar, but I’m not obsessive.”

“I’m not obsessive, I’m infuriated!”

“Wake the whole house then, why don’t you?”

“Would you rather I put you to sleep permanently?”

“Perhaps you should lower you expectations. At least then they’d match your height.”

By the time Roman realised the error of what he said there was silence.

Two red faces.

And an overwhelming sense of pressure constricting their lungs, and tainting the air between the two men.

For approximately thirty-two seconds nothing happened. Neither man was able to move. Even Roman’s nervous fidgeting had grinded to a sudden halt.

Then Virgil took a sudden step backwards. His mind made. His goal set. He figured he wouldn’t need the warm beverage after all, not if he were to spend the night conducting his research.

Someday I'll spit their laughter,

And bite their tongue.

A sudden, yet calm smile soon took over Virgil’s expression.

“Goodnight, Roman.”

With that Virgil stormed out of the room.

~ ~ ~

Tag List:

@tinydemonwriter @lunamay2006  @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @twentyoneparades-to-panic-at @hanramz-the-fander @sniffingoutmywilltolive@iaminmultiplefandoms @2queer2deer @kaymischief25 @kittyboof8 @anxioussmiles @shygirl4991 @nyxwordsmith @purplepatton @anniemiku @oliviaisnotlistening @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet @preyed-llama @helloisthisusernametaken@sandersandthesides @samidaboss3 @tssanderssidestrash @luna-lovegood-wrakspurt-invasion  @thestoryoferissur

Note: I apologize for the huge delay between this chapter and the previous, but I can assure you that won’t happen again. Between Christmas and my mocks, I simply didn’t have as much time as usual. I also apologize to those who I haven’t successfully tagged. Some usernames don’t seem to work. If that is the case with your username, you can always message me and ask that I send you a notification via message when a new chapter comes out. Also feel free to message me if you want removed from the tag list!

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! 

[whynotwriting]

Safe or Sorry, part 1

This is quite a long piece, though not novel length. I guess it's a novella, like Jekyll and Hyde? Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.

1

The situation was unusual to say the least. London, at least what was left of the old London, went deep. Everything was built in the remains of everything else, and nothing stayed buried forever. The Thames was a great example, and that was why those who lurked on the edge of the law, those who still wanted to remember the past, tended to congregate around the river. All the same, Silas didn't normally find himself waist deep in the water beneath a bridge.

Some things were worth it, though he wished he was younger, and preferably far fitter than he had ever been. He knew he was an unusual sight, even when he wasn't waist deep in slimy river water. Tall, and not stooped like many his age, he stood out from the crowd no matter how much he tried to blend in. The white hair that still clung to his scalp had a rugged appearance, like grass that hung on to life at the highest altitudes. The glasses, were he still wearing them, were unusual too. Few wore glasses - they were practically antique, and unwelcome reminders of a bygone age.

It was short-sightedly that he peered into the gloomy water, trying to spot what he was sure he'd seen from the bank. He wished he'd kept his glasses on, despite the risk. A glint caught his eye at the edge of his vision. There! Further out than he'd thought, but definitely there. He waded further, and felt the current tug at his legs, almost pulling him over. Reaching into the water with both hands, he gripped the edges and heaved.

It was heavy, though whether that was from river water or the original contents was another matter. Struggling towards the bank with his fingers rapidly numbing from the cold, he hauled it up and placed it on the bank reverently. It took him a bit longer to pull himself out, but eventually he scrambled free of the river's clutches.

The safe sat before him, solid , but of an old style. A dial, a little dented but still probably workable, marked the door which would otherwise have been unidentifiable though the accumulated river sludge. But that was enough consideration. He couldn't stay here. He'd attract attention, if he hadn't already. Weary though he was, he hefted the burden once again and stumbled away.

2

The journey home with the safe was perilous to say the least. Even at this early hour there were many people roaming the streets, and he found himself ducking into alleyways to avoid his fellow early risers on several occasions.

Silas was a little unusual in the fact that he had two houses, and only paid rent on one. His first, quite respectable, house was in a new neighbourhood, known collectively as Palace. Memory is not easily overturned, and for once the people had got their way. Though the grand building no long stood, it pleased Silas that for once, history would be remembered in some small way.

His second house was about as different as it could possibly be. Hunched in a small neighbourhood that had probably stood for as long as the city, it seemed empty. At some time or other a famous poet had lived there, and nowadays that was enough to get the building condemned. Not enough, however, for it to be high on the list of historical buildings scheduled for demolision. It was perfect for Silas' purposes.

Glancing behind him, he carefully lifted the corner of the temporary metal fence that bordered the house, then carried the safe through. He closed the fence behind him. So far, no one knew this house was occupied. He'd prefer for it to remain that way.

Glancing around again, he fitted the key into the front door and pushed it gently open.

The interior was gloomy as ever - the electricity had been cut months ago - and the hallway was cluttered with cardboard boxes. He pushed one away from the wall near the door and pressed a switch hidden behind it. The generator he had installed hummed to life, and the lights flickered on.

Picking his way through the boxes with care, he made his way towards the staircase at the end of the passage, safe still weighing him down. It was slow progress. He had vowed several times that he would clear the hall, but had been hesitant to do so. If someone did by chance come to check on the house, the hallway would dissuade them from investigating further. So it had remained choked with boxes.

For a condemned house, it was remarkably undamaged. Normally this sort of place would have squatters at the very least, but so far they had been unable to get in. The alterations Silas had made were doing their job. No windows were broken, the locks were in fine condition and the doors reinforced. 'What is mine, I keep,' thought Silas. He had his reason for his precautions.

He left the safe on the first step of the stairs and hurried up them. The bedrooms were empty of the furniture which would normally adorn them - instead they were filled to bursting with objects that would raise an eyebrow at best, or get you sentenced to memorial rehabilitation at worst. Antique tables, clothes, paintings, sculptures... It was a treasure trove of Silas' own making. For years he'd been doing his best to save what the powers that be had tried so hard to destroy. The past lived on, so long as his collection survived. It had been moved on occasions, when he'd felt it was threatened, but kept growing.

It was the books that he loved the most, and which would get him sent to rehabilitation, and it was the books that he needed now. In particular, a catalogue from a security company, long out of business. As he hunted, he once again chided himself on his foolishness. If he was caught... Well, everyone knew about memorial rehab. At least, they knew the rumours.

It was where they sent the unrepentant, those who adamantly refused to reject the past. He'd heard, always through a friend of a friend, about the people who came back. They were ghosts of people, barely able to remember their own names. Whatever happened at the rehabilitation centres, it was too dreadful to imagine, let alone endure.

He wished once again that he'd had time to file the books properly, or at least sort them alphabetically. It was only after much digging through piles and shelves that he found the catalogue. He flicked through the pages, but the products all seemed similar. He sighed. He was going to have to clean the damn thing.

He took his time getting it up the stairs. It was as heavy as ever, and there was no hurry. Once he had it on the landing he opened the bathroom door.

The water had been cut along with the electricity, but somehow they had missed the outside tap when they did so. It was there to supply water for the few metres of garden that hugged the front of the house, but now had been rigged, by means of remote control, to send water to the upstairs by a long hose. He turned it on and half filled the bath. Turning to the sink, he carefully selected several of his restoration tools which lay there. Steel brush, chisel, hammer, normal brush... He laid them along the edge of the bath, then added some soap to the frigid water.

Pulling the safe in from the landing, he hefted it into the water and began to scrub at the accumulated gunk. The water might damage it, but what more damage could it do? It had been submerged in the Thames for god knows how long.

It was slow progress. The river had claimed it, and even from this distance, it was reluctant to relinquish its hold. Only after hours of laborious work did he have the door clear. He fetched the catalogue.

Skimming the pages, he discounted many immediately. Wrong brand, no dial, key mechanism, wrong dimensions... He came to a section of dial safes, most too small for what he was after. The few that did match the dimensions had the dial in the wrong place, or had too many hinges. He was on the verge of giving up when he happened to glance at the back cover. It depicted a special offer for the last of a stock of safes. Dial safes. Bingo. He read through the specifications in disbelief. The few books he had that detailed in any way how to crack a safe were going to be useless against this monster. He was going to need a professional.

3

When you needed something done, something not strictly legal, you found Bailey. It was something everyone who needed to know knew. Bailey could get anything you needed, or have anything you needed done done. So long as you didn't ask too many questions, and paid the consulting fee, he wasn't picky about visitors. Half the test was finding him.

Silas had been looking for half a day, and was no closer. He had finished cleaning the safe, then spent the rest of the day travelling the underground, river and buses, scanning for the elusive man's calling card. Nothing. Wearily he had sunk into his bed in his Palace house, with a despairing feeling in his heart. Though he kept telling himself there was no rush, that he had all the time he needed, a nagging feeling warned him of complacency. Something was coming. Something big.

Two more days passed before he found any trace of Bailey. He was down at the docks once again, scanning the walls as he walked. A poster caught his eye, high up on the wall of a warehouse. A circus, Cirque de Faux. He checked the dates and location. Quay upriver, started two days ago, ending tomorrow. He'd better hurry.

It was dusk when he arrived at the quay. As he'd expected, no circus, or anything like. Just riverboats, and a few cars and vans on the bank. He recognised Bailey's boat immediately. Battered, red and black painted.

He knocked on the door and stood back. It opened on a chain and an untidy head was visible round the door.

"What?"

"Bailey? I need your help with something."

"I guess you should come in."

The door was opened fully, and Silas walked in. The interior of the boat was almost as disorganised as Silas' second house. Beer cans spilled across the floor, and litter was strewn on every surface. Books and telephone directories lay disregarded in the kitchen sink. Random nuts and bolts took up the remaining space. It was difficult to move.

Bailey led Silas through the mess to the main room of the boat, where two armchairs squatted comfortably. Sweeping a few cans and crisp packets off the cushions, he motioned for Silas to sit.

"Not seen you for a bit, Silas. Where've you been?"

"Keeping within the law for a bit. After last time, I think the cops had started to take an interest."

"So just the normal jobs - butler, archivist, librarian... That list got any longer since I last saw you?"

"Nope."

"Enough small talk? I understand. I've never been good at it. What d'ya need?"

"A safe cracker."

"When for?"

"As soon as possible."

"I'll see what I can do. It'll cost a bit, but as we're mates, I'll drop it to £50."

"And the payment to the cracker?"

"That'll be up to them to sort with you, not me."

Silas handed over the money and left. He took two taxis and then the tube. He didn't want to be followed. He'd agreed to meet the safe cracker in Hyde Park, and he preferred to move the safe under the cover of darkness if possible.

He returned to his house in Palace once the job was done, and slept uneasily through the remaining night. The meeting was at six that evening. He had work to do before then.

He worked at the British Library part-time as an archivist, and had saved many rare books from destruction through this role. The library had once been a great place, but was now sparse and bare. The day dragged by.

The evening found him standing in Hyde Park, beneath where a great statue had once stood. Now all there was was a plaque announcing to the few that cared that there would be a modern art installation replacing it soon.

His companion arrived late. He had been waiting an extra twenty minutes and was considering leaving when an approaching silhouette betrayed their presence.

As the figure got closer, Silas realised it was a woman, and silently berated himself for expecting a man. Either way, if they were good at their job, what difference did it make?

She was wearing a dark jacket, hood up, and jeans. Beneath the hood, he could see blonde hair, cut short, and blue eyes. She was shorter than him, but certainly not short, and she held herself with great dignity.

"Mr Conway?" she asked, a slight lilt of Welsh accent coming through in her words.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Miss Jones will do. I hear you have a job for me. Take me to it, then we'll discuss payment."

He nodded and led the way. Through backstreets, down alleys and finally into a church graveyard. It was a mess. In the process of being cleared of history, graves had been dug up, the stones spread across the yard, often in pieces. Deep holes marked recent digging. Silas walked through, stopping beneath a yew tree. A largely intact gravestone lay flat on the ground, and he lifted it carefully. Beneath was a deep hole, from which a glint reflected the light of the nearby street lamps. He lifted the safe out.

Miss Jones whistled as it came into view.

"Wow. I've not seen one of these in ages. Proper vintage at this point. Where'd you get it? No, forget I asked."

Silas placed in on the ground and she walked round it. She nodded once or twice, fiddled with the dial and the handle on the door. Finally she turned back to Silas.

"Do you just want it open, or open undamaged? "

" Undamaged, if that's possible. "

" Possible, but costly."

"How much?"

"250."

"Make it 200 and you have a deal."

"Done."

He dug the money out of his wallet, while she unpacked some tools from the case she'd been carrying.

Watching her work was fascinating. She used magnets, stethoscope, and an assortment of tools he had no name for. It eluded her attempts with the magnets, but she seemed to take it in her stride, simply grinning at each failed attempt. Finally he heard a click and watched the door swing slightly open.

She turned away as he pulled the door fully open. His gasp must have reached her ears, but she ignored it. When he touched her gently on the arm, however, she half turned.

"You worked out the code for it, didn't you? With the stethoscope, I mean."

"Yes. Twelve right, fifteen left. And I don't want to see what's inside. I just hope you think it's worth it."

She turned and left, leaving him with a safe which, for a reason best known to themselves, someone had filled with stones.

4

It wasn't a long walk back to Poet's House, as he'd named it. The minute he arrived he knew something was up. The fence, which he was so careful to replace each time he left, was wide open. Leaving the safe in the overgrowth that had been the garden of the house, he cautiously pushed the door open. There was no need to unlock it.

The corridor was as he'd left it. Boxes in the same places, lights off. He left them as they were. Creeping as best he could through the boxes, he approached the staircase. Up the steps. The first creaked and he winced, freezing midstep. Listened hard. Nothing. The rest of the way he kept to the edges of the steps, nearest the walls. No more creaks.

The landing was dark and deserted. The shadows cast by the half open doors of the rooms seemed longer than normal, as though they were reaching for him. He approached the first bedroom door warily. All it took was a gentle push. It swung open.

The room was a wreck. The artifacts, protected against the wrath of the state for so long, had felt the wrath of the intruder. Fragments of glass, antique tables, paintings... Shredded. Destroyed. His life's work. Gone.

The other rooms were in a similar state. The despair quickly became a feeling of numbness as he surveyed room after room. He finally sank to his knees in the last, unable to continue. Here, someone had left a message. "Bring me what is mine."

They had taken what was his. What he had protected for so long. Gone. All of it... A flicker of hope stirred in his chest. They may not have found them.

He descended the stairs two at a time, tripping over the boxes in the hall in his haste. The kitchen. He opened the door.

Miraculously the room seemed undisturbed. He had left it as he'd found it - damaged lino from the carelessness of the removal men, rusty taps and basin half full of murky water - when he'd moved the collection here. Apart from one thing.

He hurried over to the far corner, holding his breath. Hardly daring to hope, he lifted the lino. A small hole was revealed. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the plastic box from its hiding place.

If the collection was his life's work, this box was his child. Nothing was more important to him than this. He opened it reverently. Taped to the lid were a series of micro SD cards, and beneath them... It took Silas' breath away every time. Manuscripts. Some as old as four hundred years, they'd been salvaged from museums, libraries, galleries with the help of his like-minded colleagues. They had been employees at these places half the time. Many could no longer remember their roles in the smuggling of the documents. Many could remember nothing at all.

Time to cut his losses. He'd staked out one or two places, but none were perfect. He was sure this place would be under surveillance now. He was gone a few minutes later, safe in a bin bag along with his box and whatever he could salvage from the wreckage.

He headed east, following the Thames until he found a boat to take him further. Further, until where the tower had been. He got off on the south bank. An outlet pipe fed into the river. He swung himself down into it.

Landed badly, twisted an ankle. His hand hit the slimy wall, barely stopping himself from falling. He left the bag, weighed down with loose bricks. The micro SDs rattled in his pocket.

Pulling himself back from the pipe to the bank took an age. His muscles were well exercised, but old age had withered them. He was glad no one was around.

Palace was disconcerting in the half light. The glare of the LED streetlamps gave a sharpened lustre to the pristine new streets.

His house here was an apartment, as so many were. Out of habit, he glanced behind him before opening the door. Paranoia was setting in.

Bare though the apartment was, it was what he had to live with. The police were aware of him as it was, and that wasn't all. Someone else was hunting him and he didn't know who. That scared him. No one should have been able to find Poet's House. Someone wanted the safe. He had to crack it first.

Booting up the Pi took a minute. He'd had it for years, bought it when it first came out, tried to learn programming. Got nowhere. Now it was his book when he couldn't have a book. He plugged the first SD into the adapter, then into the Pi.

A leafpad document flashed open. 'Historical Sites of Britain.' He reached into his pocket, grabbed what he found. He opened his palm. The stone was grey, taken from the safe, and somehow familiar.

Opening the SD folder, he flicked through the pictures. London Eye, Houses of Westminster, Angel of the North. Hadrian's Wall, Stonehenge, Long Barrows... He flicked back. The stone. He held it up against the picture. There was no doubt. He was going to Wiltshire.

5

The safe stayed in London, while he took the train. He never took holiday leave, so his bosses didn't mind. He didn't know what he would find, but he had to get to Stonehenge.

It felt weird, heading towards Exeter on the first train. He was almost tempted to just not get off at his stop, to go back to where he grew up. He missed Devon.

Salisbury arrived all to soon. He got off, along with one or two other passengers. With the Reset, this station had become a ghost station. A major attraction was gone, and he wasn't sure the place would ever recover.

He hailed three taxis before a driver would take him where he wanted to go, and even then he charged double the going rate. The others had looked nervous before suddenly realising that they had bookings. He understood their nervousness. Visiting a historical site was a risky business.

Stonehenge hadn't been demolished in the same way as many sites. Sure, the stones had been pulled down, some broken to use in buildings. The majority, though, had simply vanished. It had been all over the newspapers - tons of rock just disappearing in the dead of night, despite the police guard on the monument. Silas smiled to himself as the taxi drove on. That one had taken a lot of organising.

When they reached where the stones had stood, the driver was terse.

"Payment, then go. If anyone asks, I've never seen you 'efore."

Silas handed over the money and got out. The taxi drove off like a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime. Which, Silas thought to himself, he technically was.

No one came here anymore, so Silas was free to wander at his leisure. Of the original stones, only about eight remained. Most were of the older variety, placed before the ones he was looking for. The stone emerged from his pocket again. An igneous rock, normally found in Wales, commonly known as a bluestone.

He took his time, checking each stone carefully, bluestone or not. There were two of the type he was after, but neither yielded any results. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Maybe it wasn't Stonehenge after all.

On an impulse he strolled down the opposite side of the mound to where he'd approached. A ditch encircled the monument and lying in the bottom was a bluestone. Smaller than the others, and damaged from where it had tumbled, it otherwise looked like what it was - a slab of igneous rock. He questioned again what would compel someone to haul it the 250 kilometres from Wales. That was some devotion.

Kneeling down, he felt under the edge of the stone, hoping fervently he hadn't wasted his time. Nothing. He tried the other side. Nothing... Wait, there was something. For a moment his fingers had brushed wood. He reached his whole arm beneath the slab. Hand closed around a small wooden box.

Pulling it out, he found it was a crude thing, about the size of a portable chess set. Sitting down on the stone, he opened the latch.

Inside lay a sheet of generic notebook paper and a carved crucifix. He lifted out the paper first. A message was written, by the looks of it, by a typewriter. He read through it:

To the Guardian,

If you have got this far, you are not one of the sheep. The sheep forget, when they should fight. I fought. I have been fighting my whole life. The fight has caught up with me.

I leave behind my life's work, hidden for the moment. I have left clues to its location. Solve them, and it could be yours. Protect it. If I live still, or remember still, then I will wait at the last location.

Good luck.

Silas lifted the other object from the box. It was a carved wooden crucifix, made from an exotic hardwood, splashed with red dye. Engraved into the top was the spiny ring of a crown.

He'd need to work out the clue, but not now. Now he needed to go, before anyone noticed him, or worse, his find. He took the public footpath back to the town.

The train journey back was spent in puzzlement. Who had sent the message, and left the clue? And what were they protecting?

6

His house rang with the sound of concentrated silence. The Pi sat on his desk once again, the Encyclopedia of English History open on the monitor. The search was proving fruitless. A religious building, with a connection to royalty. Westminster Abbey had been checked, and eliminated. It was still surrounded by scaffolding and workers. He was sure even his mystery person couldn't get in. Security on historical sites had tightened after the vanishing of Stonehenge.

Maybe the Tower of London?

With no better ideas for the present, he got the underground to Tower Hill. Like most of the historic buildings in London, the Tower resembled a building site, though an abandoned one for the moment. He wandered around it a few times, then checked the coast was clear before darting inside.

The hole was deep, as the dungeons had been. He decided not to delve down. Anything placed in there would surely be discovered, or else destroyed, by the site workers. Instead he scanned the surroundings.

Spread around the site, rather haphazardly, were the usual tools and equipment found on a building site. Lumps of stone were scattered amongst this, the white hue a clue to their origin. He examined them carefully, but found nothing. This didn't seem right. Unease gnawed at his gut.

Abruptly he realised what was wrong. A building site, when not in use, would surely be locked. It hadn't been. Nearby stood a crane, wrecking ball dangling from an elevated arm. A bulldozer sat, an ominous monster. Suddenly the site didn't seem as benign as it had.

He hurried for the way he'd entered, only to find it blocked with a chain and heavy lock. Panic gripped him. In desperation he scanned the fence that guarded the perimeter. Low down, across the great chasm, he saw a gap, perhaps made by a fox. It was enough. He began to pick his way around the pit towards it.

A rumbling to his left made him turn, just in time to see a steel gurder hurtling towards him. He dived out of the way, scrabbling at the edge of the hole in his terror. Arms flung wide for balance, he barely avoided falling.

He was running now, scrambling over or through obstacles in his haste to escape. An excavator crunched towards him, digging arm raised. It swung down and he had to dive again. This time there was no near miss of the chasm. He sailed into space.

The recent rain had partially filled the pit, and this saved Silas. Rather than a crunch, he landed with a splash, sinking beneath the surface momentarily. It was long enough. He'd seen an opening, half blocked with rubble, below the water.

Rather than claw at the sides of the hole, searching for an escape route, he merely resurfaced for air. Then he was below water again, swimming for the dark gap he'd seen. There. He was through and still going, though his lungs were starting to strain. Damn old age. The tunnel was heading upwards, the water falling away. He broke the surface gasping. A ledge was a welcome hold, and he pulled himself up and onto it, exhausted.

So the rumours were true. There was a tunnel beneath the tower. Salvation had come in the form of a myth. He looked around him properly for the first time. He seemed to be in some sort of drainage tunnel, with maintenence ledges along the edge. The trickle of water indicated the direction of the river. He struggled to his feet and headed for it.

For the second time in a week he found himself dragging his tired body from the Thames, and squelching for home. He was running out of dry clothes.

The disproving eyes bored into his back as he walked back to Palace. There was no way he was getting a taxi, or even the underground. His dignity wouldn't allow it.

Another shock was waiting at his door. Cut into the pristine wood was a message. "Mine."

The door was the least of his worries. Entering, he found his belongings strewn about the apartment, the carpet torn up and the curtains ripped from the rails. He didn't care. He checked the wall grill, then changed out of his wet clothes and flopped into bed. So, he was being burgled, he'd been in the river twice, and now someone was trying to kill him. "Fantastic," he thought, as he sank off to sleep. "As if my life wasn't difficult enough."

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 19 May 2018: Fantasy and Adventure

The Man of Bronze, the Wisewolf’s daughter, a Wild West King Arthur, and the Ark of the Covenant feature in this week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure.

Closure (Javin Pierce #3) – Ethan Jones

Covert operative Javin Pierce will avenge his betrayal or die trying . . .

Off the grid, Javin Pierce is struggling to heal from his wounds. Immediately he’s forced into a shaky deal with former enemies not only to secure his partner’s release from a Saudi jail, but also to settle the score with the traitor who double-crossed them.

While his new rogue team crosses Iraq’s treacherous lands, he can barely stay ahead of the deadly threats coming from all sides. As Javin sets his sights, alliances around him crumble. So with no one left to trust, in an ever-changing maze, how will Javin survive the deadliest mission of his life?

Destruction’s Ascent (Dragon Ridden Chronicles #3) – T. A. White

When the past rises, the world burns.

Newly conscripted into the Emperor’s dragon corps, Tate Fisher is still trying to figure out all that her new position entails. Along with an elevation in status comes dangerous enemies. Enemies who would rather see the dragons fall into ruin than remain in their current place of power.

When a dragon goes missing, followed by a child close to her, Tate is forced to confront the hidden agendas of those in the highest seats of authority. Her search for the truth takes her deeper into the maze of tunnels that lie beneath the city. It’s a place where secrets lurk and dangers abound.

There, she’ll uncover a plot whose origins stretch all the way back to the beginning of this world—one that can only end in the destruction of everything she knows and loves. The key to saving her city lies in her uncertain past. If only she could remember what that was.

The Disclosure Protocol (Warner & Lopex #8) – Dean Crawford

In the United States, the CIA is being held to ransom. Perfectly focused images of Unidentified Flying Objects are being sent to Langley with a demand: provide full disclosure of what the government knows about UFOs or these images will go public.

Struggling with the task of identifying the perpetrators of the images, and aware that they must somehow know when and where UFOs will appear, the CIA sends General Scott Mackenzie in search of Ethan Warner and Nicola Lopez, the only known former US agents with the skills to track down the perpetrator. His mission; obtain the technology that is allowing someone to predict when and where UFOs will appear and ensure that nobody else can access it.

But as the investigation unfolds, so Ethan and Nicola learn that the Russians are also seeking the same technology. As a race against time develops to get the upper hand, victims of strange abduction events implore the government for help, including the parents of a seven-year-old girl who is suffering seizures and post-traumatic stress from her experiences.

From the Indian Ocean to the lonely deserts of Utah, Scotland to Nevada, Ethan and Nicola discover the startling truth about alien abductions and UFO sightings, and realise that full disclosure isn’t about UFOs at all: the knowledge the CIA possesses will change the course of human history…

Dispersal (Guns of the Waste Land #3) – Leverett Butts

Guns of the Waste Land recasts the legends of King Arthur as an American Western.

Set in the late 19th century outside the West Texas town of Bretton, this third volume continues the stories of the men and women devoted in their own ways to Sheriff Ardiss Drake: Percy Murratt, still living with Ardiss, is in love. Unfortunately, so is Ardiss’ foster brother, Caleb and with the same woman. Gary Wayne Orkney has recovered as much as possible from the beating he received from Lancaster O’Loch and desperately wants to ride a horse again and continue is service as a deputy. Reverend Merrle Tallison is considering leaving Bretton and finding a life for himself. Finally, Ardiss’ estranged wife, Guernica, continues to seek closure for the events that brought her to the wilds of the Waste Land.

Haunted Ocean (Doc Savage #4) – Laurence Donovan as “Kenneth Robeson”

“Let me strive every moment of my life to make myself better and better, to the best of my ability, that all may profit by it. Let me think of the right and lend all my assistance to those who need it, with no regard for anything but justice. Let me take what comes with a smile, without loss of courage. Let me be considerate of my country, of my fellow citizens and my associates in everything I say and do. Let me do right to all, and wrong no man.”–The Oath of Clark “Doc” Savage, Jr.

An awesome power haunts the sea, paralyzes New York City and brings the most powerful nations of the world to their knees. Deep in the frozen Arctic an astonishing army of naked men and the forces of international greed challenge the invincible Man of Bronze for the strange secret of the so-called Man of Peace!

Honor at Stake (Love at First Bite #1) – Declan Finn

One is a heartless, bloodthirsty killer. The other is a vampire.

College freshman, Amanda Colt knows few people and wants to know fewer still. She enjoys fencing and prefers facing a challenge every once in a while. She is beautiful, smart, and possibly the most interesting person on campus.

Then she finds tall, intense Marco Catalano in her fencing class. With a mind like a computer and manners of a medieval knight, he scares most people – but not Amanda.They both have secrets, for they are both monsters.

As they draw closer, they must find the line between how much they can trust each other, and how much they can care for each other. Each carries a secret that can destroy the other. But they must come to grips with their personal drama soon, because a darkness rises around them. Bodies keep turning up all over New York, and an army of vampires closes in on all sides.

They have only one hope – each other.

On the Shoulders of Titans (Arcane Ascension #2) – Andrew Rowe

Corin Cadence finally has a firm reason to believe his brother, Tristan, is still alive. Unfortunately, finding more information isn’t going to be easy. Tristan appears to be entangled with a clandestine organization that calls themselves Whispers. And Corin’s last brush with the Whispers didn’t exactly end well.

As much as he wants to follow that lead, Corin has more pressing problems to deal with.

Sera is still suffering from a mysterious malady that has stolen her voice and her magic. Corin knows that a portion of that is his fault, and he’s determined to fix it.

Corin still hasn’t finished his first year at Lorian Heights. If he fails his final exams, he’ll be sent off to the military, and lose his chance to investigate his brother’s fate.

And finally, there’s the issue of enemies. He might have made a few of them.

The biggest problem?

He’s not sure if Jin, once one of his closest companions, is one of them.

The Princess in the Tower (Schooled in Magic #15) – Christopher G. Nuttall

Everyone knows that the Tower of Alexis is impregnable…

…But Emily intends to prove them wrong.

The Kingdom of Zangaria has finally started its descent into civil war. King Randor has declared martial law, imprisoned the pregnant Crown Princess Alassa in the Tower of Alexis and started preparations for a first strike against his enemies. The time has come for everyone to choose a side.

Emily has arrived in Alexis with the intention of freeing Alassa before her father can have her executed. But as Emily and her friends are drawn into a maelstrom of rebellious factions and crown loyalists, of commoners trying to escape the chaos and noblemen trying to make it worse, they find themselves faced with an insolvable problem.

If they manage to liberate Alassa – and put her on the throne – will there be anything left of Zangaria for her to rule?

Sacrifices (War Aeturnus #2) – Charles Dean

Desperate to save as many people as he can from a horrible fate in the cruel game of the gods, Lee and his small group of friends abandon the relative safety of Satterfield for the great city of Kirshtein. Tensions within the city have reached a breaking point after the arrival of an enemy Herald, and Lee is soon caught up in the struggle for power.

Captured, imprisoned, and forced to fight for his life on the blood-soaked sands of the Kirshtein arena, Lee has to figure out how to survive long enough to mend the rifts in the broken city before it falls apart completely. Armed with new skills, joined by new allies, and up against his most dangerous enemy yet, Lee’s bid for survival in the War of Eternity takes on even higher stakes as he learns the what true leadership requires. Now, with an ominous new threat looming in the distance and an army on the horizon, Lee has to answer one question: Can he pay the price of victory?

Son of a Liche (The Dark Profit Saga #2) – J. Zachary Pike

A doubly disgraced dwarven hero. A band of accident-prone adventurers. Giving redemption a second shot may have been a grave mistake…

Still bruised and heartbroken from their last calamitous quest, Gorm Ingerson and his band of washed-up heroes try to make amends for the Orcs they accidentally betrayed. But justice is put on hold when an old foe marches to the city gates. Gorm is horrified to discover a liche pitching the frightened city-dwellers on the merits of the undead lifestyle… at the head of a corpse army.

To save the city from high-pressure sales tactics and an inevitable siege, the Dwarf warrior and his misfit band hatch a harebrained scheme that lands them at the top of the king’s kill list. With death and dark magic on his heels, Gorm must craft his own pitch to round up the troops and put the undead snake-oil salesman and his army of pushers permanently out of business.

The Templar Curse (Sean Wyatt #15) – Ernest Dempsey

Throughout the course of human warfare, no weapon has been as feared, as deadly, as the Ark of the Covenant.

Legend claims that this mysterious, supernatural force, first carried into battle by the ancient Israelites, was so powerful that the Ark could lay waste to entire armies, entire cities in moments—thousands of years before the advent of nuclear bombs.

So, when an ancient order of killers reemerges from the shadows after centuries of hiding—convinced that other secret societies took the Ark from Jerusalem to hide it in early America—international treasure hunter Sean Wyatt knows exactly what they seek and why. And that realization terrifies him.

Together with his best friend and sidekick, Tommy Schultz, Sean must track down the Ark before the Order of the Assassin can. Before their order can pervert this heavenly power and wield it to enslave all of humanity.

Where the Cats Will Not Follow – Stephen Stromp

Ayden finds himself held captive by his former friend, Phillip. Phillip believes Ayden holds the key to finding Ginger, his missing girlfriend. This shocking claim forces Ayden to revisit the adolescent world he shared with his older brother, Everett. It is a world where truth is uncertain and dreams and imagination blur with reality. Everett insists Ayden possesses powers of clairvoyance and has the ability to conjure entities from his mind. As Everett pushes Ayden into increasingly darker territories, events turn deadly. Digging into this murky past, Ayden and Phillip awaken old demons they must face as they race to find Ginger.

Where the Cats Will Not Follow is a strange journey into the mind of a troubled young man who may be delusional–or may in fact possess the extraordinary abilities he was believed to once hold.

Wolf & Parchment, Volume #2 – Isuna Hasekura

The young man Col dreams of one day joining the holy clergy and departs on a journey from the bathhouse “The Spice and Wolf Inn,” owned by his savior, Lawrence. The Winfiel Kingdom’s prince has invited him to help correct the sins of the church. But as his travels begin, Col discovers in his luggage a young girl with a wolf’s ears and tail named Myuri who stowed away for the ride!

The young man Col and the daughter of the Wisewolf, Myuri, survived the scripture riots in the port town of Atiph. Col spends intense days being pined for after Myuri tells him about her love.

Meanwhile, Heir Hyland commissions them for another next job. In the coming war with the Church’s forces, control over the strait between the Kingdom of Winfiel and the mainland will play a crucial role. While Myuri is excited for a new adventure, Col cannot hide his unease after hearing about potential heresy among certain pirates for their faith in the “Black-Mother”!

New Release Roundup, 19 May 2018: Fantasy and Adventure published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[sacredrubylight]

Yomawari: Night Alone– Charming horror game – Tech News

Heartwarmingly cute in some locations and heart-attackingly scary everywhere else, this is an excellent game for survival horror fans.There are two things I typically connect with Japanese media: cute, adorable styles frequently including chibi little girls and the sheer unrelenting terror of supernatural spirits and monsters stalking through the night. It’s inevitable, then, that someone combined these 2 diverse things to develop a videogame that seems likeThe Animosity or Ring, if it was animated by Studio Ghibli.Yomawari: Night Alone is a survival horror game including a little lady exploring a rural Japanese town in the evening; a town that would be mundane

if it weren’t for the odd, inhuman shadows that appear under the flickering lights of lonesome street lamps. If you’re trying to find a game that’s similarly lovely and terrifying, then get your flashlight and adorable bunny backpack due to the fact that we’re stepping out into the dead of

night.In Yomawari, you play an unnamed young little woman whose nighttime walk with her pet ends in the most regrettable method. When she returns home, all alone, more catastrophe strikes: her senior sis heads out

to look for her dog, however in turn goes missing herself. Now, equipped just with a flashlight, you have to venture out into the town, survive encounters with things in the night and discover your missing sis. Um, undoubtedly this beautifully rendered and completely normal Japanese town is safe

to roam in at night … right?The first thing that strikes me when I play Yomawari is that this video game is extremely distinctively and magnificently

(and terrifyingly )Japanese; not only with the designs of the spirits and beasts– which are inexorably rooted in Japan’s rich cultural folklore– however with the setting of the video game itself.The video game is set in exactly what, initially glimpse, looks and feels like a typical Japanese town, however the amazing art design emphasises how so very, very subtly wrong “regular “things can look in

the dark. Shopping districts look apocalyptically abandoned at night, innocent rice fields feel entirely enormous without sunlight and the neighboring forest? Little woman, please do not roam in the forest

all alone at night.The visual appeals make the ordinary appear terrifying and because the exploration- focused gameplay makes you wander in the darkness as a vulnerable little lady, it will not take long before you start feeling helplessly lost in a strange yet familiar world.The sound design is equally innovative– there’s no music, so as you check out the lonely streets of the unnamed town, you’ll only hear the atmospheric noises of crickets chirping in the night or the electric hum of an old street light. And after that the unexpected thumping of your

heart. You look around, however you can’t be particular there was something relocating the darkness. Thump thump. Anxious, you try to run, but you can’t get far since your heart’s beating too quick. Thump thump! In a panic, you spin around, waving your flashlight hugely, and– for a brief moment– your light reveals a shadow approaching with a grinning, mangled face and then everything quickly ends up being dark and bloody. Aaaaaaah! Yeah, sure, this will not end severely whatsoever.Basically what I’m saying is, Yomawari does horror right. The game does not rely on dive scares every few minutes, however instead grabs a more primal dread– the worry of the unidentified. The heart beat mechanic informs you when something terrifying is near, however you’re never ever sure what or where that is. In fact, numerous ghosts are undetectable until you shine a light on them and this makes every action you

take into Yomawari’s dark night a tense and suspenseful affair.Still, the video game isn’t unfair. Like the spirits and ghosts of Japanese folklore, Yomawari’s supernatural animals do not have a rational reason

for their presence and cannot be “eliminated”– however you can prevent or perhaps outsmart them if you appreciate their guidelines. Some ghosts are only brought in to sound, others averse to salt, though none of the spirits are forgiving if you wrongfully cross their paths.The video game produces a terrific stress where, on one hand, you’re encouraged to press forward and explore this vast, fascinating world; and on the other hand, you hesitate to even step out of your home since of all the fears hiding in the night.It’s a horror game that makes you face your worry and I definitely love how the gameplay and aesthetic appeal work so effortlessly to provide such scary thrills. I likewise wish to praise Yomawari for its satisfying story, however I cannot

elaborate on why without entering into some spoilers.Still reading? OK, in this area I’ll break down precisely what I liked about the Yomawari experience, but my analysis will have some spoilers. If you’re simply trying to find a recommendation, drop this short article and go buy the game currently– it’s readily available on Steam for Windows and there is likewise a PS Vita variation but at the minute it’s only in Japanese. Otherwise? Spoilers ahoy. Yomawari : Night Alone��width= 940 src =http://www.thestar.com.my/~/media/6dd01d342b9742af981f26c5aa97a18b.ashx > Uh, hello long-haired lady … did you lose your contacts? Why are you covering yourself? Do … do I wish to see your face?When you play the video game, you’ll likely go through 4 psychological states. Initially, undoubtedly, is fear– Yomawari is soaked in a terrifying atmosphere loaded with supernatural vibes.Then, you’ll undoubtedly see the” game “behind the horror and your worry will end up being self-confidence. You’ll understand how to avoid the majority of the typical beasts and you’ll even understand that the Jizo statues around town act as checkpoints in case of”death”, so you can even video game your very own mortality.Later, when you experience the “manager “ghosts, your confidence will offer way to aggravation, as the”employer battles”become ability onslaughts. Rather of making you shout

in terror, getting caught by vengeful spirits makes you shout, “Dammit, I missed out on ONEevade, and now I have to restart from the last checkpoint!”Last but not least, when you lastly overcome

these nail-biting encounters, you’ll accomplish the ultimate emotion from surviving the Yomawari– delight, satisfaction, elation, accomplishment. No matter how frightening or terrifying things look, there are constantly methods to survive them, if you’re brave and use your head.What I enjoy is that, thematically, this evolution of feelings fits perfectly into this story of a little lady growing up. The video game has a remarkably positive if somewhat bittersweet ending and I think it is very important that I discuss this. Many J-horror stories have dismaying endings and I typically do not wish to advise games that make players suicidally depressed. (I do not desire your ghosts haunting me.)But wow, do you have to make that ending– it took me 6 solid hours of terror, however I ensured the little lady earned her success and learnt theimportance of guts against darkness. (And, to be reasonable, the significance of using online guides for a few of the more obtuse puzzles– don’t be shy to use GameFAQs when you get to the deserted factory, my fellow little ladies.)Yomawari is a horror video game I can heartily endorse.I like the gameplay: it’s an exploration centric video game where you have to utilize your wits to endure. I like the horror– it avoids jump frightens in favour of capturing the creepy, primal dread of seeing unidentified things in the dark. I definitely like the visual and sound style– the video game is loaded with atmosphere that makes the mundane feel disturbing and the supernatural feel absolutely terrifying.I even like the anonymous lead character, who I have actually nicknamed Ai.(It’s brief for “Aaaiiieee!!!” )In other words, I enjoy this video game, because it’s all heart– heart-warming adorableness and heart-attack-inducing terror.Pros: Visual and sound design perfectly capture the fear lurking underneath an ordinary Japanese town; the story is well worth following through to the end.Cons: One-hit kill “manager fights”and obtuse puzzles can be frustrating sometimes– utilize anonline guide.

Source

http://www.thestar.com.my/tech/tech-news/2016/12/05/adorable-horror-game/

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