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Date Posted: 15:40:27 07/10/03 Thu
Author: Ph0tog!
Subject: Re: WGRII: ATTN ALL
In reply to: Calypso 's message, "Re: WGRII: ATTN ALL" on 12:32:16 07/10/03 Thu

The unearthly wind blew all through the mansion, biting cold, and carrying with it shards of ice. The man standing by the fireplace however, felt none of it. He was used to cold, and this was nothing new. As the wind continued to howl, he continued staring at the fire, as if willing it to warm him. The ticking of the clock couldn't be heard, but he marked every second inside of his mind.

As suddenly as it had began, the wind stopped and the
fire died.

Within seconds, the fire roared back to life. Kenneth Irons smiled a twisted smile. Eyes glistening with a malicious joy. "So, you've arrived." He spoke to the fire, looking at it and it alone, but it was another whom he addressed.

Behind him, a man in a tattered black opera cloak and top hat smiled, revealing decaying yellow death. "Fe Fi Fo Fum. I smell the blood of a bladewielder."

*******

Sara felt a sudden chill as the wind died, something that she had ignored as she viewed the scene of the latest homicide. An odd whistling, as though through an old doorframe, howled abruptly and was stilled, and she looked suddenly skyward, confused by the darkness.

Jake approached, and was struck by the intensity of Sara's eyes as she stared sightlessly at the dim stars over Central Park. He watched her shiver slightly, though the air was still; he looked back at the gruesome murder behind him, the corpse savaged as though by a dog, the head still not to be found, and he shivered as well.

****

Across town, Gabriel Bowman sank further and further down into his turtleneck, blushing crimson the entire time, thinking, "How the heck did I let Sly talk me into this one?" On stage the current speaker was just finishing up and consequently, Gabe realized that it was almost his turn.

As the man on stage announced his name, Gabe gulped audibly before standing up and moving forward. "Sly," he thought, "I'm gonna f***ing kill you."

* * * *

Just outside of Queens, Ian Nottingham was unceremoniously breaking in to a small bodega. The chain gate and front door lock were bypassable security far below his skill in such things, but requests, as far as Mr. Irons went, were orders--and it was a specific request he sought to fill this evening before returning to the mansion.

Just as he had been instructed, he found the item, looking no more interesting than the rusted monkey wrench lying beside it underneath the ancient brass cash register near the store's front.

He extended his gloved hand to take the item, conceal it within his coat, and make his exit. In the half-moon light his silver ring caught a beam, glinting like Christmas tinsel in Macy's window downtown.

Mid-reach he froze. It was not that he heard a breath or any movement--any disturbance. It was not that he heard anything at all. And it was that very absence that created the dread, so uncommon, within him. He was not alone.

"¿Una buena noche, mi hermano?" came the deep voice from out of the darkness.

It was only when Mobius opened his eyes that his form coalesced from the deep shadow cast by a merchandised tower of canned chiles, and Nottingham could see him at all.

"The night is well enough," Ian responded. "If you will be so kind as to let me leave with my spoils, I will promise to mention you in my bedtime prayers." There was a hinted playfulness in his tone.

"If you but knew but the half of what you had been sent to fetch," Mobius intoned, stepping closer to Nottingham, "you would make no joke of prayers--or their necessity." In a smooth gesture, he removed his coat, placing it across the counter by the register as though he intended to chat a moment in casual conversation. "As I stand, you will not leave here with your Master's prize."

Nottingham let the tendons in his forearm stretch toward the unnamed tubular object Mr. Iron's desired, signalling both his defiance, and the fight's beginning.

Quick as a cat, and six times more deadly, Mobius sprang.

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