[continued from previous message]

The two reluctant assassins settled without a hitch back into their own natural tone bodies thank Stephan and Jack Barret courteously and walk south along the bike path. Michelle cautiously leads Mr. Eight to a nondescript apartment stoop where they
sit patiently waiting for Grigori and Morbiditus to make a pitch for their own survival. Enduring this transaction is a signal towards decommissioned OWL’s and a good faith gesture towards Michelle. Mr. Eight has the troops and weaponry required to
purge lightmach-24 of all human life and living forms and reduce the emptied Crystal Skull to useless unsalvageable rubble; easily vaporized into dissolvable points.
“Trying to save John’s life was one of the trajectories that shattered the Zero Horizon Clock.”
Mr. Eight reflective and sorrowful touches Michelle’s knee. A taxi parked at the curb starts to play an old LeMond song after broadcasting preliminary news that a shooting has occurred.
“Big Mean Billy and Sweet Little Pretty. Gonna do a little dancing in New Light City.
Running through the tunnels, cutting thru the smoke. Little Pretty smiles and she tells us a joke.
Well It goes around the world in a second or two. Everybody’s laughing now
how about you.
Climbing up the ladders, scraping off the rust, kicking out the rhythm on a magic bus.
Keep your ears wide open; keep your eyes on tight. Little Pretty's rocking on the town tonight
We’ll take a look to the left; we’ll take a look to the right. New Light
City still shining bright.



Mr. Eight contemplating the vicissitudes of physical existence, with an awkward inarticulate echo of his longing, for the return of a sense of early fall’s wistful grace; looks backwards in his mind, remembering all the times he circumvented a
tragedy and slipped away unnoticed.
An old woman noticing The Owl and The Pilot are sitting on her stoop brings a tray of cookies and a pitcher of lemonade. Michelle smiles at her. A few moments later the early recognizable strains of Moonlight Sonata are heard from
inside her open hallway.
“Beethoven truly admired Mozart. We’ll never know what would be if Mozart
drowned at ten.”
Michelle puts her arm around her friend who is unable to weep to release his deep sorrow.
Stephan pale and drawn ambles up the street seeking consolation. Eight asks him to sit.
The Pilot somberly pours him a glass of lemonade and places the tray of cookies beside him.
Eight points down the street at a group of ZB12’s following Grigori and Morbiditus and they freeze in place stung by an absence of will and thought. Morbiditus tells them to wait at the dark intersection and walks past two dozen
brownstones. Mr.
Eight releases them. The skittish timid group occupies a few stone porches waiting nervously. Igor and Morbiditus are in good health.
To all leaders, ranks and echelons of the crime syndicates not wanting to be crushed into an early extinction; Mr. Eight is referred to as “Little Boss”
and “ATM” is never allowed or referenced.
“Hello L.B. I’m sorry your friend was not able to complete this round of The Game.” Igor is dressed as if he spent the day at a prep school and Morbiditus is in a loose windbreaker, casual bohemian clothes and dark sneakers. “What’s done is
done Mr. Bellhop.” Eight nods to Grigori.
“The Chief approved getting you two in out of the cold. The price is intel and complete cooperation, planning and executing the annihilation of Entropa, Totalus, and Arc Volte.”
Morbiditus is underweight slightly stooped and his eyes are bloodshot. “Killing the extended drone reptiles is irrelevant. To bring a master close to death draws the other masters because they may be obligated to take its place as a protector of the
core functions. Long ago I was “The Ivan” now the very name disgusts me; deep condolences on the loss of your teammate.” There is an odor of sweet decay surrounding Morbiditus suggesting he is avoiding ingesting The Essence.
Mr. Eight wags his jaw; eyes stern. “You’re no good to me sick. Are you supplied?”
Morbiditus closes his eyes slowly. “Yes I am well supplied but don’t carry, mainly for fear of spreading the pure form of the virus.” Eight retorts, “Your so called allies will kill you to get it.”
Turning and looking at the top step where Stephan is sitting distant and lost
in thought.
“Do you think your old man would drive these guys to Misty Hob and come up for a visit.”
“He has months of unused vacation time. He’d be grateful for the distracting change of pace.”
Fear holds Grigori’s voice in a vice but he wants Morbiditus to secure definite terms. He touches his brother’s shoulder. Michelle long their enemy has remained quiet. Morbiditus finds Michelle’s silence is feeding his scholarly curiosity. He
detects fleeting touches of something alien and intrusive and wonders if she fears the arrival of The Alliant. Morbiditus feels sorrow reminiscing briefly of past battles. This strange creature, wrapped in this disguise, has defined through her
opposition the decisions that forged his destiny, ultimately leading him here tonight; talking to four youths like a grandfather admitting he can no longer live alone. Sometimes when she would acquire the field of battle through stealth as an owl and
explode overhead with a brilliant flash into a primordial dragon he wondered what forebodings possessed her to lead her legions personally; what foreshadowing of summer's end echoed in her heart so intrusively.
“At some point in this war I would require that our mono diamond crypt is returned to Grigori and myself as the debt payed in full. Once we’re no longer a certifiable threat; of course.”
Jack Barret keeping a watchful eye on his young son during these times of tumultuous shifts in the structure of The Game, has stopped at the near corner by the park: Stephan stands and signals
for him to approach. He sits down two stoops west casting a wary eye on the small sullen clutch of ZB12 members to the east. Mr. Eight is waiting for some demands from Michelle but there are none forthcoming. “Can The Tower of Absolute be flushed out
onto the surrounding plains?”
“Enough to stifle it momentarily; but no, it can’t be hobbled completely.” Morbiditus sits down.
Mr. Eight explains to Jack Barret the details of why he can’t transport Grigori and Morbiditus.
Jack leaves to drop off his work vehicle and get his own car eager to move Stephan out of the city for a while. The former owner of The Tower of Absolute sits on the stoop silently listening to the old woman end Moonlight Sonata with
the former owner of
The Totality of The Construct.

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)