Dark Destinies


How goes the battle

I am not feckin' sure what the hell is going on with all of this super-powered crap, but it sure is fun to watch gits freak out as I disappear into Shadows.  There's a slight niggling in the back of my head because I'm waiting for the bad side of this to show up.  All this power has to come with some sort of catch or cost.  I keep trying to find the limits of these powers but most of them are my own brain trying to wrap itself around brand-new shite.  I flew so fast once that I wound up on another continent.  What the fuck is up with that?  I've had the start of a couple different plans bouncing around my head as I work out these powers, though, so that's keeping my mind busy, too.  I have no idea what to think of these other fools.  I'm waiting for any of them to show some smarts, thoughts or plans about what the hell we are going to do.  I'm going to get my revenge, that's for sure, and money.  Lots of money.  Those are my goals right now.

Three of the others have run off to Vegas for supplies and to win some cash or something.  That doesn't impress me and seems pretty stupid since they'll probably get found out.  I'd rather lay low til we can get shite figured out.  Fury went, too, she seems okay-ish so far.  She at least is trying to plan things out…use her brain.  I want to talk to the Mooks, too, they will need shite to keep them happy.  The stick is super useful, but carrots have their place, too.  Learned that a long time ago, only reason I'm still (was?) in the PI business.  I'm feeling very antsy, though, I think I'll take a small risk and flex my muscles a little bit.  Go out and play.  That armored car company I ran into will make a nice toy and might net me a nice little something shiny.

I head out of our compound by doing the Shadow thang and fly out onto the desert floor.  I do my best to gather my power and think "FLYSPEEDFASTGO!!" Light blinds me for a moment when I stop, and I can't focus exactly.  Takes me a few seconds to clear my head.  Jesus Mary and Joseph!  I'm over water….och! Panicking, I turn 180 degrees and fly off again.  At least this time, I'm in a city but where the hell at? Are they?  Holy feckin hell, that's Japanese or some shite they are speaking.  Ok, stop.  You're safe, don't panic again.  Slow down and think. My stupid phone won't even connect to anything here, bollocks.  Ok, slower, steadier…."FLY" and I'm off again.  I see desert and I stop.  My phone's working now…checking GPS.  California.  Pish.  At least I got the right continent.  Once more with feeling and a better idea of how many miles I need to cover.  Poof, fly…annnddd..welcome to Vegas, baby!  Thank goodness.

I find my way to the Loomis warehouse and scope out the place.  It's after hours and the staff seem to be mostly gone.  I make myself as transparent as possible (don't ask me how…I just thought "HIDE"…and my powers did the rest.) I almost seem to be made of smoke and am lighter than air, so I drift myself slowly threw some cracks in the side door….sticking to the shadows as I go.  There are a couple dispatchers still in the office, and I take a lot of time to wind my way around the room. That fella on the left-most computer has his lights dimmed…..there's a good boy.  Nice! He's got the dispatch map up talking to a driver.  I think "STILL" and just listen for a few minutes until I hear "…high value asset. AC 7227, you are GO for transport. 20 minute ETA."  That's my jam.  I watch the map for until the cute, little AC logo they use starts moving.  How convienent, the map even shows the route down Simmions Road. This is going to be a cake-walk.

Outside, I move quickly (but not too quick!) to the road their route is supposed to take them.  Sure enough, I see the truck.  It's just a standard armored truck with two guys in the front.  Once it slows down for a light, I kind of float my way around the back of the truck and push myself against the back doors, looking for cracks.  Yes!  I squeeze thru…that cannot be more than 1/16" of an inch….that's freakin' awesome!  Alarms bells….asshole with a gun inside.  Goddamn it!  Wait…..let me try something.  I wrap myself around and in the Shadows around his feet and lower legs.  I think I can do this!  I close my eyes (what eyes, you fool) and concentrate on fella and "SHADOW" and I've got him!  Fuckin' A…I've got him wrapped in Shadow and covered…in Me?  I'm so excited, I fly us both out through that crack in the doors and straight up into the air.  Dusk has fallen and there is Shadow everywhere.  I'm freakin' laughin' like a maniac from adrenaline, no idea if anyone can hear me.  Straight up about 70 feet…..and think about fella and "FORM" and he appears again.  Goddamn, is he scared! I love this power!  I release him and barely watch him start to fall before I'm back at the truck again.  The truck is still moving all non-chalantly down Simmons Road so I pull the duffle bag off my back and start stuffing it full.  As quickly as I can without sending myself flying across the country (which is not easy to control!), I packed the duffle bag, thing must weigh 70 pounds full, and turn back into Shadow and head back to the compound.  It takes me about a two minutes to make a trip and literally dump the money in my room.  Sweet!  I know exactly where this truck is headed, so I'm going back for more!  Damn, this is feckin' fun!  On my way back, I think about the guard from the back of the truck, I'd sure like to hide his body and make this a huge mystery.  I head to him and turn his body to Shadow again.  This time fella's flight is much shorter….I find the nearest multi-story house and dump his body on top of it.  Heh….that'll be gross and I love it.

I'm able to make five more trips before the truck starts to get close to it's destination.  This is sweet…I have to have half a mill here or close to it.  I'm super high on adrenaline now and grab a couple stacks of cash and go shopping.  Quick stop to find a retail security store.  I might have highjacked some good lookin handguns while the clerk wasn't looking, too.  Tiz and Fury really have hard-ons for computers and I could really use something myself right now.  Errr….where the hell can I find that shite.  Google, baby.  Best Buy?  Really?  That's your recommendation, Google.  The Shadow Goddess walks herself in her human form right into Best Buy and buys some computers.  That sounds lame.  But, that's what I do.  At least, I bought one.  And now I know what I want…I may have raided their storage room for more.  Nice!  These monitors and the shite.  Too funny.  I could really steal some shite.  Woohooo!

Back in my room (lair?), I dump all my loot and relish the moment a bit. Fuck that was fun!  The Mooks!  Almost forgot.  I head upstairs and find Bard.  He seems to have at least a couple brain cells to rub together.  And he has a nice ass for a fella.  In an effort to offer a little carrot, I strike up a "friendly" conversation about the mooks.  I doubt he's buying it, but I don't really care, it's just fun to playact with people and see their response.  He is smart, he's able to word-play with me a little.  He suggests that food, booze and booty will help keep them happy, but also being sure they won't be eaten.  I certainly can't guarantee that with Goodman around.  That man/thing/whatever is fucked sideways.  Anyway!  I dance around that subject but offer up the rest of his suggestions.  I pop off a message to Fury to grab some things for the mooks while they are out.  Fury offers up the fun fact that the others are all off in the casinos, digging for gold or some shite.  I laugh to myself, thinking about how they are putting a spotlight on themselves and glad I'm not there.  I'm much happier in Shadow, always have been, really.

Bard and I finish up our conversation and I start to head back downstairs, when a random thought occurs to me.  

"Hey, Bard."


"I was in prison for quite a while and had very little entertainment since I was stuck in solitary most of the time."


"Want to have sex?  I'm down."

  "With you?  Sure!"

Neither of us last very long, it's very wham-bam-thank-you, but we have some fun.  Definitely fun.  I could hit that again.  He's cute and that ass is fine.  Carrot.

I head back to my rooms and start counting money and figuring out more shite.  I leave Tiz's nine new computers and those kick ass monitors upstairs where she's been working and start counting stacks of 100s.  I think I have between 600 and 750 grand.  Fuck, I've never seen that much money at once. Fuckin' dog's bollacks.  Now, I wait for the others to get back.  They better hurry up or I'll be finding more trouble.

Studies and Research

Dr. Goodman's continued path to enlightenment…

"How's my five friends today?" I ask. I realize that I don't really have any concern about whether they're happy or not, but this is an all "carrot" approach for these first test subjects. I need a face, as mine, is, well… not taken well by most. How unfortunate that these lower life forms simply cannot envision a world greater than their selfish existence.

They mutter some things under their breath. They are terrified, rightly so, by the disembodied voice and the knowledge of what happened to that huge prisoner I ate tartar. It's just protein and calories, but the taste is too unrefined. I'll need to work on proper meal preparation.

"Oh, come now," I say softly, "you have an opportunity of a life time here. But first, we need to ensure that you are kept safe and secure. Feel free to explore this room, but I must warn you not to leave the medical center without an escort by me or one of my colleagues." This will be a long process, but I have to get them to do two things: trust us for ensuring their safety and gain their loyalty. Initially, this will be a psychological effort in desensitization and increased attachment. This will lay the ground work for the actual genetic manipulation later.

One of them, Stuart, speaks up. "Wh-, why me? What are you going to do to me?"

"You have precisely the traits for great things! Believe me, you will be very happy to work with us. Work with us can be,.. well, very lucrative. But beyond that, how would you like to have the ability to stave off would be predators? Not to bring up a painful subject, but I believe you were all preyed upon by the larger, dominating inmates. I can give you the ability to not just level the playing field, but to put such offenders in their place." Stuart and his friends appear to be thinking about this. Good.

"In the meantime, lunch is at noon. I'm sure we can find you something much better than the prison meals." I walk in front of the door to the room so it opens automatically, but I don't leave. I stay quiet to observe the behaviors of the sheep. Perhaps there are some would be wolves that just need to be brought out of them…

Through the Looking Glass
The amount of bizarre shit you can become accustomed to is mind-boggling.

Captain's Log.  HAAAA!  I've always wanted to say that shit for real.

Okay, so it's official.

I'm am THE MAN.  I mean, like, THE FUCKING MAN!  And I haven't even figured out the full extent of my powers yet.  That still feels weird to say, "my powers".  I've had to exercise a lot of restraint, because I'm surrounded by a whole crapload of weirdos that I don't know shit about, other than the fact that they're fucking out there.  We're talking the full gamut of so-called "villains", from the full-on psychopaths all the way to some kind of FUCKING INVISIBLE MAN-GATOR.  Yeah, I'm being literal here.  He's got some kind of fetish about human experimentation that keeps me awake at night.  Well, that and, oh yeah, HE'S FUCKING INVISIBLE.  Talk about creepy shit.  Obviously, I don't trust a single one of these freaks.  They've all been busy little worker bees though, getting all HGTV on our secret villain base. 

That's right, we inherited a base, straight out of some kind of jacked-up Bond flick.  Well, considering the motley collection of fuck-ups that are currently scrambling around it, more like Dr. Evil from that SNL retard's movie trilogy.  There's all kind of retro-style future-tech, along with labs for the invisible man-gator to do his cutting and slicing (or splicing) and various work spaces, along with living quarters.  And let me tell you, these fuckers must have known that I was coming, my living space is decked the FUCK out, and comes complete with its own little holding cell.  Whoever lived here before me was apparently of the same, shall we say, tastes.  I'm changing the security access for the place to keep the rest of this comic-book-villain tree-house-gang out of my shit.

The first foray, right out of the gate, was to attack the prison that we just broke out of, and to kidnap more fucking low-lives to press into service as goddamn "minions".  Like I said, this shit is straight-up Dr. Evil shit, you couldn't make it up.  SO I went along, just to get a chance to deliver a little payback to the screws who fucked with me inside, but as it happens, we ended up capturing more than just some disposable fuck-up labor, we bagged her highness herself, the Warden.  The same chick who delivered the ominous message to me sent from my good "friends" in the Society.  I need to have a conversation with her, outside the prying eyes/ears of the super-villain treehouse-gang.  This is a priority, and we need to talk about that fucking laptop.  I could ask that slutty little trick Tiz to take a look at it, she's got some fucked-up affinity with machines and computers, but I don't trust her any more than the rest of this bunch.  

I suppose I need to schedule some time alone with Ms. Warden in my "play room" before the dirty-underwear gang fry her brain with telepathic grape-peeling and the invisible man-gator Dr. Phibes starts poking around in her skull with a dirty stick.

More later.


Moira's base ideas

I think Goodman should work on a way to track our new minions and keep them from escaping, or perhaps Tiz can come up with a nano-something so we can keep control of them.  I'd love to track them 24/7 and have contingencies in place for misbehavior.

I'd like to take the Beta storage on level 3 and turn it into living quarters for myself.  This will have us spread out a little and on different levels so we can keep our minions honest.  Maybe I could get a couple of Tiz's robots to work on plumbing or whatever other environmental things I might need.

I believe Kincaid wants the chambers on level 5, others seem to want the quarters on the 4th level, and most of our minions will eventually have to live in the group quarters on level 1.

I'd like to talk to the warden and get as much information as possible out of her brain.  Maybe Smokey could try to get something out of her brain involuntarily as a starting point.  Hopefully, she'll have good contacts at the least.  I'm not sure she should remain alive afterwards, though.  If not, I'd like her to remain with me (and not fed to Goodman) until her end.

Tiz has a lot on her plate, so I'll volunteer to help her with whatever she needs to get the base secure.

Medical Bay Renovations

Dr. Goodman will dig into the walls to create six alcoves through the base wall for subject storage. Then, he would look to Tiz to help out with creating the necessary controls and doorway to secure the subjects. Leave the interior walls rough hewn.

The interior will be organized for both medical use (for our workforce or us) and for genetic research (eventually). In fact, if Tiz can help with creating devices, Goodman will provide specifications on the equipment. If more space is needed, will be inclined to burrow into the walls for more space, though will make an effort to make them match the interior of the base.

Goodman will make a simple request to use on of the living quarters for himself (Living Quarters One on level 4). He will rearrange the rooms to make them more comfortable for himself, though there will be a Fibonacci pattern in the fabrics, though Goodman will make no conscious effort to do so,… it just happens. Fibonacci pattern looks like this. Numerically, it is 0+1=1, 1+1=2, 2+1=3, 2+3=5, 5+3=8, etc.


"Well, technically speaking, a free-thinking android is an extremely dangerous thing. Lacking any emotional capability, she, though technically neither he nor she, would simply work towards whatever her programmed goals or directives are. Much as you, I do not know what those goals are and I am certain they are not necessarily in line with our own goals.

"Personally, since she's a machine, I have no inclination to be led by her. If she attempts anything that is contrary to our own objectives, she will be dismantled. Note, it would be best if we could keep her intact to learn more about her, this place, and the prior owner of this place."

Dr. Goodman thinks a moment.

"Needless to say, our group's objectives and my personal objectives, also much like you, may not be totally consistent with each other. This circumstance is natural. As our social order becomes more defined, we will see to what extent our differences need to compromise. However, hopefully it brings some comfort in that I would be willing to have this diplomatic discourse before taking a more… ah… militant solution."

The other side of the glass

Well one thing's for sure…jail fucking sucks.  And prison?  Worse by a factor of a bazillion.  If he ever practiced law again, Kincaid would have a much better understanding of the plight of his clients.  Not empathy, mind you, because only idiots went to jail.  And that, he had to admit, was what he had been.  

An Idiot.

I'd really only been the money man, a silent partner, and clearly, a semi-retarded one as well.  I'd assumed that fucking beaner had been using my money to run drugs, but as it happens, it wasn't drugs at all.  Drugs would have been saintly, compared to the shit that dickweed was really smuggling.  Turns out, there's more money per pound in human organs, than in cocaine.  Who knew? 

Apparently the Feds had been running wiretaps on everyone involved, and the recordings were like some shit right out of TV.  These fucking spics thought they were so clever, speaking in spanish and in some stupid code that a 3rd-grader would have had no trouble figuring out.  FUCK I'd been so fucking stupid.  Greedy.  Funny though, I'd always warned my clients, "Don't get too greedy, greed always gets you."  Outstanding fucking advice, prophetic, even.  The Amazing Fucking Kreskin, right here.

My partner, Denny, God bless him.  He represented me, although by the time they'd gotten to me, there was little that he could do.  I simply didn't know enough about the organization, the players, hell, even the actual cargo being smuggled.  I tried to deal with the Feds, fuckin-A-right I did, but as I always say, "first to squeal gets the deal".  Those goddamned wetbacks sold me out the minute the cuffs went on, and you just KNOW that smug little prick of an AUSA loved the idea of torching a defense pro like me.  So, the government wasn't interested in my cooperation, only in the headlines they scored by dragging my name across the front page under headlines like "Famed Criminal Defense Lawyer Heads Up Human Organ Trafficking Ring".


It was so fucking crazy, so outlandish, that the public, the "regular" people, they believed it!  They figured a guy like me HAD to be a fucking scumbag, and this is the kind of shit scumbags do, right?  Well, they got it about half right.  I have done some shady, and hell, downright fucked up shit to people, but nothing that'd ever make the news.  Well it would if it got out, but the people I was doing it with own the fucking media, so that shit is locked down like Area 51.  The kicker here, the thing that just chapped my fucking balls about the whole deal was I WASN'T FUCKING GUILTY.  Not of this.

I know, right.  Nobody in prison is guilty, they all have some sob story about how badly they got screwed, "Didn't do it, lawyer fucked me!".  Usually they're talking about some baloney-sandwich-eating loser public defender, and I always used to giggle about that shit.  Not anymore.  Now, I fucking get it.  

I used to sit with clients, on my side of the glass divider in the visitation area, pick up the phone to talk to them and when I was done, think nothing of the fact that I got to walk out of that hellhole.  It's a whole different deal on the other side of this glass.  Some huge buck black-power thug named Larry Motherfucker (I shit you not, that's his name) has been after my ass, (literally the ass!) since I got here, and I have to constantly look over my shoulder to make sure he's not lurking back there somewhere.  Thankfully, I've defended a sizeable chunk of the straight-up murder-yer-ass hard-cases in this shithole, and I've always done right by them, so I have a bit of protection.  It's not absolute though, everybody has to take a dump sometime, right?

The trial…hell, the trial was a joke.  I had no fucking defense!  Well, other than "I didn't do it", but good fucking luck with that one Johnny Cochran, every juror on the PLANET is like "yeah, sure ya didn't buddy".  So, it was a bloodbath, beaner after beaner up there on the stand telling these pitiful lies about how shitbag whitey took advantage of them and made them steal drunk tourists' kidneys for money for their starving fucking kids.  

It was a 15-minute guilty verdict, hell I doubt they had time to elect a foreman and have a cup of coffee before slam-dunking my ass.  It's a statement, really, on how badly joe the fucking plumber hates lawyers.   Can't say I blame them though.  I fuckin' hate'em too.  Losers, most of'em, and the ones who aren't walk around like their shit doesn't stink.  I speak from experience here, mine smells like fucking potpourri.  Maybe that's why Larry Motherfucker is all about the ass.  

So, the court dropped the hammer, sentenced me to 25 years, and I…well I honestly don't know if I can do that kind of time.  I'm in decent shape, but these guys work out like its a religion.  I'm just not strong enough.

I've been having weird dreams too, like I'm having a conversation with my ring.  I know, fucking kooky.  The ring though, is one of my favorite things.  It's an an oddball, ornate antiquey looking thing my ex-girlfriend got for me in her endless fucking flea market dumpster dives, and it always made me feel good when I wore it, like I was stronger and better than everyone around me.  Powerful even.  Didn't help when the pigs cuffed and stuffed my naked ass in the back of that charger, and it stung a bit when they took it off me and stuck it in the zipper bag with my rolex and money-clip and took it to wherever they store inmate property.  But sometimes, in my sleep, I would swear it calls out to me.

My cellmate is fucking jacking off.  AGAIN.  I've about had it with his stupid fucked-up bubba teeth and constant farting, but this jacking off shit is for the birds.  Gotta be unsanitary too, I'd hate to see this place under a blacklight.  I wonder how long I'll get in the hole if I cave in his fucking cromagnon-like skull for him?  

I swear, if he nuts one more time I'm gonna fucking find out…

Blackstone Prison, LLC
10 things to know
  1. Blackstone Prison is divided into four quadrants.
  2. Blackstone Prison contains both male and female prisoners kept separated in two quadrants each
  3. Blackstone Prison is a wholly owned subsidiary of Overwatch Industries.
  4. The warden of Blackstone Prison is Tabitha Delacroix a hardened veteran of the justice system
  5. The only area inmates come within 20 yards of the opposite sex is the solitary confinement area
  6. The prison is home to three gangs, one Racist one Criminal and one Ethnic. White Supremacists, The Nemean crime syndicate, and "Das Putas" Latino-Bavarian cartel.
  7. Inmates are tracked by camera, motion sensors, heat sensors and individual gps chips implanted in the back of each inmates neck. 
  8. prison issue clothes are white and blue checkerboard pattern jumpsuits.
  9. Each quadrant contains its own outdoor area and social area.
  10. Guards are equipped with stun batons and extremely debilitating sonic stun rifles.

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