Swelling the Ranks

For years Gregory Deng had travelled all over the world, quietly fulfilling the wishes of his employers, more like his masters, and eliminating potential enemies and helping to silently shape the direction of the world's powers.

He felt nothing. When he killed a brutal Arab warlord in front of his family, he felt no pain, no remorse, nothing. It was a job. If anything, he felt anger, anger at his targets for making him do to them what he had to do.

When he wasn't out on a job, which was rare, Deng wandered the broad expanses of the Alaskan wilderness trying to find some semblance of peace for his ravaged mind and body. But of all the things he had tried, all the escapes he had sought none of them had filled the void that had been taken from him when he had been forced into a new set of trials to develop the ultimate covert operative.

Gregory had never forgiven his employers for what they had done to him; but still he worked for them; after all, he was now little more than a hideous monster, or so they told him. And what could one man do to stop the rolling tide of history. With so many operatives scattered throughout the world they ensured him that if he ever questioned his orders or failed to meet his objectives he would just as swiftly as he could eliminate a target be erased from the pages of history.

This threat, among others, had for a long time kept Gregory Deng in line; that was until recently. Although he could not feel remorse or regret, Deng was still a human, deep in his core, and this humanity, though they had tried to wipe it from him, allowed Deng to think. Having though about his many missions, assignments, and strikes, he continued to wonder what his actions were accomplishing in the grand scheme of things. His latest assignment finally pushed him over the edge. He rarely, if ever questioned orders, but this one was different; sure he had helped to instigate wars before, but this time he was to ensure the start of a war between two U.S. enemies; this did not bother him in the least, after all, they were the enemy and deserved to be destroyed, or so he had been told, but he could not figure out for the life of him how this would do anything but end countless lives and allow those with money to take control of more and more wealth, while the poor citizens of the countries suffered even more.

So, with a lot of thought, Gregory Deng set out on his supposed mission, only to disappear. No one knew where he went or what he was doing. In fact, subtly, a destroy on sight order had been dispatched to undercover operatives throughout the world.

The truth was Deng had never even left the country. He had rid himself of any technology that his former employers had given him and set off in a rental car from the Washington D.C. area under an assumed name. Only to ditch the car and take a creative route to a small town just north of New York City, Sleepy Hollow, to attempt to recruit the assistance of an ancient government secret said to be living in the hills and forests of the area. . . .


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That was weeks ago. Today we find the same man, Gregory Deng, attired in modest civilian clothes, walking down a busy street in Targu Mures, Transylvania. In fact, he was just outside the home of a supposed Dr. Lupus; a man who secret files he had stolen from his former employers indicated was yet another being afflicted with the burdens of governmental experiments. He thought that if he could convince enough of those forced to live in hiding because of who they were or what had been done to them, that perhaps, well, he didn't know, but he knew he needed to be doing something, something to stop the horrid atrocities enacted upon him and others.

Looking up at the modest building before him, Deng sighed. He looked just like any other person on the street. He then continued to walk, walking throughout the city, until night began to fall. After downing a quick meal and paying in cash at a local pub, Deng climbed a building about a block away from the house of Dr. Lupus, and one with direct sight of the man's upper office. Now he sat waiting patiently, something he was rather good at, a high powered scoped silenced rifle nestled quite at home in his arms. This was just like any other hunt; it had to be perfect, if it wasn't he would need to run, faster and farther than ever before. One mistake would have his former employers on him in no time. This time, there could be no mistakes.

In the falling darkness, Deng's eyes adjusted quickly, a gift from his employers. There was no moon out tonight, and the light layer of clouds caused the entire city to fall under an inky type blackness only penetrated by the occasional streetlight or distant automobile.

Then he saw it. The light in Lupus's window clicked on. Looking through his scope Gregory could easily see Charles Lupus busying himself. Steadying himself, and letting out a slight exhale, Deng squeezed the trigger. The silencer masking the noise that would normally accompany such a shot and any muzzle flash there might be. Within a moment he saw Lupus fall as the highly powerful tranquilizer struck him, and a mere moment after that heard the slight clatter of glass where the shot had broken through the window.

Quickly disassembling his rifle and putting it away, Gregory Deng then descended from his perch atop another building and made his way to his target's home. He hated having to shoot a potential ally, but he couldn't risk Lupus's reaction in an uncontrolled environment. Easily ascending the wall of the house, via cracks, outcroppings and ledges, Deng reached through the broken window, unlatched it and entered.

Once inside, he surveyed the room, old, but quite nicely laid out. It was obvious that Lupus did not live in want. Quickly he searched Lupus, removing several syringes and vials of an unknown medicine, placing them in his own pockets. Once he was sure Lupus did not have anything, he easily picked him up, his great strength another 'gift' from his employers, placed the doctor in a nearby arm chair and then producing several lengths of rope secured his arms legs and body into the chair. Then, shutting the light off to hide the broken window, he sat down in a nearby chair, the blackness doing little to comfort Deng; little did these days, to await the doctor's awakening.

* * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, around the same time, deep in the heart of old London, in the middle of the night, a horse's hooves could be heard clop clopping down the roadway. Astride the midnight horse sat a menacing figure clothed completely in black, a large hood obscuring any face he might have.

This was the being that Deng had gone to New York for. An odd partner for one versed in the stealthy and deadly arts of government manipulation, but never the less, perhaps odd partners were just what an organization of the most secreted, despised, and punished being the world has known might need. Who knew what might become of this foolhardy errand.

Then as the few wispy clouds raced about in the sky high above, the horseman did the unthinkable, he reached up and removed his hood. A blue balloon drifted up into the night sky, and where the head of the rider should have sat there was nothing. From the neck up, this rider did not exist.

Suddenly there was a clatter behind the rider, who astride his massive stead whirled to face whatever might be approaching in the dark. And there stood an old man, one of the countless drunks to inhabit old London. The man stood there, shaking; he didn't know what he was seeing. The clatter had been as he dropped his drink on the cobblestones. The old man stuttered and stammered but was so overcome by fear he could not form any words. And then quite suddenly, merely a flash in the moonlight, and the man's head and body separated and fell to the ground with two distinct thuds. The rider then dismounted, and bent down to clean the bits of blood from his shining silver blade.

Then quickly and quietly he began to move the body and the head into a nearby rubbish bin. Then turning, from seemingly out of nowhere, the rider produced a pumpkin which he smashed to the ground where the man had died before galloping off down the cobblestones.

No all he would need to do is wait; and with any luck, the elusive Mr. S would find him before the night was up.

Mr S did indeed quickly find the strange rider. Whether by coincidence or intention, he had committed his crime near where the Mr S typically wandered. He wasn't sure why he was attracted to this spot, only that it seemed to feel homey, almost familiar, as familiar as anything could be to a man who had no memory and did not exist. He supposed it was the fact that it was old, and he liked old things. They seemed almost timeless, and gave him comfort that even in this vast chaotic world, some things didn't change
Down the same roadway where the horseman had decapitated his victim, Mr S, an average man in a suit, walked down the cobblestone street, his shoes making no sound, his reflection in the puddles nonxistent, as well as his shadow. When he found the old man, he almost passed him by. He had seen his share of murders in his short time on Earth, and this one wasn't that unexpected. What stopped him at first was the pumpkin, then the barely visible set of bloody hoofprints that led away from the scene. This killer was different from the regular thugs who hid in the shadows of the old London. This one had finesse, style, and was either bold or stupid to sign his own work and leave on a very inconspicous horse. He would be interesting, or at the very least entertaining to watch. And watching was what Mr S lived for. He looked down the road where the horseprints seemed to lead, and remembered himself walking down that same road earlier this week. He pictured the road in his head, and then pictured himself there. When he looked up, he was there. He looked down and found the hoofprints again, which were becoming fainter as the blood was tracked off the horse's hoofs. He might have given up right there, but he was sure he wasn't far behind.

Slowly, Charles began to come to, fluttering his eyes open. As he awoke, his head produced a slight headache, and a small pain at his side was felt. Ignoring this, Charle's tried to figure out what happenned.The last thing he remembered was that he was placing some fials in his desk, but that was it. Feeling the pain, he assumed he was hit or shot on the side, but how was he living? Maybe the shot wasn't for killing.

Slowly he tried to stand up, but found he couldn't. He found out that this task would be impossible for the moment, being tied to a chair. He tried struggling his legs and arms, but they were tied tight also. Getting worried, he glanced around the dark room.

Suddenly, he noticed the presence of another person in the room. While the lights were turned off, and their was no moon tonight to provide any light, Charles' senses still were slightly better than the average human. As he concentrated, he found that someone was sitting in a chair in front of him, judging by the breathing and where a new smell was coming. Sometimes, the curse did help him, though this fact sometimes sickened him.

"Ok, good, you have successfully tied me to my own chair. what do you want?"

In the near blackness, Deng smiled, not a smile of happiness or pleasure, for he felt none of those things. Instead, it was a smile of knowing, knowing that he indeed had found his mark and that things were going to plan.

From the dark he spoke quietly, "I only want the same thing that you want Dr. Lupus. I want to be who I used to be." and then he feel silent.

Having determined that the man before him was indeed Charles C. Lupus, Gregory could now move on to the second phase of his plan. With an armored fist he struck like a viper in the night, striking Lupus square in the side of the head; when the man awoke he would have a headache but nothing any more serious.

He then took care of the last of his arrangements, removing Lupus's bonds after he determined the man/wolf was indeed unconcious, and sliding a thin DVD atop the small table adjacent the chair, before slipping back out into the night. The DVD did not appear to be anything special, a simple silver/grey disk, with fr33d0m1ST written atop it in plain black permanent markered letters.

(OOC: Add a little flair, tell what your guy is thinking, maybe have him check with airports or whatever, police etc. about my guy, and find nothing. Then perhaps find the DVD and do whatever it is you want to do with it. My suggestion: watch it -or at least try to. It will ask you for two passwords, before it allows you to load it )

Quickly Deng made his way back to a small out of the way hotel where he had been staying, cash only of course, no way to trace that. The hotel itself was a sort of runaways dream. It was obvious the owner feared any government intrusions and was more than willing to offer a room to an odd foreigner, no questions asked.

After packing up his few belongings, Deng slipped out into the dull grey pre-dawn sky. By the afternoon he would be long gone, and any traces anybody might have on him would be gone with him.

* * * * * *

Meanwhile in London.

The odd man known simply as Mr.S approached the scene were not terribly long ago the old drunkard had spilled his last drops, only to see the smashed pumpkin and faint hoofprints leading from the scene. In fact, the headless rider had intentionally left the trail hoping that the elusive Mr. S would follow, his curiousity getting the best of him. The Horseman was not worried about any other would be followers, being more than happy to deal with them in the proper way.

The strange device that allowed The Horseman to continue to live without a head, also gave The Horseman many other strange powers and abilities; amongst them was the power to render himself invisible to the senses via a sort of echolocation sensory barrier field. He had done this soon after he had left the scene of his latest victim. Even now he stood waiting for his prey to come trapsing down the road.

All of a sudden, without any warning, a being appeared in the 'sight' of The Horseman. If he could have smiled he would have. Whoever this was, was an exceptionally skilled being, to move quickly enough between The Horseman's rapid scans to not be there in one moment and then there in the middle of it the next.

Regardless of how the being had gotten there, one thing was for sure. He would most likely not be there long. Unshrouding himself, the massive black steed of the horseman rose up on ts hind quarters with a shrill cry, before The Horseman, silvery rapier brandished high charged towards the figure who had appeared in the road. At full charge he raced by the man and swung his blade in an effort to easily remove the poor sot's head from his shoulders.

Early the next morning, Charles slowly came to, groaning. The headache that he was suffering was quite bothersome, and he was neversure whether medications would affect his condition. Slowly, he attempted to stand, trying to recall what exactly happened.

Then he remembered. He remembered how he was placed unconcious the night before, how he awoke to a person in the dark with him tied to a chair. The person did say something, but what Charles' couldn't exactly remember.

Quickly, he went to the small phone on the wall near the door, picked it up, and was about to dial the police. But something made him pause before he dialed. If he called an official, there would be questions, including who he was. If the government got it, then the info could have been leaked to the U.S.S.R., and if they found out, Charles' life would be ruined.

Quietly he set the phone down, and went through the house. He checked his labratory equipment, making sure everything was there, he checked his bedroom, he even checked the basement, just to be sure the stranger wasn't hiding in there. When he found that nothing was gone, he went back upstairs to where the room he was tied.

The stranger had left nothing to show he was there, save for the broken window, which was easily replaceable. He sat down momentarily behnd his desk trying to think. What he was thinking about was what exactly the stranger had said before he went unconsious. Then he noticed the DVD.

Picking it up, he studied it momentarily. "Freedom First?" Charles asked himself. Suddenly he remembered what the stranger said. "I want to be what i used to be" Quickly, he went downstairs to his computer, and inserted the little disk. He groaned as the computer tried to read the disk. Suddenly, the computer was asking for not one, but two passwords.

Charles frowned at this. He was sure the stranger had left the DVD here. Did he leave it on purpose, or was it an accident? Charles didn't know, but he did know he needed to see what was on the disk. Charles thought for a few moments. He decided that one of the passwords was possibly what was written on the disk. He typed out fr33d0m1ST. Then he thought again about the second password.

Something about the stranger made him curious. When he was tied up, he could remember that there was no moon, and that his coat had a lack of serums in its pockets. Did this person know of his curse? That would explain why the stranger emptied out his pockets, and yet didn't steal more of the serums in his lab. Guessing, he typed in one word for the second password. Werewolf

Mr S felt what passed for him as an adrenaline rush as the strange attacker rode out of the night, slicing quite expertly at his neck. Fortunately, Mr S did not get scared. He had walked down this area of London before and had been attacked numerous times, his suit seeming to be a beacon to all the hoodlums looking for a quick shilling. They generally ended up being the ones spooked, claiming he was a ghost and running away as fast as their trembling legs could carry them. Thats not to say S wasn't startled. It didn't matter who you were, a sword wielding horseman appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the night in London attempting to decapitate would defintely startle you.
The silver rapier passed effortlessly through S's neck, leaving him unharmed and unscathed. S whipped around to get a good view of his attacker, and was very surprised by what he saw. A man on a black horse, with no head to speak of. He was like some spectre out of a nightmare that had decided to come into the real world for the night. Mr S knew one thing when he saw the strange being. This was going to be interesting.
He walked up to the horseman, unafraid and undaunted. He cocked his head as he studied him, then said, "You, my good sir, are defintitely the strangest thing I've had the pleasure of seeing. While I take mild offense at you trying to behead me, Im mostly curious as to how you came to such a state."
Then it occurred to S that the man mightnot be able to hear him. He didn't have ears after all. Then again, he must have some sort of sensory abilities or he would not have been able to see S to attack him.

Lupus' computer beeped, and a message
appeared on his screen.

* * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, the headless rider slowed and circled to face, well at least what would have been facing had he actually had a face, the man. Without a word, obviously, The Horseman produced a single packet from his pocket and tossed it to the cold ground at the feet of Mr. S, for that was most assuredly who it was. It had to be, to have survived a direct blow to his neck with not even a scratch.

He then pulled on the reigns of his horse, rearing up on its haunches once again, wheeled about and galloped off in the dark night, slowly vanishing both in distance and in actuality.

He did not need to communicate anymore. If the headless rider's actions by now had not been enough to tempt the curiousity of S, than nothin could. He trusted that his actions had been plentiful enough to attract the attention of any who might have seen them, from peasant to lord. Now the rest of the plan was in the hands of Mr. S, and whatever actions Gregory Deng was going about in Transylvania; Now all he needed to do was make to the coast, where he would be picked up by Deng and spirited away.

The packet of papers on the ground consisted of a foldable map, much like those one could get from any travel agency, this one was of Transylvania, scribbled in the middle of it over a certain town was an address. Under the address was written a name: Charles Lupus.

There was also a note, quite a simple note really, short and none too complicated all it said was.

OOC: Sorry, but I cant let this one go
Mr S sighed, then willed himself further up the street to where the Headless Horseman was galloping, putting himself ahead of him. As the horseman came closer, S shouted, "Excuse me, but I can't open that packet of papers you tossed me!"

Charles gulped at the new message. The word Detonation had that effect on a lot of people, including super soldier projects. He quickly glanced at his sweaty hands, and wiped them off his pants. He was no hacker, nor did he know anyone to be one. He needed to find this person. But how, he was unsure. Silently, he just sat, thinking tom himself. Then tried another password. he had three more tries, one more couldn't hurt.

Freedom1st
Lycanthrope

The Horseman slid to a stop on the cobblestones as the man appeared in front of him. His words presented a slight problem, and now here they were a few blocks away and the packet was still lying in the street.

With a shriek that seemed to eminate from the gaping neck of The Horseman, he turned his horse and charged back down the road towards the point where the papers had been lying, skidding to a halt, horseshoes sparking on the old cobblestones. If he could have, he would have breathed a sigh of relief; there the packet of papers still lay on the street. Using his sword, the rider reached down and sliced the small string that bound the papers, allowing them to unfold. Then expertly he skewered the top sheet and moved it aside.

He was sure the strange Mr. S, would be here shortly. And now, even if he couldn't touch the papers he could still now at least read them. Hopefully S's memory could serve him well enough to get to Transylvania with the information stored in his head.

The horseman than simply stood, waiting for S to appear and read the papers. And then, without a word, after S read the papers, he stabbed the pages and brought them to himself, taking them and shoving them into his pockets, stowing his blade, and then pointed down the road, before with a ghostly shriek his entire being vanished into nothingness, as the clop clop clop of hoofbeats clamored off into the night, an invisible figure haunting through the streets of London.

* * *

After Lupus entered another guess the computer responded.

Charles was not sure what to do. At first he wanted to hit his head, but this message was different. It would appear that the DVD was specifically for him, and that it knew he was hiding. Something wasn't right. Quickly, he took out the small disk, and stored it into a small box, to which he placed underneath his bed. He then wenth back to the computer, and tried looking up anything on smart CDs. He was doubting he'd find anything

Mr S stared at the sheet intently, having gotten used to having to memorize important information since he couldn't take anything with him. When the rider took it away, S already had it all in his head, and immediatly decided he must follow the map to Transylvania. Why? Because it was sure to be interesting. A headless murderer who could turn invisible giving a person travel instructions was odd enough, and S couldn't wait to find out what more was waiting for him. Unfortunately, he had never been to Transylvania, and so would have to take a slower route than simply teleporting there. He bent his head and concentrated, remembering a small bench in one of the major airports of London that he knew well. When he opened his eyes he was there, the sudden rush of people a bit of a surprise after the solitude of the dark streets. He quickly found a plane headed for a city near the village on the map and jumped inside the back of the plane, slipping by security by phasing into the baggage cart, a favorite trick of his that took a little concentration. He could actually phase through anything, but in order to do so, he had to change his expectations, make sure that he thought he would pass through before he actually did. After what seemd like a long and tedious flight, he was in Transylvania. He hitched another ride to the village by hopping on a bus that he hoped was head for it. Since all he had to go by was the name he had been given and the general location, he had looked for outgoing busses with the same name on their itinerary. In a few more hours, he would be at the village

As Dr. Lupus searched the bowels of the internet for anything on smart CDs, a task that would most likely end in frustration, and the mysterious Mr. S drew closer to Lupus' home. The two messangers were just as secretively moving about in the world.

The headless Horseman managed with no small amount of luck, and a few more headless Englishmen left lying in the gutters, to make his way aboard a quite noisy freighter America bound. Remaining invisible and with a bit of sly thievery, he and his steed would be able to complete their journey in about 2 weeks; ample time for the next leg of the plan to fall into effect.

Meanwhile, Deng had not in fact left Transylvania, well at least permanently. True he had actually left the country, only to smuggle himself back in. In fact, at this very moment he was aboard a ricketty typr bus heading towards the hometown of Dr. Lupus. It was true he didn't actually need to be present for this leg of the plan, but at the time he had little else to do, and wanted to be sure that should the two mutant-types fail, or worse be caught, there would be no connection back to himself.

After hours of travelling the bus came to a stop, and Deng, silently picked up his single bag and filed out of the bus with the other passengers, only to disappear into the coming evening.

Within a matter of 45 minutes he had traversed much of the town, slipping in and out of alleyways and both front and back doors of nearly a dozen pubs and establishments. Now he one again sat a few blocks away from the the house of Dr. Lupus, silently waiting for the crucial meeting of the two.

As the bus arrived at the village, S leapt from the baggage compartment and landed in the dark street. He got up and looked around, not particularly impressed by anything he saw. It was an ordinary village with ordinary people, that was all. He closed his eyes and called up the map once again in his mind, remembering the address. He wandered around until he found the street, which he followed out of town to the house indicated on the map. There appeared to be someone inside, judging from the soft glow coming from the window. It also looked a little run down, judging from the broken window on one side. S shrugged and walked straight through the door, without so much as a sound.
He looked around until he found an average looking man studying something on a computer. He walked up behind him and simply said, "Hello"

Dr. Lupus scratched his head momentarily before trying another search. So far, his search about smart CDs had turned up nothing. He bean thinking it was worthless to continue looking. Suddenly, behind him, he heard a voice.
"Hello"
Dr. Lupus didn't even look up. he just simply said, "Hi" but then he paused. Did his ears fail him, or was somebody behind him? He quickly tunred around, and jumped up seeing the strange gentleman behind him. He stood up, and quickly pulled out a needle from his pocket, and held it ready to stab the man. "Who in the world are you? How did you get in here?" He demanded

Gregory Deng crouched beside a gargoyle mere blocks away, again easily able to see into the lighted room where just a mere moment ago the fabled figure who could only be Mr. S, scared the whilies out of Dr. Lupus who was still typing away at his computer, almost 24 hours later.

Quickly Deng reassembled his rifle, and then carefully he slipped out two tranq darts from the case, using a pen he withdrew from his pocket Deng quickly scribbled a note on the first before loading it and it's companion into the gun.

Then hefting his rifle, Deng took aim; He had to be sure this was Mr. S, and that The Horseman had done his job.

Over the years the countless surgeries and experimental treatments exacted on Deng's body had removed many if not all of the emotions his 'masters' had considered weak, love, compassion, sympathy, and many more. One that had been twisted, but still left to Deng was humor; sure it was warped and twisted, but still, a glimmer of it still existed. It was that emotion that now controlled Deng. It would be mildy entertaining to watch Lupus' reaction, when he awoke from a second round, this one from yet another direction.

It was daylight now, and the streets below had their normal followers beating their normal paths to and fro. Deng had to be careful to not attract their attention as well. Crouching closer to the large stone gargoyle, into the shade of the massive beast he focused in on his targets, and quickly pulled the trigger twice.

The first round was aimed for what he hoped was Mr. S, the second for Lupus who had by now spun around and was holding a syringe threateningly; if anything, Lupus couldn't be allowed to transform, if he did any secrecy would be lost.

For a second time in as many days a window shattered in the home of Charles Lupus, and for a second time Lupus was taken unaware by the fast acting toxins. Eventually people were going to begin getting suspicious, so many broken windows on the home of the strange reclus.

The first dart, having obviously sailed harmlessly through it's target nestled itself nicely in the oppsoite wall; the message still clearly visible on the still warm projectile;

Fate?
2 Passwords
2 Strangers
1 Fate

Just after the shots left his gun, and Deng saw the stranger not fall, he rolled around the back of the stone beast out of sight.

Gregory Deng crouched beside a gargoyle mere blocks away, again easily able to see into the lighted room where just a mere moment ago the fabled figure who could only be Mr. S, scared the whilies out of Dr. Lupus who was still typing away at his computer, almost 24 hours later.

Quickly Deng reassembled his rifle, and then carefully he slipped out two tranq darts from the case, using a pen he withdrew from his pocket Deng quickly scribbled a note on the first before loading it and it's companion into the gun.

Then hefting his rifle, Deng took aim; He had to be sure this was Mr. S, and that The Horseman had done his job.

Over the years the countless surgeries and experimental treatments exacted on Deng's body had removed many if not all of the emotions his 'masters' had considered weak, love, compassion, sympathy, and many more. One that had been twisted, but still left to Deng was humor; sure it was warped and twisted, but still, a glimmer of it still existed. It was that emotion that now controlled Deng. It would be mildy entertaining to watch Lupus' reaction, when he awoke from a second round, this one from yet another direction.

It was daylight now, and the streets below had their normal followers beating their normal paths to and fro. Deng had to be careful to not attract their attention as well. Crouching closer to the large stone gargoyle, into the shade of the massive beast he focused in on his targets, and quickly pulled the trigger twice.

The first round was aimed for what he hoped was Mr. S, the second for Lupus who had by now spun around and was holding a syringe threateningly; if anything, Lupus couldn't be allowed to transform, if he did any secrecy would be lost.

For a second time in as many days a window shattered in the home of Charles Lupus, and for a second time Lupus was taken unaware by the fast acting toxins. Eventually people were going to begin getting suspicious, so many broken windows on the home of the strange reclus.

The first dart, having obviously sailed harmlessly through it's target nestled itself nicely in the oppsoite wall; the message still clearly visible on the still warm projectile;

Fate?
2 Passwords
2 Strangers
1 Fate

Just after the shots left his gun, and Deng saw the stranger not fall, he rolled around the back of the stone beast out of sight. This time he did not even bother to pack up his rifle; he was sure when someone finally took notice of the windows the police would be easily able to discern the gunshot patterns in the broken glass; besides, he was feeling hurmorous today, and wanted to leave the tiniest clue in the most unlikely place. If his old masters were to pursue him, he wanted them to know he was no longer alone. With all hope, by the time the authorities knew he had been there, Lupus would be long gone, for a long long time. . .

S didn't even flinch as the projectile passed through him, though that was because it didn't even register until after it had happened. Lupus on the other hand had also been hit, and S didn't giv him long before he succumbed to whatever was in that dart. What made him curious though was the man before him's behavior. He had heard an intruder, and the first thing to come into his hand was a syringe. No matter what was in there, syringe's by in large were not generally considered a weapon of choice. S supposed it could be som ekind of fast-acting poison, but why carry it around then? He then happened to glance at the projectile that had passed through him, and noticed the message it brought. He quickly memorized it, then sat down and waited for the man to shrug off whatever he'd been hit with. He also watched his breathing, in case it had been a poison in the dart, in which case S would probably just leave.
He had to admit he was confused. Twice now people had tried to hurt or kill him, and both times failed due to his incorporeality. Once was understandable, but twice? Why attack him again if they already knew he couldn't be hurt. Perhaps the attacker wasn't in league with the headless man, or perhaps he had not been trying to hurt him but merely verify that it was really him. If they were trying to verify that it was him, there were less dramatic ways then shooting him.

about a half an hour later, Lupus slowly regained consciousness again, very annoyed. As he slowly attempted to get up, he noticed the man simply sitting down, staring at him. Normally, Lupus would have attacked, perhaps got out a syrnge a make him a werewolf, but being shot twice in two days made him reconsider that thought. Instead, he just stared back at the Strange gentleman, and said, "If i may be rude, who are you, what do you want, and why did you know me out? Are you the one who knocked me last night?"

"I am simply known as S, I don't want anything, I know you because a headless man showed me where you are, andno I didn't knock you out last night. I was attacked as well, but fortunately I am immune to such methods. Does that answer all your questions, because I have a few for you. Why did you pull a syringe on me last night? What did you hope to accomplish? Also, have you seen a headless man with a sword recently?"

Charles raised an eyebrow at these questions. A headless horseman? that was strange, but Lupus didn't question this. being what has happened receantly, he would have believed anything.

"No, i have not seen a headless horsman. and if you must know, that syringe wasn't going to be used on you. I was going to use it on myself." Lupus looked around a little bit, trying to find the right words. "Lets just say i have a certain condition. And since i was knocked out twice in two days, i have been a little too ready to use it. Ever since i got that Cd, and..." Lupus paused for a second. Perhaps this gentleman wasn't sent here by chance. Maybe..." You didn't happen to get anything like a password for a DVD or something receantly, did you?"

"How curious that you should ask, since the horseman did indeed give me a strange word that seemed unecesary and unusual. It was'R1dd73Fr0nT'" he said, carefully spelling out the word, numbers and all. "Does that help? Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't most of the conditions that affect you solid folk weaken you? I'm assuming that you did not intend for your condition to weaken you, so I wonder what sort of condition it is that you would think it would help you against an intruder?"

Charles' mind raced fiercely. He quickly wrote down the password Mr S. Gave him, just to be sure he didn't forget. He then, ignoring the man, raced over to the box, opened it, and retrived the DVD. As he raced back, and inserted the DVD, he answered a few questions.

"Yes, conditions usually make people weaker, but in my case, not so much." As he raced back, he hardly noticed how his arm accidently went right through the stranger's body. He was too excited.

"a while back, i was a test for the U.S.S.R. government super soldier prject, by splicing human DNA with animal DNA. Lets just say, they kinda got it to work with me, though to the extreme." When the computer came up with the screen requireing two passwords, he quickly typed them in, double checking he didn't make a mistake. Afterwords, he hit the enter button, and asked the Mr. S a question.

"How is it that you got into my house undetected?"

Mr S listened to the man's babble with some interest. A human-animal hybrid? Not quite a headless swashbuckling rider, but still interesting. When the man finally got around to asking the question S had been waiting for, and was a bit surprised he hadn't been asked earlier (the man must be absentminded S thought to himself) he answered quite manner-of-factly and calmly.
"I walked through the front door," not bothering to mention that he meant that literally, "and you most likely didn't hear me since I make little noise when I want to, and only slightly more when I don't. You see," he said, casually phasing his hand into Lupus' torso and out again, "I'm what you people call 'not all there.'" S smiled at his own pun. It had been a while since he'd had a meaningful conversation with anyone.

Dr. Lupus' computer whirred and hummed as it proccessed the Compact Disc now inserted into it.Reading the two passwords, the computer silently checked them against the CD. After almost an entire minute of what seemed to be no activity, a box popped up on the screen.

Congratulations Dr. Lupus.
Welcome Mr. S.
I am glad to see that you have both been able to come this far.

And then after a moment the words faded away to reveal the picture of a layout of buildings, no names, no addresses, but simply a variety of closely packed buildings. The voice of Gregory Deng speaking in the background.

"Perhaps since you have come thus far, you will be willing to go even further. By no doubt you will have discovered each other's unique characteristics by now. We are working to assemble a team of special, for the lack of a better word, agents, with unique skills and abilities. Together, as a collective,we can protect ourselved and others from the horrible fates that brought some of us to this point, learn more about our individual histories, and for those of us that desire, work together to find ways to reclaim what may have been lost. Together as equals we can finally establish for ourselves something none of us have, a cohesive unit, a brotherhood of peers, working together for the greater good.
*brief pause*
What you see before you is the layout for a nuclear power plant in Fukushima Japan. What you do not see is the hidden number of highly trained Japanese military guards working undercover as techs, or the secret scientific/robotics research facility that is housed somewhere within or under this power station. What else you do not see is another even more deeply held secret, another one of our own resides somewhere in this compound, but unlike us, he she or it is not free to leave. Like your friend the Horseman, Mr. S, this person is being held captive for unknown reasons pertaining to his genetic makeup. In order to establish ourselves as a brotherhood of unqiue individuals, we need to respect the uniqueness of those who differ from the world at large, differences that cause the world to fear, hate, and persecute us. As such, this individual, whoever, or whatever he she or it is, deserves a chance at freedom. It is up to the two of you to determine if this chance is granted.
Once your mission is completed, journey to the dead end of maple street in the home of Mr. S' first visitor. There you will be given instructions on where to meet with the rest of the brotherhood.
Good Luck."

And with that the entire screen went dark, the computer ejected the CD and promptly shut itself down, before a small puff of smoke rolled out of the rear of the computer. The CD had literally burned the insides of the computer to prevent any copy of trace of itself, save for the original.