The Giggling Dark: Session Four

Xellous and Kora went to Ikuinen Lampo's Observatory, arguing playfully along the way. The monks were at prayers in the Observatory when Xellous and Kora got there. There were three people  in the graveyard (Setting Note: Observatories are the only acceptable place to bury the dead, as the star's corpse sanctifies the earth and keeps people that die near it from rising up as undead. Obviously cremation was something that was banned very quickly by the undead overlords and still has so many negative connotations that it's rarely done. Instead, the people bury their dead near their stars.), who introduced themselves: a man by the name of Ernzan, his sister Meeria, and his wife Veraunay. It was raining, so after Kora was finished being sick in the corner of the graveyard they all went into the library, which was adjacent to the Observatory proper, and there they decided to await the monks.

Meeria and Veraunay began to search through the library for something, while Ernzan chit chatted with Xellous. The two took an immediate liking to each other, having similar temperaments and interests. Veraunay found Pyra, which was unstrung, recognized it for what it was, and complimented it with gusto. Ernzan explained that Veraunay was a genuine witch, who had supposedly died out in the land, before the Eclipse Liches had come. Xellous claimed responsibility for making the bow, and Ernzan, Meeria, and Veraunay were (properly!) in awe that a 13 year old could make a bow that could tickle a god. Ernzan and Xellous then declared they were going to be honest with each other: they both thought the Observatory was responsible for the summoning of Flammeous Lads. Xellous shared the schematic of a man holding a disc and asked Ernzan what he thought of it. Ernzan told him he thought it was a dark symbol but knew nothing more about it.

Everyone was so intent in this conversation that they didn't hear Brother Marcus, who had known Kora and Michael their whole lives (and had given The Field Manual to Michael) enter the library. Brother Marcus called out Ernzan, by name.  Meeria pulled a knife  and charged Br. Marcus. Xellous jumped in the way of Meeria, knocking her out of the way, and asked if everyone could just talk. A few petty words were exchanged; Br. Marcus rushed Xellous and Kora out of the library, to the other end of the graveyard, out of sight of Ernzan, Meeria, and Veraunay.

Br. Marcus explained that Ernzan, Meeria, and Veraunay were part of an evil cult who were out to bring back the Rot Zones by destroying the corpses of the stars. Br. Marcus was shocked to learn that Flammeous Lads had been summoned, and became furious when he learned that Michael had been the conduit by which they had come back. He immediately claimed it was Ernzan who made Michael do it.

The library all of a sudden went up in flames. Ernzan and Meeria came out, with Veraunay following them, reading a book. Xellous and Br. Marcus ran back to where the library had been, to face the trio. Ernzan made an offer to Xellous: to come with them. They weren't out to destroy the world and they hadn't forced Michael to summon the flammeous lads. Meeria threw a knife into Br. Marcus' throat and strode forward to Xellous, with Ernzan shouting in alarm and surprise.

A streak of fire separated Xellous from the trio. Kora strode over, Pyra strung, and knocked another arrow, threatening to kill all three of them if they didn't leave immediately. They did, with Ernzan pleading with Xellous to come with them, to help them save the world. Xellous realized they were referring to Michael. They began the rush home.

The Giggling Dark: Session Three

After talking talking with Kora about it Xellous went to ask Michael about summoning the demonic Flammeous Lad. He went to Michael's room, in the late evening, and knocked on the door. Michael was sitting by a candle in his room, looking at the Field Manual, the chief religious text of The Potted Fields. The book had been loaned to Michael  by Brother Marcus, who had known Michael since he was born. Michael had been looking at the pictures of preservation of of bodies and ghouls. Michael and Xellous discussed whether Altus was in hell, being eaten by the ghouls. Xellous then asked how Michael had summoned the demons to punish his father for raping his sister.

Michael admitted that he had no memory of the event and wasn't sure that he had done it at all. Relieved, Xellous asked what he did remember, and Michael said all he could remember was fire and a feeling that found both repulsive and attractive. Xellous brought Michael back to his house for the night to see Kora, who was relieved to hear that Michael hadn't summoned the Flammeous Lads on his own. Xellous and Kora then agreed to go back to the cabin the next day.

It was overcast and raining the next day. Xellous, Kora, and Michael trudged back to the the abandoned cabin. Once they got into the cabin Xellous noticed Michael acting strangely, but ignored it as he needed to investigate the cabin. Xellous found a circle, right in front of the fireplace, made from burnt blood. it was clearly a summoning circle of some kind. There was a finger from a child in another corner, and a symbol of a figure staggering under the weight of what looked like a large plate. There was also evidence that the fire had blood in it.

Kora screamed and Xellous turned around. Michael was coming at Xellous, eyes rolled in the back of his head, hands outstretched. Xellous didn't miss a beat and knocked out Michael. Kora didn't calm down but screamed and cried at Xellous, asking if Michael was OK. Xellous tried to calm Kora down, but only managed to piss himself off in the process. Trying to not take it out on Kora, Xellous picked up Michael  and carried him back to his house, Kora in tow. He then headed back to the cabin to examine it in peace, calming himself down on the way back to the  cabin. Sitting down and looking over the evidence again, Xellous came to the following conclusions:

1) The circle was designed for children to use it.
2) Janus, the child who was gutted by Michael, was the owner of the finger, which was used to draw the summoning circle.
3) The figure with the plate is not a demonic symbol.

Xellous returned and lied to Michael, telling him he was randomly targeted. He told the truth to Kora later, who brought up that the cabin was formerly the Ikuinen Lampo's Observatory library. They may have information on the cabin, even if they had let it fall to ruin.

Setting Info: An Observatory is this world's equivalent of a church, monastery, and well... observatory. It's always based around the site of a star who came to the earth and died. Their corpse is in the center of the Observatory, in the form of a boulder of star metal. The brethren stay there to watch the skies at night, communing with the stars that are still in the sky and the star that died on the earth.

The Giggling Dark: Session Two

A few weeks later and Xellous visited Kora's family's farm. As he walked through their rice fields he bumped into Threen, Kora's mother. She asked to talk to Xellous. People would begin to wonder about why Kora was pregnant and, with her father Altus being dead, the family's reputation would decline. Threen asked Xellous to marry Kora immediately, to preserve appearances for the family.  Xellous said he would talk to Kora about it.

Xellous went upstairs, to Kora's room. Kora was sitting there, on her bed, dishevelled. The smell indicated that she had not showered in weeks. Her hair was greasy. She nodded when he came in, and the two sat down to talk. They talked about her pregnancy, about how powerless she had felt, how much she wanted to have that power back. Xellous asked if she wanted to help him take the demon heart and make something of it.

It's here I break the fiction that I normally write with, because the next part did not really happen in game. Kurlak, Xellous' player, wanted to make a bow that would keep Kora safe. We sat down to figure out exactly what he wanted. The list was steep. He wanted to make a bow that could hurt spirits and hurt even a god. Considering that Xellous' Enchanting ability was gray-shaded from his Prodigy trait that part wouldn't be a problem. But Kurlak was greedy. He pumped bonus after bonus into the bow, over my balking about the difficulty of what he was doing. Contrary to my players' very popular belief I am very much their number one fan and want them to legitimately succeed. And Kurlak was setting himself  up for a huge failure at an Obstacle 15! 10's the normal max, but Kurlak had done everything possible to just... his chances of success was not great. 

Yes, Ob 15. 

Now, Kurlak had picked every single advantage in Enchanting he could, and so he had 7 gray shaded dice to roll with. He rolled.... and got 14 successes. He burned the Fate point to roll one of the open-ended failures, and got it. 

Xellous had made a bow that could deal a G15 wound to everyone and everything, capable of  tickling a god.

Fifteen days went by as Xellous and Kora labored over the bow. When it was done, Xellous handed it to Kora and the went out to a tree near Xellous' rice field. The bow was red and scaly. The arrowhead glowed red-hot when drawn. The tree shattered into a million burning pieces, flying all over the rice field. And Kora's smile was bigger than it had been in a long time. Xellous caught Kora up in his arms and asked her to be with him.

Kora laughed and asked "Aren't I with you already?"

Xellous laughed, swallowed, and said "No, that's not what I meant. Will you marry me?"

The Darkness Is Pointless

"Hope", by myself, 2005.
Charcoal and conte crayon on paper

I've not updated this blog in several months. Part of that has to do with a variety of things that have kept me very busy: kids, marriage, sickness, job, the usual. There have been weeks where I've hardly had a moment to breathe. But part of it has to do with the fact that, in order to write on this blog, I'd have to share the nihilism that I continuously encounter in myself. And it's not like these tendencies come out of nowhere. PTSD is a hard thing to deal with, not to mention all the incidents that caused the flash backs in the first place. But it's time to admit that there's a part of me, the part that creates, the part that loves, the part that feels joy, that is utterly tired, worn out.

Let's get this out of the way: I'm not in any real emotional turmoil most days. The days of constant  and utter despair are pretty much behind me, except when they're not. And those days are hard, so very hard! I know now that these days are the result of a body that's been hijacked by pattern and habit, that I have to learn new patterns and habits, and that this darkness will eventually change back into light. But that doesn't change the fact that, right now, creating anything is an act of agony, born of despair over long running exposure to darkness. But some times my soul reacts against this lingering darkness, to disastrous results at times. Those are the days I stare at the entirety of existence and wonder why the heck I even bother. These fade much more quickly than they did before, but I'd be lying if I said that they weren't still a thing at times.

Even with these returns to the horrific bleakness it still isn't the same. My mind has gotten clearer with each flashback and I've become more aware of the subtleties of the darkness I'm in. The hardest part of it all is to sit in the darkness and wait for the light to return. I want to try to grab a torch and light up the darkness in my mind, to fight my way out, to do everything I absolutely think I must to get out! But none of that works; the old man, with all his foibles and problems, must die. Trying to stop the darkness is not the point, because to fight the darkness is to accept that it is a legitimate part of me. And, contrary to popular liberal opinion, it is not. I am not this darkness, and I never was. That may sound naive, but at this point any and all classical liberal and Enlightenment claims about the nature of humanity ring incredibly hollow to me.

I am not this darkness; I am Christ's. I am, by virtue of my baptism, a god by grace, and like Christ, I am meant to suffer a long and slow death as the old man, the one who refused the baptism that I underwent, dies, little by little. The fact that this is uncomfortable is nothing in comparison to the fact that my Prototype suffocated to death under His own weight, literally. Most people have told me that I need to understand my depression and PTSD, but understanding has not done me very much good. If anything understanding has made the PTSD more dangerous in some cases, as I can see where the fallenness comes from and I feel the want to sympathize with it. There are no lessons in the darkness, only something to endure as I go to Hell with Christ, die, and come back, over and over again. One of these days the process will kill me, and on that day I pray that I am found worthy to move beyond it all. On that day there will be no more tears, no more horrific cycle of death and pain, because I will not want it anymore. On that day I will be free. I will be Home, in the arms of the God Who has gone along with my craziness all this time, Who respected my choices to a degree that I cannot do for myself.

But that day is not yet. And, as hard as it is to talk about it, that is my life in a special way right now. Christ is with me and knows my pain better than I do, since He is the one supporting my ability to feel it. Pretending that my pain is special is a poison, a lie that feels so cathartic, but has no actual worth. Christ holds all our pain, and thus mine. While my pain is prized by our Lord, it is hardly unique. Wounds are wounds, sores are sores, they are a deficiency, not my substance. It only has value because I have value in Christ's eye. It's hard to see a point on some days, but maybe that is, indeed the point: this world is not worth a thing in the end. And one of these days I will be free of that disappointment. For the moment, I've got my cross and Golgotha calls. Our culture abhors suffering, but so far the only time I've seen the light the clearest is when it turns the darkest gloom I find myself in into something beautiful, wonderful, and tragic. On those days the sorrowful Alleluia escapes my lips and I find that, just for a moment, my existence becomes something more than me. Alleluia for that!

The Theophany

The Theophany, by myself. December 2018, Acrylic on Wood

I made the underdrawing for this icon about two years ago. I was very excited when I made it. Something about this drawing sums up all the longings in my soul, and indeed all souls, for God. The wish to be clear of the interior garbage and to just look at someone in pure love. And that was what I attempted to communicate. But I sat on it, as there were other projects to work on. I finally got around to doing it.I couldn't be happier with it! I'll be making some of my other undersketches soon!

The Spiders' Web: Chapter Four

It was a hot and humid night, even for July in Queens. It didn’t help that the apartment’s air conditioning unit had broken, making it a hellacious night on the fifth floor of the apartment building. It was the type of night that it truly impossible to sleep through; heat stuck to skin, making anything less than a full-blast fan torture. But some people have needs that make such problems irrelevant. A different type of heat is needed, welcomed. And the heat and humidity of a hot summer’s night is not going to stop that search.

It was found.

This particular time it was a man with a military cut and a redhead with long, luscious locks. The man was muscular and the girl was on the right side of almost too much weight. She was a type of appealing that most men do not think about until it’s right in front of them. The two of them found their heat together. The man passed out, spent. The girl, however, was still awake. Sometimes it was enough for her, sometimes not. This was definitely one of the nights where she didn’t get what she wanted. Army men were always ready to go sleep with anything not from the Army, and something about her smile always seemed to make men practically beg to get into bed with her.

The girl got up, put on her clothes, grabbed her purse (along with fake ID) and walked, softly, out the apartment door. She felt like she was swimming in the air outside; her jeans stuck to her and her bare arms felt clammy in the late night (or early morning, depending on how one looked at it) air. Maybe there was someone else who would give her what she was looking for; it wouldn’t be the first time she had multiple partners in the same night. But some nights just weren’t sufficient, and she knew there was nothing to really be done about that. Sometimes one had to wait out the sunrise.

There was a man, walking toward her down the block. He short and thin, and was wearing some weird leotard that, when he got closer, showed to be a black and red leotard, with black webbing all over the red parts. A spider emblem sat in the middle of the mess of webs, right in the middle of his chest. He wore a full face mask, with gigantic bug eye pieces that glowed from the street lamps. Under his arms was a weird mesh. Something about the way he walked made her stop and look at him, really look at him. She walked up to him and, as he looked up, she gently took one of his gloved hands and said “Hi, I’m MJ. You need to sit down.”

MJ was surprised when he sat down on a nearby bench. She sat down next to him. Neither one of them spoke for a little while. “My uncle is dead. And I killed him. I keep trying to take this mask off and I can’t, because if I do I’ll see my face and I really don’t want that right now.”

“You… you killed your uncle?”

“Yeah.”

MJ stared at the masked man. “Why? How?”

“I… was selfish. I had gotten the ability to make a whole lot of money really quickly and so I did it. And it was… it was so much money! So much! Hundreds of thousands of dollars! And I paid off my uncle and aunt’s bills. All of them. They had no idea who did it. But it was me.” MJ was about to say something but the man kept going. “I didn’t want them to look at me differently. I wanted to stay as I was. And so I did. I rejoiced with them and went back to that ring and did it again, and again, and again. I stopped looking at it as helping my Aunt and Uncle, because we already had enough money! I could have returned to my work! I should have, I would have…” he stared down at the pavement.

“How much money?” MJ asked.

“Four million dollars in two days. In cash.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. And there was more coming. I opened a fund for my aunt and uncle and put it all there.  They’ve no idea. And I wanted to stop but… I wanted a space for my own, a place where I could work and not have to worry about money. So I kept doing it. And just… I guess I got caught up in it all. And not too long after… after…” he put his face in his hands. “I let him go.”

MJ put her arm around him. “Let who go?”

“The robber. He was running away as I came out of the office, and I let him run by. I… I did that. I saw that I could stop him. I had a choice. And I knew it. And I chose not to. He got away. He bumped into my uncle and… and…” his voice caught a second, but he continued. “He … I put the suit on. It couldn’t be me that caught him. I’d no idea it was…” For a very long time he sat next to MJ, rubbing his great bug-eyes, not saying anything. And she held him. Something in her told her this was the man who could make her feel whole tonight, and she snuggled in closer. But something wiser, yet younger, told her to hold off. After a few minutes, the man spoke again. “I killed him. By accident. I took his mask off and threw him out the window before I could even think. I tried to catch him with my webs, but he… he hit the ground first.”

After awhile MJ spoke. “I was there when you KO’d Crusher Hogan and they named you Spider-Man”.

Spider-Man looked up, clearly startled, but he laughed. “Oh, you were?? What’d you think?”

“I was wondering how someone with your stick arms and legs was gonna make it out of the ring alive! You were awesome!”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“No, seriously. You were awesome. I was so pumped when you came back and brought down Ringo Bingo. Those webs were amazing!”

Spider-Man broke out laughing, almost falling off his seat. “That name! Oh goodness that name! I almost forgot! I couldn’t stop laughing as I handily trounced him!”

“Hahahaha! You said TROUNCED!”

“I did!!!”

“You’re such a nerd!”

“You’ve no idea!!”

They laughed so hard that the tears came to MJ’s eyes. Spider-Man was sitting on the ground, holding his ribs. After a few more chuckles MJ got off the bench and sat next to him. He flinched a bit, but she reached out and gently took his hand. “No no, it’s OK, listen: my dad is a drunk. Like, the worst. He’s a professor but can’t seem to keep a job, right? Well, he thinks that’s because he’s supposed to be a writer. And every time he fails, he beats my mom and my little sister.”

“Um, um…”

“It’s OK, how would you know?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I feel sorrow. Part of the root of the word. Sorry. Sorrow.”

“Wow. OK then. Anyway, he’s never hit me. Not even once. You wanna know why? Because I run like hell every time. The older I get the longer I stay out. I’ve not been home in a week yet and they’ve not called the cops on me. No one comes to look for me.” MJ got back up on the bench, awkwardly. “It’s… weird. It’s like they’ll know I’ll come home. I mean, I guess I have to. Nobody else seems to know about what he does. Either that or they don’t care. I just run off. Right as he’s beating into... into Gail.” MJ stood up. “So! Does that make me a bad person?”

He sat there for a second. “I certainly don’t think so. What else could you do? Fight back?”

“(Don’t tell that to Gail) I know, right??” Like, what the hell could I have done? I can’t fight Dad, he’s stronger than the rest of us put together, even when sober! But could I at least run, or do something or… or not go and just fuck the daylights out of every guy I run into? It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand. I’ve been doing this for over six months now and I still don’t know why I keep doing it.”

They both sat down, looking nowhere in particular. “What has that story got to do with me?” Spider-Man asked, in a whisper.

“I know what I’m doing and it doesn’t make me bad. You didn’t know what you were doing, or what it would go to. Does that make you bad?”

“I- I’m not sure it works that way.”

“Bullshit.”

They heard laughter, along with crying. Both of them were up and running toward the nearby basketball court. There was a kid, probably around five, who was being beaten up by what was probably two twelve year olds. MJ ran forward, shouting, but Spider-Man’s web was faster. The two boys were on the ground in a moment, feet cocooned. MJ ran up to them “What the hell? Seriously??”

Spider-Man picked them up and held them upside down. They screamed in terror “SPIDER-MAN! YOU’RE REAL!”

“What, you thought all that was special effects? How effective-y does it seem to you now?? Or did yout think the truck that flips in the Dark Knight were CGI too? Huh?” MJ was the only one who laughed. “Well, at least someone watches the special features.” Spider-Man then tore the webbing off. “So, what did we learn today?” The kids shook in their shoes. “SPIDER-MAN IS REAL. Get out of here! Ooga booga!”

MJ laughed as the older kids ran off. She turned to the five year old. “What are you doing out here? It’s late!” The child (Matias) wouldn’t talk to them, he was so terrified. After a few minutes of looking from Spider-Man to MJ and back to Spider-Man again he sat down and looked at the ground.

Spider-Man knelt down next to the boy. “Matias, I’ll be right back. Looks like I need to bring those kids back so we can figure out what's going on. I can still see them running. I’ve never really tried this. I rode on a bus to get to where I last went.” He shot a webline at a building. It caught, held, and all of a sudden Spider-Man was flying through the air, screaming at the top of his lungs: “CRAPCRAPCRAPCRAPCRAPTHISISAMAZIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!” He flew over the building, out of sight.

MJ and Matias were left together. “It’s going to be OK” MJ said, smiling at the kid. He ran in and hugged her. He burrowed his face into her and MJ felt safe. “Hey, hey there. We’re going to get this all figured out.” She felt his soldiers rise and fall as he sobbed. They stood like that for a while. Eventually Matias looked up, smiled and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, see? It’s going to be OK!” MJ said, and the smile on Matias’ face said he believed her.

Spider-Man came swinging back, the two twelve year olds in tow. “These wackos are part of a gang. They were under orders to beat up kids so they would go to the gang for help.” MJ wrinkled her nose at the thought and the twelve year olds looked tried to look anywhere else.  “C’mon guys, what the heck is this all about? Why do this?” The boys refused to answer. Spider-Man looked at them a moment. “Call the cops” Spider-Man told MJ. “I don’t want to look at them anymore”.

MJ dialed 911. The cops showed up a half hour later. Spider-Man still tried to talk to the twelve year olds from time to time, but they wouldn’t say a word. They were carted off by the police. Matias got into the cop car, in the front. He peered out the window and waved at MJ, who giggled and waved back. Matias didn’t stop looking at her until the cop car went around the corner. After waving at Matias Spider-Man and MJ walked off, high-fiving and laughing. They found a nearby McDonald’s, grabbed some burgers (where the workers stared at the local celebrity Spider-Man, taking pictures with their phones), and came back to their bench. They chuckled and laughed… and then Spider-Man’s mask was up, past his nose, and his mouth was on MJ’s. For a moment MJ froze, but then she lurched forward, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that startled even her.

Something woke up in her. It was that youth, that drive to be alive, that joy, that she remembered so- it was immediately squashed. She pulled away from him and began to run. Spider-Man grabbed her, MJ jerked, and he let go gently, so she wouldn’t fall. “I know you can catch me. Please… please… don’t.” The last she saw of Spider-Man he was holding a burger in a hand, with the other one scratching the back of his head. She didn’t look back after that.

The Army soldier had no idea why the hot little redhead needed to be let back inside, but he found himself not caring as her clothes hit the floor.

The Spiders' Web: Chapter Three

Uncle Ben and Aunt May did not think Peter could hear them talk. They thought he didn’t know about their money issues, or about how his hospitalization (which they didn’t press charges on) had wiped out their savings, or how Uncle Ben couldn’t take out any more loans and their credit cards were maxed out.  They also thought Peter couldn’t hear Aunt May cry softly about Flash and Peter and Liz.

They were wrong on all counts.

Peter didn’t notice much as he walked through Queens’ streets. He bumped into people and was sworn at, but he didn’t hear. He handed his whole backpack to the cops with hardly a grimace. He pushed through the crowd as much as he could, but was slower than he normally was at getting through. He was late to first period, for the first time ever. Nor did he answer any questions. Peter was scribbling in his notebook; he didn’t even notice the bell.

By the time Peter walked up to Dr. Allan at the end of Advanced Physics he had filled up an empty notebook.  Without saying anything Peter thrust the notebook into Dr. Allan’s hands and sat down in a front row desk. Dr. Allan opened the notebook gingerly. He stared at the front page. And then began to flip through it, hurriedly.  Dr. Allan flipped through an entire 70 page notebook in three minutes. Dr. Allan sat down on his desk and stared. He got up and walked down the hall, and came back a minute later. “Mr. Elvarez knows you will not be in his class. You are excused from English. Because this is revolutionary.” He sat down and took a deep breath. “Peter, this is a 70 page equation about how to make an impenetrable force field that can be powered by AAA battery. This…. This is beyond amazing. I cannot begin to tell you how amazing this is. It’s revolutionary. This could change everything. I can’t overstate this.”

“Good. How do I sell this?”

Dr. Allan laughed. “Slow down there! There’s a lot more to go before we patent this. Like building an archetype and proving that your math checks out.”

“It checks out.”

“I know it does. But Peter, not everyone will be able to follow this. You literally invented three different symbols to make the math work. PhDs wouldn’t be able to read this. The only reason I’m able to follow this is because I’ve graded your homework and I’ve seen you make up symbols before. We need more than just a key of symbols. We need a working prototype.”

“But-“

“Peter, without a prototype to prove that this isn’t gibberish nothing can be done.”

Peter sat there, looking at the desk. “I can build it. Cheaply.”

“Peter, how? How are you going to find an object that can reliably produce an atomic threat that the force field can deflect, consistently?”

“I can get one. That’s all you need to know.”

“Alright, I’ll help you build it if you can get something.”

The rest of the day was a blur. Peter grabbed another notebook and continued to fill it. By the end of the day Peter had filled another notebook with schematics. The instant the bell rang Peter was out of his seat and out the school doors. He didn’t even stop at his locker. He ran down the street, dodging between people and light poles and cars and all the other random nonsense that was in his way. It wasn’t until he got to Inglesia that he realized he needed his inhaler… and then he needed to puff on it twice and wanted to do more.

Manny was just coming out of the bathroom when Peter came into the restaurant. He beamed at Peter and patted him on the back, almost knocking him over with each pat. “Manny, I need a really big favor from you. It’s huge.”

Manny laughed and said “Sure, Peter, sure, let’s go into the office in the back and we can talk.” They headed back, past the smelly kitchens and dirty people, and they turned his stomach. Just the sight of the dishes in the sink made Peter want to throw up. When Peter went into the office, which was strewn about with file folders and chewing tobacco tins, the enclosed space made Manny’s pungent smell unbearable.

Peter couldn’t stand. Fortunately there was a chair, which he grabbed. Out came the inhaler. Manny delicately helped Peter down. He took a fan and put it in front of Peter (“To help with breathing!”), who found the gesture helpful, if not sentimental. Manny sat down opposite of him (and away from the fan), and waited. “Uncle Ben needs help and I can help him.”

“What does Ben need?”

“Money. And I can get it.”

“How?”

“I can make a small force-field generator that will stop anything, on a molecular level. It can make billions, ending my Aunt and Uncle’s financial troubles, forever. I can do this.”

Manny nodded. He got up and turned to the safe behind him (12-00-68, as Peter saw it) and got the adamantium knife out. “Adamantium cuts on a molecular level. Count me in.”

Peter looked down at the knife. “Um, I hadn’t even asked yet. You sure? I’m not sure what my force field may do to this knife. And I know it’s important to you.”

“Pete, you and your family will never go hungry because of what your Uncle did for the Morales family. I would do anything for you. The knife is nice. It reminds me a time when I needed strength and I found it. But this is huge. It’ll work.”

Peter shook Manny’s hand. “I really, really appreciate this, Manny.”

Manny smiled and nodded. “What’s family for?”

Flash was sitting in Peter’s living room when he got back, sitting with Uncle Ben and Aunt May.  Flash stood up and Peter took a step back. “Parker, where were you at the end of class?”

“I had gone to see Manny. What the… I mean… what are you doing in our house?”

“It’s Liz, Parker. She’s gone.”

Peter tried to hear the rest, but he couldn’t. Not on the first go around, anyway. After he was sat down and given a glass of milk by Aunt May (“His poor nerves!”) he heard it: Flash had tried to meet up with Liz at their usual spot during lunch… and Liz wasn’t there. Flash went to look for Liz but couldn’t find her anywhere. Flash cleared the whole school before talking to anyone. And, when the cops said they wouldn’t look for Liz without twenty four hours of absence, Flash went to the only place he thought he could turn… to Peter. When asked why Flash thought Peter could help, Flash said that he couldn’t think of anyone smart enough to figure it out.

Peter gripped the adamantium pocket knife in his pocket and walked out the door with Flash. The first place they checked was her house (“So good to see the two of you together again!”), but that was a dead end: Liz’s mom and step-dad had assumed that she was with Flash. The pair went back to the highschool and Peter broke into Liz’s locker. And, there on the top shelf, was a spray canister. It was an unmarked grey. Peter picked it up and examined it. “It’s got a refrigerant system built into it, high-tech stuff.”

Flash took it from Peter. “Liz would never have something that was this boring.”

They looked at each other a moment.

Peter had keys to the science lab, courtesy of Dr. Allan. He wasn’t in. Peter ran up to one of the microscopes, sprayed a bit of the stuff in the canister on the slide, and ran it under the microscope. Flash stood next to him for a few minutes, tapping his foot. “What’s the hold-up?” Peter held up a finger. “The clock’s ticking, Parker. We need to find Liz!” Peter flipped his hand around into a rude gesture and Flash chuckled. “There’s the old Pete.”

Peter didn’t seem to hear that last comment. “This has got to be a mistake.”

“What is?”

“This stuff, if sprayed in your face, would change your DNA.” Peter pulled back from the microscope. “How the hell would you package a DNA resequencer in an aerosol can?”

“Well, I mean, you see crap like this TV shows all the time, right?”

“That’s my point, Flash. This shouldn’t be possible, not even by my standards.”

“You have standards?” Peter glared at Flash. “What? You either laugh or your cry or you kill someone. I need you around right now, so I’m doing the first.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “How about none of them right now? I’ve no idea what the resequencer does. All I know is that, if they used this on Liz, they’d need a place to stash her. Somewhere quiet and out of the way.”

“You mean like an abandoned warehouse? Would it need to be nearby?”

“Her DNA is being re-written. If I was going to do something that ridiculous I’d want to move her as little as possible. Not even out of the building, if at all possible!”

Flash started for the door. “I know exactly where. C’mon!”

Peter rolled his eyes when he saw the place. “Oh, you got to be kidding. Of all places?”

Flash bristled. “Look, how were we supposed to know that behind the bleachers had a secret door?”

“Dare I ask how you found it?”

“Um, no.”

One of the bricks was slightly off-shade of the rest of the wall. Flash walked over to it and leaned on it, putting all his weight on that brick. It slid in with a “click”, and the ground next to them opened up, slowly, with hardly a sound. Something small and dark skittered out, but it moved so fast that Peter and Flash barely even registered it was there. After a minute of waiting, nothing happened, so both Peter and Flash started to go down.

The door closed behind them, blocking out all the light. Peter screamed. “AH! IT BURNS IT BURNS! MY NECK! GOD! HELP ME! HELP ME!” His screams reverberated down the walls. Flash tried to shut him up, but it was too late. Peter had rolled onto his back, spasming and foaming at the mouth. A small object fell out of his pocket: it was a pocket knife. Flash picked it up on reflex as he tried to help Peter. Down the hall Flash heard another scream; it was Liz. A small light appeared at the end of the tunnel, flickering. Flash flipped the pocket knife out and hurried down the cramped tunnel.

Liz was naked. Liz was on fire. Liz’s hair was a flaming mane that went down her back. She looked at Flash. Flash looked at Liz. Liz screamed, the flames reared up, and Flash was knocked over. When Flash came to, he was alone, in darkness.

Peter had started to regain consciousness when Flash found his way back to him. Peter wasn’t able to speak; he seemed to have lost his voice. Flash looked around for a locking mechanism near where he thought the door was and couldn’t find one. Peter kept trying to say something, over and over again, but he was so quiet that Flash couldn’t hear, so he put his ear right next to Peter’s mouth.

“Knife. Adamantium.”

A small pocket knife cut through a foot thick wall of concrete in about fifteen minutes, with not even one scratch on the knife. Flash had never seen anything like it. Once he was out of the building he had cell service and called 911 for Peter, who had a huge welt on his neck. Peter did not let the inhaler leave his mouth once until the ambulance arrived. The cops investigated the area under the school and found several labs and an operating table. But the place was clean; no prints, no nothing. The whole place had been cleaned meticulously… aside from the burn marks that they found, walking out a rear entrance from the lab… which all of a sudden stopped. The cops were baffled. Flash was in shock.

Peter, for his part, didn’t get out of hospital for another week.