That One NPC

(This was created for television format, and does not translate to game format. This is just my latest story project. I've been working on it since 2016, and started writing it last year.) VOLUME I Created by M.J. Saulnier Mystery/Drama/Science Fiction/Horror Some Mature/Disturbing Scenes “Spanning the breadth of your entire existence, you’ve asked the question, ‘What am I?’ Well, my precious child, I’ve been waiting a lifetime to welcome you home.” —Woman In White FAE follows the lives of several families living in the quiet, rustic little town of White River Valley. An eerie, rural community nestled deep into the valley forest. Nothing in this place is quite as it seems on the surface, and seven teenagers are about to find out exactly why. The mystery runs deep, but the connection between them all runs even deeper. One of those teens is a new girl in town, about to discover the truth about this place, and her own connection to it. Danger lurks beyond every shadow, and secrets remain locked behind every door. FAE is a modern fantasy epic that promises to keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish. VOLUME I

14 Meadowbrook Drive, White River Valley "Thank you so much for coming over, Sheriff. I really don’t mean to bother you," Norma Feltman said earnestly, cupping her tea mug in both hands. She was visibly distraught as she sat at her kitchen table before County Sheriff Benjamin Miller. She was tired, nervous, and sick with worry. It was clear to the veteran investigator that something substantial had kept her awake all night, and he suspected that it wasn't the storm. Ben had known the Feltmans for his entire life, and his wife worked for Miles as the Vice Mayor. In over forty years, Ben couldn't recall seeing Norma in such a state. Ben finished sipping his tea, placing the mug gently on the surface of the table and leaned forward with a smile. "Come on now, Mrs. Feltman. It’s no trouble at all." He was a towering man of large stature and yet he had a warm presence about him that was becoming of a Sheriff. "It’s just that, this isn’t like my Miles. Staying out all night, without so much as a phone call. I’m worried sick, Sheriff," she explained, shaking ever so slightly as she tried to maintain her composure. Ben reached over the table, placing one of his large, dark paws over her pale hand, feeling the warmth of her tea against his skin. "I understand, Mrs. Feltman. You have every right to be concerned," he said sincerely, looking her directly in the eyes. In that moment she knew she had an ally, and it helped set her mind at ease. She knew the sort of man and Sheriff Harold's boy had grown to be, and she knew he would figure out what had happened, and bring Miles home. Ben removed a pen and pad from his chest pocket, beginning to jot down information. "When was the last time you recall seeing or speaking to your husband?" "Yesterday, when he left for work. He had called me before the diner hour to let me know that he would be working late, but he never came home at all." Ben took some notes as she answered his question, then looked her directly in the eyes, a softness falling over his stiff, investigative composure. "I have to ask you some things. I want you to know they are just routine questions," he said compassionately. "That’s quite alright, Sheriff. You’re just doing your job," Norma said, excusing him from any guilt or suspicion of crassness. "Thank you, ma’am. Mrs. Feltman, did your husband have any enemies that you’re aware of?" "Enemies? Oh god, Sheriff, no. Not my Miles. We treat everyone like family," she answered him, raising her right hand to her collar bone. Ben smiled sincerely. "Of course. It’s the first question I have to ask." "Miles is a good man, Sheriff. He would never hurt anyone." "I know, Mrs. Feltman. Now, this is hard for me to ask, but… Does Mr. Feltman have any problems with alcohol, or anything of that nature?" "Oh no. Miles hasn’t been drunk in years. Of course, holidays and special occasions, but he’s never made a habit of it." "So there is nowhere you think he could be? A friend or relative’s house? He had no plans of any kind you may have forgotten about?" "Nothing, Sheriff. He would never leave me without calling," she explained, the dread and anxiety gripping her once again, her aged hands vibrated as she held her tea mug. "So you have no reason to believe your husband’s location is simply unaccounted for?" "We’ve been married for forty-seven years, Sheriff. He has never stayed out all night," she said, a grief swelling up as she spoke the words aloud. Ben’s face finally cracked, showing a sincere concern. Miles was more than a Mayor or colleague of his wife. The Feltmans were like extended family to the Millers. They had a long history in this town. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Feltman," Ben said kindly, closing his pad and returning it and the pen to his chest pocket. "Thank you so much. You were always such a good boy, Benjamin," Norma said, smiling for the first time since he had arrived. She really did have confidence in Ben, she just couldn't help but worry. Ben grinned fondly. "Well thank you for saying so, Mrs. Feltman. I’m going to find your husband and get him home safe," he finished, taking a satisfying gulp of his now cooled tea. He raised the mug. "Perfect, as always." Norma smiled for a moment before the concern for her husband crept back across her face.

Old Tree Fort, White River Valley The interior of the fort was cozy and welcoming. It was fully furnished with rugs, tables, chairs, and a sofa. There were book cases, old chests, shelves, and cupboards. Pete and Harry had added music, movie and comic book posters to the walls. Although weathered and dusty, the window shutters and a bit of elbow grease from time to time had kept the fort in decent condition. It was comfortable, although susceptible to the elements, particularly moisture. The strangest thing about this fort was not the sheer size, or the massive gathering table located in the east wing, it was the stone fireplace situated in the main room. The structural integrity of the fort was such that the floor could support a functioning fireplace with a short chimney. The mysterious, fantastic nature of this place was lost on the four boys. They had been coming here since they first began to sneak into the woods, having been handed down the secret by Luke Elliot in the summer of 2008. Pete sat in a red beanbag chair, flipping through one of his comics. "Look, guys. Aside from how it looks to society, this place is our safe haven," he said, glancing up from his panels only several times, particularly in the direction of Jason and Harry, who were both seated on an old fabric sofa. Pete loved the fort. He didn't care what it looked like to his peers. It was a home away from parents and siblings. A hangout away from aforementioned peers, and the bullies like John Moody that accompany them. "But we’re all sixteen, Pete," Jason explained. "We’ve outgrown things like tree forts." "I have to second Jay on this one," Harry interjected, eyes ever-glued to his cell screen. Pete sighed, his comic leaning forward in his lap as he glanced desperately at Erik. Coming here alone wouldn't be the same, but he knew Erik depended on the fort, and if he could keep Erik coming, the others were bound to follow. Or so he hoped. "Erik?" Pete asked him plainly, anticipation building to a head inside of him. Erik was sprawled across a cot in the corner next to the fireplace, hands behinds his head. "Well it gives me a place to sleep at night. But as far as hanging out, it can’t happen forever, Pete." Pete scoffed, once again flipping through his comics, brow tight with irritation. "Whatever. When I turn eighteen, we can be roommates." Harry abruptly dropped the phone in his lap, looking over at Erik. "There’s still the matter of your brother, Erik." "I told you, I don’t care," Erik replied indifferently, his eyelids remaining shut until he finally gazed at Jason blankly. "If Jay wants to fight him, that’s his business," Erik stated plainly. He was tired of being associated with the drama. Just hearing his name was enough to trip his anxiety, let alone the thought of being lumped into a conspiracy to jump him. "I’m just sick of taking his crap every day. Sometimes I want to smash his face in." Jason said, seeming to have drifted off into a deep train of thought. Perhaps imagining the scenario within the theater of his mind. "It’s not in your nature, Jay." Pete quipped casually, still frustrated. Jason registered Pete's words, but they didn't seem to sit well with him. His brow dipped as his gaze returned to his phone, an anger seething beneath his boyish face.

East Bank Forest, White River Valley Jason rode along an old, beaten path carved out of the prehistoric forest countryside. The thick, entangled labyrinth of flora encroached the narrow, jagged trail tightly, cool morning dew transferring from the leaves and branches onto his cloths as he blazed along the path. The forest was still. There were no birds in the trees singing their songs and building their nests. No insects crawling or buzzing about. No squirrels dashing and dancing across the limbs of trees. Not even the most minuscule gust of wind seemed to breach the canopy. It was an eerie, haunting place where sound seemed to be lost altogether. The sound of a moving bike or the snapping of a twig beneath a tire seeming to evaporate into silence no sooner than it had presented itself in full. Jason cut the handlebars, turning onto a small path leading north, deeper into the labyrinth. The bike rattled as it blazed up the trail. Shocks jerking erratically as they negotiated the rough dirt and rock path at a decent speed. Jason was in his element out here. The freedom. The silence. The heightened sense of being able to just be himself. Jay had grown up spending a lot of time in these woods. Biking and hiking the trails, exploring the creeks and rivers, climbing trees, and of course, hanging out in the old town tree house. A very well kept secret in White River Valley, and where he was headed to meet his three best friends. ***** Old Tree Fort, White River Valley Jason's black mountain bike emerged from the path into a small clearing about a quarter mile from East Bank Avenue. He drew to a stop, dismounting as he looked ahead at the towering structure before him. It was a very large, impressive, but old fort. These kids didn’t build it, they had just carried on the tradition of using it. Many generations of White River children had been handed down the secret of this place, and although ruins of many like it were dotted throughout the valley forest, this one had been used faithfully for multiple generations. The tall, robust tree seemed to have grown around the sprawling, sturdy fort, its limbs lending support and stability to the structure. The blooming spring leaves provided an attractive touch of camouflage that surrounded the windows of the fort. Below, a rope ladder hung from the entry hatch, leading to the forest floor. There, two of his best friends stood at the base of the tree, awaiting his arrival. "You gotta start using your phone more, Jason," Harry Miller advised his best friend, his focus never leaving the screen of his phone. He was a young black male, dressed in a white hoodie with white sweats and white sneakers. He had been texting Jason for status updates for the last fifteen minutes. Jason was always leaving unanswered texts, keeping people in the dark. Jay was like a brother to him, but when it came to certain things, he acted more like a sixty year old man than a sixteen year old boy. Jason walked his bike over to Harry and Pete Harper, who was standing beside him holding a comic book in his pale, freckled hands. He ignored Harry's advice, making his way over casually, removing his earbuds. "Hey guys. Where’s Erik?" Jason asked, trying to hide his immediate concern. "Asleep in the fort again," Pete answered him, lifting his dark green gaze from the inked panels, his burning locks hanging over his brow. There was a bit of a silence between the teens. No boy - hardly a man - should have to sleep alone in the woods. Particularly during a violent storm. "You know what guys? Maybe it’s a bad time for the other thing," Jason pipped up, shattering the silence. Harry's baby brown eyes finally parted from his phone screen. "No way. We settle this dispute today." Pete lowered his comic book, staring a hole through the back of Jason's head. "Erik’s brother has terrorized us - and this town - for long enough, Jay," he explained, an assertiveness and authority within his demeanor and voice. Pete had an intensity about him for a small, geeky boy. He was intelligent, and aggressive in asserting his needs and opinions. Qualities he inherited from his mother and the O'Brien family tree. "I know, it’s just-" Jason tried to explain, but Harry interrupted him swiftly. "You need to stand up to him, bro." Jason shifted his conflicted gaze downward, shaking his head ever so slightly. "Don’t you think it’s a little selfish to call a meeting about his brother while he’s having family problems?" Suddenly the rope ladder began to jiggle. The three boys turned their attention to Erik Moody as he climbed down the ladder, joining them in the clearing. "I’m awake, by the way," Erik declared, informing them all that he had been listening the whole time. Erik hated people talking about him when he wasn't present and part of the conversation. He roamed off to the tree line, attempting to relieve himself as one does in the mourning. "Morning, buddy. You’re cool with Jay kicking the crap out of your brother, right?" Pete asked Erik, wasting no time in forcing Jay's hand. The boys were determined to make Jay confront John Moody. Worst case scenario? John might rough Jason up to prove a point, but Jay's brother, Luke, would end up putting John in his place. So no matter what, the boys saw this as the end of John Moody's reign of terror. Too bad they hadn't quite convinced Jason of that. Erik chuckled as he relieved himself, shaking his head. "Whatever. I don’t care what happens to John." Pete smiled wide, his dark green eyes lighting up with a glint of joy. "See, Jay? He doesn't care." Jason laughed uncomfortably, heading toward the rope ladder. Harry followed him, feeling a swell of empathy for Jay. John was an angry young man. He wouldn't want to be the one who had to confront him, either. "What we need to talk about is how we’re getting too old to be chillin' in a tree fort," Harry said, pocketing his phone to follow Jay up the wobbly ladder.

This is a work in progress, so I'm going to be adding the other characters and fleshing out their profiles over time. Acosta Native Region: Andromeda Galaxy Occupation: Smuggler Class Concept: Ballistic expert Primary Weapon: Firearms Age: 25 Motives: Survive | Find a way out of the smuggler's life | Adapt to the planet she has crashed on Profile: Acosta is an interplanetary smuggler from the Angora star system who operates on her own, out of her small space ship. Her job requires hard work, lots of risk, and a clean conscience. It’s not easy for her deep down most days, but her exterior is like titanium. She makes her living trading weapons, medical supplies, food, and technology between planets and star systems. She leads a lonely life on the razor's edge. We find her on a space station in the middle of a financial quarrel with a crew of fellow smugglers. Acosta has an outstanding debt and it's finally caught up to her. Betrayed and set up by her current employer, she makes a hasty escape. Her foes give chase and just as a deep space dogfight is about to ensue, Acosta's ship is sucked into an anomalous void of energy. When she reemerges from the void, her tiny ship is cutting through the atmosphere of Terra, a small planet with cultures ranging from late medieval, to post-industrial, to post-modern. As her ship careens toward the surface, so too does a meteor of unknown origin. Distance between them is created during descent, but they both land in Hedoras Region, a quiet, post-industrial area of the Karakus Nation. Faris Native Region: Hedoras Occupation: Unemployed Class Concept: Free Form Primary Weapon: Free Form Age: 22 Motives: Find his path in life Profile: WIP Jean Native Region: Hedoras Occupation: Unemployed Class Concept: Bowman Primary Weapon: Crossbow Age: 27 Motives: Find work and money | Help Faris spread his fledgling wings Profile: WIP Sierra Petrova Native Region: Karakus Occupation: Special Agent, Karakus Investigation Bureau Class Concept: Ballistic expert Primary Weapon: Pistol Age: 30 Motives: Figure out what happened in Hedoras Region | Protect her cousin, Sasha Profile: WIP Edwin Nash Native Region: Karakus Occupation: Freelance Inspector Class Concept: Ballistic expert Primary Weapon: Pistol Age: 42 Motives: Track down and arrest Vasher, a notorious criminal and murderer | Discover the mysteries behind Vasher's latest plan Profile: WIP Goodwin Nash Native Region: Karakus Occupation: Businessman, Black Market dealer Class Concept: Fighter/item user Primary Weapon: Hand to hand Age: 47 Motives: Maintain his wealth and power Profile: WIP Colton Grady Native Region: Laughlin Occupation: Law Keeper Class Concept: Gunslinger Primary Weapon: Revolvers Age: 33 Motives: Uphold the law in Laughlin Region Profile: WIP Sasha Petrova Native Region: Karakus Occupation: Agent, Karakus Investigation Bureau Class Concept: Ballistic specialist Primary Weapon: Pistol Age: 23 Motives: Improve her position in the agency | Make her cousin proud Profile: WIP Luna Ta'Or Native Region: Midas Occupation: Princess Class Concept: Healer/Mage Primary Weapon: Magic Age: 21 Motives: Protect her kingdom from the outside, modernized world Profile: WIP Yashi Native Region: Sikage Occupation: Swordsmanship Instructor Class Concept: Samurai Primary Weapon: Katanas/hand to hand Age: 48 Motives: Spread virtue and enlightenment | teach swordsmanship to a new generation of students | protect Sikage Region from all forgein threats Profile: WIP Markus Vitelius Native Region: Meridia Occupation: Former Knight Class Concept: Warrior Primary Weapon: Longword Age: 28 Motives: Rematch Percius and kill him Profile: WIP Amilia Vitelius Native Region: Meridia Occupation: Cadet In Arms (Junior Knight) Class Concept: Tank Primary Weapon: Sword & Shield Age: 18 Motives: Protect Meridia Region | Become a knight Profile: WIP Rin Mortis Native Region: Underworld Occupation: Succubus Class Concept: Demon Primary Weapon: Magic Age: Unknown Motives: Unknown Profile: WIP Naomi Native Region: Taros Occupation: Mercenary Class Concept: Spellblade Primary Weapon: Sword/Magic Age: 26 Motives: Stop Percius from bringing ruin upon Taros in the name of his overlords Profile: WIP There are some main antagonists that have been developed so far. Percius Maximilian Native Region: Taros Occupation: General Primary Weapon: Longsword Age: 35 Motives: Conquer Meridia Region | Pave the road for Taros to become a new world power Profile: WIP Vasher Native Region: Karakus Occupation: Outlaw Primary Weapon: Firearms Age: 52 Motives: ??? Profile: WIP There are some recurring characters that will appear more than once, and provide some comic relief as well as some good plot-work each and every time. Mr. Pugsworth Native Region: Midas Occupation: Street urchin, con artist, Mayor of Midas City, Boss of Pugsworth Crime Family Age: 10 Motives: Gain ultimate wealth and power Profile: WIP Randal Native Region: Perth Occupation: Con artist, Vice Mayor of Midas City, Pugsworth Crime Family Capo Age: 21 Motives: Serve and protect Mr. Pugsworth | Disassociate from his brother, Randy Profile: WIP Randy Native Region: Perth Occupation: Grifter Age: 21 Motives: Pull the ultimate grift and retire to Costa Del Vista Region Profile: WIP WIP Native Region: Tanis Occupation: Operative (Spy) Age: 32 Motives: Unknown Profile: WIP

I know these are like super late because I was away for about a year, but the work you've been doing is SO good I feel compelled to give more suggestions to round out your classes. Class Ideas: Bard: A traveling story teller, musician, singer and poet. They travel the world, soaking up lore, folk tales, culture, and personal interaction. Often found around trading posts, or bustling, smoke filled taverns, these socialites and pioneers of the arts are imbued with the rare ability to captivate and entrance listeners using only the power of sound. Be it the spoken word, a note sung aloud, or an instrument stroked by the soul, they can use sound to allure, hypnotize, lull to sleep, inspire, reduce to tears, or invoke a primal fear. Weapon: Bladed Harp An elegant, but deadly instrument. Amidst the inebriation and bustle of a night out at the local tavern, it may appear to be nothing more than a decorative, exotic instrument gifted to the player by a queen or nobleman, but upon a closer look by a trained eye, the bladed edge and handled shaft for wielding are clear to see. Some images for inspiration: Falconer: (The concept was a druid-like beast master who uses beast familiars for his primary attack/skill set. Thinking about a good "weapon" for that, I settled on a falcon) A skilled beastmaster, outdoorsman and survivalist. They prefer to be in and rely on nature, and can form bonds with wild beasts with almost supernatural ease. Often found in the wilderness or around fur and trapping posts, these hunters and wildmen are masters of nature and the animals who defend her sanctity. Be it trained pets or nearby wild animals, they command beats to do their bidding, putting their unique strengths and skills to work for them. Weapon: War Falcon Intelligent, deadly, and highly trained. This majestic predator remains at the ready to defend it's master or carry out any order given to it.

26 Cresthill Drive, White River Valley Jason Elliot walked his black mountain bike from the back of his family home into the driveway. His messy black hair was cloaked by the grey hood of his zippered sweater, the tawny skin of his youthful, handsome face visible only from the eyes down. As he mounted the seat, his baby blue gaze drifted to the Ross family station wagon. No one had occupied 24 Cresthill in almost a decade, not since the old woman who had owned the home passed away when Jason was very young. He peered inconspicuously at the green and white home for only a fleeting moment before tucking his wireless earbuds in, pushing off down the narrow length of asphalt. White River Valley Jason soared down a residential street near his home, soaking up the bright, warm sunlight of a crisp morning on the twilight of eastertide. One of the neighborhood dogs, an adolescent male retriever, leapt from the curb of his family home and gave chance, tongue flapping in the morning breeze. Jason rose off of the seat, really cracking the pedals stride after stride. His mechanized horse crawled forward with mounting speed, stammering the will of the large pup, who drew to a stop, turning around to head home again. Jason cut the handle bars gently to his right, banking an intersection onto Palisade Avenue, which ran west to east, across the river to the east bank, and into downtown. The core of town was ringing on that sunny Saturday morning. The hustle and bustle of vehicle and foot traffic suffocated the tightly structured street faces, lined with store fronts. Jason rolled along the outside of the right lane, leaving the sidewalk free for pedestrians to navigate unhindered. As he rode along Main street, many of the towns folk would nod to or wave at him as he zoomed by, having known his family well. As he made his way off of Main Street, he passed Wilson's Bakery on his right hand side. Ellen Harper exited through the shop door, box of pastries in hand. She saw Jason, waving with a wide, infectious smile, pressing her index finger to her lip with a wink, as if to swear him to secrecy. Ellen was known for her cooking and baking, but sometimes, she just had to cheat and grab something from Wilson's. Jason smiled boyishly, looking away out of both respect and awkward discomfort. There wasn't a heterosexual male in the Valley over fourteen who hadn't fantasized about walking into Mrs. Harper's floral shop, finding her alone and vulnerable. Perhaps things with Mr. Harper haven't quite been up to snuff as of late, or perhaps she's just been waiting for him to walk in that door. Fiery red hair flowing over her shoulders, bangs just barely covering one eye. Well, you get the picture. Ellen Harper was not only beautiful, but she had a sultry sort of air to her composure and attitude. His bike pressed on, clearing Main and banking left onto East Bank Avenue. He passed several cars and trucks along the moderately populated street, cutting across to the right side as soon as he could. In short time, he came upon an old trail leading off of East Bank Ave. and into the sprawling labyrinth of eldritch forest.

ALPHA SQUAD Created by M.J. Saulnier "In 2034 a US deep space probe discovered a planet inside the Milky Way galaxy containing alien life forms. One-hundred and twenty years later, mankind set foot on the planet for the first time... and the war has been raging ever since. Fifty years of combat later, I'm in a UNEGA transport shuttle on my way to the surface. My name is Kayleigh Dawn Mahoney. I had nothing to leave behind, because I lost everything a long time ago. I enlisted at seventeen after my mother died and my father slipped into an abusive, drunken stupor. He'd get so hammered he didn't know who I was, that I was his daughter. I'd turn into some cute little thing he figured was his girlfriend. It wasn't as bad as you might be thinking, but I had to leave, and so I did. After basic training, and a slew of aptitude tests, I was selected by the United Nations of Earth Galactic Alliance to take part in a top secret training mission for the Marines. How could I refuse? Five years later, here I am, headed for a hostile alien planet, lightyears from home, what little I had to call home. It's all so far behind me now..." 2204, The Milky Way Galaxy The shuttle rattled and shook about as it entered the planet's atmosphere. It vibrated violently, producing a loud clanging noise that suffocated the thoughts of ten rookie soldiers. They had been through thousands of intense, realistic drills and simulations, but nothing could prepare them for the real McCoy. Heated, intense combat with an alien race unknown to the regular citizens of earth. It was known that we were away fighting a foreign threat to our planet, but the details get a little mixed up over the lightyears. The truth is a luxury most governments can't, or won't afford to divulge. They didn't know the truth, and most of them weren't ready for it. Kayleigh Mahoney cast her beautiful brown gaze at her best friend Keira Smith. "Are we there yet?" she said, imitating a young child in the back seat of a car on a long trip. Keira laughed. Her medium length blonde hair spilled over her shoulders from under a forest green bandana. She chewed gum through her smile and rolled her blue eyes, looking to her left at Trevor Hanken, who was sound asleep, drooling on his own shoulder. She shook her head in shock, looking back at Kayleigh. "I don't know how he can sleep through this," Keira said. Kayleigh shook her head, laughing at Trevor before she got more serious. "I just can't wait to get there, you know? Settle in, meet this Sarge guy." Jonathan Rhodes looked up from the memo he had been reading. "Who is this guy, anyway?" "They say he's some kind of hero down there. That his men worship him, and the hostiles fear him," David Carlyle spoke up. He leaned forward, an intensity twinkling in his eyes. "They told this one story back on the base ship..." ***** "Negative Ghost 1! This thing is like the wrath of god! We need air support!" Captain Reynolds shouted into the radio over the sound of distant shouting, gun fire and grenade explosions. He sat in a poorly dug trench, screaming into a hand-held communcations device. Sergeant Sean Pentecost lay on his side to Reynolds left, awaiting orders, and growing impatient with the entire situation. The Captain shouted a variety of profane words before he stood up, keeping his head low. "This is the deal, troops! Command wants that Titan taken down, now!! Air support is a no-go on this one, gents. We're on our own!" Sarge leaped from the side of the trench, approaching one of his soldiers. He took a grenade launcher from him, throwing it around his shoulders and shouted across the line. "Cover me!" He took off over the edge of the trench and into the desolate, arid battle field. Miles of rock and dirt. Cloudy, stormy skies that only clear up a few times a month, and odd, unearthly creatures everywhere. Thousands of them marching forward toward the human front. Leading the charge was a giant. The beast was easily four, five-hundred feet tall. It seemed to scrape the sky as it charged forward, crushing any of it's own who failed to avoid it's devastating strides. They shook the earth beneath him, creating the sensation of a series of small earthquakes. Sean didn't flinch, nor hesitate. He pressed forward, fired round after round from his assault rifle. He picked the hostile alien soldiers off one by one at a distance as he ran toward the Titan. Ahead was an old human trench, evidence of a time not so long ago when they had won this battle, only to be driven back by the unrelenting attacks of the natives. He shot two of them in the trench, and three more beyond it as they threw crudely fletched spears in his direction. His shot, even on the move was deadly accurate. Ahead of him, a massive alien spike hit the ground and lodged in the loose, moist soul. The impact lifted dust and clumps of earth into the air. Sarge avoided the massive alien missile that lay in his path, striding to the left, ducking under the upper portion that protruded from the ground on an angle. He dropped his rifle at his side, reaching around his back to pull the grenade launcher around his waist. Moments before reaching the edge of the abandoned trench he took aim and fired a single grenade round into the sky toward the Titan. He pulled a grenade from his vest, pulling the pin as the explosive round hit the Titan in what would be it's face. He lunged sideways into the air over the trench, throwing the grenade with all his might before he fell safely into the trench in a fetal position. The Titan collapsed slowly, creating a massive earthquake, and a raging dust cloud that covered a two mile radius, sweeping over the human line like a sand storm. As the dust began to settle, and the men hacked and coughed the dust from their lungs and throats, the silhouette of a soldier holding a rifle at his breast emerged from the haze. It was Sergeant Sean Pentecost, head hung low, breathing heavily. He stood proudly over the trench. "Hope you pussies were takin' notes." ***** Keira popped a bubble of gum. "This guy sounds hardcore," she said plainly. Johnathan Rhodes leaned forward resting elbows on knees. "There's no fuckin' way it went down like that." "Why not?" Carlyle asked, crossing his arms. "You're tellin' me his whole unit let him go it alone?" "They were shook up, John." "Bullshit! And what kinda grenade launcher can stop something that big? What was it? The only grenade launcher on the planet at the time?" Carlyle laughed. "He's not some kind of god, Carlyle. He's probably some hard ass old man who saved a few asses and won a few battles along the way, so they gave the guy a few medals. Few years and some half-in-the-bag mess hall magic later, the guy's some sort of inhuman alien killing machine." An argument erupted amongst the soldiers, and Kayleigh began to feel like she was the only one on that ship who was focused, nervous, or even worried. She looked down at her lap, a wave of anxiety falling over her entire being. What did she get herself into?

Sean sat behind his metal desk pouring drink after drink, rifling through files. The day was over, and Sarge could finally get around to his favorite pastime; drinking hard liquor. As Sean sifted through files, reading reports and studying his new squad mates, a tall, older man in full uniform approached his doorway. Looking up, he recognized the Colonel, and started to stand up to salute the man. "At ease, Sergeant!" the Colonel barked, removing his hat and cradling it under his armpit. Sean sat back down, smiling. "Colonel," he said with a nod. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The Colonel took a moment to pause, looking over the Sergeant. "I hear you're trying to break my newbies, Sergeant." Sarge grinned. "Trying, sir? I'm gonna break 'em. Every last one of 'em," he finished with a smile, offering the Colonel a glass. The Colonel respectfully declined his offer, and Sarge refiled his own glass. The Colonel paced around, fiddling with his hat. "You know... You've been up here so long, maybe you forgot. But there's a shortage of wars back home, soldier. We don't have battle hardened veterans roaming the streets of America in packs, just waiting to be shipped to a hostile alien planet," he explained in a point of fact tone. Sarge slammed the drink back, pouring another. Then the Colonel continued. "Now I know you're upset, son, but a boat load of time and money was invested in bringing those soldiers here. Now your job is to train 'em to fight! Not send 'em home with the number with a good therapist." Sarge slammed another drink back, putting his glass down on the metal surface with some force. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" "Granted," the Colonel replied quickly. "Why me? Why Alpha?" Sarge asked aggressively, striking his index finger against the table. "Why not shift the ranks? Give me the combat veterans, and give Delta the rookies, instead of compromising the best damn unit we got?!" "Everybody knows there's bad blood between Alpha and Bravo. Charlie is a full unit, those men have been together for eight months now. What am I supposed to do? This wasn't my call, Sean. This was above my pay grade, son." "And what happens when those kids die? Alpha's grounded again, while you send more boys and girls up here to their death?" Sarge asked gravely. "I need a squad, Colonel." The Colonel sighed, fixing his hat over his grey hair. "Do the best you can with what you've been given, son. that's all you can do." He stopped before he had reached and passed through the doorway. "And besides, they're bein' trained by the best." "Sometimes that ain't enough," Sean replied. The Colonel turned around, examining the bottle of booze before giving Sarge a genuine look of brotherly, even fatherly concern. "It's been a long time, Sean. Eleven years is longer than anyone has given this god forsaken rock... Maybe it's time to go home soon." He made his exit and left Sarge alone with his files, booze, and thoughts.

Introduction Part 1 Reflections From The Future "My name is Hans Venechenko. You don't know me, but you know our story. You know her legacy. It's a story of love, hate, friendship, betrayal, courage, and sacrifice. All the hallmarks of a good story. It's about rebellion, men and women taking a stand to defend their land and people before there was nothing left to fight for. It's the journey of how one girl from the slums of Zenobia inspired the world to form a revolution. To take our freedom by force, although at a grave, and unforgettable cost. This is her story, but it's my story, too. And I'd like to share it with you..." Introduction Part 2 Desert Rose Ana Maria Grace rolled over in her comfy bed of soft, warm, purple sheets in her cozy room. She was sound asleep, dreaming of some better time and place. A land of innocence, love, and peace. Angelo slept comfortably beside her. He was her large, furry brown dog. Her beautiful blonde hair rested over her forehead, covering her left eye. Her sparkling emerald gems were shut as she slept the morning away against her fluffy purple pillow. The buzzer inside of her old mechanical clock clang its usual dull, metallic, insistent racket. New clocks had something called a chip that was made from data or something. Here in the slums of Zenobia, there was no fancy, fussy technology. Bikes that ride themselves, you just sit and stare at people passing by. Neat little boxes that show moving pictures. Nothing so sophisticated. The inner city was like something from a comic book or fiction novel. Some futuristic metropolis turning time like the inside of a clock. Late at night you can look out your bedroom window, peer north into the night sky, and see it's lights glowing, flashing and blinking like stars hung just above and below the horizon. She opened her bright green eyes quickly, smiling wide. She smacked the plated spring on the clock, silencing it for another twenty-four hours, and leapt from her bed, startling Angelo as she did so. He slowly got up off the bed, jumping to the hardwood floor with a surge of energy that would last for the next 12 hours. "Can't come today, Angelo. I'm goin' to the inner districts," Ana said, leaning over in the doorway. She shut the door on him, and he tilted his head with a whimper. She jogged down the stairs of her tiny home, running into the kitchen where her mother was sitting, reading the Zenobian Times over a cup of tea. It was a shabby little home nestled into a nook of Zenobia's slums, but it was cozy, warm, neat and welcoming. "I made breakfast," her mother said lovingly, eyes fixed on the article still, no doubt retaining the words as she spoke to her daughter. "Not hungry, Mom," Ana replied, kissing her on the cheek, heading for the door. Ana's mother looked over her shoulder at her oldest daughter as she grabbed her coat from the rack. "Stay away from those left-wing, hooligan friends of yours!" her mother yelled out to her as she dashed out the door. The streets of Zenobia were bustling that particular morning. Buildings, trees, structures and rooftops towered over power lines and into the sky. Bikes, strangely built cars and trucks filled the busy streets. Some were paved or stone, others were run down dirt roads, usually in a series of gritty backstreets networking the outermost corners and reaches of the slums. Far beyond the cluttered, towering groupings of buildings, the massive structures and sky scrappers of the inner core of Zenobia loomed on the horizon like pillars of the heavens, watching over the poverty, despair and corruption that ensued every day amidst the outer slums... That One NPC Presents... Inspired by Squaresoft's Body of Work From 1987-1999 Created by M.J. Saulnier(That One NPC) Dedicated to Hironobu Sakaguchi, and Final Fantasy fans everywhere

The group drew nearer to a large, wind-beaten rusty-brown stone formation protruding from the sand beneath them. It towered into the sky, sprawling for a quarter mile in any direction. A complex series of jagged rock and tiny crevasses. They wearily scaled it's cliffs and chasms by foot, helping the anxious chocobos along as they made slow progress toward their goal; the secret entrance into the rebel base beneath Odessa. They came to a narrow opening, just large enough for a chocobo to squeeze into. It was dark and musty. Juakeem lead the way, and Shae'elle followed, ducking into the enclosed passage. Boko backed up, rearing his head away as Stryker tried to lead him in. "Okay. Relax big fella," he said, trying to calm him down. He tugged his reigns aggressively, stumbling around the edge of a jagged cliff. Ana rushed to his side, wrapping her arms gently around his neck. She could feel his precious heart racing. She held him, lulling him softly. "Shhhh. It's okay, Boko. I'm scared too. But we have to go down there. It's not safe out here." The fear in his beady eyes was clear to see. "I need you, Boko. I need you to be strong for me, because I can't do this alone," she whispered. She took the reigns from Stryker, slowly guiding him back toward the passage. He was timid, but he followed her. "It's okay. We'll do it together," she comforted him. Stryker watched as Ana disappeared into the opening, and Boko behind her.

High dunes crawled across the horizon as Ana and her company navigated the desert following Juakeem's lead. The sun was now below the horizon, leaving a rich glow of red, orange and purple. It lingered in the western sky behind them. Ahead, the aura from the lights of Odessa had become brighter in the night sky. Juakeem's pace drew to a stop as he saw a massive tread in the sand. The distinct, wide, shallow trench accompanied by small, circular tracks on either side. He drew a long, wide scimitar from Shae'elle's saddle. Stryker pulled a small sub machine gun from Boko's saddle bags. "You're full of surprises, Juakeem," he said nervously, unaware of what was afoot, only that something was afoot, and it wasn't good. "What's the plan, buddy?" he asked, scanning the sands wearily. He hated the desert. It was a deadly, unpredictable place full of dangerous things both known and unknown to him. "These tracks were made by an emperor scorpion. A very large, efficient predator," Juakeem explained calmly. "If we are lucky, we can reach our destination without encountering it." "Luck hasn't exactly been on our side," Stryker mumbled, handing Ana a pistol. "Take this. Any sign of trouble, just point and shoot." "I can't use a gun!" Ana explained nervously. "You have to learn how to defend yourself, Ana." "I won't use it, Stryker. Violence is never the answer." "So you'd die sooner than protect yourself?" She didn't answer. "This should be fun," he uttered under his breath. He didn't know it, but she heard him, and it hurt her. "It would be best to keep moving. So long as we stay within the tracks, we should be fine," Juakeem said as he set Shae'elle moving again. The group slowly followed the track, weapons at the ready. "The emperor scorpion seeks its prey by submerging itself in the sand. As prey passes by, the emperor senses the movement above and strikes at the opportune moment," Juakeem explained intensely. "So, where the tracks end, the thing is probably buried?" Stryker asked. "Indeed." "What do we do when we find it?" Ana asked. "Everything we can to avoid it," Stryker answered in deep thought, ever vigilant. "Why can't we just circle around?" Ana asked with a growing fear and anxiety. "We're going straight for it!" "The emperor could be anywhere. Right now we are safe," Juakeem explained. "If it has dug deep enough, it could have changed it's position from beneath the sand." They followed the tracks for a short while before they came to a stop, fading out. A disturbance in the sand beyond the trail was visible. "I'm afraid we have no choice," Juakeem said gravely. "What does that mean?" Stryker asked with uncertainty. Juakeem removed a water skin from Shae'elle's saddle bags, giving it a few quick tosses in the palm of his right hand before heaving it toward the disturbance in the sand. As it landed in the sand, rolling several times before coming to a stop, a massive black scorpion erupted from beneath the sand. The tail came first, extending high for only a moment before lashing downward, puncturing the water skin with blinding speed and deadly precision. The body followed, popping out of the sand as the grains poured off its durable exoskeleton. Its claws were menacing, capable of cutting a chocobo in half with ease. The scorpion shifted it's focus to the chocobos and their riders as it realized it had been cheated out of a good meal. It prepared it's lethal tail for another strike, snapping it's powerful claws several times. Juakeem and Shae'elle wasted no time in pursuing the ominous creature. She charged forward with valiant resolve, pushing the limits of her land speed, lowering her head as she gained quarter on the emperor scorpion's right side. Boko also sprung into action. This was his moment to prove his worth in battle, and he would not let it pass him by. He lowered his head, rushing forward as fast as his stubby legs could carry him with two passengers aboard. "Oh shit!" Stryker shouted as Boko's momentum startled him, forcing him to tighten his grip on the reigns, and apply more pressure around Boko's torso using his legs. "Hang on, Ana!" Ana held Stryker as tight as she could, closing her eyes. Shae'elle and Juakeem had gained quarter on the scorpion, who welcomed their advancement openly. It cocked its tail back, swinging its right claw toward Sha'elle's legs so as to cut them clean off and leave her defenseless. She jumped in the air with all her might and a single flap of her wings, narrowly avoiding the path of its claw. As she tucked her wings back into her body, Juakeem raised his scimitar and with a vertical slice, cut the right claw off at the joint. At the same time, it struck with its tail. Stryker took careful aim as Boko came in behind Shae'elle. He squeezed the trigger, and round after round cut through the hard armor of its tail just below the stinger. It disrupted the scorpions aim enough to miss Shae'elle all together. She landed hard in the sand, merging into a full sprint. She ran past the scorpion's right side, arcing wide to circle around. The scorpion staggered to its right, keeping an eye on Shae'elle's movements. Boko had broken off to the left, allowing Stryker to take aim yet again, pumping more rounds into the body this time. With one claw in working order and a severely damaged tail, it was now in desperation mode. It brandished its claw, lashing its tail frantically. But all the posturing wouldn't stop Shae'elle, who again charged the scorpion, lunging high in the air to the right. The tail positioned for a desperate, savage strike, but Juakeem severed it with one precise swing of his scimitar. The stinger soared over his right shoulder and into the sand. Boko came around its left side, getting close enough to grab its rear left leg in his beak. He yanked with all his might. It wasn't very effective, but threw the scorpion's footing off, forcing him to turn around (a slow, clumsy creature on its feet), when Stryker let off a small burst from his SMG directly between the eyes. The scorpion's entire body went limp and it collapsed lifeless into the sand from which it had came. "Well done, my comrades!" Juakeem shouted cheerfully. Ana opened her eyes slowly. "Is it dead?" "Indeed, Ana," Juakeem answered her as he and Shae'elle approached the remains. "You have the heart of a warrior, Boko!" "Wark!" Boko cried out with pride. "Wark!" Shae'elle joined him, looming over the fallen emperor scorpion.

Sergeant Sean Pentecost paced to and fro before ten young soldiers standing at attention. They did their best to look as strong and focused as they could, but the heat, the gravity and that awful smell of sulfur combined with decay from the alien corpses produced by their unrelenting attacks on UNEGA bases made it hard to remain focused and at attention. "Welcome to UHAP-1, otherwise known as Unknown Hostile Alien Planet 01," Sarge shouted out, his tone relaxed at this point. "Our overlords back on Earth and Mars have seen fit not to give this piece of shit a name until we kill every last living thing on it. And that's where I come in; And where you tow the line or I leave you for dead. I don't care who you are, what rank you carry, who your daddy was," he shouted, glaring quickly at Kiera, "or what you scored on the aptitude test you wrote to find yourself in my squad!" he finished, casting his scrutinizing glare at Jonathan Rhodes. "Up here I am your daddy, I am your aptitude test, and you are all cadets until I decide otherwise," Sarge barked, his tone growing more aggressive as he continued his speech. "And I will sculpt and mold each and every one of you pathetic sacks of meat into a well-oiled, perfectly balanced and executed killing machine, or you will be on the first transport back to earth - is that clear?!" "Sir, yes sir!" the soldiers replied. "I want you all to take a long hard, look at the person standing next to you. Because in two months time, chances are they will not be here anymore." The soldiers looked around, reluctantly glancing at each other. "Ask yourself if you are willing to watch them die before your eyes. If you're willing to hold them in your arms and ease their passing from this world, so far from home." Kayleigh looked at Kiera with an expression of sadness threatening to expose her. Kiera looked away, telling herself the Sergeant was just being dramatic, trying to shake them up. "If not... You got off on the wrong fuckin' planet, whelp... and the transport's that way." Sarge walked over to Charlie Hauser, who had been standing off to the side, listening to the speech. "I'd say I just broke half of 'em. What do you think?" Sean asked quietly with his back to the soldiers. Charlie grinned. "I think your speeches are gettin' better, Sarge." Haus shouted to the soldiers with a loud, deep tone, "Move your asses, greenhorns! I wanna see twenty laps around the base! Move! Move! Move!"

It's too much of a bother for a few features, I agree. That's why I'm trying to make that bother and workload impact many features and aspects of the game, Especially changing the mid-climate region tiles. That is so key. I've taken steps to make this easier by eliminating the overworld map, which makes seasonal changes so much easier. I sort of want do to this for my Bound-like. I really, really think it will work well for it. The core seasons and tile shifting/holidays, and the calendar, not so much the time skip actions, which were for a high fantasy concept.

The air was hot and heavy. The sun beat down on the planet like the unforgiving wrath of Ra. The tarmac was cooking under the might of each ray, creating blurry waves above the surface of the airstrip. The planet was cloudy and stormy for 99% of the year, and the few sunny days it allowed to slip past, were so hot you prayed for rain. Ten fresh faced, high spirited rookies walked off the transport ramp one by one. Most of them puked within minutes of entering the planet's atmosphere. The air was so hot and muggy you could barely breathe. The smell of sulfur and decay was unbearable, and the minor change in gravity was taxing on the knees and lower back. It was a total shock to the system and senses. The planet was often described as hell, in a literal, and biblical sense. Sergeant Sean Pentecost stood with his arms crossed behind his back, the collar of his dark green T-shirt soaked with sweat. He squinted his scrutinizing gaze as he examined the crew of wet behind the ears newbies that would be joining his team. The best damn team in UNEGA's arsenal. Alpha were the elite, the chosen and proven. The best of the best came to Alpha to fight. And now half of the squad would be combat virgins. Alpha was looking more like Echo by the minute as he watched rookie after rookie vomit all over the tarmac and the ramp of the transport ship. Several rookies, only males were able to hold their rations down. Trevor Hanken gagged violently, covering his mouth and nose. David Carlyle, arguably the hardest of the bunch barely flinched, but he was visibly affected, even from a distance. "This is the best they could scrape up?" Sarge uttered with pure disgust, crossing his arms. Charlie Hauser stood beside him, hands on his hips, squinting into the sun's relentless gaze. He shook his head, spitting to his left, hardly impressed by the group. "Give 'em a chance Sarge. We were all rookies at one point in time." Sarge lowered his head. "I tell ya, Haus. I'm really startin' to hate my job," he said with disappointed defeat.

It was getting dark as Edge made his way across the harsh, cruel desert. The skies were clear and he looked to the stars for guidance. The sands of Zenobia could be confusing when you run out of water. Heat, and dehydration could cause hallucinations and delusion. His pace had become increasingly hurried after discovering that he was being followed. He was still a day and a half away from Odessa and couldn't be sure who was tracking him, or how many there were. He was scouting for a spot to camp when he sensed a presence behind him; a pair of eyes scanning his form. He spun around quickly, but could see nothing besides dunes of sand and his own footprints. The cool wind howled and whistled across the stoic sands. Some one, or some thing was out there lurking in the dunes. Hunting him like prey. He grew angry; defiant. "Show yourself!" He shouted into the arid desert. He waited, hoped, and still he stood alone. "Fight me, coward!" he yelled out with more aggression this time. Edge caught movement in the corner of his right eye. From behind one of the dunes, a young male wearing an eerie, haunting mask slowly rose to his feet. The mask was white, and looked like it had been carved from bone. It perfectly covered the facial area, leaving only the eyes and ears exposed. He had short blue hair and held a metallic spear in his right hand. The base of the shaft rested above his shoulder, and had an expertly crafted, spade-like blade mounted to it. It's razor sharp edge caught the moonlight, drawing Edge's attention. He thought it strange that the man wore little clothing or armor. His chest was bare, save for a leather strap that held plated armor over his left breast and shoulder. His hands and forearms were wrapped tightly, leaving the fingers bare. His feet were bound in cloth, and he wore baggy, tattered blue and yellow pants tucked into the cloth below the knee. He approached Edge slowly, making his way to the top of the dune where he stopped, removing a water skin from his gear. He tossed it toward Edge, and it hit him in the chest, falling into the sand. Edge was confused. He didn't know if the young man was friend or foe. "Who are you?" he asked intently, not giving proper thought to the water skin. The man continued toward him, neglecting to answer his question. Edge was about to speak again when the man lunged forward, pushing off his left foot, pulling back his right hand for a vicious thrust of his spear. Edge narrowly avoided the attack with a hasty step and sway to the left. He stumbled in the sand, catching himself with his left hand before getting his footing and drawing his sword from his back. With a spear, the man had range and agility on his side. Edge would have to be patient, and wait for an opening to strike. The man held his spear with both hands, spreading his legs and bending them at the knee. He took one side-ways step after another toward Edge, waving his spear back and forth. The red, blood-stained tassel blurred into streaks as it danced back and forth toward him. His eyes struggled to follow the tassel, anticipating the coming attack. With a quick, confusing motion, the head of the spear smacked his sword, toying with him. Again, harder, forcing his sword to the left with startling force. The young man immediately followed up by spinning to his right on his left foot with a long, broad swing of his spear using his right hand. Edge barely managed to duck the attempted decapitation, lunging to his left into a combat roll as the man shifted into a downward thrust after finishing his swing. Edge was no match for him. He was impeccable; flawless in his form. There was an arrogant calculation and ease to his every movement. His spear was not a weapon wielded, but a part of his body. He was one with the weapon. Edge couldn't win this fight, and he knew it. "I don't want to fight you!" Edge blurted out. The man raised his spear for another thrust, but paused as a long, thick needle pierced his neck abruptly. He calmly plucked it loose, lowering his spear slowly as he examined the strange needle. His focus drifted from the needle to his own body. He dropped the needle, staring intently at his left hand palm, curling his fingers slowly. Edge was about to strike when the man staggered, losing his balance. As he fell, he used all of his strength and will power to push off his spear, landing on his side, rather than face-down in the sand. Edge looked around quickly, noticing a strange sight. A cactus with arms, legs, and a pair of eyes. It stood still, glaring at him. He locked eyes with it for several moments, unsure of it's intentions. Suddenly it moved, running off into the desert. Edge sheathed his sword slowly, heading for the water skin which was still sitting in the sand behind the paralyzed man. There would be no camping tonight. He had a head-start, and he was taking it.

I would firmly agree on both. My plots are usually long-form, so I'd end up script 1 or 2 ferry shots prior to the player being able to access/afford a charter. I would 100% have both. And if you have naval exploration, I strongly suggest put in secrets you can access from the ship. At least a few, of varying types. Be it a good Training/drop table area, a treasure find, a secret town with good shops/a secret follower, w/e you end up deciding on.

"So, where are we headed, anyway?" Stryker asked. They had been travelling for two days and could now see the lights of Odessa glowing above the horizon against the night sky. "Beneath these sands is a solid layer of rock," Juakeem explained. "Our destination is deep within that rock. We must first navigate a long, narrow passage into the outpost from a large rock formation near the city. That formation isn't far now." There was several moments of silence as the chocobos trotted through the sand. "May I ask what brought you here?" Juakeem asked. "It's a long story," Stryker answered. "I have nothing but time," Juakeem said with a smile. Stryker looked over his shoulder. "It's your story, Ana. You should tell it." She took a deep breath, conjuring the painful memories. "Well. My friends and I attacked Zenobia. Tried to, anyway. My friends, they didn't make it. I did, thanks to Edge. Stryker helped me escape, and then we met you." Juakeem tugged Shae'elle's reigns, bringing her to a stop. Stryker then brought Boko to a stop, examining Juakeem. His brow was tightened, and for the first time, his expression was that of intensity; even emotion. "You are very brave, Ana. I now understand why Edge has taken your part. I will tell your story to my people and your friends will not have died in vane. Come! You must speak to Commander Fairheart and his men." Shae'elle pressed on, and Boko followed slowly.

RISING Created by M.J. Saulnier Original RP Concept by Sunal Wolfsbane and M.J. Saulnier Introduction "I prefer to go out at night, when the sun has rested after a long day of polishing the earth. The light is inherently forgiving in nature. It has a way of shining a false beauty over even the ugliest of situations. It gives cosmetic value to an otherwise worthless piece of merchandise. The light is the great deceiver, not the darkness. When the shadows close in around us and threaten to remind us of who we are, it's in the light we seek comfort and salvation. I walk the streets of this forsaken city, passed the dregs, junkies and whores. I see and hear everything that happens in these streets; This concrete Gomorrah. I see a man, a spineless worm, unemployed and hooked on crack cocaine. He collects welfare checks from his brother's mailbox and lives with his girlfriend and her two small children. He spends every penny chasing a high he'll never satisfy and watches her kids suffer, neglected and deprived of a mother and childhood. His eyes are fixed upon a young woman, a prostitute. Her long blonde hair, slim figure and schoolgirl face earn her the money she needs to care for the product of a trick gone horribly wrong. The uninvited seed of a low-life rapist. A foreign invader who left upon her both a gift and a curse. A bittersweet signature left upon her world in the form of a pure, and life-long maternal love, marred by the memory of her violator every time she looks him in the eyes. The pipe in his left coat pocket is still warm, and his mind races, the pane of glass between himself and reality slightly cracked and smudged. Only two things rest on his feeble, one-track mind. That perfect backside and the sexual release it will offer him, and the $600 which rests in her purse beside a loaded .45. Nothing good happens tonight. Nothing that can be summed up beautifully, or packaged neatly by a deep moral observation. People hide within the light. Hoping, praying that all of their superficial bullshit is in any way true, or in any way will protect them from the cruel reality of the human condition... Evil. Sin, and the capacity to commit sinful acts of violence, greed, or deviance dwell within us all. The road to heaven is paved with corpses... So watch your step." —Preacher