That One NPC

Chapter 1 Darkness Ensues This story is dedicated to Sunal Wolfsbane, my dear old friend. New Haven, New York The night was hot and humid. The streets of New Haven were quiet and eerie. The orange light from lampposts was polished into a fine, dense glow by the heavy moisture in the air. It was one of those nights when the empty streets felt both inviting, and menacing. For Deputy Sheriff Owen Reznik, this particular night had been quiet and uneventful so far. He sat in his squad car eating a hamburger and listening to the radio at a low volume. He was putting in a solo shift tonight. New Haven was a fairly small, relaxed town. Deputy's often worked the graveyard shift alone, although backup was never too far, should it be needed. Owen was a Caucasian male of thirty-two years with short black hair and a hansom, defined face with bright green eyes. He had a small, jagged scar above his upper lip from when he was eleven years old. During a little league baseball practice, he had taken a fly-ball straight to the mouth after failing to catch it with his glove. Funny thing, fear. He never quite shook that one day, that one incident. As a result, he became a benchwarmer and didn't return for a second year. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, if I had caught that ball, that fateful day, could I be playing for the Yankees right now? Fate is not to be taken lightly, you see. Even if you don't believe in it. For fate in itself does not exist. It's just a word we use to make the course of our lives more tangible; To vindicate our failures and glorify our successes. You get up in the morning and consider calling in sick. Instead you get in the car to drive to work, and you're T-boned by a semi two blocks from your home. Was it fate, or random chance? Could you have actually stayed home, or by your own will and admission, was it your destiny to cross that intersection that morning? It's enough to drive you insane. Luckily for Owen, he was a simple, new world man of simple beliefs. As far as he'd be concerned, fate would play no part in the events which were about to unfold. The dispatcher, Carey, came over the radio. "Owen. You're around Kennedy Park, right?" He rewrapped the burger and put it down in the passenger seat, swallowing that last bite. Grabbing the microphone, he answered Carey. That old familiar doubt and anticipation lingered in the back of his mind. You never knew what your next call would be. What you'd be going into. A kid caught shoplifting, or a standoff with six heavily armed criminals. You could say it was like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were going to get. "Yeah, Carey. I'm sitting on Park Lane right now." "I need you over on Agricola. Some sort of disturbance between two men. It's the alleyway by 85. Doesn't sound serious, but be careful anyway." "Copy that, dispatch. Heading there now." Carey was a sweet young girl, only 19. She was attending university to be a criminologist. Owen liked her. Figured if things were a little different, if he hadn't met Allison... but there we go, dabbling in that fate nonsense again. He pulled away from the curb he'd been parked at, heading north on Park Lane toward Agricola Street, which was only a few blocks north-east of his location. Kennedy Park was a nice area during the daytime, but it seemed to change after dark. It got more gritty and dangerous. So this call came as no surprise. Cruising slowly down the street, he came to the alley near 85 Agricola. He shut the lights off and stopped discretely, assessing the scene. He made eyes on a man hunched over and mounted atop another person. He quickly called for backup, exiting the vehicle afterward. He approached the scene with his sidearm grasped firmly, the suspect directly between his sights. "New Haven Sheriff's Department! Put your hands in the air where I can see 'em!" He couldn't see the victim, but the person wasn't moving at all. The suspect however, slowly stood up with a menacing, hunched posture. Owen's stomach tightened. "Easy! Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will open fire!" The man slowly turned around, locking eyes with Owen. He held something in his right hand. Looked like a knife, or something long and metallic like a blade. "Put the weapon down, and those hands up! Last warning!" The suspect didn't comply, but rather advanced on Owen, as if to will his gun away and attack him as he had the poor soul laying behind him. Owen panicked and squeezed the trigger as he'd been trained to for years. A round exploded from the barrel and found it's mark in the suspect's chest. It pierced the left side of his breastplate with a vicious shockwave of recoil surging through tissue, flesh and clothing. What should have been a direct kill shot, seemed to have avoided him all together as he pressed forward still. Owen squeezed the trigger again, horrified with disbelief. The man absorbed yet another 9mm round at close range. This one he actually seemed to feel. It slowed his pace, almost staggered him. That's when Owen heard the squealing of brakes pinching rubber. His backup had come crashing in at the sound of gun shots. The suspect finally yielded, turning from Owen, dashing into the darkness of the alley, dropping the tool he'd been holding in the process. Owen took a few calculated steps to pursue, firing two more rounds which may or may not have found a mark. What the hell just happened? Could what just happened have really happened? No time to really digest it. His sight moved down toward the unidentified weapon. A long, metal spike, bloodied at the tip. This night couldn't get any stranger. With so much adrenaline and emotion surging through him, he almost picked it up, contaminating the evidence. Settling down a little, he holstered his sidearm and rushed to the victim as another Deputy ran down the alley after Owen, gun drawn. "What the hell's goin' on, Reznik?" the Deputy asked in a panic, looking around the scene frantically. He'd never had a call like this before. Shots fired and all. New Haven was a model American Town. Nothing like the neighboring city of Blackwater, which was full to the brim with crime and violence. Owen kneeled next to the victim. There was blood everywhere. On the ground around him, soaked into his cloths, and all over his neck and face. As Owen went to check for a pulse, he took notice of two evenly spaced puncture wounds on the left side of the neck. He tightened his brow, perplexed even more than he had been. It would take a week to come off this adrenaline rush. Hands slightly shaking, he checked the man for a pulse. No good. He was already dead. Owen stood up slowly, glancing around the alley, inebriated with fear, shock, and confusion.

24 Cresthill Drive, White River Valley The Ross family vehicle crawled along Cresthill Drive; a sleepy little street on the south eastern outskirts of town. The curb met lawn in neat, uniform fashion along the curved stretch of pavement leaving no room for the suburban sidewalks Mel had grown accustomed to. The small neighborhood was tucked neatly below the towering valley forest. Everywhere trees stood as ancient landmarks; collections of branches and leaves looming over the town like watchful eyes. The trees here were old, towering in height and robust in width. The sort of trees that muster a distinguished character and presence when gazed upon with a hungry eye. June noted the numbers mounted on houses that passed by her window, her current count at eighteen. Within only a few houses, they began to edge toward the tall, modern American three story home with twenty-four mounted to the porch-side wall in rustic black lettering. It had rain washed green siding made of weathered wood with crisp, recently refinished white trim. The front porch was wide and sweeping, covering the length of the home along the front face. It was love at first sight for the married couple. June had finally found a home. A real home. For Phillip, home was wherever June and Mel were, but for his wife and daughter, this was significant. June had been on the run since two had met, and Mel had never had a place she could truly call home. June was a runner, and he never questioned that. He accepted it because he wanted it all - the good and bad alike - but he was revealed to be settling down for Mel's sake. Melanie was delightfully impressed by the warm, welcoming, spacious home, although she'd never allow herself to completely show it. She was holding out, playing judge and jury this time. They finally decided to plant stakes, and took her to the middle of nowhere. But this house felt like a home. A real home. Not an apartment, duplex or a rental. This was their own family nest, yard and all. She smiled, beginning to loosen up a bit more, already trying to picture the interior of the house. The station wagon began to turn into the driveway of the new Ross home and Phillip noticed a middle-aged man with dark brown hair washing a red sedan in the neighboring driveway at 26 Cresthill. As he parked the station wagon, he glanced at his new neighbor, offering the standard dad nod which translates directly to: Hey. The man returned his gesture as June spoke up from within their vehicle. "Home, sweet home, my loyal luggage carriers," she joked with a smile and a laugh, gathering her purse and phone. Phillip smirked, stepping out of the car to once again lock eyes with his new neighbor. Nathan Elliot nodded again, this time more firmly, and with a closed lip smile. "New in town?" he asked with the casual politeness he was known for, still hosing his sedan down in the morning sun. "Just getting in now," Phillip replied cheerfully. He was the outgoing member of the Ross clan. The one who could get along with anyone and hold a conversation about anything. "Long night following that storm in." Nathan smiled, imagining for a moment what that must have been like. It was a nasty spot of weather to sleep through, let alone drive. "Well. I’ll leave you to it, then," he announced sternly. "We’ll have the wives set up formal introductions," he added with a grin and a wink. Phillip let a laugh slip as June stepped out of the station wagon behind him. "Sounds great to me," he said, heading for the trunk to unload luggage. Mel headed for the porch with several bags, head buried in her phone as June stepped out of the passenger side, locking eyes with Nathan Elliot. It was as though she had frozen in place. Not by fear, or wonder, but by surprise, stun, shock. They shared a strange moment that entranced Nathan, despite his subtle discomfort. Their entranced gazes separated as Nathan looked away, and focused once again on his red sedan. June quickly gave a glance of her left shoulder to Phillip, who seemed busy tending to luggage for her. She took a deep breath, tightened her brow and gave one last, contempt filled glance at Nathan before joining Mel on the porch with the keys to the home.

Boko's talons cut through the sand with ease. Stryker sat atop his back, with Ana right behind him. They wore Bedouin robes in order to disguise their identities from any Zenobian soldiers they may have encountered as they drew nearer to Odessa. Juakeem rode Shae'elle a little ways ahead of them to the right. He slowed down to mirror their speed and ride alongside Boko. "Do you have a plan once you have reached Odessa?" Juakeem asked. "We're headed for the Inn," Stryker answered him. "You are rebels then?" Stryker grinned, taking a moment to think about it. "You could say that, yes. But what makes you say that?" "Odessa Inn is merely a disguise for a rebel outpost. And your friend, Edge. He is a rebel. One can only assume..." he finished with a smile. Ana thought for a moment. "What's Odessa like?" she asked curiously. There was a moment of silence; hesitation. Stryker just couldn't lie to her. "It's the fourth largest city in the Empire," he answered gravely, pausing for a moment. "The Zenobian Empire." There was a heavy, grim silence now. it loomed in the sweltering air, and the cores of Ana's eyes. They were headed right back into enemy territory. Directly toward hundreds of Zenobian soldiers. "How could you keep this from me?" Ana asked Stryker calmly. "I didn't think it was necessary to make things worse for you." "I had the right to know." "Hey. This Odessa thing wasn't my idea. I came along to protect you. We're not exactly gonna strut on into town. I'll find a safe way in." "You mistake me for some common chocobo breeder," Juakeem said, looking at Stryker with a closed-lip smile. "I know a way directly into the compound beneath the Inn." Stryker smiled wide, shaking his head. "Thank you, Juakeem."

I like simple stats, with simple systems. However I have grown to dislike systems rooted too deeply in "# vs #" mechanics. It's almost always a case where you just get the fighter's ATT as high as possible so he 1-hits everything. Or you max the tank's DEF so nothing can stop him. YOU max the thief's speed so she gets the preemptive on every. Single. Fight in the entire game. These systems of absolute numbers are just predictable, easy, and boring in the late stages. There has to be a balance of enemy stats meaning something, and your stats meaning something. Many people will play an RPG, max their defense stat and get legitimately salty when something can still kill them. I think it comes down to play styles, whether you want to be challenged, or work toward breaking game logic to have OP characters who are opposed by nothing expect the last boss. I care more about the game play using said stats, than I care about the stats. Dogmatic stats where the highest number wins, every time, no matter what, because math, are definitely my least favorite. I like stats systems where you grow depending on what you do, vs getting a bunch of different stat increases with each level. (In terms of Skyrim. This might help people understand that it's a question of the damage reduction cap, not your armor rating.)

You can create a process upon death that takes the position on the map, and stores it in a variable you can late draw on. I'm not good at this stuff, but I know it ca be done. A good fix is having them just disappear. Instead of a downed sprite, maybe have no sprite. That way they can be looted (if have click looting), and are gone once you leave the map.

What about switching? Because I noticed the event name is how the engine identifies that an event is a monster. This is not good. You may need some pro help with this one. All I can do at this point is fire up the @Kayzee signal.

Found this i the Pearl Documentation script: ## New Notetags!## ** Enemies Enemy Respawn Seconds = x - Time in seconds the enemy can respawn Enemy Respawn Animation = x - Respawn animation id Enemy Knockback Disable = true - Make enemy unable to be knocked back Now in terms of respawning on map loading, this may not address the issue, but that time it takes for an enemy to respawn while the player is on said map. But you can most likely use event pages and switching to make enemies disappear forever once defeated. Personally, I find games where you are able to kill everything, forever, very ghostly, boring, and forgettable. Traveling anywhere becomes a boring, ghostly trek through familiar territory, in a setting that has primed us to be stimulated by real time. combat. In these games we crave it. We want nothing more than to run everything through, from monster to NPC. King to peasant. Man to child. '>.> I get a little hack-happy in these games. But yeah, lol. My point is, maybe always having enemies around is something to consider. It adds difficulty to the game, so you can't keep killing stuff and safely running back to inns and shops for restoration. People these days want worlds crawling with stuff to kill, farm drop tables, and challenge and stimulate their play time and adventures. Just something to consider. Were I you, I'd have monsters go away after the local boss is defeated or something. That way you can rig all enemies in an area or dungeon to 1 global switch that flics on boss defeat. Problem solved, and your player won't be bummed by the fact that everything they kill is gone for eternity. It'll then feel more like making an area safe by defeating the rotten influence in the area; Saving the monsters from the boss.

First of all, go through the settings for every Pearl ABS script that affects enemies, sprites, the battle engine, anything from the Pearl package you feel might have a respawn setting. If you have no luck finding an easy button, research all enemy note tags, make sure there isn't a spawn setting tag you've forgotten or mismanaged somehow. If this still yields nothing, try examining enemy sprites, and see if you can hard-wire a perma-death option using self-switching and event pages. I should know more about this because I have and adore the engine, but I hit a wall with controller usage that has prevented me from tinkering much further. I won't make a Zelda-like unless I know my players can use a controller if they wish.

Ana slowly opened her eyes. They were heavy from a deep sleep and the exhausting events of the previous day. It was early morning, just before dawn. Stryker knelt before her with a hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Rise and shine," he said softly with a smile. She peered behind his large figure, taking notice of Juakeem, who was preparing the chocobos for travel. She swallowed hard, glancing intently at Stryker. "What's going on?" she asked quietly, visibly nervous. "It's okay. He's a friend, and he saved our lives," Stryker assured her. She looked Shae'elle over nervously, who was bouncing back and forth on her feet, chirping pleasantly. "What are those things?" Ana asked, glaring at the giant yellow birds. Stryker smiled, looking over his shoulder at Shae'elle and Boko. "They're called chocobos. And they are usually harmless." "Usually?" "These particular ones are domesticated. So you don't have to worry. Okay?" Ana nodded firmly. "Okay." "Come on. Let's get you fed and properly introduced." He took her by the hands, helping her to her feet. The two approached Juakeem as he secured a brown leather saddle around Boko's torso. "Juakeem. I'd like you to meet Ana Maria Grace." Juakeem turned from Boko, smiling wide. He held her left hand gently, respectfully kissing it with a humble bow. "I am Juakeem Mohinder. This is Shae'elle, and Boko. We are honored to meet you." Boko pranced around, showing off for Ana. He puffed out his chest, raising his beak high in the air. He spread and fluttered his wings, avoiding eye contact with her, yet he would shoot the odd, quick glance at her to see if she was paying attention to him. He postured proudly for his new master, in the hope that she may find him worthy to ride into battle. "Wark!" Shae'elle piped up quickly, calmly charging Boko, nudging him with her head, making him stumble a little. He continued to fish for Ana's attention, unaffected by Shae'elle. "He's magnificent," Ana declared, filled with amazement at the majestic beast before her. "They both are." Juakeem offered yet another gracious, bowing nod, and what was now clearly his trademark warm smile. Stryker chuckled at Boko. He too was amazed by the creatures. He even felt a sense of guilt and shame, but the moment at hand took priority. "Well, he's yours now," Stryker said, folding his arms. Ana swiftly set her gaze upon Stryker, and then Juakeem, who again nodding, confirming Stryker's words. "What?" "Yeah. He's your companion now. Should prove invaluable to your travels." "My travels..." Ana lowered her head in deep, intent thought. "Just Odessa, for now," Stryker said compassionately. "But I don't know how to take care of a chocobo," Ana said with a sense of self-doubt. "Food. Water. Love," Juakeem interjected. "What do they eat?" Ana asked. "Mainly gysahl greens. However he will make his tastes known to you," Juakeem answered. "Okay. I'll do my best," Ana tried to assure him. "Of this, I am certain," Juakeem replied. Stryker gathered a pair of robes from the sand near the fire pit. He approached Ana, reaching for the collar of her leather jacket. "Let's get this burden off your shoulders." "No," Ana protested, withdrawing a little. "It's fine," she said, forcing a smile. Stryker gave her a look of genuine concern, forcing a smile of his own. "Okay..."

Stryker came to slowly. He was laying down on his left side. Directly across from him was Ana, sound asleep on a blanket spread over the sand. It was getting dark and much cooler now. After realizing he wasn't in cuffs, he looked over his right shoulder to see what was going on. A strange man with a deep tan, and a trimmed beard wearing Bedouin robes and a headdress sat across from Stryker with a small but warm fire between them. There were also two chocobos sleeping behind him. One was clearly a high quality yellow breed, while the other was an average yellow breed he had been leading from his own chocobo. Stryker slowly sat up, assuming there was no threat. "I am Juakeem Mohinder," the man said with a kind, exotic voice and presence. He pointed to his chocobo. "This is Shae'elle, my best friend and companion." He turned to the other chocobo. "And this is Boko, who carried the water which saved your lives. You owe him a debt, and so I give him to you, that you may repay him by glory of battle. For carrying water will bring his family no honor." Stryker was speechless, but he managed to muster something to show his gratitude. "Thank you..." Juakeem looked at Ana. "She needs the rest," he said, looking up at Styker. "And we must talk." Stryker nodded. "This is Ana?" Stryker nodded again. "A mutual friend, whom I owe a debt, sent me to help your passage to Odessa." "Who is he?" Stryker asked. "The man known as Edge." "Edge Widowmaker died years ago. Who is he?" "You ask questions I do not know the answer to." Stryker sighed, lowering his head. "I am only here to help your passage to Odessa. I have robes for disguise, some water, and Boko is now yours." Stryker looked him in the eyes. "Thank you, Juakeem." "I'm afraid I do not know your name." Stryker thought for a moment. Normally he would have lied, said his name was Stryker. "Hans." Juakeem smiled, offering him some sort of cooked meat. Stryker nodded humbly, hesitantly accepting the food.

Ana fought to keep up with Stryker as they made their way across the harsh Zenobian desert. Each new step seemed to take a little more energy. Feet sliding through and digging into sand with each stride. The sweltering heat from the sun beating down, only to work its way back up from the sand, suffocating, boiling flesh and bone. It was hell, and one Ana wasn't sure she could take much more of. Stryker pressed on, determined to reach Odessa with haste. Out here it was fight or die. The battle was against the oldest, greatest adversary of them all. Nature; the elements. He wasn't about to roll over and submit, but the heat was impossible to ignore. He couldn't remember being this hot and exhausted, and he had been pretty hot and exhausted in his day. He was no stranger to this terrain, this unforgiving desert, but this day seemed more malicious than the rest. On this day, the desert was out for blood, and Stryker and Ana may be the victims she claimed. Ana collapsed to her knees, virtually unable to take another step. Her entire body was coated in a layer of sweat that seemed to boil over her skin. Her muscles ached from head to toe, and simply breathing was a task fit for a behemoth. "Stryker!" she barely uttered before slipping out of consciousness, falling face-first into the sand. Stryker turned around and was shocked to see Ana laying in the sand. He rushed to her, his steps sluggish, although hurried. He rolled her over gently, brushing the sweat-soaked sand from her face carefully. "Oh shit!" he murmured, unsure of how to even proceed. He leaned over her breathing heavily and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Waiting for her to come around wasn't an option. They had to keep moving. "Okay, come on, kiddo!" he said aloud, hoisting her over his shoulder, struggling to stand upright. He staggered through each step, focusing only on the destination, the mission objective. Like a well-trained soldier, he ignored the pain, heat, exhaustion, and the impossible nature of his task. He simply pressed on, clearing his mind of all distractions with each step deep into the sand beneath his feet. "Almost there," he repeated over and over again, as if Ana could hear him from over his shoulder. He was really talking to himself. Verbally reaffirming his progress, telling himself he could do it, he was almost there! His pace slowed greatly, and his mind began to wander amidst strange thoughts. Whether or not he had locked the door to his home. He thought about Rebel Radio, who would keep the spirit of the rebellion alive while he was gone off, dying in the desert. No! They weren't going to die. They couldn't. They had to reach Odessa. They were almost there! Stryker stumbled, dropping Ana awkwardly into the sand and fell behind her... ***** As Ana's eyes focused and she slowly regained her awareness, a large, beady eye glared back at her. For a moment she froze with terror, startled by the creature that loomed over her at a close proximity. She didn't want to move, but on the other hand, she didn't want to be this thing's meal either. The creature withdrew some, and she was now able to get a better look at it. A large animal with yellow feathers, some colorfully tied or braided around the neck and facial areas. It was clearly saddled, and that meant someone was riding it. A human-like figure sat atop the creature as it subtly moved about in place. The sun was positioned directly behind the mysterious figure, so she could find no detail. Before she could speak, the creature produced a noise unlike anything she had ever heard before. "Wark!" An awkward moment of terror for Ana. It made a softer, more curious sound. "Wark?" The figure dismounted the strange creature as Ana began to drift away from consciousness again...

Ahhhhhh. So you want them to walk around, but be in coffins in battle? Well it sounds like a scripting problem. When this happens to me and I reach my wits end, I go through every script in my project, just scanning over the features and functions, but also settings. You never know (and we definitely don't) what little script is in there causing conflicts in the process of your Coffin on Death script. Make double sure your maps don't need note tags for that Coffin script to work. Just an idea, no clue what the script looks like. Script compatibility is such an issue with Ace when you don't know Ruby to clearly identify processes and issues, let alone make small rewrites and fixes here and there. I've actually got my old middle school friend and RPG blood brother thinking about learning Ruby just to write some cool scripts, because he has a coding base from his career anyway. But yeah, I'll tell you what I'd actually do here, since I feel your pain Create a new blank project. Set up the basic features you'll need to test the Coffin script. Like an actor, the gfx, some monsters, etc. Copy your script as is in your project, over to your blank test project. Take care of anything else it needs for the new project so that you don't run into a new issue trying to isolate the old one. Now test the Coffin script by entering battle on any old map, enter battle, let a minion or two bite the dust, finish them with your mian actor (give 'em a juiced up weapon or skill). See if, as the only custom script, it works alone. If it doesn't work, you know it's your script version. If it does work, you know you've got a compatibility error in one of your other scripts. IF works: Go to your project scripts. Look through anything that might affect maps, sprites, vehicles, anything that could be causing a conflict here. 8-way movement, sprite effects, custom dash sprite sheets, anything could be causing the smallest infraction here. You'd be surprised at times, lol. Copy any script you think might be causing an issue, over to the test project. Set them up properly so they don't cause new issues. Test new scripts with the Coffin script, one by one. NO more than one at a time so when those coffins start appearing again, you know exactly what addition caused it to happen. IF and when you find the offending script: Dissect its settings and features, trying to find any setting that might fix this. Best case scenario it's as simple as flicking a setting on another script. Most likely, though, it's a tiny technical hiccup hard wired into the code of a script. If nothing here works??? Post your script version here in full so some of the more Ruby-savvy members can help you figure out what's afoot here. Honestly, aside from all of that, If they are going to be coffins in battle but walk around the rest of the time anyway, maybe always having coffins is the better aesthetic/logic/choice.

Now I'm no expert with Ace's event system. I mastered 95's, for what that's worth, and I did no shortage of tinkering with 2k's event system, but honestly, I'm always seduced to no end by every other aspect of Ace. However, there may be a way to disable all followers period whilst on the Overworld Map. Try setting up a sequence that disables follower sprites whenever the player transfers to the/an overworld map, and enables them whenever they enter any other map. or when they leave the/an overworld map. Again, I'm a 95 kid, and need to make a game in order to get a firm grasp on Ace's event system. Not that it's rocket science, just some of the new features are newer to me.

I've actually been thinking about this sort of stuff for my bound-like concept. Different sort of statuses and their effects, magics, and weaknesses. I've also been thinking about battle encounters in terms of how Earthbound and games like it put enemy sprites on the map. I sort of want that vs the old way of ghostly maps where these parties of creatures continuously ambush you at random. I've been thinking about giving enemies more logic in terms of how they group up, where they are found, but furthermore, the tiles they will risk crossing over to get at you, or prey. Because yes, I plan to make certain enemies avoid certain others, and some attack, even kill or stun others. Over and above terrain and natural distractions, I've been thinking about how you can put a good tool system like Falcao's to work that way. I was thinking one of the characters could be a Jeff-type, who invents gadgets you can then figure out how to practically use. A web/net shooter, that happens to bind certain enemy types very well, as one obvious example. I want this bound-like to be the ultimate modern RPG, similar to what Earthbound was in '94.

Amazing GTA style (pop up) phone menu script. It is so modern, so relevant, so underused in the genre. I have plans to use this in a [Earth]bound-like a few projects from now.

Stryker sat in the sand, tossing pieces of twigs and cactus husk onto a small fire. A ZSF (Zenobian Special Forces) issue machine gun was across his lap and one of their radios along with a pair of long range binoculars sat in the sand beside him. He watched Ana sleep, the memory of that night playing through his mind like a film reel. He placed his hands behind his head, laying back in the sand. "You old fool," he whispered, almost regretting having let her in that night. "Always gotta be the hero." As he lay there, drawing upon his memories, a voice came over the radio. No ordinary voice, but a voice he knew without question. The smooth, slithering voice of Victor Chimera. Rumored to have been killed in action ten years ago. That soft, calculating, articulate tone couldn't be forgotten or mistaken for another. "Leo! Answer your goddamn radio! Do not engage him, Leo. Do you understand me? Do not engage. Follow him to Odessa and wait for Lyra. I warned you about this cowboy shit. We need him alive, not hacked to pieces, clinging to life by a thread!" Stryker picked up the binoculars, scanning around their position. He couldn't see much of anything out there, and figured it had to be Edge. He was keeping his word to Ana, and they would meet up in Odessa, where Stryker would find out who he really was and why he was carrying around the name of a dead man.

Those times were strange, dark and foreboding. Those who remember them, will never forget what transpired. And history, word of mouth will never let them forget the suffering, the bloodshed, betrayal and deceit. But also the courage, sacrifice and bravery. You see we couldn't forget. The memories were etched in our minds and hearts. Long after the fact, people still tell the stories, and remember the sacrifice of so many lives so that they could be free... "Do you know what this is, Seto?" Henato asked with a smile. He leaned forward, holding a sapphire pendant which hung around his neck from a silver chain. It was a deep blue diamond cut perfectly with six sides. Within the core of the gem, an azure light seemed to glow and twinkle when held in shadow. It seemed to hold Seto spellbound as he gazed upon its beauty. He was a young boy with scruffy, light brown hair and piercing hazel eyes that radiated with youth and innocence. He wore a simple grey, short sleeved shirt with a thick blue tunic held in place by a length of brown cloth tied at the waist. His baggy pants were made of the same grey cloth his shirt was tailored from and tucked just below the knee into tightly bound leather boots. He shook his head slowly, eyes fixed upon the sapphire charm. Henato pinched his right cheek gently. "This is a very special stone, Seto. It has been in our family for many, many centuries. It is something our ancestors gave their lives to protect. Nothing is more sacred and valuable to the people of our tribe, Seto. Nothing," he said intently, removing the silver chain from around his neck slowly, with care and discipline. He held it out before young Seto, it's core shimmering as it dangled before him. "My father bestowed this precious pendant around my neck when I was just your age, and now I am bestowing it around yours." Seto lowered his head as Henato gently placed the necklace around his neck. It was long for him, hanging around his abdomen, and yet it felt weightless! It could have been all in his childish imagination, but he felt as though a sense of empowerment fell over him. A sense of comfort and security. Henato kneeled down before him, placing both hands on his shoulders. "You must never lose it, Seto. Protect it with your life, and never let anyone take it from you," Henato said gravely. Seto nodded several times, paying close attention to his father's words and cupped the mysterious sapphire gem in the palm of his hand... ***** Edge blazed across the desert as the sun set beyond the horizon. It was getting dark now, and the air was cooling off. But heat still emanated off of the sand which had been heated by the sun's rays all day long. His hover bike, which had been driven flat out for more than a day now was beginning to overheat and die on him. The energy source was dwindling fast and wouldn't last more than a few minutes, then he would be on foot for the rest of the way. But he had made an unscheduled stop, visiting friends at a Bedouin encampment to the south. He was headed for Odessa once again, but the detour had greatly slowed him down. He would now have to shoulder most of the journey on foot, if he couldn't 'procure' another means of travel along the way. Meeting the girl had changed the plan entirely. It was supposed to be a smooth, in and out operation. Things fell apart fast when Sarovoc Ducrinus fought back, with a sword no less, and got the better of him. Edge had no choice but to retreat before being captured by security, tortured and executed. Running into that girl and her friend in the lower levels of Zenobia Prime was just a wild twist of fate. Another wrench thrown into an already botched operation. Now he was wanted for the attempted assassinated of the Emperor's brother, and that poor girl just got caught up in it all. Wrong place, wrong time. And what were the odds those kids would bomb Zenobia Prime on the same day, at the same time he planned Sarovoc's assassination? The engine choked, sputtered and ground to a halt, crashing into the sand on a leftward angle. Edge was tossed into the sand, rolling to his knees. He shook the sand off and got to his feet, giving the failed bike a swift kick. It didn't even budge, and Edge plopped in the sand, leaning against it. He had miles to go, and nothing but his feet to take him. He reached under his faded red Bedouin scarf and beneath the collar of his black, short sleeved shirt and pulled a silver chain out from under the strap of his sword's sheath. It was a dazzling blue pendant. He studied every familiar trait and memorized detail of the fine, exotic gem as he sat in the sand. He tucked the necklace back under his shirt and stood up, trekking through the harsh desert toward Odessa.

Ana sat in the sand with Stryker's duster covering her bare legs and the zipper of her jacket done up to the chin. She shivered as the sun set. She firmly regretted choosing a skirt again the morning before. She could never have anticipated spending an entire night in the desert. Truth was, she was uncomfortable, home sick and terrified. Still devastated and in shock from the night before. But she blocked it out, keeping the thought of her friends as far from her mind as possible. But the memories would flood back in flashes when she let her focus slip, weighing heavy on her emotions like a vice around her heart, tightening every so often. It didn't help that Stryker had left her alone to gather materials for the fire and perhaps procure some food or a source of nutrition for the journey tomorrow morning. The sun was going down, the air was cooling off and she didn't feel safe anymore. But the large rock formation behind her, and the high dune in front of her would provide decent cover from the elements and any Zenobian troops that may pass by. As she leaned forward into the warm radius of a small fire, hugging her legs, shaking gently, a tall figure emerged in the corner of her eye to the left. She examined it, assumed it was Stryker, and stood up, intending to help him with whatever he had gathered. Upon a closer look, the shape was very tall, dark, and wide. Stryker was a lean man, tall, but not that tall. Even from a distance, the mysterious form looked very large. As she examined the approaching figure, she heard a mechanical beep and the scratching sound of radio static followed by a muffled, grainy voice. "Target confirmed. Take her down!" As she turned around, praying it wasn't so, six Elite Troopers in black, bullet-proof body armor emerged from behind the rock formation with automatic weapons at shoulder level. Ana froze with terror. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. She hadn't even been out of Zenobia for 24 hours and they had captured her. She should have known better, it all seemed so silly now. They screamed at her viciously, all at the same time, adding to her fear and sadness. "Don't fuckin' move!" "Get down, now!" "Hands in the air!" "Face in the sand!" "Down, now!" "Ana Grace! On your knees. Keep your hands where I can see 'em!" So many different instructions, it was confusing, but she had no choice but to comply as best she could. They would hurt her, shoot her, or worse. She thought for a moment that she would have been safer in Zenobia, as opposed to the damn desert. She was a needle in hay stack within the city, but she stuck out like a sore thumb in the desert. She had made their job so much easier. Ana dropped to her knees, hands at her sides avoiding eye contact. She was terrified, and kept thinking they were going to hit her and beat her up. She was worried they would kick her, or strike her face with the butts of their guns. She just didn't want them to hurt her. The leader of the group whispered instructions to two of the other men while the remaining three held their guns on her chest. The red dots dancing across her breasts scared her to death. She was in tears, sobbing uncontrollably as the leader approached her with a pair of handcuffs. He was rough with her as he slapped them on, pulling on her arms carelessly, locking them so tight they bit into her skin. When he was done, he stood up, placing the heel of his boot on the back of her head and pushed her face first into the sand. As she tried to roll over, one of the troopers yelled at her again. "Stay still! Face down!" She pulled her knees up to her chest, weeping into the sand. It was over. Stryker would come back, they'd kill him in a fire fight, and bring her back to Zenobia. She'd be executed, or spend the rest of her life in a Zenobian prison, raped and beaten until she was old and grey, or dead. All she wanted was to go home. Spend one more night in her bed, kiss her mother one more time, and tell her sister she loved her once more. Why did she have to be the hero? Why did she have to take matters into her own hands? None of it mattered now, it was done, and she had to face the music. A feeling of calm began to wash over her. She was still alive, still here to tell their story, and fight another day. Jin, Kato and Willow had paid the ultimate and highest price. She had been spared through it all, despite how bad things seemed. That's when she felt it. A wave of heat washed over her body, stinging the exposed flesh of her hands and legs. A bloodcurdling scream shot across the desert as bright orange embers danced around Ana, fluttering to the ground as they faded and died. She quickly rolled over to inspect the bizarre commotion. One of the men was engulfed in flames, rolling around in the sand, kicking and screaming in agony as flame melted fabric to flesh and superheated his body. The other men shouted to one another and scrambled to locate and assess the threat. Before anyone could make sense of the situation, a bolt of lightning flashed before Ana's eyes, striking one of the men in the chest. The tail of electric energy was gone as soon as it had arrived and a roll of thunder cracked the sky in it's wake as the trooper dropped lifelessly to the sand. By now the stench of burning flesh and fabric had invaded the air, making Ana gag. She was startled by the sound of rapid gunfire as the four soldiers opened up on something. She followed their aim and to her amazement, she saw a tall, wide man hooded and cloaked in baggy black clothing advancing on the soldiers. The bullets seemed to reflect off of his form, leaving no visible effect on him. The soldiers stepped back as he came closer, and Ana was so terrified she began to pull herself away from them all, crawling and scooting up the dune in a panicked state. The hooded man began to move faster, gaining quarter on the first soldier. He took two massive strides toward him, his tattered black cloak waving behind him as he grabbed the soldier's assault rifle by the barrel, yanking it from his hands as he landed a swift and powerful push kick to the solar plexus in the same motion. He tossed the gun in the sand as his victim hit the sand hard, grasping his chest. He continued toward the men at a growing pace, almost jogging now. One of them began to flee, running in the opposite direction as he quickly realized that his weapon was useless against this man, and that horrified him. The remaining two stood their ground, falling back on their combat training, instead of their firearms. But they were no match for this man. He lunged forward throwing a vicious, linear open palm strike to the abdomen using his left hand, following up with a flaming right palm to the second soldier's face, igniting his skull in fames. As he held his face, screaming in pain and collapsed to the sand, the hooded man threw a left wing chun backhand strike to the jaw of the first soldier, dropping him instantly. He stilled himself, and in the distance, another bolt of lightning struck the last soldier down as he sprinted through the desert, yet another clap of thunder peeling across the sky. Ana gazed at the tall, menacing man, frozen with fear and amazement. He looked to his left, locking eyes with Ana. Beneath the hood she could see no face, no flesh, only shadow, and two bright white eyes glaring back at her. Stryker appeared at the top of the dune, twin pistols drawn and set their marks on the hooded man. As he focused his aim for the top of the skull, he could have sworn he saw a glint of light flash over the cloaked man's figure. It distracted his aim and startled him. "Ana?" Stryker called out to her with concern. She didn't reply, and he quickly glanced at her to see if she was okay. That's when he spoke. With a hoarse, deep voice he spoke only three words to them. "Leave this place." Stryker's gun sights followed him for what seemed like forever as he calmly walked away, back on the path he had been taking before those fine gentlemen had interrupted his travels. Stryker's heart was pounding, and he slowly lowered his weapons as the cloaked stranger got far enough away that he felt the threat was over. He dashed down the side of the dune toward Ana. "Are you okay?" he asked her intently, cupping her chin in the palms of his hands. She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Get me out of these," she pleaded, pulling her arms around the right side of her body. Stryker nodded, getting to his feet and approached the wounded men with his pistols locked and loaded.

Sarovoc's cold, blank stare was fixed intently on Victor as he spun a small computer monitor around. Victor sat at Savoroc's desk with him, legs crossed, arms folded. He quickly glanced at the screen, then at Sarovoc and back at the screen, examining the images of Edge and Ana side by side. His gaze lingered on Ana, and a breath of emotion escaped his steel soul. He knew what Sarovoc would do to her if she was captured, and he decided then and there that she would die during her capture in an unfortunate, and uncontrollable series of events. He'd face the music and dance to the tune of Sarovoc's wrath to spare this girl a much worse, prolonged and despicable fate. For despite his being a cold, ruthless, calculating shell of a man, Victor was capable of compassion, sympathy, and even mercy. "The boy has escaped the city, and whilst we can't say for certain, it's safe to assume she has escaped as well," Sarovoc explained, leaning back in his throne-like office chair. It screamed narcissism, speaking to his deeply seeded aspirations of becoming Emperor, and his delusions of grandeur. "I want them alive, Victor, no screw ups." Victor nodded, blinking slowly. "With the boy, it's personal. The girl, not so much, but she'll make a lovely pet, wouldn't you agree?" "She's a beautiful girl," Victor said with a grin, examining her flawless facial structure and gorgeous blonde hair. "Yes, she'll look even better chained to my bedside," Sarovoc said bluntly, standing up from his chair, walking over to a large window that overlooked the city from the 125th floor of Zenobia Prime. "The boy I want most of all, so make him your priority. We have something to finish. Call it a warrior's vendetta," he continued, gazing out over the city lights and into the horizon. "There is a certain obligation to end a man's life after he tries to take your own." "I wouldn't know," Victor said, glancing to his left at Sarovoc, taking full advantage of his opportunity to rub it in deep. Sarovoc took a deep breath, resisting his violent impulses. "Every team and unit in the army has these photographs, but I can no more rely on them to succeed than I can rely on you to fail," he turned to face Victor, "Correct?" Victor brushed his pant leg off and nodded, matching Sarovoc's gaze. "My team and I will locate these kids, and return them in one piece. But we'll expect payment." Sarovoc's eyes narrowed and a grin masked his anger. He knew what Victor was driving at, because he knew every card in the man's deck. They were cut directly from the same cloth. "We work for the Empire, not Zenobia Prime." "Things can change, old friend, and they can change fast," Sarovoc said blankly, turning back to the window, hands cupped behind his back. Victor's brow tightened and he took a moment of deep thought before shaking the sinister notion for the task at hand. He stood up from his seat. "The kid known as Edge, Leo is already on his trail. He's headed for Odessa. Lyra's flying there to intercept him as we speak. Tank and I will focus on this girl. Ana, you said her name was?" "Beautiful, isn't it?" Victor headed for the door. "We'll be in touch."

Ana followed Stryker through the hot, dusty backstreets of the outer slums. The sun pounded down on the desert city with an unforgiving malice. It was almost high noon, and her leather jacket was becoming more of a burden with each step she took. Stryker was armed to the teeth under his long brown duster. He wore black, fingerless gloves and a pair of round sunglasses. He was so obvious, she wondered how he managed to elude the Zenobian Empire for so long. Then again, she was fairly obvious in that red and black jacket. Everyone around the slums knew Ana. Kids, shop keepers, students and teachers, mailmen, everyone from the south western districts knew her by name, or by her long blonde hair, angelic face, and that trademark leather jacket. Red was a symbol of resistance. It represented the blood of the Zenobian people who died in the last civil war. 134 years ago, the people of the slums rose up against the Emperor, Tyranus Ducrinus, Lucious' great grandfather. They waged war on the core and were slaughtered by the thousands. The war only lasted a few months before the people surrendered, but they have been fighting that war in their hearts ever since. He led her down a series of unfamiliar streets. Even after 21 years of walking these streets, she found areas of the city she had never been before. You see, Zenobia was simply massive. From above, she imagined it looked endless, stretching into the horizon and beyond. there were millions upon millions of residents in Zenobia, only about a million of them registered citizens with rights and privileges like healthcare, the right to vote, speak freely in public, and practice any kind of religious or spiritual beliefs. Those people lived in the core. Residents of the slums were treated as less than human. There were no police here, no firefighters, or government establishments or services of any kind. People had to provide services like hospitals, fire prevention, and other vital functions themselves. But these services are illegal to provide without a license or permit, and only citizens were eligible for them. The only right to service the people of the slums were afforded was the right to trade goods for gil, or other goods. And the government still stuck their nose in, making it as hard as possible for shop owners to make a living and keep their doors open. Murder wasn't even against the law in the slums, unless a citizen was killed by a resident of the slums, or by another citizen. It was a lawless wasteland where people had to band together to protect each other and survive. Some districts were worse than others. Ana was from District 93 which was generally safe and civilized. But others like 98, or 81 were total chaos. The painkillers were working. She felt a little strange, but the pain had lessened to a reasonable degree, and as she worked through the burn, it became easier to walk. Stryker took her by the hand to her surprise and led her down a dark, narrow alleyway between two shanty, poorly constructed buildings. She gazed around the environment with anxiety as she saw old, used condoms, and dirty needles on the ground around her feet. Broken glass and cigarette butts littered the filthy nook of Zenobia's underbelly. The alley gave way into an opening surrounded by abandoned buildings. Stryker brushed his duster aside and let his right hand rest on his six shooter as bums, dregs and junkies watched them wearily as they passed by. The smell alone made Ana sick, but the very appearance of the vagrants startled her senses. She had never been this deep into the filth of Zenobia, although she knew it was there. They passed through a door into a dark, musty and moldy building. He led her down a long corridor. The floor was wet from water dripping from the ceiling. At the end of the corridor, there was a massive hole in the wall that led straight out into the desert. Stryker stopped, letting her hand go. "This is an old passage smugglers and rebels have been using for almost fifty years," he said with a low tone of voice. He led the way slowly, peeking his head out and looking around cautiously. "Zenobian troops might be patrolling the desert, so we have to move fast." Ana swallowed her anxiety like a lump in her throat and followed Stryker out into the light. The desert was sweltering. She could feel the heat radiating off of the sand in waves. The sun's rays glistened off of every grain, straining her eyes. She had never been outside of Zenobia before, and the anxiety she had swallowed forced its way out of her stomach and into her chest, gripping her poor heart with fear. It was real now. She was leaving her home. Her mother. Her little sister. Everything she had come to know and love.