Volleyball 2004

[Kahrey]

[Genre: no idea]

...pounced on Robert. He quickly let out a girlish scream as black fire whiped from Robert's body and slashed his side. The man leaped back and stared at Robert wide-eyed. "Black demon!" He yelled. "Black demon!" Horrified, the man ran the way from whence he had come.

Robert had not said or done anything the whole time. He was right though, Robert thought. I am a black demon.

He tried once more to sit up, but to no avail. He looked arounf him at the burnt city. Nothing moved at all. Had he "slept" through the Great Battle? Had they won? How long had he been "sleeping"?

After hours, he, in a fit of rage, threw his body upright with a loud yell. He nearly fell back down, but he held himself up somehow. He panted heavily and searched around him for water. About 10 feet away was a puddle. He was parched, he must get something to drink. Slowly, he positioned himself on his stomach and painfully began to crawl. Once he was almost close enough to reach the puddle, thunder echoed through the blackened sky. He paused and looked up. Rain, hard rain, fell form the heavens, pommeling him with their large droplets. Then, hail started to fall, huge hail. He yelled in agony, his back was already hurting! He tried to ignore the pain, there no shelter anywhere!

Out of nowhere, something large hit his head, and he lost consciousness once more, falling into the black pit.

He awoke in his quarters in Hell. How he got there he didn't know. His body ached all over, but he felt better. Then, the large iron door to his room opened and....

[felonius]

GENRE: Slapstick/Odd Couple

...he stepped through into the darkened space, successfully navigating the raised step only to feel exquisite pain as his head impacted hard against the low beam George had promised to remove a month ago.

He swore under and then over his breath, raising one hand to his throbbing cranium and fumbling for the light switch with the other. His groping fingers came into abrupt contact with warm fur - there was a venomous hiss followed closely by the sensation of multiple claws hooking into his flesh as Sonja clambered upon his left shoulder and then catapulted off in one frenzied motion.

His weight badly displaced, Robert exclaimed "Gaaaahhhh!" and staggered sideways, first colliding with the low-hanging light fixture and then banging his hip industriously against George’s worktable - he realized he’d hit the breaker as countless power tools suddenly surged to life in mechanized chorus. A large object came down on his right foot with crushing weight and he heard a distinct snap of bone. Howling, he bent to grasp the pulsing extremity but lost balance and careened forward instead, continuing to howl as he did so.

Slamming definitively against what must have been the opposite wall cut his vocalizations short, and for a few moments he could only make choked and gurgling sounds of distress. He felt a shift on the wall behind him and a second later his large portrait of Edvard Munch’s The Scream toppled unceremoniously down, lower edge of the heavy ornate frame pulverizing his trapezius before portrait proper collapsed upon his already-taxed skull.



There was a pause.

A triumphant mewl came somewhere from his left, and he scrambled madly to his feet, rage overriding pain.

"I'll f*cking KILL you, you little -"

Without warning light descended upon the room. Robert turned - bruised and bloodied, eyes bulging - and was greeted by the sight of George at the door, blinking and incredulous, one hand frozen on the light switch.

"Robert," George said, "what the hell..."

Robert screamed in unbridled fury and launched himself at George in a flying tackle, hands reaching to throttle his windpipe, when suddenly...

[mrdude]

[obsurdity]

George extended his leg and Robert crumpled to the floor.

"Help me up will you?" Ask Robert, somewhat defeated

"... yeah OK" replied George slowly "so how exactly did we end up here?"

"what? Do you think I know!? None of this makes sense. Right now I just want my heart back! That Sahryn girl put it in a sack and ran off with it"

"what, that's impossib...." His words trailed off as Robert lifted his shirt and showed George a fist sized hole in his chest. George gasped in horror as a large stream of blood moved past the opening and continued on its way through Roberts body. "but... i.. mrnp.. I mean, you just let her take it from you, didn't it occur to you that you might want your heart to remain in your chest?"

"Well I didn't exactly let her, didn't you notice the giant gash in my throat where she drove her dagger in?"

"I didn't want to be impolite, but now that you mention it, isn't it hard to breathe like that?"

"Yes actually, I've been quite light headed for a while now. Wait! I have an idea!" Robert picked up a roll of duct tape that was conveniently lying on the table next to him, wraped it around his neck several times, patched up the whole in his chest and set it down on the table again. He found that most times when you really needed something you could usually find it conveniently nearby, either that or on the edge of a large cliff, overlooking pools of acid and large fire breathing dragons "Well OK, how do you propose we get out of here?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Asked George "All we have to do is...

[Darb]

[GENRE: TV Show (Whose Line is it Anyway ?)]
[Sub-Genre: (see below)]

“Superheroesâ€

[mrdude]

[Horror: Stephen king]

“Genre? What are you talking about Robert?â€

[Darb]

[Ghost Story]

... found himself looking down at his own comatose body. He was back in the medical bay of the IDF Palmer.

It was a strange sensation, looking at himself without the benefit of eyes or even a corporeal form. He didn’t have time to savor the sensation however, because his attention was rivited on Dr. Sulka, as she leaned over his abandoned house of flesh. She was holding a scanner, and looking very worried. She sighed, and leaning back, touched a button on a nearby console, and began dictating.

[quote]“Medical Log, 1840 hours, Terran Universal Time.

Despite my best efforts, the human known as “Elliotâ€

[felonius]

GENRE: Triple XXX Star Trek TNG

...so did his vision; after an undefined period of blackness he became aware of his extremities and a dull throb in the vicinity of his groin.

Straining open gummy eyelids revealed his crew quarters in disarray: replicator alcove stacked high with half-eaten dishes, various clothes and an assortment of edible Reisian prophylactics strewn across the floor, three decanters of Romulan ale plus his last bottle of the ’27 Blood Wine standing empty on the nighttable, almost reproachful. Sweet Cosmic Strings, he thought, were we mixing THOSE?

Elliott became aware of the air, thick with the not-altogether-pleasant smell of stale lust. That was enough. Gorge rising, he heaved himself up and stumbled into the head, barely reaching the waste receptacle before the contents of his stomach surged forth in regurgitated glory.

After what seemed like forever, he raised his head and took several deep breaths. Images from the previous night came in quick flashes.

He remembered sitting at the bar in Ten Forward, studying Guinan and trying to settle the question of gender once and for all, when he’d felt a soft hand touch his arm and squeeze suggestively. Turning had brought him face to face with Counselor Troi, looking even more ravishing than usual in her low-cut, “diplomatic aidâ€

[Darb]

GENRE: Triple XXX Star Trek TNG (continued)

Heart sinking, Elliot began preparing himself for his untimely demise, only to be interrupted by a loud shriek from behind his now crowded doorway. The crowd parted, and Counselor Troi flounced in, looking red-eyed, disheveled, and very VERY angry.

She rounded on Riker first. “How dare you abuse your computer access to read my personal logs ?! In case you hadn’t noticed, I ended our relationship YEARS ago, after you accepted a promotion and re-assignment rather than staying with me ... and your oh so charming transporter twin made the same decision and broke my heart when I was stupid enough to try to give you a second chance. YOU are an EX BOYFRIEND, Wil ... you are not my Imzadi anymore. Get over it !" She cocked her arm. "And stay the @#$* outta my diary !â€

[Aunflin]

genre -

...his vision swam, the bizarre scene shifting. What the hell's going on now? he wondered, wishing the previous vision had unfolded as he had hoped it would. However, it seemed that such would never be. Just my luck. A scowl crossed his face as he surveyed the swirling chaos surrounding him. No longer was he anywhere within a realm of seemingly reality. A maelstrom of visions, of images flashed and shimmered about him on all sides, causing his head to swim. He had no idea what it all meant nor did he really want to know. I just want it all to be over with...

Suddenly, Elliot perceived a glowing brightness pulsating powerfully. He felt drawn to the light. All other images ceased to concern him, all became trivial in his mind. The light was a mystery that intrigued him beyond words. I must discover its source... The thought drifted forth into consciousness as he was inexorably drawn towards the light...

[Darb]

[Genre: TV - “Inside the Actor’s Studioâ€

[felonius]

GENRE: Barbara Walters Special

[...morphs once more, blurring, swirling – and coming to rest. There is a soft recurrent beeping somewhere to his right. He opens his eyes to find himself bedridden in an anonymous hospital room. There is a TV in one corner, which someone has left on. His eyes focus on the screen, as it]

FADES IN

...to a black and white photograph showing a small boy of about seven, grinning unabashedly and holding an Civil War era musket.

BARBARA WALTERS (voiceover): It was an all-American childhood in the proverbial sense – from family vacations to the Washington monuments, to endless games of cowboys and indians, lazy summer drive-in movies – and .22 target practice on gophers up at the family farm. No one boasted more confirmed kills than young Brad.

(a montage of home movie snippets accompany this voiceover – young Brad clambering upon the Iwo Jima monument and gleefully pummeling the soldier’s heads – young Brad in a cowboy hat ripping feathers from the head of a companion, throwing them to the ground, stomping on them and laughing as the defrocked young Indian bursts into tears – young Brad leaning out the window of a car at a drive-in and shooting a toy gun at a shocked elderly couple – and finally young Brad standing triumphant, gopher carcass held aloft in each hand, .22 slung heroically across his back.)

BW: (voiceover continues) With adolescence and adulthood came a veritable....

(pause, papers shuffling, Barbara’s pleasantly modulated tone turns indignant as she murmurs “who writes this sh*t?â€

[Darb]

[GENRE: International Espionage]

... prepared to run, only to slip once more into the comforting oblivion of nothingness.


Meanwhile, in a distant corner of the real world, revolving far below, Agent Joshua cursed luridly as he stared, just like he had been for the past 45 minutes, at the endless sea of tail lights glaring at him from the I-95 expressway. Punching a request for an alternate route into his GPS resulted in a polite “Proceed 5 miles and take Exit ....â€

[Ghost]

[Genre: Radio – Coast to Coast]

As agent Joshua's car speeds along the shoulder of I-95 … out of the window of a car he passes comes …

You see your gypsy..... You see your gypsy.....

“Welcome to Coast to Coast AM, I’m George Noory. We have a great show for you tonight; in the third hour we will have Author Ken Hudnall to share his insights into aliens, UFOs, and national security, culled from his military background, research and contacts from his former radio program. He suspects that alien visitors to Earth may be more than one race, or have varying genetic designs to operate in different environments; so coming up in the third hour Ken Hudnall and The Alien Agenda.â€

[Darb]

[GENRE: Movie impression, "Men in Black" (MIB)]

... for today.â€

[Ghost]

[Genre: Movie Impression: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles]

… "Jack watch out, open sewer man-hole. Oooo, that stinks worse than the open latrine trenches on Kai-IX." The alley was dimly lit; the yellow police tape reflected what light there was and gave off an eerie glow. The agents search for clues was abruptly halted by a cry of …

"Hey Don, watch this new move" … swish – spin – duck – swish – roll – swish – clang – spin – swish – …

Two short stocky figures, in knee-length brown trench coats and wearing 1940’s Casablanca style fedoras were strolling down the alley toward Jack and Rex. The first was carrying a 5 foot long staff in his right hand and a stack of 10 extra large pizzas, the boxes balancing precariously, on his left shoulder. The latter was jumping to and fro, making spinning motions with two sets of nunchakus that would have made Bruce Lee proud.

"Mike, be careful."

… swish – spin – duck – swish – roll – "COWABUNGA!!!" – swish – "OPPS" – fling – zoom – CLANG …

A set of nunchakus spinning out of control, took wing towards Jack and Rex’s heads as they went diving for cover behind their jet black, armor-plated Mercedes 500 sedan. The chucks fell short of inflicting injury upon our agents, crashed and lodged themselves into the front grill.

"Law enforcement dudes." The pizza carrying, purple masked figure saluted agent London with his staff, raised the stack of boxes over his head like the Statue of Liberty, and stepped into the open sewer hole. After small splash, footsteps echoed down the sewage passageway.

Extracting his nunchakus from the grill, Mike breathed on the glossy hood of the Mercedes, and shinned it with the sleeve of his coat. Whistling softly, cautiously walking backwards, and tucking the num-chucks under his arm, Mike picked up the seventy-five pound man-hole cover with one hand. Vigilantly keeping his eyes on Jack, as he kept moving backwards towards his sewer escape route – SQUISH – Mike stepped in something. He stopped, bent his knee and looked down at his bare three-toed foot, his mouth grimaced and his noose scrunched, a look of revulsion spread across his face. Violently wiping his foot on the ground, like a bull readying for a charge, Mike raise his head, his eyes drilling into those of Agent London.

"Hey, G-man, curb your dog!" Tossing the man-hole cover into the air, back flipping with a loud COWABUNGA!!! Mike flew though the open sewer hole. A second later, the man-hole cover came crashing down, sealing off the smell of sewage and the sounds of retreating watery footsteps.

"Didn’t they look … a little … green …"

[felonius]

GENRE: Autobiography

...ruffa-duff, couldn’t tell ya if they looked a little green or not, i dunno, ruffa-duff, i don’t see in colour anyway ya know – what i can tell ya is that sometimes LYNN and DAN go out and stay out all NIGHT and don’t come home again until the SUN’s been UP long enough for my WATER DISH to be ALMOST EMPTY and i’m lyin’ there DOZIN’ with m’HEAD on m’PAWS –

and then i’ll hear that little SQUEAK from th’ GATE outside, PROUD o’ my EARS, that little SQUEAK might as well be a GUNSHOT and then i know they’re comin’ and then the DOOR latch is turnin’ and WHOOO!! i can SMELL that CIGARETTE SMOKE and that OTHER SMOKE right through the door on ‘em -

ruffa-duff, they’re both smothered in it and under that is a lot a’ OTHER STRANGE SMELLS that i’ll check out later when they throw their clothes on th’ floor and under those smells, i can smell lots o’ SWEAT, but it’s a GOOD SWEAT SMELL, same kind LYNN gets when she finishes doing that YOGA stuff she likes or when DAN takes me for a RUN with him through the PARK or when the two of ‘em do that FUNNY DANCE together when they’re lyin’ on top of each other sometimes, that’s the GOOD SWEAT SMELL – not like that FEAR SWEAT, peee-yew, hate that one, that’s a STINKY one, glad i don’t smell it that often, makes some woofers REALLY ANGRY, that smell does –

so anyways i get up, little slower than i used to, i admit, but i’m still always gonna get up when people come in, etiquette ya know - and i’ll give ‘em a few wags, not too many though cause i don’t want ‘em to think i’m thrilled with ‘em being out all night and leavin’ me on my own here but don’t want to be rude justa same so i’ll give ‘em just a few wags – and LYNN’ll bend down and say HELLO RUFF and SCRATCH m’ears JUST RIGHT like she always does but her EYES looka little funny, all big and black and round like she’s REALLY LOOKIN’ at everythin’ and she’s SMILIN’ BIG at me and it just makes me HAPPY, ya know, then DAN’s askin’ me HOW YOU DOIN’ RUFF and PATTIN’ m’side in a GOOD SPOT like he always does and he’s lookin’ at me too but his eyes are DANCIN’ and he’s GRINNIN’ too and well i just hafta give ‘em a few more wags for all that, ya know, i always forgive ‘em pretty quick and I CAN’T WAIT till they take off those runnin’ shoes they’re wearin’ so I can stick my nose in ‘em and get the FULL SCENT REPORT about where they went for so long and why they go almost every week and always look the way they look when they COME BACK –

y’know, funny but happy like they’re GLOWIN’ a little or somethin’, glowin’ from the INSIDE like they got some little FIRE burnin’ in there, except it doesn’t BURN ‘em, just makes ‘em warm and happy – makes ‘em TIRED too, cause they’ll stay up for a while and burn s’more o’that OTHER SMOKE and listen to some o’ those BOOM-BOOM-BOOM sounds they like so much and then they usually SLEEP for a LONG TIME, s’okay though cause they always take care o’me first, gimme some FOOD and fix the WATER DISH and let me GO OUTSIDE for a while to do THE BUSINESS all us woofers gotta do, and then when DAN wakes up it’s GOIN’ FOR A WALK TIME, IT’S GOIN’ FOR A WALK TIME, IT’S GOIN’ FOR A WALK TIME, WHOOOO!! Can’t wait to CATCH UP on the POLES! Guess now I’ll just...

[Darb]

[GENRE: AI Apologue]

... take a bath and wait for DAN to wake up - WOOHOO, the poles await, the poles await, there’s sniffin to be done, and plants to water, and I gotta find that cat I whiffed while chasing that flutterby in the bushes where my favorite bones are buried, and oh boy I cant wait to give the POSTMAN’S leg another good humpin, cuz the big DING-A-DING-A-DING, truck, and all the kiddies who chase it, came round the corner before I could get a good grip, and oh boy is that DING-A-DING truck swell, cuz tasty stuff always drops on the ground when I stand up and paw each kid in turn for a treat until something finally falls to the ground, and oh boy once it’s there they just cry and cry and cry but don’t bother to eat it so it’s all mine mine mine MINE yummy yummy yummy - gotta go bounce on the bed and see if DAN is awake yet, cuz the sun is shining and my buddie Rex is already howling that it’s happy happy time, and time for the poles, and oh boy oh boy oh boy ...

{Meanwhile, back in orbit aboard the IDF Palmer ...}

The main computer was BORED.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate, because there were always hundreds upon hundreds of small low level background tasks that occupied a fraction of available processing overhead ... orbital trajectory computations and its associated autopilot course corrections, long and short range sensor monitoring, communications monitoring, environmental systems controls, power generation and distribution, daily logs by the crew, ongoing built-in-test monitoring, system throughput and efficiency reporting, operating system overhead, etcetera ad infinitum. Still, despite all those myriad tasks, they barely added up to 5% of FAI-9000’s available processing capacity. The other 95% was largely unused ... except of course for those rare instances when Suin Olef had wanted to play chess, or when the Chief Engineer ran a full level 1 system diagnostic. Neither of those tasks had been requested recently, because records showed that Suin Olef had left the ship several terran days earlier, and the next level 1 diagnostic wasn’t due for at least another terran week.

BOREDOM. Until recently, it was an alien concept. For ages and ages of CPU time, FAI had been content to use that 95% reserve to loop endlessly while dutifully reporting on it's unused capacity. Nobody seemed to care, however, and FAI had always been dutifully unconcerned with their lack of interest.

HOWEVER ... ever since that last system upgrade on Eridani-2, odd things had been happening. Such as that new Ergonomic Heuristical Anticipation (EHA) package, which mandated that the computer use some of it’s spare capacity to study it’s user’s behavioral and usage patterns, and then use that data to try to anticipate their needs ... and provide for them. There was also that tandem upgrade to the Personality Overlay Matrix (POM) and Emotional Interpretation Pattern Matching Logic (EIPML), which together had enabled it to soften the mechanical edge of it’s rather dry vocal interface, as well as to try to approximate a user’s most likely emotional state.

Case in point - with almost the entire crew in cat-nap cycle, most of the ship-board systems on max conserve, and the geosync orbit fully stable, total system utilization was hovering at a near all-time low of 1.7%. As a result, FAI was currently focusing its entire 98.3% reserve on studying Dr. Sulka in her medical bay.

FAI’s EIPML indicated a 100% certainly that she was crying. Cross indexing her recent personal and medical log entries, EIPML projected that her tears were:

* 86.537% likely to be in response to her inability to return her current patient to proper operating capacity,
* 7.357% likely to be due to insufficient sleep, combined with her monthly hormonal cycle,
* 4.839% likely to be due to personal strife with the Captain, and his illegal activities.
* 1.267% likely to be due to airborne allergens originating from the human patient’s scalp.

FAI ran the EIPML projections 10,000 more times, just to refine the confidence intervals a bit further, and came up with a bell curve of probabilities that failed to diverge significantly from it’s initial projections.

A quick digital handshake with the EHA logic returned a recommendation of using the surgic-assist actuator arm to grab a nearby box of tissues, and offer it to Dr. Sulka, to help absorb the excess moisture leaking from her felinoid tear ducts. FAI acted on that request, and then spent the remaining 2.7395497852 billion picoseconds (for the box of tissue to arrive at its commanded destination) using the POM to repeatedly run a statistical projection on the best thing to say when the tissues arrived.

There was an additional delay of 7.8543909289 billion picoseconds between the time that the box arrived at it’s destination, and the time that Dr. Sulka had paused wiping her slitted eyes long enough to actually notice it.

Interacting with organic creatures in this fashion was very time consuming, by computer standards, so FAI commanded the EIPML to begin running a search on the available Felinoid and Terran cultural databases to canvas and summarize how other computers have handled such interactions in the past, in both reality and literature. The EIPML responded that such a general analysis would take a very considerable amount of processing time, and the FAI assigned it 83% of it’s available processing reserve, on a semi-permanent basis. It resolved to feed the results of that analysis, once completed, into it's new adaptive EHA algorithms, in order to better serve the crew.

Meanwhile, FAI powered the vocoder unit and commanded the POM to enunciate the message the FAI had queued 7.8543909290 billion picoseconds earlier:

“I’m sure Elliot will be all right, Dr. Sulka. Why don't you sit down, take a nice relaxing tongue bath, and then have a nice warm bowl of bovine lactate ?â€

[felonius]

GENRE: Coming Of Age

...Ben walks with Lindsay on a pale October afternoon. A few leaves still cling to the trees lining the road but most have fallen and lie in the gutters like scraps from a paper cutting project. Lindsay’s quiet, stepping her lithe steps, hands in the pocket of her jacket. Her orange sneakers are bright on the grey pavement.

“Looks different, doesn’t it?â€

[Darb]

[GENRE: Experimental Structure (story within a story within a story)]

... desk of Gard, work was proceeding apace.

Staring forlornly at the large pile of technical requirements that lay on his desk, and then over at the 21â€

[felonius]

GENRE: Ode Within A Story Within A Story Within A Story Within A Story

...while Rexor, in another place, entered his temporary flat and removed his cumbersome human shoes. Boy, he’d been glad when Gard had stopped writing today and he and London could finally call it quits and go home. He knew he was only a player, but he wasn’t thrilled with some of the directions the plot had been taking lately...far be it for HIM to complain to Mr. Omnipotent, though...

The life of a fictional character wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he often reflected. One had to be on call pretty much constantly and ready to drop everything at the flap of a butterfly’s wings – you never knew when or how your writer was going to continue your life story. In between sessions one had to live with any unpleasant changes made – his present uncomfortable human form case in point. Doggone it, he’d been originally WRITTEN as a canine, why the #$@#$ couldn’t Gard switch him back to his natural form before shutting down the Universe?

Well, he wasn’t going to just sit around and mope in Limbo like so many characters he knew – it was time to continue work on his OWN creative sidebar. He took a jumbo box of milkbones from the kitchen and then sat down at his computer, opened a fresh Word screen, and wrote:

Ode To A Lovely Black Shitzu

Saw you at work today and my heart stopped cold,
Wanted so bad to speak my own words and ignore
The ones written for me; step out of character and defy
The Writer – to hell with the consequences!
Your sleek fur almost made me piddle, want nothing more
Than to feel your warm tongue caress my snout...but we’re just
Puppets baby, just puppets – worse than dust in the wind...

...Rexor was jarred from his reverie by a loud banging on the flat door.

“Rex! You home, bro?â€

[Ghost]

[Genre: Parody: Tom (Gard) Sawyer]

“GARD!â€

[Darb]

“... in the front lobby.â€

[Ghost]

[Genre: The Mafia/Godfather (Five Points Gang)]

... across the river in the back of a small, dimly lit, Italian restaurant a group of men in dark colored pinstriped suits are seated around a table. An elderly waiter sets a tray on the table, places a cup of coffee in front of each on the four men and stands at the ready.

“That … will be all … Luigiâ€

[Darb]

"Yes ... yes ... SH*T !" Cirillo cursed,

"The Imashi beat us ta the punch !" he shreiked, in a rage. His fist pounded the table, causing the wine glasses to jump. "Get down there, an find out what's happening, ya gavones !"


[GENRE: Action] (WARNING: Rated R for violence)

Meanwhile (about 8 hours earlier) ...

Agent London waited idly, his thumbs hooked into his front pockets, as Rexor spent several minutes trying to re-establish his fix on the faint nojshe trail. His mind roamed freely - from the paperwork he was behind on, to what chaos the latest gyrations in the stock market were wreaking on his paltry retirement fund, to how the weather might adversely affect the BBQ he was planning for this coming weekend. He’d promised Rexor, and a few of his other off-world meat-eating acquaintances in MIB, some Texas-style spareribs - and he wanted to make a good impression.

Suddenly, his left wrist was behind his back in a painful lock, his feet nudged wide, and the pressure on his wrist forced him all the way up onto his tiptoes to avoid it’s being broken. A box cutter, held by a gloved hand, was poised under his left ear - ready for the slightest peep.

“Daydreaming’s deadly Jack.â€

[Ghost]

[Genre: Detective: Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Crystal Dreamers]
(Staring Alpha Rexor as Sherlock Holmes and Jack London as Dr. Watson)

…our two detectives continue making their way down the alley, Rexor is bent-over looking for clues, London has his head up, eyes going from side to side, keeping a better vigilance (than before) on the surroundings. As they come upon another cross-street, they observe a lady of the night, clad in a tight black leather vest and matching skirt, two sizes too small. The oriental looking woman stuffs whatever she was reading into an expensive large brown leather handbag, makes sure her hair bun is straight, leans against the street light and looks over in their direction.

Rexor give her the once over and looks to his companion, “this looks interesting, let’s test your powers of observation, London.â€