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[Ragitsu]

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moz-screenshot-38.png

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A harmful truth is better than a useful lie

 

- Thomas Mann.

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[Certified]

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Career: Antiquities Dealer 3 BG: History Major 3 Education 2

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Porterhouse Steak

[Cancer]

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http://www.ee.oulu.fi/~skidi/WEFS/Current%20Season/Week%20%2330%20Stuff/Week%20%2330%20Elite%20Results

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You all manage to make it across the street and set yourselves and your belongings down some 20 to 25 meters from the circle at the intersection of City Road and St. Mary's Place. Other than a limited amount of grass or concrete at ground level, there is a small stone wall on which you can sit. There are several small stores here. Very shortly after you settle in, an armored vehicle perhaps just a little larger than an automobile on Home reaches the circle and heads counterclockwise around it.

 

Small armored vehicle

 

It is traveling with no lights illuminated, and is being guided by a driver who sits half exposed... his chest and head protruding from the top of the chassis through a small hatch in the front of the vehicle. Even this close, the vehicle and its driver are mere silouettes against the distant sky as it makes it through the first quarter of the circle. To your dismay, it does not turn away from you, but continues to move about the circle. If it continues another 90 degrees farther, it will be heading directly for your position.

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Locating The Target

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The Other Guys

[Cancer]

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La Niña

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Swearing within.

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http://img828.imageshack.us/img828/1294/facebookpage.jpg

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Originally Posted by B125

Callous: You are merciless, if not cruel.

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Brawling, absolute value of Bulk adds to damage.

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They Are All Windows

 

 

 

 

 

Everything pointed to a suicide. The guy had somehow gotten hold of a knife and used it to cut out his own eyes. Where the knife had come from would probably always been a mystery, since he had bled to death before anyone found him. He had stuffed a rag down his own throat to keep himself from screaming. The only thing that he had not destroyed prior to taking his own life was a small journal. Doctor Coleson picked up the tattered spiral notebook and began to read…

 

 

 

The day started out beautifully. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and all was well with the world. His day looked like it couldn’t do anything but get better, until his reflection winked at him. It was a subtle thing and he wasn’t even sure that he saw it. The idea that it wasn’t real did not make it any better. He did not want to start the day with a hallucination.

 

 

 

He stood there, toothpaste oozing from the tube he was holding in a white-knuckled death grip as he stared at the mirror. Such things did not happen. It was not to be allowed. The sanity of his routine was not to be disrupted by the impossible. Besides, he could not afford to take time off for insanity. His clients would all leave if he missed as much work as a mental illness was likely to require. Worse, he was almost sure he remembered reading somewhere that visual hallucinations were signs of a brain tumor. So, this could not be allowed to happen. It could not be happening, therefore, it was not. He dropped the toothpaste into the sink and went to work.

 

 

 

This did not happen at work. His reflected double did nothing outside its normal routine. It followed his motions and made no moves on its own. Things were back to normal. Things were starting to run together into a grey blur. The haze of boring routine settled over his life again. He had never been happier.

 

 

 

When he got home that afternoon, he went to his computer. This made him slightly uncomfortable. This was not what he did when he got home. He always took a shower right after work. Why he was not doing it was pretty obvious. He did not want to go into the bathroom. He could feel it, like an oppressive presence in his home. He sat down in front of his computer. The plastic bound leather squeaked loudly as he sat down. He opened the cabinet and pushed the on button. He opened his internet browser. He was glad he never turned on the speakers so that he did not have to listen to the insipid greetings that all internet service providers seemed to love so much.

 

 

 

He opened his inbox and deleted all the junk e-mail, birthday cards, and jokes from his friends. He had never understood why people wasted their time with such things. Sometimes, he felt like the only efficient human being on the planet. Other people never seemed to get their priorities right. They wasted their time on jokes and games. Well, not him. He was rational. A tiny traitor voice in his subconscious informed him that rational people are not afraid of the bathroom. He told the voice to shut the Hell up.

 

 

 

After a few hours of avoiding the bathroom, he knew the time had come to face his fears. He had to venture into the bathroom and prove to himself that it was stupid to be afraid of a mirror. He paused at the door into the bathroom. He reached for the light switch, his hand crawling like a spider over the unseen wallpaper. He panicked when he could not find the switch. He felt his heart beating faster and faster. Then, he calmed down as he realized that he was looking about three inches above the missing light switch. He found it and light flooded the bathroom.

 

 

 

The light revealed the small room. The green wallpaper he’d never like glistened with the perpetual humidity of the room. He caught the faint smell of the mildew he was always saying he would clean up. There was a faint drone from the fan in the roof and a faint drip in the sink. That was it. There was no ominous sign. No bloody handprint on the wall. There was none of the cheap crap that bad horror movies relied on to scare the easily frightened, yet he knew that something was wrong.

 

 

 

Then he saw it. He knew why he hadn’t seen it when he’d come in. He had been looking for something big. What he’d seen was so small, so subtle that he almost hadn’t seen it. It was the mirror. The frameless pane of glass against the wall above the sink and toilet. On his side of the mirror, everything was normal. The leaky faucet in the cheap, faux wood cabinet was just the same as it had ever been. On the other side of the mirror, the sink was stoppered and turned on. The water had filled the basin and was flowing onto the floor. He backed slowly out of the room. He closed the door with a thump that spoke of the finality of the action. He would be using the guest bathroom from now on.

 

He woke up the next morning feeling ridiculous about what he’d done the night before. This was not rational. He’d imagined some things and let his imagination scare him into acting like an idiot. He would have to deal with this. He called in sick to work.

 

 

 

The problem was, he had no idea how to deal with the problem, or even what the problem was. He had no way to deal with a magic mirror and no way to find out anything about them. Oh, so now its magic, is it? The voice in his head was taking pleasure in tormenting him. It can’t be as simple as you going insane, can it? No, you don’t want to deal with that, so the problem must be in the mirror. The voice suddenly turned helpful. Well, you know what comes next. You have to go back in there. Better take a weapon in case the big bad reflection tries to eat you.

 

 

 

Feeling very stupid, he opened the door to the garage and stepped through. The place had taken on sinister qualities that it had never before possessed. His own footsteps echoed with a hollow sound that unsettled him. Every shadow that flickered in the light from the kitchen became an assailant lurking under his car, behind his toolbox, or above the still opened garage door. He turned on the light and walked slowly to his car. He opened his trunk and pulled out the slightly rusty tire iron. He swung it back and forth in a slow arc. He found its weight reassuring.

 

 

 

He glanced in the car’s rearview mirror to make sure that there was nothing wrong with it. It showed the dark room with perfect clarity. He realized, several seconds later that the garage light had chased the darkness back into the spider haunted corners on this side. Know what else? His internal voice taunted. The kitchen lights were flickering when you came in here. Electric lights don’t flicker like that. That was torchlight. He was alarmed by that thought, but he did not know what to do with it. He had to get back to the bathroom. It had started there. That would be where the solution must be.

 

 

 

He moved quickly back into the kitchen. He paused only long enough to close and lock the door into the garage. He moved slowly toward the hallway on the other side of the kitchen. Halfway across the tiled floor, he spotted the mirror in the living room. He crept into the living room, sweeping the tire iron back and forth, not quite sure what he expected to use the weapon on. He looked at the mirror, ready to look away at a moment’s notice. He was too late.

 

There wasn’t a whole lot of difference in the other living room, the one in the mirror, from the one he was standing in. The same furniture was there, the same desk, the same computer, and the same grandfather clock. There was however, one big difference. Someone had taken the can of red paint out of the garage and painted a message on the carpet. The message simply said, “Someone help me!” It was written on the carpet on the other side of the mirror, but not on his side.

 

 

 

The only sound in the room was the hollow ticking of the clock. It became a blade, slicing precious seconds off his life. He could feel the presence of the bathroom pressing on his mind and heart. It was there that the problem began and there that it must be solved. He moved back into the kitchen. Just five feet to the hallway at the back of the house, and yet it felt like crossing miles of linoleum covered desert. The tire iron was creating a bruise in the palm of his hand; he was holding it so tight.

 

 

 

A few more steps brought him to the door of his bedroom. He swung his body through the doorway and flattened himself against the wall. The light from the fish tank turned the room into a place every bit as alien as the bottom of the sea. The floor was covered with lurking creatures. One of them attacked him, wrapping around his legs and sending him crashing to the floor. His face hit the floor, blood erupting from his nose. He thrashed and screamed to get away from the clinging creature. It held on tight.

 

 

 

Seconds later, he saw that he’d been assaulted by a pile of dirty laundry. He sat there, laughing and feeling stupid. He’d nearly had a heart attack over a pile of unwashed tee shirts?

 

 

 

He got back up and headed into the bathroom. He stood in the silent room in the cool darkness and waited to get his courage back. He stood there in the dark for an eternity, listening to the thud of his own heart. Then, his hand found the light switch. Light flooded the room.

 

 

 

He didn’t have to look this time to see what was different. In the mirror, he was dead. His reflection was pinned to the wall of the bathroom with knives, scissors, hedge clippers, forks, and nails. It had stopped bleeding, so it must have been there for a while. It still moved a little, twitching lazily as if it still had some hope of escape. At its feet lay a crimson pool of congealing life. He screamed. He remembered no more that night.

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Coleson shuddered as he put away the diary. They’d found the patient hiding in a closet in his house. Every reflective surface in the house had been shattered or covered with paint so that they could no longer show an image. The patient had always claimed to have no reflection and would not allow himself to be taken near any mirrors. He claimed that he was dead in the mirror world. The last entry in the journal was not very long. It recorded the patient’s decision to take his own life. A decision, he’d written, that he’d made because he’s seen his shadow waving at him…

[Certified]

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Michael Rooker

[Ragitsu]

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"Not yet," says Bodie. "These grenades are armed; they can't be removed from the device without going off. We have to carry the whole thing back to the cave and set them off so no-one else stumbles on this thing an' gets killed. Then we call Hite." He looks at Greg. "An' someone needs ta stay here and keep an eye out for Hite."

 

He examines the device to see if he can detach the radio without damaging its function.

[Ragitsu]

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Dai and the Professor sat at the bar and watched the brawl. Only three Gestapo officers remained standing. The night club was littered with broken tables and the unconscious bodies of Nazi troops.

 

“I hear that Skorzeny has put together another team,” commented the Professor between puffs of his pipe.

 

“Resources are certainly stretched to the limit, more hands are always welcome,” Dai winced involuntarily as Sora delivered a jump kick to the face of Strumbannfuhrer von Breckenheit knocking him back into the large potted plant against the wall.

 

“Yes,” the Professor agreed, “but the haste at which these last few groups have been brought up. I wonder if they’ll be ready to face the Cosmic Entities that lurk just beyond our perception, let alone the esoteric complexities of Homeline politics!”

 

“Headley, it wasn’t all that long ago…”

 

“Gun!” the two men at the bar call out in unison.

 

Sora spins while readying her tonfa and as the Nazi takes aim she closes on him with lighting speed and disarms him.

 

“As I was saying,” Dai continues after draining the glass of root beer, “it wasn’t that long ago I was a common thief on the streets of Tredroy, and I’ve adapted just fine.” He fast-draws a knife from the sheath at his hip with his free hand and hurls it at the final Gestapo officer lodging it deep in the man’s throat.

 

Sora glares at Dai as the diminutive thief walks over to retrieve his knife, wiping the blood on the man’s uniform, “What?” he asks defensively, “I finished my soda and anyway its time to go. I’m sure this new team will be great. You ever known Skorzeny to be wrong?”

[Ragitsu]

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Please send me your address, day & time to pick up

[Ragitsu]

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Thank you.

[Clonus]

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[RED] Godlike

[Ragitsu]

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpEpUBnfdKg

[Ragitsu]

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Kannagi Nagi