Shades of Justice: Page 45

After six hours of sleep, six sodas and six toaster pastries, Warren found himself on the bus headed to QQPewPew. He didn't really know what else to do with his free time.

He entered the mall through the food court and made his way down the hall to QQPewPew. He could see from a ways off that most of the screens were running the same match of the same game, which mean that there was a tournament of something playing. He got closer to the store and realized it was Heroes Guard. A team based, field control, character focused, First Person Shooter.

He walked into the store and move around and in between the audience, he stopped at Arthur's desk where Arthur was uncharacteristically watching the match rather than playing on his Gameboy. 

Arthur held his fist out and Warren bumped it. "Who's playing?" Warren asked.

"Scrubkings versus Fat Sami" Arthur replied without looking away from the match. 

Warren watched the match for a moment. The commentator camera was floating above the center of the arena and Turtle Soup was on a three kill streak effectively blocking the choke point allowing Falsetto to gain much needed distance to the goal.

Arthur pointed to the father and son that Warren had introduced himself to the last time he had been at the store. "You're friends are sitting right there. if you feel like saying hi after this point I'm sure they'd enjoy seeing you." He waved Warren off as Falsetto scored the point for his team and the match field reset to cheers and groans from the audience.

Warren made is way through the crowd over to the chairs where the father and son were sitting, kneeling down behind them as the commentators laid out the current game state. "Hey Frankie" Warren said almost had to shout. Frankie and his father turned around. "Who's winning?" He asked with a smile.

Frankie's eyes got wide and he smiled from ear to ear. "Warren!" he shouted into Warren's face.

"With the rest timer hitting ten seconds, it's looking more and more like this is Fat Sami's game to win unless the Scrubkings can figure out a way to neutralize Turtle Soup who has been playing at the top of his game today John." The first announcers voice oppressively filled the room.

"Don't count Scrubkings out yet Tory, Duster and Burnt Toast are both clutch players that have incredible records coming from behind to win not just matches, but entire tournaments for the Scubkings. These guys didn't make it to worlds on accident."

"Absolutely John, Well ladies and gentlemen the round has reset and we've gotten green lights from both Scrubkings and Fat Sami to begin round four."

The screen flashed from the commentators to the game area again as Warren, Frankie and his dad turned their attention to the match.

After the game had finished the three of them decided to have lunch in the food court before the afternoon matches got started. Frankie was almost coming out of his skin he was so excited. "How did you get started as a pro gamer?" he asked.

His father leaned over a little. "Frankie you don't need to bombard him with questions all the time." 

Frankie nodded. "Sorry."

Warren shook his head. "It's fine, I promise." He said with a smile. "I actually got really sick the summer before last and had a long recovery time. I was playing MS a lot because my parents cause it had been a birthday present. The end of that summer there was a pro qualifier tournament and I got notice that my player score was high enough to go. I told my mom that I wanted to at least try and so I basically took over my parents computer and practiced like crazy. My parents took me to the tournament and I came in somewhere in the low twenties out of the almost two hundred that showed up for the event. I even played a match that was streamed online. I made about three hundred for my placement and had my entry into fall qualifiers covered by the company. just like everyone else in the top fifty. I was hooked. Placed 8th at fall qualifiers, my parents wanted their computer back so I used part of my prize money to buy myself a laptop and never looked back." Warren explained.

Frankie nodded. and poked at his hot dog. "So why'd you quit?" He asked nervously.

Warren wiggled the straw in his drink for a second. "Because as much as I love gaming, I had some responsibilities come up that were more important. and unfortunately taking care of those responsibilities mean I had to put my gaming career on pause for a little while." He said sadly.

Frankie nodded again. "But you want to come back?" He asked.

Warren nodded. "Very much so, I hope when I do come back that the game hasn't passed me by yet." He said.

Frankie lit up."You're so good though! can't you keep practicing in your free time?" He almost shouted.

Warren smiled. "We'll see about that." he pointed at Frankie. "What about you? You going to stay a spectator or do you want to be a player?" he asked with a grin.

Frankie blushed and nodded to his dad. "I'm not nearly good enough." He replied.

His dad rustled his hair. "He's good enough to beat the pants off of me in every single game we've ever played. He's said he'd like to try for Heroes Guard when he gets old enough." His dad added.

Frankie looked shocked. "You said only if I kept my grades up, when I actually got to a grade that gave grades." He laughed.

His father nodded. "And that's still true. If trying out for a pro spot is something you want to do and you can balance it with school then I'll do what ever I can to help you son." His father smiled.

Warren finished his soda. smiling at the pair across the table from him. "Thanks for having lunch with me today." He thank them.

Frankie laughed. "You're thanking us!" He said in shock. "My friends at school still won't believe that I've meet you!" He couldn't keep his voice down.

Warren laughed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "How about a picture then?" He said.

Frankie was forcing himself not to vibrate into a different universe in excitement. "DAD, DAD, DAD," He shoved his own phone into his dad's fumbling hands as he jumped out of his chair and scrambled around the table. "take the picture dad!" He laughed as he stood next to Warren and they fist bumped and his father took awkwardly framed photo after awkwardly framed photo.

 

Shades of Justice: Page 44

Gordon arrived in the kitchen of his parents home. his phone said it was about ten in the morning on Tuesday but he was so tired that it didn't mean anything to his mind. He heated up two toaster waffles and ate them without thinking about it. withing fifteen minutes of getting home had kicked off his shoes and passed on on his bed.

He shot awake like a gun had gone off. His room was dark. the glasses in the pocket of his Letterman jacket were dark as well and had no messages waiting for him when he put them on. His phone said it was 5:30pm. He went downstairs and found his parents already home and going about their usual evening routines.

His mother was in the kitchen making something sweet for one charity or another. She had changed out of her business attire into old sweats and gotten right back to work. She saw him out of corner of her eye as she was pouring melted chocolate from a pot into a pan to cool. "Gordon, Your coach called today, he says you quit football." She said with most of her attention on the chocolate.

Gordon nodded. "I uh, I don't know, school's gotten pretty intense this year and football just isn't as fulfilling as it used to be, I guess." He fumbled.

His father came into the kitchen. "School and your grades is the most important thing son, but you also made a commitment to your team, and you don't learn anything about personal responsibility when you just give up on a commitment you've made because its no longer fun or entertaining. The coach and your teammates need to know they can count on you son." 

His father's lecture got under his skin. "And who am I supposed to count on Dad? And why does anyone have to count on anyone, it's a below average high school sport in a below average town, full of below average nobodies. It's not war Dad, its sports and in the long run if high school football is the reason I learned the be accountable for my commitments then you were pretty shitty parents." He snapped as he stomped out the kitchen and then the front door of the house.

He wandered for almost an hour and found himself led by the sounds of the football game being played at the high school. he was on the far side of the perimeter fence. His old team was ahead by a touchdown. He sat and watched the rest of the game, an easy victory, he never would have even stepped on the field had he still been on the team.

As everyone filed out of the stadium he made his way around to the entrance and slowly fought through the crowds. Once he was inside he made his way back to the locker room and ran into the coach as he was leaving the locker room having just given his post game speech.  He didn't seem surprised or angry. "Mr. Jones. Good to see you." He offered.

Gordon nodded. "I just wanted to come by and thank you for checking up on me with my parents. I know it wasn't the best way to quit the team but I gotta focus on school this year." He explained.

The coach nodded. "You know that excuse is only gonna fly until your report card comes out, the D's and F's are gonna knock it right out of the sky." He sighed. "You wanna maybe try the truth this time?" he asked. Gordon shook his head. "Is it drugs?" The coach asked. Gordon shook his head again. "Peer pressure?" he tried again. "You running with a dangerous crowd?" He dug a little deeper. 

Gordon looked down the hall at the patch of field he could see. "Maybe, but their dangerous for the right reason's." He explained.

The coach nodded. "Your parents ok with bailing you out of jail?" he asked again, no coldly, not judgmentally, just asking sincerely. 

Gordon shook his head.  "No, but jail is the last place I'll end up." he said flatly with huff.

The coach nodded. "The coffin is worse." He offered.

Gordon nodded. "How come you're so calm about this?" he asked.

The coach leaned against the cement block wall. "Because after seventeen years I've learned to spot the determined ones. I rarely know what their determined to do, but determination always looks the same, you guys wear your honor stapled to your chest and run breast first into the world like you're immortal." He sighed. "Once I spot the determined ones, its just a matter of clearing the road ahead for them as best I can before their gone." he got up off the wall. "So, you need the road cleared, you just let me know. You may not be on the team, but as long as you're a student, I'm your teacher." he said before patting him heavily on the shoulder and heading out to the field.

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Shades of Justice: page 43

Mark saw the weariness in the other Shades, looked to Sonya on the bed with Dante at her side. He cleared his throat. "Technarious, these kids have been fighting for weeks now with little to no training. No other team has done more with less than they have. I think they need a break." He pointed out.

Technarious looked at each of them and realized Mark was right. He nodded. "You have all been doing the very best that you could given your circumstances. You've fought hard and the Earth has fared well under your protection." They all stood a little taller despite their weariness. "You've won some big victories, but we've got a long way left to go, and we're not getting their with you guys soul weary and bone tired." They all nodded quietly. "Take what time you can. Barring emergencies I'll see you all in a week for training." several of them moved to protest. "Don't even start. Your next mission is defeating exhaustion, no go!" He demanded. Everyone but Dante, Sonya and Mark nodded and teleported out of the command center.

Mark look to Dante. "You can get going too. She's going to be there for a while." He assured him,

Dante shook his head. "I'm staying here. I haven't been very supportive since this whole mess got started, she's going to see me here when she wakes up." He declared.

Mark nodded. "Admirable. but she's going to be out for at least another day or two based on the sedatives, when was the last time you slept?" He asked.

Dante shrugged. "What day is it?" He asked. Looking around the command center at the lack of clocks, calendars, and windows.

Mark nodded. "It's Dante takes a nap day." Mark said with a soft smile. "Ask your glasses to lead you to the bunks, get some sleep. I'll call you if there's any change." He assured Dante.

Dante nodded and put his glasses on. "take me to the bunks." He said mostly to himself. and followed the directions that popped up on his lenses.

Technarious was busy at a computer console catching up on the status of the command center. "Did you really have to cut a door into the wall?" He asked.

Mark shrugged. "You should be glad this place is still standing. These kids have had a raw run so far, and your memret wasn't as smooth or efficient as either of us hoped, took a while for it to kick in." He explained. "Considering the circumstances I think things are going better than we could reasonably hope for." He pointed out.

Technarious nodded. "Never under estimate the power of sheer dumb luck." He said.

Mark nodded. "But don't depend on it either." He added.

They bumped fists. Technarious went back to his work. "I hope they enjoy their time off." He said.

blood and profit: page 66

It turned out to be a surprisingly beneficial way to combat time. He was assigned to an indoor protean farm. For the first few days he was fascinated by the watching the system work. His job was to pull the full protean pouches from the grid and replace them with empty sacks. If any tubes gave a pressure alert all he had to do was go to where the tube had turned bright red and either undo the kink or squish out the blockage. Ultimately it was simple, mind numbingly dull work, but the facility had not yet been fully automated and so it required this one bit of human interaction.

Apparently mind numblingly dull repetitive work was what his mind needed to regain its creative drive. By the end of the first week he was a chapter into the only writing he had done in more than five years. His weekend disappeared into delivered food and the constant clacking of his keyboard. His mind only barely gave in to the biological needs of his body and by the time he was due back at work he felt the toll it was taking, but he didn't care. He grabbed a tablet, got dressed and went to work.

And that's how P.H. Turner wrote his final work. using every spare moment he could find while working at a Protean farm helping to create supplies for a journey he would never take.

It was over a month into the draft before his kids could get away to visit him. They had scheduled their breaks so they had two days off together to catch up. Mew arrived home not long after P.H. had gotten home from the farm. She rang the door bell out of politeness but then let herself to find him sitting at the kitchen table, typing like a man possessed, still in his dirty farm clothes. She saw what he was doing and couldn't help but smile. "I was going to ask how you were holding up but considering the fact that your writing again, I'm going to say that things are going slightly more than well." She patted him on the shoulder lightly before walking into the kitchen.

He didn't respond with anything more than a non-committal grunt. She opened the refrigerator and saw that it was nearly empty. "Let me guess, you've been living on takeout and junk food." She sighed. "Dad you could have said something, I would have come by sooner." She whined.

"Uh-huh." He offered, totally absorbed in his writing.

Mew shook her head with a knowing smile. She hadn't seen him like this since she was a teenager and she was happy to see him so absorbed again. "Ok well, I'm going to go shopping for food and things for the weekend, you just keep writing." She said watching his hands blur over the keyboard as he worked.

"Ok honey, you have fun." He offered automatically. She nodded and left the house.

Lidarion: Page 39

The Librarian looked up from the book to check on his audience. "I understand that you have come a long way, but your questions have ancient answers and while I appreciate you suffering through my translations, we've only just begun. If you would kindly join me for dinner we can continue the book this evening." The Librarian looked tired and had significantly less pep in his step as he led the group out of the scroll room and back into the main library.

The windows were dark now, the librarian had been translating most of the day, Squints moved up to join him and they quickly fell into a conversation.

Brook, Dean, Lisa and Trent began their own conversation in hushed whispers. "I think we may have bitten off more than we can chew with this one." Brook started.

Dean shrugged. "That's assuming any of these stories are even remotely true." He countered.

Lisa nodded. "Assuming they are true, how do we know if the Paragon's are even still alive today, or trapped in physical form, or what ever it is the Titan's did to them." She asked.

Brook looked at the distant glare coming from Trent. "Thoughts?" She asked.

Trent cleared his throat. "It's a long journey no matter what. We've already traveled further than I ever have in my life and this thing has barely even started." He looked to Dean. "If you need to go, go. With what we brought in Gold we can buy a ship that will serve our purposes." He looked to Lisa and Brook. "You two can be back in Lidarion today by way of the door." He finished.

Brook shook her head. "If you are staying, I am staying." She said with finality.

Lisa nodded. "Brandon wanted us to work together and his efforts led us here, so here I stay." She agreed.

Dean shrugged. "I have no desire to ever let my sister beat me up again so my ship is your ship for as long as you have need of it." He offered.

Trent nodded. "Your all fools, but your my kind of fools." He said with a warm smile.

"Hey guys!" Squints voice echoed down the hall the group had stopped in. They looked up to see him peeking his head between two gigantic hand carved wooden doors. They were large enough to make Harruff look small and had barely needed to be opened for him to pass through. Squints was on the far side of the doors. "When you're done with your little meeting, you might want to look at this!" He shouted happily. and disappeared back behind the door.

They were not far from the doors, maybe a hundred feet and quickly made their way down the hall to see what ever had cheered him up.

Melody and Harmony: page 12

It was a favor big enough to earn him the time off for the festival, without loosing his new job. The club owner called it by one of the ancient slang names, "Mary Jane". He didn't say what he needed it for, and Aaron didn't ask. He didn't say how much and Aaron didn't ask. All the club owner told him was where to go, when to be there, and who he was meeting for the exchange.

The last thing the club owner did before showing him the door was hand him four cash cards, each of them held more money than Aaron could spend in half a year. The club owner handed them over like he was passing out club fliers and saw the look on Aaron's face. "You may work for favors but these will open and close doors you'd never be able to approach otherwise." he explained.

Something in the back of his mind started screaming. This was just a simple exchange, what doors would he possible need this money money to handle? His conscious mind chalked the oddity up to the differences in the way rich people valued things and took the cards. "This much will make us targets of every low life with a cred scanner between here and any of your 'doors'" He used air quotes for the club owners benefit.

"If I thought you couldn't handle thugs and punks, I wouldn't have asked you back." he said with finality and turned his attention back to his other work. Aaron left quietly.

Back at the table he filled his friends in using their shorthand mumble toned garbage speak. Words within words, verbal misdirects, and empty trap sentences to deter anyone who might have been listening. It had taken them years to develop the language, but it had never failed them.

They finished their drinks and left the Shadow Church one at a time, each of them went in different directions at different times, then when they were sure they weren't being followed they met at their agreed upon location.

It was the last time the night went according to plan.