Zonorhc

Oh, sure, there's nothing to hate if you ignore their pretentious lyrics.

What if hes on like a 3+ story house, with no tree near him, and he doesn't have anything to climb down with? :roll: Then he has to MAN IT UP.

They don't need to extend every series to twelve+ sequels, multiple spinoffs and an MMO, you know.

Holy hell, Range: 25m? That's not a firearm, that's a toy. =p

CHAPTER III: TREACHERY IN THE MORNING before the raid, Siel was trying to force him into his dress uniform. 'No,' Larandus kept telling her, 'I don't believe I need to be in my grey and gold when I'm kicking in a door and shooting everyone I find behind it.' 'Just stop arguing, boss,' she was saying, laying out his clothes for the third time. Black shirt and breeches stared up at him from his bed. A knee-length grey leather coat hung near the door, adorned with gold braid and embroidery on the breast, cuffs and high collar. His peaked cap was on a peg nearby, with the golden Imperial Eagle on it gleaming. 'You need to be looking your best. You know that.' 'Looking my best?' Larandus wondered incredulously. 'In...' he looked over his shoulder at the clock, '... twelve hours, I'll be covered in blood and busy trying not to get shot or have anything important cut off. Looking my best is not exactly what I would call high on my list of priorities. Have you arranged things with the local watch?' he asked her, trying to change the subject. She gave him a withering look. Of course she had, the night before. 'You want to look inspiring to the men,' she reasoned, 'and besides, you can't count on me or Dansh doing that. I'm a woman, and he's a brainjob.' 'You know he doesn't like to be called that,' Larandus reminded her. She shrugged. 'And I don't like browncoats looking down at me because I have [bleep]. Doesn't stop them. As I was saying,' she rallied, 'you'll have to make them believe that they're really doing the work of the Emperor, and looking the part of a Greycoat is going to help that a lot. Remember, most of them are going to be ex-gangers, and if you want them to bend to the will of the mysterious, terrifying Imperial agent, everything you do and everything you wear has to remind them of that. You do your best to look the part, and they'll follow you anywhere because they know you'll lead them to victory, or at least shoot them if they try to run. That means the uniform.' Larandus sighed and threw up his arms in disgust. 'Fine,' he relented, 'fine. Have it your way. But if I have my head blown off because of that damn eagle shining like a target on it, I'll haunt you to the end of your days, Siel.' In truth, the uniform was not all that bad. It was designed with practicality in mind, after all. The shiny parts could be dulled with a bit of boot polish, and Larandus had to admit that the coat was very useful in the gathering chill of late autumn. He just chafed at having to wear the same clothes that he would meet with his superiors and the nobility in while putting the fear of the Emperor into some delinquent guardsmen and shooting dissidents. Of course, he also had to look good in front of the journalists who would crowd the scene afterwards, but that was a very minor consideration in comparison to coming out of the affair alive in the first place. 'Lord Sezarn is here to see you,' Siel told him as he was pulling on his boots. She gave him a look that more or less said she told him so about the uniform. Lord Sezarn. The Minister of the Interior, and head of one of the Great Houses of the Empire. He was, for all intents and purposes, master of the Empire's security. As Larandus stepped out of his bedroom and into the main chamber of his private quarters, fixing his hat onto his head, he was reminded of just how much he despised this man. A few inches taller than Larandus' six feet, Lord Sezarn exuded an aura of menace and authority that understandably made most people he spoke to ill at ease. He was bull-necked and heavily muscled, obvious even under his gold-trimmed black uniform. His heavy face was clean-shaven except for a waxed mustache. He was, Larandus knew, brutally intelligent and had a force of personality that cowed many of his subordinates. He was a staunch defender of Imperial law. Until, of course, Imperial law began to impinge on his personal image and prestige. Larandus had fought hard several years ago to have Lord Sezarn's own son hanged on charges of arson, attempted murder, murder, inciting unrest, rape and resisting arrest. The Minister would have none of it, and for his part fought tooth and nail to have the charges dropped and Larandus removed from his post. Eventually, the High Court settled matters by putting the boy under house arrest for a month and making sure that no news of the trial be publicised. Lord Sezarn saw the trial as a blow to his ego and his status. Larandus only saw it as an exercise in applying Imperial law equally to all citizens. Of course, the Minister would not see it his way, hence the enmity. The intrigue surrounding that trial had seen Siel hospitalised for a few weeks with grievous wounds. And here he was, calm as you please, standing in Larandus' private sanctum for the first time in five years. Last time, he had been demanding Larandus' resignation at gunpoint. This time, he stood with his hands behind his back, an oily smile on his heavy face. 'To what do I owe this pleasure, Lord?' Larandus asked in a tone that he had had to practice to make it so calm. He used this tone so he would not haul off and punch the Minister in the face. Siel quietly absented herself from the room. 'I wish to offer my congratulations, Zekar,' Sezarn began, 'for your timely investigation and response regarding this urgent matter of Imperial security. I would commend you and your staff for your diligence and initiative, even in the face of great adversity.' You pig, Larandus thought. You're saying this now to soften me up, and then you're going to take the credit for it when the newspapers come calling. He wanted to scream. What he ended up saying was, 'Thank you, Lord. I live to serve the Emperor and his law.' He placed some emphasis on the last word, making it abundantly clear to Sezarn exactly who and what it was the two of them ultimately answered to. 'These Sons of Zannariamus,' Sezarn continued, ignoring the slight, 'as they call themselves, they appear to be a resourceful group. Quite powerful, and cunning to hide themselves for so long.' 'Yes, sir,' said Larandus. The Minister was stating the obvious to irritate him. 'Did you find out why they were performing those brutal murders?' he asked. 'I have several theories,' Larandus said, maintaining his calm. 'The most likely one is that they are trying to remove any potential informers before a major operation. I wrote it in my report,' he reminded Sezarn. 'Of course,' the Minister nodded with a disgusting smile. 'I commend you on your courage, Larandus, for offering to storm their base of operations. However, as appropriate to the level of danger involved, I have detailed Agent Taldran and his retinue to support your efforts.' 'Beg your pardon, sir?' Larandus hissed with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. Taldran was a dog. His cronies were no better than street thugs and common thieves. He had tried to have the lot of them shot for criminal neglect after a poorly executed raid which resulted in a residential tower being bombed and hundreds of people killed. Sezarn wouldn't have any of it; Taldran was his pet. A second cousin, Larandus found out later. 'I am confident in Agent Taldran's abilities and cooperation between the two of you to win the day,' was all that Sezarn said as a response to Larandus' protest. 'With respect, sir, I do not believe that Agent Taldran will be necessary. I already have a hundred browncoats ready to close off streets and bridges around the area, and fifty riot officers to storm the place. Agent Taldran's presence will only add unnecessary clutter to my preparations.' 'Nevertheless,' Sezarn said with finality, 'Agent Taldran will accompany you. Perhaps the efforts of his men will ensure that nobody escapes this time.' Sezarn turned on his heel and exited Larandus' quarters without so much as a farewell. Larandus wanted to put a bullet into his skull right then and there, especially after that last insult. More likely, Taldran's toadies would help the enemy by their bumbling. 'He wants you dead,' said Dansh from a corner of the room. He was sitting by a small table, a book open before him. 'I didn't see you come in,' Larandus said, calming himself. There would be time to deal with Taldran later. 'I didn't see any need to intrude on your conversation,' the telepath excused himself, 'and you weren't expecting anyone, so I made you ignore me. Anyway, Taldran is supposed to make it look like an accident. In the heat of the moment, against the foul forces of the dissidents, the brave Agent Larandus Zekar falls in glorious battle. You know, that routine. It will give the Ministry a good name, bolster the Greycoats' reputation, advance Taldran's career, and remove you all in one move. Lord Sezarn is still furious about what he sees as your deliberate attempts to discredit his family.' 'Maybe if his family made a serious attempt to stop discrediting itself, I wouldn't have to keep trying to enforce the law,' Larandus retorted. 'Be that as it may,' Dansh said, 'I doubt that you can reason with Taldran like that.' 'Ready, sir,' the browncoat sergeant said, hefting his riot shield and his shock baton. Larandus gave him and his men a nod. The building, a sprawling, one hundred and fifty year old mass of architecture, was once a small palace. Now, it was derelict, and as far as the local authorities of this part of the city were concerned, abandoned except for a few homeless people who slept on the wide steps leading up to its door. It was three stories tall, dwarfed by the newer residential and commercial towers built around it, its old stones stained brown by low smog and streaked by rain. An hour ago, Larandus had every street nearby sealed off, and crossbow-toting browncoats stationed at every possible avenue of escape. In front of him were the five squads of riot officers he had requested. Fifty loyal men, in steel cuirasses and full-faced helmets, half of them holding tall riot shields and shock batons, the other half with crossbows. They had rigged up searchlights to illuminate the boarded facade of the mansion. More were on the other side to discourage anyone from escaping from there, where the light would give the browncoats there a clear shot with their crossbows. Taldran would enter the mansion through the back door with his twenty thugs. Normally, the streets would still be crowded at this time of night. However, with the City Watch present in force, and rumours of Greycoat presence, most people were either staying indoors or avoiding the area altogether. The Belt, high overhead, was casting its silvery radiance on the scene when it was not obscured by clouds. Neither moon had risen yet. 'Let us administer the Emperor's justice,' Larandus said as he began to walk towards the mansion's front doors, sabre belted at his side, revolver holstered and black-lacquered body armour under his coat. He had decided to do away with the pleasantries of offering whoever was inside surrender. They'd had ample warning of this, of course. He had given them an hour to dig in, make plans, and soil themselves. 'The doors, if you will,' Larandus said to the lieutenant leading the platoon, who promptly obliged by having the men in his squad bring up a compact ram. In the space of a few moments, the huge double doors were battered open, and the riot officers were in, throwing flash- and smokeballs ahead of their advance. There was the sound of crossbow bolts smashing against masonry and against riot shields, and the dull, hissing crack of shock batons striking flesh. There was more resistance than Larandus had expected. With Dansh and Siel behind him, he strode in through the doors, drawing his revolver and sabre as he came. For a moment, there seemed to be a pause in the fighting as the rebels registered the new arrivals, then the battle was rejoined in earnest. A rebel up the flight of steps leading to the second floor aimed his crossbow at Larandus, who promptly raised his revolver and put a bullet through the man's neck in a spray of blood. The two men beside him were also taking aim, but were too late. Siel was up the stairs before their crossbows were even in line, and one of them suddenly dropped his weapon, clutching at his throat where Siel had thrust a dagger. The other jerked madly, clutching at his eyes, which had suddenly begun to bleed. Another thrust of power from Dansh fried the rest of his mind, and he collapsed. 'That way,' Dansh pointed to a side corridor, his voice edged with adrenaline and the floor under him filming over with ice. 'I can sense that telepath in that direction, and I believe that is where their commanders would be. Nodding, Larandus beckoned to Siel, who made her way back down the stairs as the riot officers advanced to the second level, two squads holding the landing while the others cleared out the remainder of the ground floor. They had orders to subdue every rebel they found, and seize every book, pamphlet, and anything else that might give a clue as to the Sons of Zannariamus' modus operandi. Larandus followed Dansh's directions. They turned into a corridor, rebels coming out to meet them, swords, axes and knives in hand. Larandus shot one, then smashed the hilt of his sabre into another who strayed too close. He saw Siel vaulting over one, planting a knife into the back of his head as she landed, then ripping out the throat of the next one as she sprung up towards yet another. Then he was retreating slightly under the furious attacks of a rebel with a broadsword, letting the man tire himself out before exploding his chest with a pair of shots. Then the remaining rebels were fleeing, Larandus pumping shots into their backs until his revolver clicked empty. He paused only long enough to reload, and then forged ahead. After what seemed like an eternity, Dansh directed them into a room where he was certain the enemy's command cadre was. Kicking the door down, Larandus entered a great hall, likely what was once the mansion's ballroom. Desks and bookshelves were now scattered around the huge chamber, some overturned to serve as makeshift fortifications. At some point, someone had put a power generator in here and rigged up the walls with glowlamps, providing weak illumination. He could see the hooded form of the strange telepath on the far side of the room, with the sneering, still-bruised figure of Ancrus Zren beside him, directing a mob of rebels to charge. A few more men stayed with them as the disorganised crowd surged forward. Larandus raised his revolver and snapped off shots at the charging rebels. The weapon barked again and again, each time felling a rebel in a spray of blood and bone shards. When it clicked empty, Larandus holstered it and set to work with his sabre, settling into an easy rhythm of attack and defence as the mob rushed around him. Siel was somewhere off to his right; he could not see her, but he could at least mark her position by the screams of men who underestimated her daggers. To his left, he saw Dansh raising his hand against a pair of oncoming rebels with swords. The floor visibly split under him as he focused a vast amount of power, stopping the rebels in their tracks and then stripping their flesh from their bones with a fresh surge. Psychic ice coated the floor around him. Then, while he stood alone, the foreign telepath must have registered his presence, because he was in turn blown off his feet and slammed into the wall near the door, crumpling into a heap. Larandus removed another rebel's arm as he backed slowly out of the press of men, shouting for Siel to take Dansh away and call the riot officers in. A rebel found an opening, and Larandus stumbled back, a gash in his side. He managed to recover enough to put his sabre into the offender's mouth and out the back of his head, then retreated as quickly as he could from the rest. Suddenly, there were men coming the other way, hacking at the rebels with swords and bashing them with clubs. Larandus bumped into someone, and felt the barrel of a revolver pressing into the small of his back. 'Hello, Zekar,' Taldran hissed into his ear. 'How wonderful to bump into you here.' 'This isn't the time, you damn fool,' Larandus managed to gasp as the pain in his side reached a crescendo. 'Point your gun where it matters.' 'Oh, and who put you in charge?' came the spiteful reply. 'This is my investigation, you piece of filth,' Larandus hissed, turning around to face Taldran. In reply, the bigger man punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor. Pain exploded in his side. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Taldran laughing and aiming his revolver down at him.

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age." - H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

CHAPTER II: GAINS THEIR PRISONER decided, rather unwisely, to be uncooperative. Larandus paced around him. He was bound by the wrists and ankles to an uncomfortable iron chair with a wire-mesh seat. They had taken away his own garments and clothed him in nothing more than a pair of burlap trousers. They had co-opted a small, oppressive room in a City Watch precinct and a glaring white military searchlight to facilitate the interrogation. Between rounds of questioning, the prisoner was left alone in the cell, with only the blinding phosphorescence of the light hanging over his head for company. He had not been fed for two days, and his features were rapidly adopting a sunken appearance. His lips were cracked from lack of moisture. 'Name?' Larandus asked calmly, for the fiftieth time in three days. 'Up yours, Greycoat,' the prisoner responded, for the fiftieth time in three days. Larandus stepped before the man. Now gaunt-faced, his dark eyes clouded with hunger and slowly deteriorating from the perpetual, harsh light, he still managed to exude an air of arrogant defiance. Larandus pulled his black leather glove tight over his right hand, then struck the prisoner in the face, for the fiftieth time in three days. Once, this man had been fair-skinned, but now it was almost impossible to see his true pigmentation under the mass of bruises covering his face. Larandus stepped out of the room, locked the door behind him, and gave Dansh an inquisitive look. For the entire interrogation process, the telepath had taken his station outside the cell, probing the prisoner's mind with his to extract the information that beating and starvation could not. Unlike Larandus, he had had some measure of success. They knew the man's name was Ancrus Zren. That was enough to help them find the man's personal file in the Imperial Archives, where the personal details of untold millions were stored for security purposes. From that, they also knew that the man was in his mid-thirties, a factory boss and colonial sympathiser, and that he had been detained for questioning once before on allegations of drug trafficking. He had a wife by the name of Alendra, but no children. He had no known associations with currently active anarchists, but Larandus knew that did not necessarily mean he had none. As extensive as the Archives were, and as powerful the Imperial Ministry of the Interior was, they were still insufficient for cataloging every minor detail within the Dramaskan Empire, let alone the rest of the world. Asking him about his name did not help Larandus' interrogation at all, but the repetitiveness of the question focused Ancrus on resisting the urge to answer it, and gave Dansh an opening into the rest of his mind. Unfortunately, Ancrus had been implanted with a psy-shield, and they had to do everything they could to break it. Dansh had been startled to discover that it was beyond his ability to break with brute force, and so counseled Larandus to adopt the current method to help him lever it open. Eventually, he reasoned, when the prisoner breaks and at least admits his name, that would give enough of an opening in his will for Dansh's psychic probe to pry the shield off. Larandus was not seeing results. If they did not break this man by tomorrow, they would have to start feeding him. 'Have the guards bring a small table, a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. A clear one,' he told Siel, who obliged with a small smile, guessing his new tactic. 'If we give him a little incentive to talk, he might. Have a rest,' he said to Dansh, who had been standing outside the cell for the better part of an hour. The concrete under his feet and the bricks of the wall were cracking from the psychic ice layered on top of them. The building's vent fans were operating at maximum power, but after the dry heat of the interrogation cell, Larandus felt as though he had walked into a meat locker. Dansh was all too willing to take him up on his offer. He collapsed into a chair, exhausted, his thin frame appearing weaker than ever after his mental exertions. Pathetic, that was how all telepaths seemed to be, as far as Larandus could tell. They all had frail bodies as a result of the tremendous energy their minds demanded from their otherwise normal metabolisms. If he kept Dansh from using his power for a week, the man's body would show almost immediate improvement, but he would suffer psychologically from not using his psychic ability. Still, for all its frail appearance, Larandus knew that Dansh had a constitution to rival any mage he had ever seen. During his years of service, Dansh had been shot, bludgeoned and stabbed almost as many times as Larandus had, and he was still going. He could take a surprising amount of punishment. Siel came down with a metal tray a few minutes later, a loaf of bread and a clear glass pitcher of water on it as Larandus had instructed. A watchman came down with her carrying a small table. He gave Larandus a salute before departing, but refused to meet his gaze. Entering the prisoner's cell once more, Larandus set up the table near the door, with the loaf and pitcher on it. Close enough that Ancrus could see it and smell the bread, but nowhere near enough for him to ever hope of reaching it, even if Larandus unbound his wrists. 'Name?' he asked again, doubting that he would get a different response. This was the fifty-first round. 'Up yours, Greycoat.' The fifty-first time. Larandus punched him in the face for the fifty-first time, then left the cell once more. 'We're done for today,' he told Dansh and Siel. 'I need some coffee.' The telepath who had escaped the raid on the night that they captured Ancrus had also managed to elude the best efforts of the Ministry to trace him. By law, all telepaths had to be registered with the Ministry for security reasons, just as all practicing magic users had to be registered with the Tower of the Art. This one had either managed to evade the vigilant eye of the Emperor's servants for some time, or was an unregistered foreigner. Being one of those vigilant servants, Larandus was certain that it was the latter. He had enough experience investigating illicit trafficking of goods and people to have a low opinion of Imperial Customs. They were sitting at a top-floor cafe in the more opulent district of Dramaskus near the Palace, with fans working constantly to blow away smog and keep the air relatively fresh. The sky overhead was a matted grey, as is customary during the Dramaskan autumn. It looked like evening, though the clock said it was only a little past noon. Dansh was eating an almost-raw slab of beef and a side of greens and roots with gusto. Siel, across the table from Larandus, was toying with a few empty snail shells. 'There is definitely a resonance,' Dansh said between mouthfuls, 'between the subject and the evidence we found earlier.' He meant the blank coins, but Larandus had made it clear earlier that he did not wish for any definite word of the investigation being heard by uninvited ears. Few were those willing to eavesdrop on a Greycoat like Larandus, but those few were dangerous and necessitated caution. 'I do not doubt that they are connected. Perhaps we will find out exactly how so by tomorrow.' Larandus nodded his agreement. They knew precious little, save that Ancrus was connected with an anarchist cell and a foreign telepath. He felt that it was his purpose to eliminate this threat - and every other of its sort - to the Empire as soon as possible, and every day spent without results felt to Larandus like a grievous dereliction of duty. His musings were interrupted by one of the waiters approaching. 'Pardon me, sirs and madam,' he excused himself, 'but there are two watchmen here to see you. They have not given their names, but they say it is urgent.' 'Bring them,' Larandus nodded. The waiter returned shortly, with two men in brown coats in tow. Larandus did not recognise them, but then, many were the agents of the Emperor's law, and he could not be expected to know them all on sight. They could well have been two of the watchmen from the precinct where they held Ancrus. By the time the waiter reached his table, Larandus knew something was wrong. He did not need Dansh beside him tensing up with a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth to tell that there was something not quite right about these watchmen. The revolvers in the men's hands were a dead giveaway. With a shout of warning, Larandus pulled the table over and hurled himself at Dansh to bring the telepath to the floor. Siel was already out of her chair and diving for cover when the two revolvers barked, shattering crockery and splintering the upturned table. The other patrons of the cafe screamed and made a mad rush for the stairs down. The waiter who had brought the men was lying face down in a pool of his own blood before Larandus pulled out his own gun and snapped off a shot at the two gunmen, who had taken cover behind the table. Siel was crouched behind a nearby potted plant, a long dagger in one hand and the single-shot pistol she had retrieved from the raid in the other. Dansh was on the floor beside Larandus, behind another table. He looked almost comical, with a fork still in his hand, but the set of his eyes dispelled any inclination Larandus might have had to smile at the absurdity of the sight. More shots cracked against their meager cover. The mere fact that they were not simply punching through the wooden table made Larandus want to thank the carpenters who had built the furniture. He made a hand signal to Siel, who began to sneak around to put herself in a better position behind the gunmen. Risking a bullet in the head, Larandus leaned out and took a shot at their two assailants. The bullet splintered the edge of the other table, making one of the gunmen duck down, but the other began to shoot in earnest, emptying his weapon's cylinders into the space where Larandus' head has just been. 'Any chance of calling up some real watchmen?' he whispered to Dansh. The telepath shook his head. 'The nearest station would be where we hold Ancrus, and if we are under attack here, then it is reasonable to assume that the precinct is also compromised.' Larandus cursed. 'So our prisoner might be gone?' 'I would bet on it,' Dansh replied. When Dansh was willing to gamble, it was because he was right. Siel found that out the hard way. 'What's the next best thing?' Larandus asked, hoping that Dansh could find a watch precinct that could send aid to either the building where they held Ancrus, or to the cafe. 'No help nearby,' Dansh said, as if reading his mind. Of course, he probably did. 'I could fry their brains from here, if you'd like. Anything fancier, and I'd have to get a better view.' 'Don't,' Larandus told him. 'I want them alive, if I've already lost one prisoner.' Dansh nodded. 'I could strip their minds while they're busy trying to shoot you.' 'That's a better idea. Do that,' Larandus agreed as he leaned out again, snapping off another shot at the gunmen. More wood splintered, and more shots answered his. He broke open his revolver, tapped out the three spent shell casings and put in three more. He still had three other shots left in the weapon, but he did not like having it click in his hand in the middle of a firefight. He tried poking his head out again, then pulled it back quickly to avoid a fusillade of shots. He heard one of the gunmen reloading his revolver, and made a dash out of cover and over to another table, which he upturned. At some point in his run, a bullet had grazed his leg, and now he felt the searing pain of the hit like an open fire in his calf. He could feel dampness oozing into his boot. Gritting his teeth in pain as he settled down onto one knee, he looked over the edge over the table and snapped off a pair of shots against the two gunmen, who both ducked to avoid them. The first one to raise his head again had it blasted open by another bullet, and the next, thinking he could take a free shot against Larandus, suddenly had a knife opening up a smile across his throat. Siel put a bullet into his head for good measure, to stop his thrashing. From behind the other table, Dansh nodded to Larandus. He had levered open one of the gunmen's minds and extracted information. If it was not what they would have taken out of Ancrus', it was enough for a fresh lead. They returned to the watch precinct an hour later, after explaining to the manager of the cafe what had happened. It was a sad fact that even in the face of such carnage and loss, the woman was still more than willing to turn the situation to her profit. Larandus spent the better part of half an hour explaining to her why the Ministry would not provide her with compensation for her lost business. She was not even concerned about her dead waiter. He left in disgust after she made it clear that she intended to reap every benefit she could from the shoot-out in her cafe. The watch house was a mess. According to witnesses, a stagecoach had stopped outside while armed men stormed in, bringing out a half-naked man a short time later and spiriting him away in the vehicle. The six watchmen on duty did not even stand a chance. Wherever the two gunmen had found the uniforms they wore, it must have been somewhere else as none of the bodies had been stripped. Larandus reasoned that their enemies must have tracked Ancrus here somehow and planned to break him out. How they managed it so quickly, and found out where Larandus and his two partners were having lunch besides, was an entirely different question, with possible answers that made Larandus uneasy to think about them. Without Dansh, it would have been impossible to continue the investigation. He spent the remainder of the day probing the scene at the watch precinct for psychic imprints, and found a positive trace for the strange foreign telepath at the scene, probably where the carriage was. Moreover, he managed to extract a snapshot of the most intense moments of fighting from psychic resonance, a process which took hours but produced clear images of the attackers. While Siel called in some of her many favours with elements of Dramaskus City's underground, Larandus had Dansh and a few other telepaths identify the suspects. By the time Siel returned to the Palace annexe where Larandus had his quarters, Dansh had enough raw data to cross-check against her findings. By midnight, they had finished as much of their investigation as they could have, given the loss of Ancrus Zren. They still had no idea of the motive for the brutal hangings or the true nature of their enemy. But now, Larandus knew where to strike, and when. And when that time came, he would find answers.

Look no further for reliability and ease of maintenance. The Mars-pattern Imperial Guard Lasgun: Drop it, throw it, club someone over the head with it, drive a tank over it - it just keeps chugging. Power cell can be recharged by hooking them up to a power generator, leaving them out in the sun, or throwing them in a fire. No moving parts. Plus, the ability to mount a bayonet is crucial in the 41st millennium.

"Only a mediocre man is always at his best." - W. Somerset Maugham That guy is awesome.

How can you be a metalhead by loving Linkin Park? They're pretentious without any shred of True Awesome. Compare these: [hide]I'm tired of being what you want me to be Feeling so faithless lost under the surface Don't know what you're expecting of me Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes (Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow) Every step that I take is another mistake to you (Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow) [Chorus] I've become so numb I can't feel you there Become so tired so much more aware I'm becoming this all I want to do Is be more like me and be less like you Can't you see that you're smothering me Holding too tightly afraid to lose control Cause everything that you thought I would be Has fallen apart right in front of you (Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow) Every step that I take is another mistake to you (Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow) And every second I waste is more than I can take [Chorus] I've become so numb I can't feel you there Become so tired so much more aware I'm becoming this all I want to do Is be more like me and be less like you And I know I may end up failing too But I know You were just like me with someone disappointed in you [Chorus] I've become so numb I can't feel you there Become so tired so much more aware I'm becoming this all I want to do Is be more like me and be less like you [Chorus] I've become so numb I can't feel you there I'm tired of being what you want me to be I've become so numb I can't feel you there I'm tired of being what you want me to be [/hide] To Blind Guardian, Valhalla: [hide]High in the sky where eagles fly Morgray the dark enters the throne Open wide the gate, friend the king will come blow the horn and praise the highest Lord who'll bring the dawn he's the new god in the palace of steel persuade the fate of everyone the chaos can begin let it in (Lead: Andr̮̩̉̉) Bridge: So many centuries so many Gods we were the prisoners of our own fantasy but now we are marching against these Gods I'm the wizard, I will change it all (Lead: Andr̮̩̉̉/Marcus) Ref.: Valhalla - Deliverance Why've you ever forgotten me (Solo: Andr̮̩̉̉) Ref.: Valhalla - Deliverance Why've you ever forgotten me Magic is in me I'm the lost magic man never found what I was looking for now I found it but it's lost The fortress burns broken my heart I leave this world all Gods are gone Bridge: So many centuries so many Gods we were the prisoners of our own fantasy but then we had nothing who'll lead our life no, no, we can't live without Gods Ref.: Valhalla - Deliverance Why've you ever forgotten me[/hide] ... DragonForce, Through the Fire and Flames: [hide]On a cold winter morning, in the time before the light In flames of death's eternal reign we ride towards the fight And the darkness is falling down and the times are tough all right The sound of evil laughter falls around the world tonight Fighting high, fighting on for the steel Through the wastelands evermore The scattered souls will feel the hell that is wasted on the shores On the blackest waves in history We watch them as they go Through fire, pain and once again we know So now we fly ever free We're free before the thunderstorm On towards the wilderness our quest carries on Far beyond the sundown, far beyond the moonlight Deep inside our hearts and all our souls [CHORUS] So far away we wait for the day For the lights are so wasted and gone We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days Through the fire and the flames we carry on As the red day is dawning And the lightning cracks the sky They raise their hands to the heavens above As we send them to their lies Running back through the mid-morning light There's a burning in my heart We're banished from the time in the fallen land To a light beyond the stars In the blackest dreams we do believe Our destiny this time And endlessly we'll all be free tonight And on the wings of a dream So far beyond reality All alone in desperation Now the time is gone Lost inside you'll never find Lost within my own mind Day after day this misery must go on CHORUS Now here we stand with their blood on our hands We've fought so hard now can we understand? I'll break the seal of this curse if I possibly can For freedom of every man CHORUS [/hide] ... Statovarius, Hunting High and Low: [hide]I feel the wind in my hair And it's whispering, telling me things Of the storm that is gathering near Full of power I'm spreading my wings Now I'm leaving my worries behind Feel the freedom of body and mind I am starting my journey, I'm drifting away with the wind I go I am Hunting High and Low Diving from the sky above Looking for, more and more, once again I'm Hunting High and Low Sometimes I may win sometimes I'll lose It's just a game that I play After the storm there's a calm Through the clouds shines a ray of the sun I am carried from all of my harm There is no one that I can't outrun Now I'm leaving my worries behind Feel the freedom of body and mind I am starting my journey, I'm drifting away with the wind I go I am Hunting High and Low Diving from the sky above Looking for, more and more, once again I'm Hunting High and Low Sometimes I may win sometimes I'll lose It's just a game that I play That would be all... Be sure to hear from me again[/hide] Agreed with Nad. lrn2metal.

Why are you using vista in the first place.... It came with the laptop and I haven't gotten around to fishing XP out of the storage boxes.

If Dirty Harry had .50AE, he would've said it differently. =)

I approve of this thread. It possesses win in suitable quantities.

This thread is over. lrn2METAL.

"She had a pretty gift for quotation, which is a serviceable substitute for wit." - W. Somerset Maugham

Don't even joke about that possibility.

If your parents are making you loose, you have more to worry about than not being able to go out with your friends.

I would pull a Korea and play whatever till I drop.

A Desert Eagle isn't a personal firearm. Anything that fires .50AE is HAND ARTILLERY.

If given the option, I don't think people would want to get hit by any bullet It's a question of relativity. If you were hit in the chest with your run of the mill 9mm round, you might bleed a bit and it'd hurt, but you'll generally come out alive because it generally won't penetrate bone. If you're hit with that .577 monster, good luck having most of your torso when that round is done with you.

is a video of people firing a .577 rifle. I would not want to be hit by any rounds that monster fires.

So I can't play it unless I reinstall XP. Bah.

If OT ever runs out of ideas, one can always serious consider removing the PG restriction on it. Then it'd be just like /b/.

Write a paper on the historical development of mass media and its effect on societies in context. That's roughly 800 years' worth of sources for you to cover. Start now.