You're standing in a suburban street with fresh new tarvey underneath your feet (its solid), and you hear Christophe's voice come from thin air.

"Um, sorry. Another verser fell through my spell matrix, and the whole thing has fallen to pieces. I didn't get you back to the parrallel world you'd come from. However, you did help me, and I messed you over in return so I figure I owe you twice. Best of luck wherever you are, Hadrian."  His voice sounds unhappy and embarrassed.

And then he's gone. Its nothing you see, but you feel the lack of presence.

Its twilight in suburbia.

PT

Hadrian shuddered.

He had yet to get fully used to versing. It was as if his entire body tried to tell him how wrong it was that he was still alive when he had clearly died back in Radix.

Hadrian shuddered again as he briefly recalled the last image he saw before versing. Dealing with the devil was an unpleasant business to put it mildly.

Hadrian had fought on the side of good against the forces of hell, and now he was stranded in an unfamiliar new world, with nothing but a "thank you" to show for it. He scolded himself for being disappointed. He had known on some level that he probably wouldn't get more than a pat on the back for his role in it all. What he was most distraught about was that he had made an enemy out of Satan. He would have to find some way of making up for the events in Radix - some sort of appeasement - that the lord of demons could accept. He didn't know exactly how, but he was determined to cross that bridge when he got to it. Moreover, the next time he came across the demons he would be morally obligated to help them. It was their turn after all.

Hadrian took a few minutes to gather up his things. He donned his black wide brimmed hat and picked up his sword cane from the tarvey. After a quick survey of the items in his coat pockets he started walking up the street. He noted with a smile that he had the Sharpie TM pen with him - it could come in handy. As he walked he made a mental note of making use of one of the favours Christophe promised him the next time he saw the fellow verser. Hadrian was very keen on learning more about this "versing-"business. Christophe and Annie seemed like veterans in the field, and could probably explain a thing or two to Hadrian.

Thinking about the verser who brought him here, and the fact that he had failed to bring him back to the world he was supposed to come back to, Hadrian remembered Elizabeth who he had left behind in her father's house along with her little sister. Suddenly Hadrian was struck with an intense longing for her. It dawned on him that he would probably never see her again, and with that he started to miss her profusely. If there was something he wanted to use the second favour on, it was getting back to her somehow.

These sudden memories made Hadrian very depressed, so he fought them away and instead concentrated on the fact that he was in a brand new world to explore. It worked, and he could feel his heart start to race with eager anticipation. Trying to put the past behind him Hadrian kept on walking and cast his head this way and that to learn as much about his new surroundings as he could.

Its said that suburban divisions cut down all the trees, and then name the streets after them, but here someone clearly spent a lot of effort putting in new trees.  You can see straw amidst thin new grass, and the square outlines of grass chessboards not yet truly become grass lawns, and F.J. Henderson's Tree Planting Service truck is parked in front of a very nice two story house in some indefinite style that uses a lot of brick and manifold roofs.

Most of the houses have swimming pools behind them, and as the twilight gives way to night you see several cars filled with teens pull up to separate houses (not all at once in some creepy coordination) and either honk or send someone up to the front door to gather other friends.

Girls come out of houses, and your attention is notched upward as so far all the females look to be possible applicants for Miss Norway with the exception of the few dark-haired ones that might do for Miss Russia. (And yes, I'm aware that not all Nordics are blonde and blue eyed...seing as I'm sort of brown haired and brown eyed meself...).  Looking closer, you realize the guys are mostly pretty handsome, model like for the most part.

You come to a street corner.  Its the corner of Birch and Pine Street.

PT

Walking along and enjoying the slight chill of night Hadrian didn't really pay much attention to his enviroment, not consciously in any case. He thought in passing that he was most likely in an American suburb, as he couldn't imagine a more stereotypical picture of the American dream.

Once the cars started showing up he stopped and looked at the emerging females with boyish interest. Hadrian had long ago realized that he was helpless against the fairer sex, but from this distance that weakness didn't bother him mentionably. It wasn't until he was done ogling the ladies that he noticed that the men were just as easy on the eyes. An interesting coincidence he thought.

Hadrian continued walking. For each car that passed him he tried to follow it with his eyes for as long as he could. He tried to note if they were all going anywhere in particular or if they headed into all different directions. Coming to Birch and Pine street he wondered if the names were just another coincidence or if this particular suburb was just very fond of greenery. The trees and the truck he had seen could indicate the latter. Hadrian decided to continue down to road where the majority of the cars seemed to be going. If he was lucky he could find some place to stay the night and satisfy his curiosity at the same time.

You follow and there is a general path which leads out of the suburban division to a single entrance/exit road and a short brick wall with a sign on it...

"Forrest Oaks Subdivision. The Safe Community!"

Next to it are offers to sell homes with numbers in the low tens on small temporary signs.

An open convertible pulls up alongside of you, and its got a collection of lovelies and model guys.

"Hey man, you need a ride somewhere? We're going to the Field Hockey game in town, and we can drop you off anywhere along the way." The driver has an easy smile, and you sense no great depths to him, but no malice either.  Next to him, one of the guys starts hooting.

"Go Slicers!" And the cry is taken up by the whole car except for the driver who continues to wait on your decision.

PT

Hadrian beamed back an easy and grateful smile.

"I'd love a ride," he said and jumped in, making sure to get a seat next to one of the "lovelies" if he could. He realized that in their eyes he probably looked either like an old geezer with his snappy suit, coat, hat and cane, or at best an odd looking guy with an unusually old fashioned taste in clothes. He didn't think much more of it - once he was in the car it was too late for them to have second thoughts anyhow.

When the car started moving Hadrian decided to take the opportunity to find out a bit more about where he was.

"I just came in from out-of-town," he said in general once the hooting and cheering started to lessen, "and I'd like to know more about this community. Is Slicers the local team?"

"The Palmetto Spring Slicers are on their way to the Provincial Finals if they can beat Wallton tonight." The brunnette on the other side of the guy to your right says. "I'm Patricia."

Everyone introduces themselves: Chad the Driver, Robert, and George (to your right) are the guys, and Patricia, Kimberly, and Deirdre the blonde (to your immediate left).

They chat among themselves and you're struck by how straigtforward and simple their concerns are. And then you realize, they don't seem especially bright when they miss one of your jokes.

You drive past a cemetery, and then enter the small town proper, and they pull up in front of a very nice for a small town stadium.  The parking lot is packed with cars, and several dozen others are getting out as well.  Its not that they're the Beautiful People, although some qualify, but everyone is at least moderately handsome.  There are plenty of adults and everyone is attractive in some way or another.

"Oh, aargh, I forgot." Chad says and turns to you. "Did you want to be dropped off here, or somewhere else in town?"

PT

"No worries," Hadrian said and waved away the question by actually waving his hand at Chad. "I think I'll stick around and watch the game, I'm suddenly very interested in seeing if the Slicers win today."

He exited the car and made an annoyed sound inside his head, which he sometimes did when he caught himself telling ridiculous lies. Hadrian couldn't care less about sports. What he had taken an interest in was the people and how they all seemed attractive on some level or another.

Hadrian followed after the Chad and the others, asking them occational questions about the town and the people to learn as much as he could.

Some are distinguished with gray hair, and others are slender but erect in posture like an old military man who's kept himself in shape, and others are portly but the perfect image of a friendly grandmother.  There are young wives in tennis shorts, and broad-chested guys in terry cloth shirts with neatly combed hair, and perfectly cute and spunky looking kids who look like 50% mischief and 50% cute.

And then there's the man at the back of the stands who is wearing a dark trenchcoat and standing absolutely still in the shadow of a tree. You can't see his face, but he sets off your 'trouble' alarm in the back of your head.  No one seems to notice him as he stands by the entrance to the restrooms.

Once inside, you find a seat and the Palmetto Springs Girls Field Hockey team takes the field to rapturous cheers.  Their enemy is greeted with boos and thrown popcorn.

The others are good hosts. Their concerns are 1)The opposite sex. 2)The game. 3)The unfairness of teachers in demanding a reading comprehension test to pass high school. 4)Who said what to whom.

One remark catches your attention.

"Good thing we had a backup team or we'd never gotten this far what with the Locker Room Slaughters." George comments.

"Yeah, nine people in our home room killed by the maniac, and he's still out there. Well, I'm off to the restroom." Patricia says as she stands up.

Hadrian's eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror as all the pieces of the puzzle around him came together in a grotesque new image he hadn't expected. A sickened desire to weep ravaged his body as he realized the truth of it all. The perfect-looking people, the simple minded stereotypical teens with seemingly no depth to their personality. And least but most important: the recent murders. No one - NO ONE - named a recent gruesome murder something like "the locker room slaughters" and then casually mentions it in passing except in a bad american horror movie.

Hadrian wanted to cry because he realized he had just become the support actor in "I know what you did last summer' meets 'Scream".

He took a minute to calm himself down and tried to make sense of the situation.

"Okay," he thought, "if this is every horror movie I regret ever having seen, then Patricia foolishly on her way to the bathroom alone, after having revealingly mentioned the murders, is more or less dead. Trying to stop her will make me look like an idiot and no one will probably understand. Following after her and try to stop the 'maniac' will automatically make me a target, which is something I have to avoid at all costs. In addition, if I follow her and I am dead wrong about all of this, then everyone will think I'm a creep, which is just as undesirable as being killed."

In the end Hadrian settled for the logical approach. That is to say, he settled for trying to make Patricia see his logic.

"Do you really think it is such a good idea to go off to the bathroom all alone, what with the murders you just mentioned and the killer still out there? Not to mention that there was a creepy looking man in a dark trenchcoat who stalked around the restrooms not ten minutes ago."

Hadrian gave his message a few moments to settle in. He realized that the logical response now was for one of the girlfriends to offer to go with her, which in a true horror movie plot would make as much difference as a penny would do to unrail a speeding train. His single hope was that she would actually understand what he was trying to say and realize that maybe she would be better off waiting until she got back home - although he knew there was little no chance of that happening.

She's several steps away, but she turns back and listens with a tolerant smile while you try to save her life. She comes back up, and you think you've convinced her until she bends down to kiss you on the cheek.

"Don't be silly."

She dances away, and bounces lightly down the staircase for the stands.

PT

Hadrian leaned slightly forward and covered his face with his palms and made a very irritated groan. He immediately followed up by looking up to the sky with a loathing gaze.

"Is this punishment for something? If it is, then you should know there is a word for it. It's called overkill!"

He looked at the others and tried to collect his thoughts.

"Patricia is a goner and I know it. I am not obligated to do anything to help her, not even morally. What I 'should' do is sit here and enjoy the game with the others."

Hadrian leaned forward and tried to do just that. He failed miserably. He got up and quickly excused himself by saying he had to take a trip to the bathroom as well. He then alternated by walking swiftly and jogging toward the bathrooms, hoping that he would make it in time to do something. He was very pessimistic about the whole situation - especially regarding what he could do to help.

You head on down to the bathroom, and with a feeling of growing horror you see a number of adults standing about the entrance. They look to be shattered.

A police car passes you on the left, and parks on the sidewalk. Two handsome, but not particularly bright looking police officers jump out and rush into the bathroom. A minute later, one rushes out and vomits into a nearby trashcan.

Not knowing why, as its obviously too late, your feet continue to move forward. To your left that grandmother speaks on her cell phone.

"Its nasty. No, no one could have known the Locker Room Killer was going to strike in the bathroom next to the lockers. Who could have conceived that?"

And then ten feet on, you see Patricia talking to an obvious teacher.

She sees you and rushes over to hug you.

"It was Mindy Sanderson. She got drowned in the sink. I was the first person to find her." She bursts out into tears again.

PT

Hadrian positively fumed with rage when he saw that he had been completely right.

"Who could have conceived this indeed! What a moronic, asinine and arrantly idiotic bunch of muddle-heads!"

Most of Hadrian's anger left him when he saw Patricia coming toward him, alive and obviously quite shaken. His fatherly instinct - he was after all considerably older than her - was to scold her for not listening to him. His male instincts however had priority at the moment and so instead he wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

"I told you it was dangerous," Hadrian replied, without  fully thinking about what he was saying, "if you had gone any sooner... that man could have killed you and not... Mindy Sanderson."

Having said it he realized that it probably wasn't a good idea to reveal that he had in fact uncanny insight into the ridiculously simple mechanics of horror-movie logic. Hadrian decided to keep his mouth shut from now on, or until he found someone of intelligence he could trust.

Hadrian gave Patricia another warm hug and then pushed her out to arms length, holding her reassuringly by the shoulders.

"Maybe you should go back to the others and tell them about this. I need to have a talk with the police."

Patricia looks shocked and horrified.

"I hadn't considered that, you're right. Oh my." She shudders, and you murmur soothing words to her until her trembling stops.  She then runs off to tell her friends from the car who are approaching the bad news.

You wander over to one of the policeman who is rinsing out his mouth, and making a report via the dispatcher on what has occurred. Once he's finished, he turns to you.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

He's got a nice cleft in his chin, solid muscles from lifting weights, a hefty Glock 10 mm pistol on his hip, a clueless look in his eyes. His nametag says 'Officer Martin James".

PT

Hadrian looked at him gravely.

"The name is Hadrian; Special Agent Hadrian to be exact. I'm not on official duty at the moment- I'm on holdiay - but when I heard what had happened, I JUST knew I had to make my services available."

He allowed a short pause to let it sink in.

"I work mostly with High School and College serial killers. Could I have a look at the crime scene? I might be able to provide valuable information to your investigation."

He gives a relieved sigh.

"Oh man, am I glad to see you. Yeah, this one has us stumped. Don't tell the press that, but this is a real tricky one."

He takes you by the arm collegially, and escorts you into the bathroom which is rather nice except for the dark-haired girl face down in the large sink which is overflowing with water.

Officer James introduces you to Officer Whittier who is a bit more restrained, but seems pleased you're on the case as well.

"The way I make it is that the perp, who might be the Locker Room Killer, the perp, uh...." Whittier focuses for a second to remember what he was about to say. "He was hiding in a stall, and when the unknown girl walked up to wash her hands, he grabbed her by the neck and forced her face down into the water, and drowned her."

PT

Hadrian noded but didn't indicate in any way what he thought about good officer Whittier's theory. Instead of saying anything at all Hadrian folded his arms behind his back and slowly approached the girl - looking every bit like the experienced investigator.

Shortly summarized, this is what Hadrian was looking for:

- Any bruises or wounds on the arms, neck and head.
- What was clogging up the drain.
- How much water was on the floor, and was it splashed out in a wide area or concentrated in a pool around the girl.
- Any wet footprints leading away from the sink?
- Anything else that could be of importance.

Hadrian's rough outline of what had happened was this:

The killer must have clogged up the sink in advance to prepare for an easy kill. He then moved back outside, as Hadrian saw him standing there, and waited for a prey. The girl, Mindy Sanderson, came along and went into the bathroom, not suspecting anything, as expected from these simpletons. The killer simply followed in after her and drowned her with surprising speed and efficiency, then left without anyone noticing.

The time that passed between Hadrian seeing the suspicious man and the murder being revealed was so fleetingly short that the actual kill must have happened very quickly for him to get away before anyone else showed up, which is why Hadrian suspects a tool of some kind being used to strangle the girl before or while she was held under water.

Hadrian was prepared to offer his own theory once he had checked its validity against the evidence present at the scene.

In her thick hair, you spot a bruise behind her left ear. It looks like its been covered with a daub of waterproof makeup.

The sink is plugged with a crunched up bit of rough towel paper that is available a foot from the sink.

The water is mostly in a pool around the girl, and there might have been footprints, but the officers have thorougly tracked everything up.

In one of the stalls you find next to the various insults, and reccomendations of girls, you find a list of ten names and nine of them are scractched out with magic marker. The last is Mindy Sanderson.

Hadrian returned from checking the stalls, still silent, walked back over to the girl, looked at her briefly then turned to the two officers.

"How many more girls have been killed? I'm guessing this one makes it nine, correct? Were all of them killed here in this toilet or has the murders been spread out over town?"

"Lastly," he said as he looked Officer James straight in the eye, "and this is important. How were they all killed?"

Officer James checks his notepad.

"Um, five guys, four girls, um with Mindy that's five girls."

He scracthes his head.

"Well in their Locker Rooms. Each was killed in a different way. One slipped and fell on a knife, another was standing in a puddle and got electrocuted...."

He shrugs.

"Mindy got drowned."

PT

"Slipped on a knife..." Hadrian echoed and grimaced. He didn't care to cover it up, as the policemen would probably mistake it for disgust of the act of murder, and not the fact that it was idiotic that anyone could possibly slip and fall on a knife and die.

He felt a tingle crawl up his spine, signaling that he was about to lose his temper, which was very rare for Hadrian. He usually only got extremely frustrated - which he was as well.

Just to get this business over and done with Hadrian mentally noted each of the ten names on the list for future reference. He then showed it to the two officers and told them to check it against each of the victims. They would probably be shocked to find it was fairly similar to their own list of dead teens. He decided that telling them of the trench-coated man lurking about before the murder was completely pointless, so he instead left under the pretence that he needed to ask the people outside some important questions about what they had seen before and after the murder.

As Hadrian walked out of the bathroom he mentally congratulated himself for being the only intelligent person on this entire planet.

Passing by the crowd outside in a state of complete aloofness Hadrian went to where he had seen Patricia and the others last. Even if they were as imbecilic as the rest of the population in this world they would at least provide him with the company he required to ignore the locker-room murders long enough to calm himself down.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:26, Wed 01 Oct 2008.

The list is exactly similar and in the same order...its the order they died in. Its also the order of their dates of birth from oldest to youngest (although for one pair, the difference is merely that of hours).

The police are not shocked. Instead, it serves as proof to them that you are a Federal Agent and really smart.

The game has been postponed until tommorrow.  Patricia and company are waiting by the hot chocolate stand for you.

They see you, and hand you a cup of cooling 'hot' chocolate they bought for you earlier, and the driver stands up...

"I'm thinking about calling it a night."

PT

Hadrian accepted the hot chocolate and sipped it a few times. The drink seemed to melt away some of the tension Hadrian was harboring, and he managed a weak smile in thanks for the refreshment.

"Good idea," Hadrian answered Chad, "in fact you should all go home. I managed to learn more about this 'locker room murderer' in just a few minutes than the local police have learned since the very first killing. You should go home, lock all the doors and windows and try to get some sleep."

A particular scene from a horror movie Hadrian could not recall the name of told him that if any of these teens were next on the killers list, they were bound to forget that one fateful door and wouldn't survive the night in any case. Telling them to do it was just so that he wouldn't feel bad about it afterwards should any of them be killed.

After having seen them of, and taking time to comfort Patricia in particular - ever the ladies man - and tell her that everything was going to be okay, Hadrian went back to the bathroom. If the police were still there, he would approach them. If the scene was abandoned, he would enter the bathroom again to take a closer look at the body, this time undisturbed by an ignorant audience.

They assure you they will, although one of the guy's mutters that its silly because after all...Its the Locker Room Murderer! No locker rooms in their houses.

Once you make sure Patricia is safely deposited, you make you way back to the bathroom of doom, and find it unoccupied except for some yellow police tape and Mindy's body and hopefully a clue or two to track down a serial killer.

PT

"Ok," Hadrian thought, "despite what these yokels might think there's more to this murder than a simple drowning."

He reexamined the wound behind her ear. She was definately hit in the back of the head before being placed in the sink. In addition, the lack of water splash indicates that she didn't resist being put in the sink. If she had, there would be water everywhere, not just in a pool around her.

Hadrian deducted that unlike the victims, the killer certainly wasn't stupid. He knew that even these simple-minded people would realize the meaning of a scream and come running, potentially even catch him. So he knocked Mindy unconscious before drowning her, to ensure a minimum of fuss.

"... which means it was important that she drowned, and wasn't killed in any other way. This guy really puts a lot of effort into killing each of his victims differently."

However, Hadrian realized, if she was unconscious by the time she was put in the water, she might not have drowned at all. She might have simply suffocated, or the hit itself could have killed her.

With gentleness that surprised even himself Hadrian eased Mindy out of the water and put her on her back on the floor. With a piece of the coarse paper beside the sink he wiped away the make up and took a closer look at the wound behind her ear. Once he was done with that Hadrian performed simple heart compression a few times, to see if he could force water out of her lungs - if there was any.

It looks like the makeup was deliberately applied with some skill.  Its a thick goop. In your world, covering up a murder wound with makeup would be pointless, but here, who knows, maybe the morgue attendants were actually that inobservant?

Mindy looks peaceful as if she died unaware.

There's little water in her lungs. You're not an M.D., but perhaps half a cup of water so...?

There's a ripped off fingernail on her index finger of her left hand.

The wound looks jagged, and irregularly shaped, and about two inches in diameter.

PT

After finishing his crude physical of Mindy Sanderson Hadrian took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. He needed time to think. He had several pieces of information, but if he couldn't fit them together they would be worthless to him.

He had his mind made up that the cops were to be held on the sideline on this one. At best they would be useless, at worst they would get in his way. The less they knew, Hadrian thought, the better.

...

Two quick OOC questions:

Is the fingernail in question ripped off but still hanging on, or lying nearby, or is it ripped off and completely gone - as in did the killer take it with him?

Is it a bruise, an open wound or a mix?

...

As he stood there he alternated between looking at the wound and looking at the fingernail. He was unsure of what the killer had used to club her with, but he couldn't imagine it had been any ordinairy tool he knew of - most tools were too even and geometrical to create a bruise like that.

Hadrian felt he was just about finished, and started walking in a semicircle around Mindy's body towards the door, but never taking his scrutinizing eyes off her.

Its ripped and hanging on There is blood on its tip.

The wound is an open wound. And you're right. No ordinary tool made this.

As you stand there, you get the feeling that she is urging you to find her killer. It might be your imagination, and the eerie scene with a dead body under fluorescent lights. There's certainly nothing obvious, but you've seen many strange things since you hopped on the Cross-dimensional Express.  Its not impossible that a dead girl is speaking telepathically to your mind.

PT

Hadrian stopped, intrigued.

He felt strangely relaxed all of a sudden. There was a tranquil aura over the entire scene - despite how gruesome it might seem to some. He suspected it was the feeling he got from Mindy that did this to him.

Hadrian stepped over to Mindy again and bent down, stroking her hair gently.

"Don't worry Mindy," he said, "I'm trying my best..."

He didn't feel like adding what he indended to do once he found he killer, he thought as he looked at her, almost sleep-like, and sighed. She would be greatly disappointed to know that Hadrian was more curious about who this person was, whose intelligence made him highly conspicuous in a world of fools, than he was interested in stopping him. In fact he couldn't see that these murders were all bad either. In a way he thought of it like natural selection - a necessary evil to purge a very dormant gene pool.

He realized as he caressed Mindy's hair that he probably wouldn't have liked her had she been alive, but dead he found he was quite fond of her. She was an excellent and compliant subject. Very helpful, and he suspected she was a great listener as well.

"You see I know how you died, love," he started, "I know exactly what the killer did from preparation to going through with the act. The things I don't know are: what did he use to kill you, and why.

The why isn't always as important as the how, but it is an interesting part of the murder nonetheless. Psychology and all that, you know. Sometimes it helps to get into the same mindframe as the one you are working towards. In any case I need to know more about the other deaths, not just to know what the killer was thinking, but to find out how he does things. I have several hunches and theories, but I need to convince myself properly before doing anything further.

I hope I'm not boring you with this - I very much doubt it as you are dead - but I need to talk to someone about my investigation, and at the moment you are the most sensible person available."

Hadrian got back up for the second time, suddenly realizing how silly it was to be talking to a dead person, despite how benefitial it was to his concentration.

If he didn't get any more mental messages or emotions from the late Mindy Hadrian walked out the door.

...

He needed to find something to pass the night with, and somewhere to stay. He knew without a doubt that what happened that night would prove very imortant. Most likely it would provide him with another fresh crime scene to comb for clues. Even in the real world it is considered bad luck to say something like "why should we lock the doors? This is the 'locker-room killer', and there are no locker-rooms in my house!" In a horror-movie world it was more or less a death sentence.

Hadrian decided to ask around for the police station and head there. If he kept playing the government agent he might get access to pictures and files from the previous killings. Although he doubted the police had found anything of importance, he might glance a clue or two that they could have brought back by accident.

You walk one mile to the police station area which is downtown. On the way, you get an uneasy feeling as if you're being watched. Here in the windy, empty streets you realize that you might have made yourself a target, and that considering the police skill level that whacking you might be the logical choice of a killer.

You turn a corner, and hear a scrape of a shoe behind you at least ten feet away around the corner you just traversed.

PT

Hearing the sound Hadrian swiftly walked another ten feet and then turned around. He found a spot where the wall was solid, with no doors or windows within six feet and leaned up against it in a casual way, as if he was relaxing. In actuality Hadrian had made sure to cover his back while keeping the remaining 180 degrees of area easily surveyable. In addition, his stance allowed him to seem harmless, while still being able to either defend himself, attack or run away with very little effort. Before his pursuer rounded the corner he made sure to turn his sword-cane so that he could swiftly draw it to fend off an attack.

Hadrian didn't want a fight. Instead he wanted a chance, if only just a moment, to see the killer more closely and perhaps even halt him long enough to talk properly - one intelligent man to another, hopefully intelligent mass murderer.

A man in a torn overcoat stumbles around the corner. He's got an unkempt beard, and he doesn't look straight at you.

"Hey man, can you spare a dollar? I need to go get something to eat, and I'm all out of change."

He gets closer.

PT

OOC:

Quick question before I reply IC. I am fairly certain the answer to this one will be 'yes', but I'll ask nonetheless.

Would you say that this man differs from the beautiful/handsome/cute norm of the other men? Is he a bit on the ugly side - or at least less attractive than the rest - in addition to being poorly dressed and unshaven?

He's handsome in a beat up and uncared for sense.

Good question.

PT

Hadrian tensed ever so slightly. The poorly dressed man didn't seem terribly out of place - in fact had this been the real world Hadrian would have taken him for any other bum, and actually believed he wanted money. However, Hadrian didn't feel good about him, and he realized it was most likely because this WASN'T the real world, and this man didn't fit into the perfect bubble of this suburban society.

"Hold there!" he commanded in a stern, but not intimidating tone. He was set on being cautious, but if he was wrong he wasn't going to be overly rude.

"No need to come any closer. I am as broke as you are my good man. However if you will suffer my company I can take you to where I am going and get you a decent meal. I am on my way to the police station, you see. I've just come from the most interesting crime scene - perhaps you have heard something of it: a young girl was attacked and killed in a lavatory over by the stadium."

Hadrian paused slightly for effect.

"She was hit in the head with a tool and left in a sink so that the police would assume she had drowned. Only I and the killer himself know the truth of it, and I haven't yet decided if I should tell anyone else. Do you have any opinions to offer on this?"

He was hoping for a reaction of some kind, one that he could use to determine whether or not his gut feeling was right.

Hadrian never once lessened his grip on the cane. At the present he was hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

"Thats real sad, man. Poor Mindy."

At this your hand tightens convulsively.

"The police question me every time there is a murder in town as I'm one of four homeless people in town, and everyone knows we're statistically more likely to be criminals."

He pauses and speaks in a sad voice.

"Hatred clears your brain, you know. Only I didn't like myself, and so I'm not very smart. Just smart enough to not fit in."

He pauses.

"Are you sure you don't have a dollar?"

PT

"Mindy, eh? It is too soon for word to spread around, far too soon. I didn't see him at the crime scene, and I am pretty sure I couldn't have missed him. The only two explanations then is that he is the killer, or, more likely, that he knew about the murder before it happened."

This Hadrian found the be an interesting strain of thought.

He tapped his one hand searchingly and theatrically all over his coat, the other never left the cane.

"I might have some norwegian currency lying about, but I don't see how that could do you any good."

He sighed and stopped.

"If I tell you something true about me, will you answer a question about yourself?

You see, I don't like it here. There are so many people, yet not a soul to talk to in earnest. What I saw at the crime scene, it made me think I had found someone I could call intelligent. I do not know if I was mistaken or not."

Hadrian took a deep breath.

"Now answer me this. Why do you find it smarter to not fit in than to be one in the crowd? Is there any particular reason why being like everyone else is a bad thing?"

For every thing the man said another ten questions popped into Hadrian's mind. First and foremost what the bum had said about being smart enough to not fit in caused something to stir within Hadrian. If being different was smart, than that made being one of the others, one of the simpletons, a stupid thing - and the only negative aspect of being perfect and handsome in this world that Hadrian could discern was that a killer was going through them one by one.

"You a foreigner? Not that I got any problem with foreigners." He hastily adds that last bit. Inside you smile a bit. He has no idea how foreign you actually are.

"Smart? Ah, the cops, uh, oh...." He stares frightened at you.

"They bored me, and maybe if I had to do it over again, I'd do it different, but then again, I'm my own man. I was awful angry back then. Just not angry enough to ..." He seems glad to have changed the topic back to his past. "It was a wind blowing through my brain all that long night as I was locked in a locker. I could feel my mind working as I grew angrier and angrier. I...gathered the supplies to burn the school down with everyone in it. And I actually understood how to use the chemicals in the lab, well sort of. But then I couldn't do it. But I could see how another man, who was angrier than me might do something, might be fearsomely smart, and not just half-bright like me."

The thing that seems odd to you is this theory sounds smarter than something he could come up with on his own.  Its too abstract, too general, and he doesn't seem quite bright enough to get there. On the other hand, he's had at least a decade to think about it, and sometimes such great efforts over a long time can yield some surprisingly powerful insights and treasures.

PT

... might be smart enough to kill freely under the noses of the police? Hadrian finished for him as much as asked.

A few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place, but there were still a large number of gaps.

"I think you know more than you are letting on, and at the same time I get the feeling that you really don't know all that much - but I think you know someone who does."

Hadrian leaned on his cane and looked questingly into the homeless man's eyes.

"Care to tell me how you knew that Mindy was the dead girl?"

"He told me, he said, that if I told the police, he'd merely make it look like I did it, and I'd go to the chair for his crimes."  The homeless man shook his head. "And yes, the police are stupid enough, or he's smart enough, same difference to pull it off."

"I'll take your Norwegian cash, I might be able to find a merchant who'll take it thinking its local." He smirks and you see a bit of the anger in his eyes which fades into sadness.

"I spoke the truth. The police do question us for every crime. We're the Obvious Suspects. Frankly, thats enough to keep me on the straight and narrow right there. But  yeah, the thin man in the long coat came by to tell me the name of the girl. He said, 'she's the one of b' and 'she got what she deserved'. I understand the hate, truly I do, because I don't want to be less than myself, turn my brain off, but at the same time I might be willing to if I could have another chance. What would you do, man? Choose to be half a man as long as you're accepted? Or go into the dark and lonely lands? Or become a madman like my visitor, so full of hate, such beautiful, purifying, enlightening hate."

"If you see him again, tell him that he's caught Hadrian's attention, and that I will be coming to see him as soon as I can."

"Also," he added, "tell him that he has nothing to fear from me at the moment. I have more important things to do than to help the police catch him."

Hadrian picked his wallet out of a pocket. He hadn't touched it since his first verse out of Oslo and there was roughly fifty dollars worth of Norwegian crowns still in it. He emptied it out and gave all of it to the bum.

"Here," he said, "I don't need Norwegian cash anyway."

He put the empty wallet back in its pocket as he considered the question.

"What would I do? I guess I'll have to go for the elusive option number four - which is none of the above. I wouldn't turn off my brain for anything in the world, but neither would I use anger as a means to augment my intelligence either.

Strong emotion might be a good shortcut to becoming clever, but I refuse to believe that it is the only option to being a vegetable.

Try to be a bit more stubborn. Chin up, gut in - and don't look so gloomy, you aren't dead yet. I'll give your problem a little thought, and I'll let you know if I figure something out. Likewise, if you have any other theories, I'd love to hear them over a burger some other time - my treat of course."

He accepts your crowns and shrugs.

"I hope you're right. I do see you've not been beaten down by the world which is a bonus for you."

He steps back, and you walk onward as he studies you from behind. You can feel his gaze heavy upon you, but you pay no mind to it, and then turn the corner, and shortly thereafter you walk into the police station.

A bored looking sergeant with a 'mustache' of powdered sugar looks up at you.

"Reporting a murder? Or something else I can help you with?"

PT

Before going through the door Hadrian buttoned down his outer coat and stuffed his hands into his pant pockets, so that the long coat trailed behind him when he walked. He was trying to look more impressive. At the same time he wanted to seem strangely relaxed. Hadrian had an image in his mind of what an ace detective should look like and behave, and he was trying to fit that image as well as he could.

Hadrian came to a stop in front of the bored looking cop. He stood straight with a stern face and tried to look like someone who commanded authority.

"My name is Special Agent Hadrian. I'm with S.I.A, the Special Investigation and Apprehension unit. I am here to deal with the man you have dubbed 'the locker room murderer'."

He looked the cop up and down - appraising him. He took another step toward the counter, putting his weight and authority into the step, and looked the policeman straight in the eye. It was a glare of absolute seriousness.

"This might be the most important arrest in the criminal history of this country. When the newspapers find out about what is going on here, a flood of reporters are going to come rushing through those doors and bombard you with questions you can't hope to answer. Now do you really want your picture, the picture that is going to be what everyone sees when they look at their morning paper, to be one where you have a line of sugar on your upper lip?"

Hadrian let the question hang in the air for a few moments before continuing.

"I'm going to need the name of the chief of this precinct, a copy of today's paper - if you have one - and when you've finished with whichever pastry you are enjoying, I'd like to have a word with the chief."

Hadrian tried his best to sound like someone important who was used to getting his way whenever he barged into police affairs like he was just now.

The desk sergeant nods as you state your identity.

"I've never heard of SIA." He growls. He looks worried as you bring up the press, and hurriedly cleans off his mouth.

"Um, yeah." He hustles off his waddling self to the break room, and comes back with a broken apart newspaper. "We don't have a precinct. This IS the police station."

He then places a call to the Night Captain.

"Um, yeah, SIA, no sir, never heard of them. Yes, sir, real important like seems. I'll send him back."

He gives you directions to Roger Stuart's office up on the second floor.

You're aware that you've aroused the desk sergeant's suspicions, and provoked his territorial defensiveness.

PT
OOC: Yup '98' on convincing him.

OOC: I'm assuming '98' isn't a very good roll. Are we talking borderline botch, or just plain bad?

Hadrian took the paper and nodded his thanks. He then left in a sort of slow haste - like his business was of the utmost importance - in the indicated direction.

As soon as he found himself to be alone Hadrian whipped up the paper and took note of its name and the current date. He then flipped his way to a decent looking page, ripped off a sizable portion of it, making sure that today's date was located on the bit he took out of the paper. The rest of it he casually ripped into four pieces and dumped in four separate garbage bins. Best make sure not to leave any breadcrumbs for Average Joe Police Officer to accidentally find.

Hadrian took out his marker pen and scribbled down a list of the names of all the teens he had driven with earlier in a random order, trying his best to make the writing seem as different from his natural handwriting as possible, without it looking deliberately faked. On the bottom of the list he put Roger Stuart's name. Once he was finished he crumpled the piece of paper and put it in his pocket for later use.

Done with that little task Hadrian continued on his way to the office of the night captain.

"Greetings," Hadrian said once he had knocked and been let into the office of Roger Stuart, "my name is Hadrian. I'm an agent from the Special Investigation and Apprehension unit and I'm here to offer you some sorely needed help."

OOC: A '98' can be a success, but generally its a botch.  Your advantage is that your opponenent is not all that competent. Its like you had a botch with gunpowder, but you were only using a quarter teaspoon full.

The man behind the desk gets up and gives you a warm handshake.

"My name is Roger Stuart. I'm the Night Captain. And we could sure use the help."

PT

Hadrian appraised the night captain just as he had done with the earlier cop.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume you haven't heard of SIA before. The officer at the reception desk gave me a look like I had two heads when I told him who I was from."

He waited for Roger to confirm it, then went on.

"The Special Investigation and Apprehension unit is a detached group of highly trained agents whose task is to assist local and federal police when they come across cases too difficult to solve. We only answer to the highest authority and our actions are kept away from the public eye to ensure that we can do our job undisturbed - which is why you haven't heard of us. Most cops don't even know who we are until we come knocking on their doors."

There was a slight pause for breath before Hadrian continued.

"I specialize in High School and College serial killers, which is why I thought you might need my help. I stumbled across the Mindy Sanderson crime scene, and was shocked at the ruthlessness and intelligence of the killer. However, please understand that I am not here in any official capacity. I am off duty, and can only offer my unofficial services. Aside from that though, I am willing to go as far as it takes to take this madman down.

You have every right to decline, but I am very rarely wrong, and if this killer is allowed to go on SIA will be notified eventually, and when another agent comes down here to 'offer his services,' you WILL be sidelined for the duration of the investigation.

If you accept I expect the complete cooperation of the police, and I hope you can trust me enough to provide certain tools I need."

Hadrian hoped that his little speech would be enough to convince the Night Captain to play along, or better yet, even trust him. Should Roger Stuart become as suspicious as the desk attendant though Hadrian had the slip of paper in his pocket as backup.

He nods and moves a pencil around on his desk.

"You freaked out the desk sergeant.  But I can see why. He's a good cop, just a little paranoid."

He stands up and holds out his hand for you to shake.

"I'd like your help, in a consultative fashion. And I'm pretty sure this is the farthest thing from your mind, but the city can pick up your tab for meals and hotel, if you're not staying in someone's home."

He then opens up a folder which had been sitting on his desk and beckons you to come around the desk to look at it.

Its full of data on the eight, now nine people murdered.

"I don't get it. He killed the first eight in locker rooms. Then Mindy in a bathroom. Death by being hung in a shower, by having a water moccassin bite you, by slipping on a wet floor and getting impaled....and now drowned in a sink. Sick, sick."

PT

Hadrian shook Roger's hand and agreed to be his consultant on this investigation. He wanted to instill a sense of urgency, even fear, in the police. If they were scared they would be easier to manipulate. For now though Hadrian was satisfied to play his game from the sidelines.

"Water," Hadrian blurted out as he listened to the Captain speak. "He's killing them with and around areas that concern the wet element."

Hadrian was speaking more to himself than to the Captain, and although he WAS thinking what he was saying, he wasn't saying everything he was thinking.

"Why does he want the police to fool around with water, locker rooms and toilets? I'm thinking its just an elaborate decoy to keep the police running around, making up creative names that rhymes with 'locker room' and thinking they know anything about what is really going on. I know for a fact that Mindy was only supposed to look like she drowned, so perhaps the previous murders were similar illusions?"

Hadrian took a step back and paced back and forth, taking three steps in one direction, then spinning about and taking three steps back in a contemplative fashion. It wasn't nearly time for him to make the police any smarter, so Hadrian figured it was best to play along with the foundations the murderer had so conveniently laid for him.

"It's some sort of symbol," he said after a while "- most serial killers that do this have something to prove, or some sort of vendetta, that revolves symbolically around the locations they pick and the tools they use to kill with - in this case: water."

"...

I worked on a case a few years back where a particularly vicious killer murdered young unattractive girls and decorated them with beautiful makeup. The poor dead girls looked almost like models when we found them, much fairer than they looked in life. In the end it turned out the killer had been turned down by a model, and was getting back at her by 'turning down' prettier girls. In his head killing them and turning them down was one and the same. The makeup bit was because he couldn't kill beautiful girls, so he had to make them pretty afterwards.

It was pretty sick."

He stopped and looked once again on the spread out files. He was trying to impress Roger with stories from the life of the ace detective. He scolded himself for not making up something better, or more believable, but figured that the Night Captain wouldn't notice how ridiculous the story sounded in any case.

"Do you think I could have a copy of these to study somewhere in private here? If I work through the night I can have an accurate profile on the killer ready by the morning. I'll probably also need a pot of strong coffee!"

"Oh yes, I heard about that case." The Night Captain says. "You worked it. I heard they never caught the guy, the police were pretty roundly bashed in the press for it."

He looks a bit skeptical now. And you realize that you may have been underestimating the sheer stupiditiy of this world.

"Yeah, follow me." He takes you down the hall, and shows you the break room which is currently empty.  It has hot coffee in a tin holder, and good quality muffins, and cheap honey buns.  "Just camp out in here. Its fairly private."

He waves in the general direction of the booths on the far wall.

"That way, if one of the few guys comes in here, you'll have time to cover up. Especially if parents come in here. Don't want to freak them out. But really, its pretty quiet here at night. I myself am hoping to move to day shift. get some action."

Pt

Hadrian took the files and surveyed the room.

"Thank you, this will do admirably."

He spun around at the Night Captain's comment and eyed him gravely.

"Get some action? The police are not a step closer to catching this killer. We don't know anything about him, at the moment, and the dangerous part is that the killer is fully aware of our ignorance, and highly capable of using that knowledge to kill indiscriminately. Action, you say? I think we'll see plenty of action in the coming weeks."

Hadrian seemed to compose himself slightly, sighed and added, "My apologies, but this killer has me on edge. I have never seen anyone who murders with as much coldness and efficiency as this man. He is walking amongst us freely, mocking us with each kill. If he is capable of even half of what I suspect then... I am afraid to think of how many he might kill before we finally catch him - and trust me, I WILL catch him."

He thanked Roger again for allowing him to use the break room and then sat down to work. After pouring himself a cup of coffe, and clearing a space on the table, Hadrian spread the murder files out, in the order the kills were commited.

He sipped his hot coffe as he watched the files on the table with a lazy eye. This was going to be a long night. Hadrian put down the cup and read through each file with fanatical thoroughness.

He was looking for connections between the kills (apart from the fact that the victims were ranked from oldest to youngest), if they were all in the same school, same year etc. If they were all seemingly killed with something that had to do with water - and looking at the pictures, he wanted to see if any of the victims had wounds, or badly covered up wounds on the back of their necks or other parts of the body. If there was anything special or out of the ordinairy with the victims Hadrian would also take note of this.

The Night Captain is suitably abashed, and retreats with a handsome smile.

The kills are sorted by the time done, not by the age of the victims although the ages are very close indeed. The youngest is seventeen, and the oldest is twenty.

They all went to the local high school, or to the community college.

None of them are directly related to each other except one is Mindy's older brother.

All of them were incredibly handsome or beautiful.

All of the kills had something to do with water in some way or another. Other common elements, not in all of them, but repeating are Electricity, Rocks, Wounds. There are nine water elements, two electric, four rock, and two wounds.

Upon further looking at one picture, you decide that there were two open obvious wounds, but its distinctly possible that the local inept cops missed hidden wounds.

No one has any clue why they were targetted. They were the 'most popular kids in school'.

With a jolt, you see a yearbook picture of the first victim, Charles Dawson with his arm around Mindy Sanderson and a tag line "Runner-ups for King and queen of school."

PT

The obvious conclusion at this point seemed that these kids were killed because they were, in fact, "the most popular kids in school". Seeing as he was only on his second cup of coffee however, Hadrian didn't feel quite in the mood to start making up his mind about anything regarding this case.

The picture of Mindy and Charles interested Hadrian, and made him want to ask Patricia to see her copy of the yearbook when he next saw her. It would be painfully typical to find a picture in it with all of the victims gathered together. Hadrian didn't think he'd be that lucky, but figured the yearbook was an obvious angle to cover in any case. Also, he couldn't think of a better way to waste time between the future murders than hanging out with Patricia.

If he was to take a wild guess then and there as to who was a likely future victim, the one who had commented on there not being any locker rooms in his  - and therefore no need to lock the doors - would be an obvious choice. Hadrian pictured him strangled with the cord of the showerhead, the water still running when the police arrived, of course.

That teased out a slight smile, but he quickly dismissed it. Even though he was only half-heartedly investigating the 'locker room murderer', he didn't feel was prudent to wish for other people's deaths - annoying though they might be.

In the end Hadrian's list of clues was fairly thin. The victims had all been beautiful and popular, most likely dumb and all of them went either to the local high school or college. They had been killed in some way related to water, although there was a large possibility that this was nothing but a dead end to confuse the police.

A bit distraught Hadrian took a break from brooding over the files, drank his coffe, went to the bathroom, grabbed himself another cup of coffe and a donut and sat back down again to work more. Deciding he needed to check facts that the police couldn't possibly have gotten wrong Hadrian started looking at the estimated times of death of each victim, and if there were any similarities or deviations. In addition he also browsed through each file to see if the police had written down any statements from the people who first arrived at the crime scenes, and the people who saw the victims last. If the police had done this elementary thing, Hadrian read through them to see if he could find anything interesting.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Wed 12 Nov 2008.

You read page after page of mostly emoting. Shock, horror and rage leap off the pages, but expressed in the most stupid and banal way possible. There is very little actual information.

One person, River Cooss, jumps off the page because his response is so different.

"I walked into the locker room to change my clothes in preparation for the horrendous ritual of P.E., which should be banned, btw, and I saw that the ground was slick with water even though I knew no one should have been in the locker room during the previous lunch hour. Instantly, I was paranoid as I'd heard about the Locker Room murderer killing three people, and so I grabbed a baseball bat from the rack by the door and advanced.

Q. Were you angry?

A. More fascinated, but frightened. I saw Albert Ravens, class president of the eleventh grade, laying on the floor in his letterman jacket, black jeans, white shoes, and no socks. He was not moving, so I checked the rest of the bathroom for his assailant.

Q. Why not check the body?

A. I was hoping to get a chance to whack the guy who did it. Besides, he was not breathing. I checked him then, and I think I know what happened. He was wet on the front, but not on the sides. He had a knife in his back. I think the killer snuck up behind him, and put a knife in his back and forced him to get in the shower. Probably intended to strangle him, but Albert was an arrogant jerk and he tried to fight, and so he fell, and the killer let him land on the knife, and figured it was done.

Q. Interesting theory. Who's the policeman here anyways? You may go and keep your mouth shut about your theory.

This compares to a more typical response like...

"There I was, it was so horrible. I was in the locker room for, well, anyways, and the poor Drew Smithers was face down in the toilet. So undignified. I hope we catch that evil killer. No, I'm not sure it was the middle stall...did I hear noises, um no.  I was screaming too loudly in my head. Please say you're going tos top this madman."

Mindy saw her boyfriend last, and George saw his girlfriend, Carla Blake last. Both are tales of woe and self-pity.

Hadrian catalogued River Cooss name in his head under "interesting people to talk to", right above the serial killer he was investigating. At this time anyone who displayed anything that could be mistaken for intelligence, even slightly, qualified as interesting in Hadrian's book.

The night was dragging on, and Hadrian started to get a nasty feeling that he wouldn't be getting much more out of these files. Had they been ordinairy police files they would have been packed with information, and he would be a much more enlightened man by now, but that not being the case he was left with very little useable info.

Hadrian had a very weak case, with only a few leads he could still follow, such as the yearbook picture and River Cooss. When the morning came and he was asked to show what he had gathered to the day captain, the amount of success would be more determined by his creativity and ability to fabricate the truth than anything he had actually found.

He fingered his way into his pocket and felt the newspaper scrap he had in there. If things didn't go so well he still had an ace in the hole to scare the police with. Perhaps they would be more open to his aid if they felt the situation was more pressing. That question would be answered in the morning, he knew, and as far as Hadrian could see there was no more point in reading the files any more. He put them down and found a nice place to sleep, fully clothed.

OOC: What about the estimated times of death of the victims? Anything interesting to be gathered there. Had the police even bothered to determine when the victims had died?

The time for the deaths are ....

9:20 AM (for Mindy's boyfriend)
9:34 PM
9:22 PM
9:24 AM
9:29 PM
9:24 PM
9:32 AM
9:19 AM
Uncertain due to drowning in river.
9:22 PM (for Mindy).

Hadrian couldn't help but admire the precision of killer's work. Taking into consideration the ineptness of the police for logical thinking, and the obvious margin for mistake when "guessing" times of death, every victim seemed to have been killed at more or less precisely 09.30.

"He has an eye for detail, I will give him that."

Hadrian went off to sleep somewhere, fully clothed. The amount of coffe he had ingested denied him the total oblivion of sleep, but it did not matter. All Hadrian wanted was to close his eyes and digest all the information he had gathered - meditate, in other words - hoping everything would make more sense in the morning. He was also working furiously trying to come up with a string of believable nonsense he could feed the police with, instead of telling them anything true they might mistakingly make good use of.

You wake up to see bones sprouting from the linoleum, muscles filming over them, organs popping into place from more bones, a skull being added, and then eyeballs dropping into place, and then skin and clothes surging on.

"Hello, I'm Tom Day, a fellow verser, I wonder if I could borrow you for a bit."

PT

"Normally I'm assured in these set ups that I am going to be put back right where I started, which I can't say for sure if that's the case in this case, but I do know I could use the help.  I need to fight something...evil...and could use the backup.

Hadrian sat up, his eyes wide in something that was not quite shock, and not quite exultation. If Day had any means of seeing the look Hadrian gave him before his eyeballs materialized in the body, he would feel very much like a specimen being studied by a dusty old scientist, or a relic being appraised by a passionate antiquary.

"Greetings Tom Day, my name is Hadrian Superbia. Normally I would have respectfully declined, or at the very least bombarded you with questions - but with an entrance like that, how can I refuse?"

"Given, I am not much of a fighter, but if your quest requires a mathmatician, philosopher, historian or any other sort of thinker, I will be happy to oblige!"

"Only the fool refuses aid of the mind.  And I am generally not described as a fool.  I will answer any questions you have to ask..that I can answer..  Thank you for your assistance."

Hadrian abandoned what had been his bed for the night and stood facing Day. He sized his fellow verser up, still wearing that look of genuine interest. He was already a bit impressed due to Day's unusual materialization, and his appraisal of the man did not lower this impression.

Hadrian, on the other hand, looked perhaps a bit over-dressed to be combating evil. He was stiffly dressed in a black suit and tie. His coat was slung casually over a nearby chair, with a black wide-brimmed hat resting atop it.

"Well," Hadrian said and scratched his chin, "first and foremost I would like to know more about this 'evil' I am to assist you in defeating. In the world I visited prior to this one I foiled a summoning of Satan, and received some nasty threats from the lord of evil in return - best to make sure I am not putting myself into his path so soon, lest I risk being on the receiving end of his wrath."

"The world I left was Polytheistic.  I doubt there is direct demonic influence there.  I don't suppose you were recruited by a Jedi guy to a 20th century equivalent? We might have been in the same place.

As for the evil? I don't know.  Only that it is powerful enough that it sems it will take multiple versers to deal with it and that it destroyed an entire forest by corrupting it."

"I am not sure if he was an... um, Jedi," Hadrian said, finding it only slightly odd that Day would call anyone a Jedi so casually, "... although now that you mention it he might have been. He was a charming fellow, went by the name of Cristophe. Had a lovely lady with him, Annie.

The place was indeed 20th century-ish. The people there called the place Radix, Nevada."

"If you don't know anything about this evil we are to fight then my services will surely be of use to you - also, I love challenges, so I know I will not be leaving this encounter empty-handed.

When do we leave?"

"We can leave right now if you wish.  And yes, I was at Radix Nevada.  I didn't last very long though.  I tend not to in these 'gather' situations, only this time I CAN'T afford to die.  The stakes are too high."