[ ...and say hullo to young lady barely covered by a flimsy coat, currently posing leaning by charity collection box and a rather large wooden sign saying - ]



[ ooc: a few minutes of scouting through the network + no money + trolling despair = ...help the cause? :D The physical sign is, of course, always available if anyone wants to... rip it up. Draw on it. The likes! ]

( filtered to Akito )

[ and he'd turn it off, but after the filter cuts, the feed keeps going, leaving Kazu staring at the light a bit. ]

... kinda feel like every time this thing records on purpose, I oughta knock on something for an anti-jinx. Anyway—I guess I wanted to ask. Anybody know how far down the clock is?

[ ooc | sporadic tags 'til late tonight! ]

[The video flicks on to show a tiny white room. Bare as a cell, except for a strange bed. Karl lies there. Flat on his back. Tightly restrained. His skin is shadowed with bruises and cuts. The orbit of one eye is purpling and puffy. He breathes in growls, in and out, like a saw.]

Someone's life is flashing before my eyes. And it's not mine.

[He jerks against his restraints. Resembling, in a disturbing way, an animal. One that conveys rage with its eyes alone. His injuries are quite raw. But Karl isn't a shrieking sufferer. Not with his history. His attention is on the network device.]

I know you're there, Solomon. Watching me, like a damned Argus.

[His eyes glow red. But even staring out of bruises, they're defiant and unblinking. Lucid. Ironic, that Karl should be his sanest, at a time like this. The very air around him seems different. Infused with a darker purpose.]

You said, earlier, that it was time we talked. Well? Talk. I can't tear your throat out, so you needn't fear death, brother. In this City, death's a cheap thing, anyway. Even for those who've given everything for it.

[Livid, he jerks again on the restraints. No luck. Fangs bared, he re-focuses on the device.]

Come out, Solomon. I'm waiting.


[OOC:  Back to square...negative one? Karl broke out, conducted a fail!kidnapping, fought a cursed Saya without the benefit of his healing powers, and got his bleeding ass dragged back to Solomon's labs. Fortunately, the ordeal seems to have dampened his mania. Somewhat. He's... sane for the moment? Or, as sane as Karl gets. Come annoy him, City! He's a real shiny happy fun ball B|b. Private filters are disabled!]

So a friend and I had a contest recently, as to whose art was more recognizable. And here is the result!

What do you think? Is the winner the creature on the left? The one on the right? Do we both need art lessons? I rather like the picture as a whole, myself.

[The haunted look will never really leave Anna's eyes, but today she seems just a bit brighter with the sun on her face. She is out on the green for the afternoon, but she is assuredly still a patient when one takes note of the nurse keeping an eye on things. Nothing much to worry about at the moment, Anna is sitting quietly, poking at the device.

From her bed, Anna has been learning about things, watching the network flare and chatter day to day. It's curious, and today she has something to offer. Her voice is somewhat small and hoarse, but clear when she says,]

Hello, City. I hope you are enjoying the sun.

[Her smile is thin, exhausted, and always tinged with sadness.]




[[ooc; Pretty much the same as part one of this adventure. She is weak and not very talkative, although she will try. Action is also perfectly fine, if people want to visit her (she likes flowers!)]]

So a couple decided to spend the weekend driving up from LA to San Jose. Along the way their car runs out of gas, real smart huh? The husband, he leaves the wife in the car to go find a pump. About a half hour later, the guy comes back with a gallon of gasoline but inside their car, the wife is dead. She's sitting in the passenger seat with a big old hunting knife sticking out of her chest. All the doors are still locked, the windows are up, none of them are broken. The car doesn't have a scratch, it looks the same exact way it was when he left it. How did the murderer kill the wife?

I greet you fondly, dear City, as I begin this message.

It has come to my attention that there are those that are not so fond of the lengths that some will go to in order to achieve a goal. There are questions that rise from it and suddenly warnings are posted. Of course, I am sure that some of you would consider it to be teasing instead. Alas, it is but a point of view in the end.

Yet, this brings up a question of my own: What lengths would you go to in order to achieve your greatest goal?

Were someone to ask me, I would say that there are no boundaries. Honestly, why should there be? If we allow some limitation then is our goal really worth achieving? I am sure there are plenty that wouldn't agree with this.

However, I know there are others that find a certain pleasure in the freedom that comes with killing. With harming another and watching his or her face contort in pain. I must admit that there is a release that I can achieve through this. The passion and thrill that comes from the pure sadistic nature of causing another pain really cannot be compared to anything else. At least, that is my personal opinion.

So, dear City, are you someone who will cause pain? Or are you someone that will fight against this to save those in pain? I am looking forward to your responses.

Fondly,
M.O.C.

[ooc: All responses from Alexis will be anonymous. He's currently checking out the morals of the people in the City.]

 [Have a guy in a bathrobe shuffling in front of the camera, folks.  He doesn't seem to notice it right away, although with the hand running through his hair and the general jitteryness he seems to be embodying, it's not all that surprising he doesn't see it.  He reaches into a pocket, then, finding nothing, he glances around and -- AHA.  He sees you now.

There's a Jimmie staring at you all now.  He examines the device for a minute or so, then addresses it directly.]

Hello?  I see the light on, I know you're on.  What is this, a prototype or something?  I'm pretty fucking sure I got rid of my phone, so I know this isn't it, and whatever asshole put it in my pocket to begin with either deserves a medal or a foot up their ass.  I'm still trying to figure out which.

Listen, I've got no fucking clue who's on the other end, and I really don't give a shit, but if you see a dark haired broad walking around in a nurse's uniform give me a holler, okay?

And what's with all the graffiti?  Don't you guys have a neighborhood watch or a cleanup brigade for this or something?  Talk about hometown pride.  Fucking Christ.

[Muttered]

This is bullshit.  I swear, Julie, if this has anything to do with New Years'...

I always enjoy the beginning of spring, except for the cleaning part. None of my sisters are here to insist on it and yet I find myself doing a ridiculous amount of it.

Honestly how much clothing can one family possibly own? And that's just the clothing, that's not the books and the pens and the inks and the random accumulation of junk.

How does a stuffed badger burrow anyhow? Who would have made this ridiculous spell?

[A long-suffering sigh]

Whoever's on shift tonight, can you keep an eye out for grafitti? Thanks.

[There is only one reason Merlin goes with video, because he feels pretty horrible and probably looks it, with his hair standing up in all directions and his eyes drooping and the way he's draped on his bed, face half-buried in the pillow.

Horrible headache, thick tongue, overall gross feeling, etc etc.

The reason he chooses to show it even if he suspects the twins might find some amusement in it or something (depends on their own state at the moment, doesn't it)? So he can glare properly.]

Remind me to never go drinking with you and your friends ever again.