Whisper City (Major UPDATE) -- 10 JAN 2006

[Witcher Wolf]

The huge amounts of usual copyrights apply here.

Happy New Year.

Whisper City: Jack and the Dream-stalk

2061

January 02

14:27[/i]

He fell and hit the deck hard, he could feel the blood welling up in his lungs as the bullets bit into him. One, two, three, he lost count as he was riddled with them, his breath came in quick, short and sharp gasps. Jack Solomon had turned down the wrong alley today and come face to face with a snappy death.

Caught in the crossfire between two feuding gangs he’d been sprayed with enough lead to start a pencil factory. His cigarette burned out on the ground as his blood seeped over it, like Jack it expired in a wash of red.

15:00

He was dimly aware of voices all around him, people chanted strange phrases he couldn’t quite make out and for a moment a bright light burned into his retinas, at least he assumed it was his retinas. He saw a figure dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat and long leather coat.

“Rise and shine Jack Solomon,” said the stranger and the smell of a freshly lit cigarette danced into Jack’s nose. “I have a job for you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to be groggy for some time Solomon,” the stranger’s face became clearer and clearer. “A very fortuitous Biblical name you have there Mr.”

“This doesn’t sound like a hospital,” Jack sniffed the cigarette smoke and put a hand up to shield his eyes. “You don’t look like a Surgeon either.”

“Very astute,” the man tipped his hat and blew out a ring of smoke from thin lips. “Nicholas Winter’s the name, but that’s by the by. You’ll come to understand that the life you had before your accident with some careless bullets – is over.”

Jack stood up and looked himself over, he seemed to be different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and as his finger passed through his body he realised he couldn’t quite put his finger on anything.

“I’m dead?”

“Corporeally challenged, we prefer to say. Dead is so well, so – final.” Nicholas adjusted his hat and adopted a self-satisfied almost smug look.

Jack Solomon poked a finger into his eye-socket and wiggled it around a little; he seemed vaguely disappointed when it came back dry. “So I’m a ghost?”
Nicholas Winter paced a little, lit another cigarette and took a long drag from it. “A memory of how you used to be, at your prime Jack Solomon. We call them Dream-stalks; you’d call them ghosts of the past.”

“Ok,” Jack looked at the tall man in the wide brimmed black hat and the long black coat, he put two and two together came up with six and blundered on. “So you’re Death right?”

“Nope,” Nicholas shot back with a snicker. “I’m an Angel, but believe you me; you don’t want to meet the Trashman.”

“Who’s the Trashman?” Jack pursed his lips and blinked.

“He’s what happens when you die and you believe in nothing, you get just that. You believed in something, no matter how small, fragile or stupid that belief might have been.”

“I believed that my Son would be there to meet me,” Jack looked around for a moment and then settled on the Angel. “Where’s Scott?”

“Scott Solomon,” Nicholas Winter pulled a long thin book-like object from his pocket and pale fingers tapped the keys. He looked puzzled for a moment, tapped the device and then sighed. “No record, what do you mean no record – things were easier when they used bits of paper.”

Jack watched the Angel with a perturbed look on his face, before he began to shuffle around and finally took notice of his surroundings. He stood on a field of stars, like a pathway of some kind, everywhere eternity and the Universe unfolded like a match-book from a strange Motel.

“Sorry about this Jack,” Nicholas shrugged his shoulders and gave the device one last tap. “It looks like Scott’s vanished. We might want to look into that, can’t have un-tagged spiritual entities running around wild and free.”

Jack was too busy lost in the majesty of this other-worldly realm and it took him a good three minutes to finally snap back to this reality. “What did you say?”

“We need to find Scott at some point.”

“Yeah, Scott,” Jack replied and pointed to the stars. “What’s out there?”

“Oh right,” Nick grinned his cat-like grin and tipped his hat. “Creation, but you don’t want to be bothered with that right now. It’s under new ownership, very stringent new rules and so forth.”

“Ok. So what’s next?”

“The job Jack, you used to spend your time running numbers for the Mafia, a little rough work and monitoring their computer systems,” the Angel put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and whispered softly. “We have need of someone who can talk tough, walk tougher and most of all has no corporeal ties to the planet Earth.”

“A dead guy basically?” Jack smirked and shrugged transparent shoulders. “What use’s a Ghost Nick? Really, what can I do – haunt some guy out of his wages?”

“Interesting,” Nicholas Winter laughed and shook his head, trails of braided dark hair flickering against the leather of his collar, while his silver eyes took on a serious look. “Some of our best Operatives are dead guys Jack, Ghosts in the Machine – people who lived good or bad lives and now watch over the Mage Net with a hawk-like gaze.”

“Poetic, how much does it pay?”

“You’re dead Jack, what are you going to buy – more cigarettes?”

“They’re not going to kill me.”

“Good point.”

Jack kicked at some starlight beneath his feet; it moved and rippled a little. “So what do I get out of it?”

“You get to live again,” Nicholas flicked his cigarette into the abyss. “You become a Ghost-jack. You’ll be someone who can walk between the real world and the world created by the Mage Net.”

“Ghost-jack, that’s kind of fortuitous as you said,” Jack laughed some and mused on this idea. “So I’m a dead guy walking around in the land of the living, who can jump into the Mage Net and do jobs for you guys?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“Who am I working for? I mean I know you’re some kind of Angel but what’s your deal in this – what kind of card you playing Mr. Winter?”

“I’m an Agent for the Celestial Investigations Division. It’s kind of like the C.I.A only we work for Heaven Inc,” Nicholas Winter took his arm from around Jack’s shoulders and added. “It’s either us or you get tossed into the lower offices of Hell Plc and trust me – you don’t want that.”

Jack rolled his eyes and laughed deftly. “You suits are all the same, sweet deal and then you remind us – we don’t have a choice.”

“It is part of the job Jack, sorry,” Nicholas Winter offered an apologetic smile and dusted a mote of starlight off his long coat. “If I had any other choice I’d be the first one to offer it to you, but those are the Cosmic Laws and you don’t want to break them – not one bit.”

Jack held up his hands in a placating kind of manner. “Don’t go any further pal, spare me the details on the Laws Cosmic – I’m a down to earth kind of guy who got tossed into the deep fat fryer of the Universe just recently. I was the guy that didn’t believe in Devils and Angels until they knocked on my door one day and asked to borrow a cup of sugar.”

Nicholas Winter listened and shrugged his shoulders just the once, his long black coat fluttered softly in an ethereal breeze. “Just because you don’t believe in us, doesn’t mean that we don’t know you exist. You can’t just close your eyes on the Highway and wish there were no other cars in the way to crash into Jack.”

“Yeah – yeah, I get the point, just spare me the philosophy and we’ll get on just fine.”

[Amie]

Wow, you've really got my interest with this one, Wolf!! ;D Will there be anymore to this story? Please say yes! I want to know what Jack's first mission is.

[Witcher Wolf]

Oh yes, there'll be more

[Witcher Wolf]

Nicholas frowned a little and brushed it off with another hand gesture; he gave Jack a sour look and turned his eyes to the star-field outside of the small path. There was a whisper of sound as he did so and four black horses with gleaming golden eyes appeared on the horizon, they tossed fire-red manes and drew a black coach behind them.

The coach thundered across the stars and slowly came to a halt by the Angel, he adjusted his coat a little more and made sure he looked somewhat presentable. He closed his eyes behind the mirror of his shades and took a deep breath; encounters with the Coachman were always interesting.

The driver was a thin man and his limbs were spindly, like a two legged spider he sat on a raised silver platform, reigns gripped in tiny thin fingers. He wore the traditional garb of an Undertaker, complete with a top hat and snake-like forked tails.

A bone-white hand clicked open a single brass pocket-watch and he rasped. “Nicholas,” the word sent a shiver through the Angel’s body. “Has he made up his mind yet?”

Before Nicholas Winter could answer a child-like sneer broke forth from inside the coach and the driver looked mortified.

“He’s had enough time. He’s mine, tell that awful Angel he’s had his chance and I won!”

The pedantic tones of a tiny youth warbled from a small slit that had now opened behind the driver, he looked down at the watch and whispered. “He has one more minute, or the Master is going to own him for eternity.”

“One more minute has to pass,” Nicholas Winter said and looked at his own watch. “Getting impatient again?”

“Shut up!”

“Hasn’t he had his nap today, seems awful cranky?” the Angel smirked and looked to Jack, tapping the face of his watch with a finger.

“Tell him he eats worms and blows…”

The driver cut the child-like voice off with a sharp toned, “Master!”

Jack Solomon had remained silent right up till now and then when the child spoke up again he snorted. “That kid needs a good smack on the ass, someone should teach him manners – who the hell’s he think he is?”

“That would be Death,” Nicholas Winter coughed and waved a finger backwards and forwards in a ‘time is wasting’ manner.

Jack’s expression changed from irritation to incredulous in one fell swoop and his jaw opened, closed, opened and closed again. “The kid’s Death?”

“Yes, and you’ve got thirty seconds to choose,” the Undertaker wheezed and a beady black eye settled on the dial of his pocket-watch. “Or the kid has your soul.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, he looked to the coach and back to the Angel, and even the sound of the watch ticking seemed to be taking very little time at all.

“Pick your poison, the Corporation or the Eternal Machine?” Nicholas gave Jack a pointed grin and raised a finger now, counting off the seconds as they passed.

“Hell of a choice,” Jack grumbled and finally said. “The Corporation damn you, there’s no way I’m going to spend Eternity with a kid.”

“Better the Devil you know than the brat who puts you in the ground,” Nicholas Winter heard the snap of the driver’s watch as the man resolutely closed the lid sealing the deal as the Angel spoke.

“Tell the dumb Angel that wasn’t fair.” The voice wavered from inside the coach again.

“The Master says,” the driver began and then shrugged. “Well, you heard for yourself.”

“Kindly inform the Master of Death, he’s a brat and a sore looser,” the Angel gave the driver a wink and then turned to Jack Solomon. “You picked the right choice Jack, even though you don’t believe it – give us time.”

The driver heard the little shutter snap closed behind him and gave the reigns a gentle whip, the coach thundered off again and it left both Jack and Nick in complete silence as the stars seemed to be laughing quietly in the pitch black.

“So what do I do first?”

“Good question,” Nick grinned widely and took off his hat, only to ruffle his long hair and replace it. “First you need to learn the ropes and that can take as much time as you want it to. There are a number of rules and regulations to follow, but the best part is that since you’re working for us – you’re going back to where you died.”

“Oh goodie,” Jack said sourly and made a dour face; he hunted around in his jacket for a whisky bottle and found the smashed remains. “Hell.”

“Whiskey Jack,” Nicholas smirked as he saw the man pull out the broken bottle. “Now isn’t that interesting – the liquid’s gone but the bottle’s shell remains.”

“Yeah,” Jack snorted. “I could have done with the whole thing being intact.”

“What good would that do you; it would only have poured out the holes.”

Jack blinked again and he coughed, “no way?”

“No,” Nick admitted smugly. “I was just kidding you, got to keep a sense of humour now you’re working for the Agency.”

“Ok,” Jack was getting bored and the smug look that the other man wore irritated him somewhat. “You said rules – like what do I need to know?”

“Everything and nothing Jack my boy,” Nick looked thoughtful and then produced a small black note-book PC, tossed it to the man and added. “We had the idea from some author when he passed over.”

Jack caught it and ran his finger over the device. “So I should look up the rules myself?”

“You said to save you the philosophy,” Nicholas Winter allowed himself one more smug expression before he began to walk down the path. “Remember that just because you’re going back, you’re not a Superhero, you’ll be able to do things you never thought you’d be able to do – but if you get shot by a Ghost gun, you’re going to know pain.”

“Ghost gun,” Jack echoed as he followed the Angel. “What the heck’s a Ghost gun?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Nick kept on walking. “It’s all in the notebook, if you take the time to look it up.”

Jack followed him for a while and dug both hands into his pockets, he pulled out a revolver that he kept tucked away in his jacket. “Is this one?”

“Let me see,” Nick turned and kept walking backwards fixing the gun with a studios gaze. “I’d say so, you died, your gun is still where your body is but now you’ve been here there’s a connection between that gun and the other.”

“Ok,” Jack shrugged. “You lost me pal.”

“Simple really,” Nick stopped turned and pointed to a section of path that had suddenly appeared before both of them. “A Ghost gun belongs to a violent man who died, now its time for you to start work.” The Angel gestured to the shimmering path in front of him and smiled.

15:01

Jack Solomon put one foot on the stars and it felt like his stomach (if he had one) had been wrenched from him, thrown down a newly opened hole and his small intestine dragged him along for the ride.

He woke up with the sound of the gunfire still raging between both sides and one heck of a headache. He felt for his revolver and it was still where he kept it, his blood was right beneath his body but he wasn’t wounded.

“Good,” a familiar voice wafted into his mind and Jack looked around for the source before he realised it was within. “You made it ok.”

“Yeah,” Jack scrambled into some cover and he ducked as bullets shot overhead pock-marking the wall behind him. “I’m kind of under fire here, any advice?”

“Well, try not to worry,” Nick’s humorous tones reverberated in Jack Solomon’s skull as the Angel laughed. “No one there has a Ghost gun so you’re safe from bullets.”

“So I’m dead?”

“We’ve been over this,” Nick’s mental voice sighed. “You’re corporeally challenged, but in this new age that doesn’t mean dead. It just means that you’re mostly dead, parts of you are very dead – but that’s not my problem.”

“What parts?” Jack snorted.

“Look it up,” the Angel reiterated and added. “Look, focus Jack and stop that gang war without any harm coming to the innocent.”

“But you said,” Jack frowned and felt for the revolver again, one gun against twenty or so high-calibre firearms. “Not to play Superhero.”

“Did I,” the Angel snorted in the back of Jack’s mind and whispered. “I lied, take them out Jack and that’s all I’ll tell you for now.” The link vanished with a soft sigh of mental energy.

Jack Solomon ducked another hail of bullets that shot his way and growled in the back of his throat, he pulled the revolver and checked the cylinder. “Six shots, that’s all I have – this keeps on getting better and better.”

He was cursing his luck when two figures came around the corner at speed; both of them were gang members judging by the colours they wore. Their skin was grey and ashen; they looked as if they were on some kind of drug.

They looked right at him, right past him and moved into cover behind the dumpster. He felt one of them poking an elbow through his midsection and looked down to see that he appeared to be ethereal.

“That’s too damn weird.”

Dewy and Hewie were two brothers who’d been brought up on the wrong side of the tracks, they’d fallen in with the Grey Cobras and were fighting in a Turf War to see who controlled the back alley of the city. It was one of those human things, something that young men like that felt they had to do no matter what age or place they lived in – a matter of honour or so Dewy had said.

“You ok bro?” Dewy peeked over the top of the dumpster and nearly lost an eye as a shard of metal exploded outwards as a bullet ripped into their cover.

“Yeah man,” Hewie popped some more pills and gave his brother a wide-eyed look. “I’m hyped and pumped and ready to kill some of those freggers.”

Jack Solomon slipped away from Dewy’s arm and stood up, he watched as the odd bullet passed through him, harmlessly. He even poked at the ripple it made in his ghostly shape.

“Really, too damn weird.”

He took a moment to eye the boys in front of him, they were sixteen and seventeen respectively and they were ready to die for their cause. He shook his head and blinked, one of them seemed to be oddly different to the other.

Hewie had black chains dug into his skin, they were attached to the ground and now and then they’d pull and rattle as if alive. He blinked again but the chains remained firmly locked to his vision.

He found as he concentrated he could make the image of those chains appear and disappear at will. He experimented with this and saw that the chains around Dewy’s feet weren’t attached at all – they tried to snap onto the kid’s ankles but they slipped off.

Jack recalled Nick’s words about ‘Innocent’ and took a breath, even though he didn’t need to do it.

“So that’s what he meant?” he asked himself and was surprised when he didn’t get an answer. “Well Jack, this is a test and you never had a problem with plugging a guy before – even if he’d done nothing.”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea sugar,” a female voice interrupted him and he turned to see the outline of a woman, dressed just like Nick had been without the hat. She was all in white and sported feathers around the edges of her collar and coat. “Need some help?”

[Witcher Wolf]

“Is that real help, or psycho-bitch mumbo-jumbo help?” Jack retorted and took refuge in the one thing he knew well: how to be an asshole.

There was a slight twitch to the corner of the woman’s mouth, her slender fingers came up and moved a stray lock of white hair from her eyes. “You’re new to this – I can tell,” she soothed and put up her free hand. “I can help you figure out who to shoot and who not to – here’s a hint baby doll, don’t shoot the kid without the chains.”

“Why?”

“The kid without the chains isn’t beyond saving; he could grow up to count for something. The other one deserves to have his brain matter splattered all over the pavement and the dumpster,” she chuckled softly and blew Hewie an invisible kiss – Jack watched him shiver.

“Who’re you?”

“The last one out of the box,” the woman turned around and waved to Solomon, she tucked her hands into her long white coat and then in a relenting kind of tone added. “Hope sugar, the name’s Hope – last one out of Pandora’s Box don’t they teach you kids anything these days?”

“Never did study religion, apart from when I needed to make amends for bad deeds.” Jack looked at Hewie again and he idly pointed his gun towards the youth.

“Those chains are the sum of that kid’s bad deeds, you should have seen yours before we broke them for you,” there was a soft laugh and Hope stepped around the corner, her voice floating back. “I’d love to stay and talk ‘Jack Solomon’ but I have people to see and things to do, you know how it is – good luck on your first day – you’re going to need it.”

He snorted and pulled the trigger, the gun answered with a ferocious crack and Hewie’s brain-matter made a pretty picture, almost like a Mandelbrot against the green of the dumpster bin.

Dewie screamed and looked wildly around, his quick mind put two and two together and he searched for a hidden assailant, he came up empty. His nerve broke and he pumped his legs as fast as he could away from the gunfire, the blood and the brains of his brother.

Jack Solomon: 1

Punk Kid: 0

And that’s how it went down; with his new found senses Jack singled the good from the bad and put a bullet into each and every one. By the time the Police turned up the other gang had fled when it seemed their opposition had got some guts to shoot back, not to mention the accuracy which had wiped out more than three quarters of their number.

Both sides took heavy losses and as time rolled on, the Police did their usual checks – there wasn’t a single cop that could see Jack as he stood there. He watched the whole thing with a detached air, looking at the barrel of his gun in a contemplative manner. He could so easily shoot every one of those cops, it would be like taking candy from a baby – but then the baby might just end up owning your immortal soul and that was the last thing he wanted, he wasn’t impressed with Death.

Punk kid…

17:00

The Police finished their investigation and slipped away into the city as the sky started to turn towards the grey, the onset of night gave them enough cause to get out of the light. There were special squads assigned for night duty, squads that dealt with the Graveyard Shift – some of those Police weren’t exactly normal themselves – but most people hadn’t got the time of day for Monster stories.

Let’s roll back the clock:

During the ancient times of the Earth’s history there have been many events that have shaped the world, historians have catalogued them to the best of their ability – but there are some pieces of the puzzle that don’t ever see the light of day.

The void of space was of course nothing of the sort, there were hidden depths to the outer edges of the Earth’s atmosphere and further into the stars. It would be a long time before Mankind even dreamed of such things, but upon the sandy banks of the River Nile already a society flourished that was one of the most technologically advanced of its time.

Ancient Egypt lived in harmony with the planet and embodied an understanding of science, magic and many other things. The Ancient Egyptians were ruled by the Pharaohs – beings who were said to be the very sons of the God Horus. The Egyptians studied the stars and believed in the arts of Fortune Telling and Prophesy.

They wrote their stories upon slabs of stone, upon the walls of tombs and built the great Pyramids – but they also discovered other secrets.

In the Great Temples they sacrificed the living to understand the greater mysteries of the Universe and with one sacrifice of a young Egyptian – they opened the very gates of Hell. Of course they had their own name for it. The Egyptians believed in an alternate reality, a place known as the Tuat – where many layers existed, like the folds of a book – they placed this knowledge in written form over the years.

It was called the book of Am-Tuat and was a cosmological treatise upon the nature of their Heaven and Hell, upon the surface it appeared an ordinary tome but underneath it swirled with old magic, older than the stars and more dangerous than the High Priests could ever hope to believe.

With that one sacrifice the power of beings immeasurably more devious than any before them was unleashed, to wait and seep into the very sands of the Kingdom of the Pharaohs. It was a nameless lurking malevolent primeval force that would shape the fate of billions over time.

A young Pharaoh, Tutankhamun was to prove the catalyst for many events to come, the lurking force acted in the shadows, absorbing knowledge and power as the Boy King grew and in the final year of his reign it caused the young man’s death.

He was interred in a massive Pyramid and many mourned his passing. All save for this being, which now lurked in the darkness of the sealed tomb and allowed the tick of the world’s clock to pass on unhindered.

Kingdoms rose and fell in the blink of an eye and around the Pyramid the sands grew as Egypt finally vanished, the greatest enemy they had not foreseen – entropy had taken its toll upon their wondrous creation and the forces of nature stripped their cities bare.

In time came the treasure hunters and opportunists, grave robbers and thieves – taking the riches of the ancient ones and leaving their bones to rot. Still the being waited and lurked – it had grown patient and what were a few more centuries?

The wings of the ages flapped on and it was not until the tomb was discovered by Howard Carter that the being opened jaundiced eyes. Hidden in the musty air of that fateful excavation it set about manipulating the destiny of all those who entered the sacred chamber.

Lord Carnarvon who spoke ill of the Boy King’s ancestors earned a special thread, one that would end his life and begin the smokescreen of the ‘curse’ which suited the creature just fine. It saw to it that a young French Archaeologist that accompanied the team was stricken from history and removed from all accounts.

Maximilian Coraine simply vanished; the young man was lost as the Pyramid’s shadows swallowed him up. The truth of the matter was that the creature simply took Max’s body and cast out the soul, letting it scream into the ether until there was nothing left.

Maximilian left the dig site under the cover of darkness and entered Cairo, there he embarked upon a series of hedonistic adventures that convinced the dark being, there was more to life than the slaughter of the innocent – the Demon from the dawn of time immemorial had learned the sweetness of life.

Every woman or man that he lay with learned first hand, there is a price to trafficking with a spawn of Hell. They were changed, they became akin to his children and he was their Father, a Father than loved them and left them to flounder as he sampled the delights of his New World.

They gave rise to stories as society grew and shaped itself, of Monsters in the Closet and of Creatures of the Night, those stalking nightmares that would become known as Vampires and Werewolves, Ghosts, Goblins and Demons – immortalised by famous authors and cast into an unforgettable mould through the media for years to come.

The seasons danced on by, day turned to night and night smouldered into bright sunrises. Wars were waged and all the while Maximilian walked down through the Centuries without a single care in the world, without a black cloud in his mind and all the time he adopted the style and substance of the current society he lived in.

A perfect chameleon that left a wake of shattered lives behind him, he was once the Marquis De’Sade. He became Jack the Ripper and even for a while had the ear and hearts of Queens. He was so completely oblivious to the damage he caused that all of this was a huge game – a game that he was determined to play as long as the board remained standing.

Then the weapons evolved and the War came again, and again. He was forced to adopt different guises, moving rapidly from one place to the next as the means to travel further and further became available to him.

Mankind as a whole was getting smarter and it was only a matter of time before the other world was laid bare at their feet, opened like a flower in full bloom before them. Technology shuffled forwards for a while, then it suddenly exploded into the realms of their wildest imagination – Maximilian evolved with it as was his way, adopting the dress style of the age and the attitude – he even gained a new accent and penchant for living fast and refusing to die young (or at all).

He settled down in a place called Seattle in the year 2051 and brought to bear his enormous business acumen from the acquisition of prominent software, music and other companies. Maximilian Coralline was born and Coralline Industries rose to become a giant mogul in the fears of the Mega Corporations.

It swallowed tiny companies like a Whale feasts upon Plankton and spread a tendril into every business Max could find. It was a common in-joke with his peers that he was every inch the nemesis of Bruce Wayne, Max would have cared if he’d have been bothered to give a damn about who the made-up character of Wayne was from some artists imagination a few cups of tea ago.

Max was sitting high and riding even higher on his profits, his expeditions to find and procure interesting toys were all going well. All bar one of course, the Logrus Stone – no matter how much he searched for the elusive little trinket – he couldn’t find it.

He’d misplaced it when he’d first crossed over and it was not unlike losing the key to the front door, only this key in the wrong hands could do more damage than a hack film director to the video game industry with his movies.

It was all going so well until that Monday, a Monday that was beamed on every Super-net channel and holographic display device across the globe. The Monday that the famous Professor Alex Mc’Leary opened his big book of notes and stunned the world with a Seminar called: Magic Hoax or Truth?

He was to read the transcript of the first face of the Logrus Stone, the artefact that Max was now kicking himself from losing in the first place. Professor Alex’s idea was quite a simple one, when the doors to Hell failed to open the World would see how stupid people had been about the whole God and Devil thing and go about their business.

It was foolproof, barring the fool that opened the transcript and read aloud the first face. The world turned to shit in the blink of an eye, planes dropped out of the sky and natural disasters opened up across the globe. The heavens were as black as sack-cloth and several Priests actually died from heart-attacks as they realised the Apocalypse might just be real and that they’d been right all those years ago.

Seattle was drawn into the Demon world and vanished without a trace, fortunately for Max at this time he was actually attending the Seminar in the hope of stealing the stone – not to avert a disaster but because, well, he was the rightful owner. He watched from his audience seat as several entities materialised and half of the audience were transformed into living dead.

Professor Mc’Leary got sucked into a vortex and with him the stone, which was instantly broken into its component atoms and that left the front door wide open. Max sat quietly in his chair as this went on and made a note to himself never to trigger another potential World destroying scenario ever again.

The event of the Logrus stone Seminar transformed the Earth overnight into a vastly different place. Mankind was no longer alone on their world, they had some very odd interlopers to deal with and the rules of the game had suddenly changed. Immigration Offices were setup to try and control the tide of Demons and other things that suddenly found a new Playground and kids to bully.

It was open house for Planet Earth and the biggest global paranormal House Party had just begun. Over the next ten years in place of Seattle Max built a gigantic city, it was a triumph of engineering and a testament to his power, he cut corners in the construction using some arcane methods and finally when it was built and populated he named it after the sound of the wind through his massive central Coralline Industries tower complex.

Whisper City…