Yello Anonymous

    A young man with severe pacifist leanings. He adamantly believes he has no right to take the life of another creature, and he actually has legends about himself. They tell of a mysterious man in a scarf appearing out of nowhere, just to help. The Alchemist has a name, but if anybody knows what it is, they aren't willing to say. Commonly comes into conflict with agents from the Magical Regulation Bureau due to his tendency to be found in the company of criminals and other bandits, along with his choice of study as well, seeing as Alchemy is unregulated yet is as powerful if not more so than magic. He has a faithful companion in the form of Heal, a rabbit he saved from near death. The Alchemist has a green thumb like no other and has near-encyclopedia level knowledge of the alchemical effects of any ingredient one could think of.

 

    Heal was near death, mauled by an opportunistic fox. When the Alchemist came and saved him, he was so moved by his kindness that he elected to stay with the Alchemist for the rest of his life. Heal was named after the main ingredient in the potion the Alchemist used to save him, Healias Argith, a mushroom with a splotchy red and white hat. The concentration of the potion had some side effects, namely giving Heal an intense healing factor and the same color scheme as the mushroom's cap. Heal knows what the Alchemist's name is, but that's a secret he's taking with him to the grave. Heal cannot speak in his natural state, however, the Alchemist has given him several potions that turn him into half-rabbit varieties of several creatures. These potions include Lamias, Centaurs, Humans, Arachne, Scorpions (A variant of Arachne itself) and a Mistake. Heal can speak in these half-rabbit forms. The forms are seemingly androgynous, having masculine or feminine characteristics at random. Heal expresses an unfortunately unnoticed romantic interest in the Alchemist.

 

    Sadie Maygood, or simply "Dee" or "Sadie" is a serial ax murderer motivated only by challenge. She holds no regard for life as a concept, and murders constantly in the hopes that she'll tick off the wrong person and finally experience a kick of adrenaline or the fear that she'll soon die. Strangely, her mother and her father were both reviled criminals, yet they were a loving and doting family. Sadie idolizes the culture of lumberjacks, and thus commonly wears flannel clothes, suspenders, things with plaid patterns, and laced-up boots. Sadie holds an obsession with the Alchemist. He promised her that if she doesn't kill anyone else, he'll give her "the challenge of a thousand lifetimes" once he's of old age. Due to this, Sadie does not appreciate it when anyone else tries to kill the Alchemist. She's tormented with the inability she has to murder them.

 

    The Obsidian Skull, or as it prefers to be called at the current moment, Dreadette Ashheel, is a mystical artifact from times long forgotten. Dreadette, though it can appear masculine or feminine depending on how it wishes to manifest itself beyond its purple skeletal form, has no gender. It currently likes to be referred to as a female. Dreadette has the ability to produce a more human-like form out of lavender colored flames. These flames can mimic the texture and temperature of human skin. Dreadette's main power is her skill to replace the skull of any human she desires. Said human can then have their soul, skin and everything else be slowly burned away by Dreadette's flames. The entire host skeleton is charred a purple color to match Dreadette. Dreadette can also shoot fire like most other pyromancers, with the added effect of stealing souls and making victims into skeletal slaves. This skill also manifests itself in the form of cannon fire, flintlock pistols, and cutlasses. Dreadette fancies herself a pirate captain and runs a ghost ship run by a literal skeleton crew. Although she'll never admit it, Dreadette has fancied the Alchemist ever since he was kind enough to fix the broken arms of her current body at the time.

 

[Popcorn Poundcake]    

    Popcorn Poundcake, or Officer Poundcake, is an investigator for the Magic Regulation Bureau. She hails from a rare species of humanoids who somehow became mixed with candy and sweets. Poundcake herself appears to be a frosted poundcake of some variety. She takes her job of rounding up magic related criminals very seriously, despite her tendency to use ridiculous sounding candy-themed threats. They're considered heinous in her hometown, we swear. Her seriousness disquiets her more leisurely coworkers. The only time she lightens up is when she's off duty, and even then, it's not by much. It's common for her coworkers to tease her about her obsession with reigning in the Alchemist, saying that she only chases him so much because she loves him. Poundcake furiously denies this. Please ignore her blushing. Poundcake makes use of sweets and candy themed magic, such as generating frosting to use as a sticky substance, or filling the mouths of her coworkers with whipped cream whenever they annoy her. Supposedly, she can regenerate her body if it's eaten, however, she refuses to let anyone test this. It is suspected that is because eating someone else is seen as a romantic action.

 

  History of the One-World Government:

 

    In the year 0000, the epoch of the calendar system used by the Aluminum Government, a baby boy was born with a mutation allowing him to read minds and communicate telepathically. This was Patient Zero. Over an unknown amount of years, years erased by governmental officials for reasons known only to them, Patient Zero's recessive mutated gene spread throughout the human species, giving birth to Readers. Readers were a haughty sort, their unique skills used for blackmail and larceny as much as they were used for solving crimes or reforming juvenile delinquents. During those forgotten years, Patient Zero's gene mutated, giving some Readers powers aside from mind reading. Some can influence the thoughts of others, manipulating their subconscious like a puppeteer. Some can induce powerful migraines in others. Some can manipulate what others see and hear. Some can knock out or even kill someone with a thought.

 

    Two influential figures also emerged during those forgotten years. Annoyingly enough, they're known only by nicknames. "Zeppelin" and "Rigid." "Zeppelin" was a Reader, and "Rigid" was not. Both were nihilists disillusioned with, at the time, the current political landscape of Earth. They held the opinion that the common citizen was so ignorant and brainwashed that they wouldn't notice if the world was clearly transitioning to something like a one-world government, sometimes called the "new world order" in conspiracy theorist circles. Even if someone were to notice such a transition, the rest of the populace would denounce them as cranks. Thus, "Zeppelin" and "Rigid" set out to prove themselves right, and they proceeded to recruit Readers, friends, family and corrupt politicians to their cause.

 

    "Zeppelin" and "Rigid" lived long enough only to see their attempt firmly gain root. The Aluminum Government arose years after their demise. Their ideals form the basis for the laws and rules of the Aluminum Government. How this all was achieved is ultimately unknown. Perhaps not even I want to know how it was all done. The government is officially run by non-Readers and according to some politicians, it's something of an in-joke and unofficial rule that Readers aren't allowed to run for any sort of legislative position.

 

    Now, I'm writing this little history lesson off of the assumption that you, the reader, are the common layman. Thus, some of this might seem like utter nonsense to you. You might look at the mentions of blackmail and crime in the above paragraphs and scoff. I don't blame you for doing so. Official statistics do say that crime is virtually gone. But the official statistic are wrong. Crime is all around you. The reason? The ideals of "Zeppelin" and "Rigid." Nihilists though they were, they certainly had good ideas for how to run a one-government state. One of those ideas was to make the populace feel safe by removing crime from the public perception. The scaly underbelly of this world is right under everyone's noses. The goverment hopes that you'll never see it, and I hope so as well. Crime is a horrid thing.

 

    Twenty-five years ago, in 0005, the judicial branch of the Aluminum Government introduced a new peacekeeping method. A secretive branch of the police force composed entirely of Readers, officially entitled Ivory Watch. The use of Readers allowed for crime to be stopped before it could even happen, or turn potential first-time offenders away from a life of skullduggery. The name Ivory Watch alone is enough to cause small-name crooks to run for the hills and mob bosses to shiver and cringe. From birth, most Readers are destined to join Ivory Watch. From birth, children are watched by undercover agents of Ivory Watch for signs of being a Reader. What these signs are is unknown, but factors for consideration do include consistently high grades and a smug, haughty attitude.

 

    Of course, not all Readers are destined for Ivory Watch. Some join other sectors of government. Some take security guard jobs.

 

    -To Be Continued-

 

 

 

"Hey there, love. You aren't looking too hot. I don't think you wanna ride on those stuffy buses."

 

    "Oh, uh... thanks for your concern, I guess. I wasn't actually planning on riding the bus. My apartment is a few blocks down."

 

"Really? Well, do you mind if I walk with you? The gas station I'm headin' to is in that direction anyways."

 

    "I suppose it isn't a problem."

 

"Alrighty then. Say, why're you clutching that laptop bag so tight? What's going on?"

 

    "Oh, I'm writing something. It's real important to me. I don't want to risk losing the laptop."

 

"Why's that? What're you writing?"

 

    "I don't want to say. Spoilers and all that, you know?"

 

"Oh, 'spoilers'. Yeah, sure. I'll go with that."

 

    "What're you trying to imply?"

 

"You look so flustered. I bet you're actually writing some sort of porno movie script."

 

    "I'm not."

 

"Then what're you writing? Why so secretive?"

 

    "That's none of your business."

 

"Hmph. You're no fun."

 

    "Sorry... I suppose I am a little tightly-wound."

 

"Apology accepted. I guess."

 

    "..."

 

"So, did you see the news?"

 

    "No, what happened?"

 

"Some government angency got hacked. A bunch of real secret files got stolen."

 

    "Really? Does anybody know who did it?"

 

"Well, not specifically. The government says it's definitely the same chap who did the cyber attacks on the twelth and the eighth. We've got ourselves a lone wolf hacker prowling about."

 

    "Ah."

 

"Is that why you're so nervous about the laptop? Afraid it's gonna get hacked?"

 

    "How could I be afraid about it being hacked? You just told me about the hacker."

 

"Well, excuse me for assuming you didn't miss out on massively important news twice in a row."

 

    "Hmph."

 

"Say, your face just scrunched up. What'cha thinkin' about?"

 

    "Can I ask you a question?"

 

"Hmm... sure, what's up?"

 

    "Does the term 'Patient Zero' mean anything to you?"

 

"'Patient Zero?' Hmm... 'Patient Zero,' 'Patient Zero...' Now that I think of it? Yeah, I suppose it does."

 

    "And what does it mean to you?"

 

"The first infectee of a plague?"

 

    "I see. You can cut the act now."

 

"Aww... but we were doing so well."

 

    "What do you want?"

 

"Come on, Justee, why can't we just talk, hmm? You know I like to roleplay."

 

    "It's Justinian. And you know I'm not a fan of you, Abigail."

 

"You say that, but I know you don't really mean it. I can tell. Some part of you deep down finds me charming."

 

    "What do you want?"

 

"Ugh, you're so to-the-point. You're no fun. I'll have you know I'm here to talk about what's on that little laptop of yours."

 

    "You already know what's on it."

 

"Yeah, so? You know what our function is. To deter crime."

 

    "I'm aware."

 

"..."

 

    "Keep yourself out of my brain."

 

"I'll give you this, Justee. You're good at what you do. You left no trace of yourself on those computers."

 

    "Why's that matter? You know I did it. Odds are your entire branch knows I did it by now."

 

"Oh, foolish little Justee. You don't give the government enough credit. Presumption of innocence is still a thing around here. My word or any other Reader's word alone isn't enough to get you whisked away to the ocean jails."

 

    "That doesn't stop your branch from trying to weasel confessions out of me."

 

"Well, I can't really defend that. For what it's worth, I don't really condone such actions. But regulation is lax. Not as lax as you believe it to be, though."

 

    "Hmph."

 

"You know, none of those documents you stole have top-secret information in them. If you really wanted to get them legally, you could've just made a Freedom of Information request."

 

    "You and I both know those never work for this type of data. Those things are just invitations to get someone marked for Reader-enacted stalking."

 

"Again. You don't give the government enough credit. What about that Aaron Molemann guy, hmm?"

 

    "Aaron Molemann happens to also be a high-ranking officer of Ivory Watch. He's the shill for the carnival game."

 

"Ooh, you're good. I'll give you that, I'll give you that."

 

    "So you admit--"

 

"Wait, wait, let me guess. 'So you admit Freedom of Information requests are essentially sting operations,' right?"

 

    "You know the answer to that question."

 

"So mean. I think I'm gonna cry."

 

    "Well?"

 

"No, I don't. You could've just sent in one of those."

 

    "It wouldn't have worked."

 

"How much is a good night's sleep worth, Justee? Is it worth it? Sleeping with one eye open in your little quest to reveal history, history that nobody really needs to know?"

 

    "I would think the populace has a right to know why things are the way they are now. Not just your sugar-coated, party-approved reasons, but the actual reasons."

 

"The sugar-coated reasons are the real reasons, Justee. Why can't you just accept that?"

 

    "They're only the 'real reasons' because the government says they are."

 

"Hmph. I can't comprehend why anyone would be so determined to die on the hill you're standing on."

 

    "Why's that?"

 

"Wouldn't it just be easier to accept what the government says? You don't have to do any thinking or illegal digging. Just let the politicians do the thinking for you. Your need for answers is satisfied, and the bigwigs up top don't have to worry about organizing more... 'watch teams' for people."

 

    "..."

 

"You wouldn't have to be so tense all the time. You could actually trust people. People wouldn't have to worry about you, Justee. Like your poor mother. I know she thinks you've gotten in league with some bad apples."

 

    "I can deal with people being worried."

 

"You say that. But I don't think you really believe it. Well... here's your house. Sweet dreams, Justee."

 

    "To you as well."

 

"Think about it, Justee. You could just turn yourself in, serve your time, and never think about all this again. Then you could relax."

 

    "And if I do decide to do such a thing?"

 

"Well... I might just decide to throw my weight around. Get you a lighter sentence, if possible."

 

    "Yeah, right."

 

"I'm here to deter crime, Justee. Not punish it. If I have to cheat the system to do so, I consider it to be within my authority to do so."

 

    "Good night."

 

"Sleep on it, Justee. I think you'll find the idea has more pros than cons. G'night."

 

   I can hear his ragged old lungs try to keep himself supplied with air. I think he’s trying to keep quiet, but considering how much he was running earlier I guess I can’t blame him for being so noticeable. He’s surprisingly athletic for an old man. Maybe it has something to do with those prosthetic limbs of his.

 

 

   It’s rather easy to track him down. While the breathing helps, it isn’t specific enough. He flinches with almost every snip of my scissors. These metal floors and walls amplify nearly every squeak his shoes create when he tenses up. I can’t help but snicker. The old fool probably thinks I’m mistaking the noises for the creaks and moans metal buildings just love to make.

 

 

   Oh, my… I’m getting all tense! Alright, come on now… deep breaths. I don’t want to get too excited. It should only be a few more rooms till I get to where he is. I might as well think of ways to taunt the old man…

 

 

   "Ahh… Alright, time to close up! Better make sure all these stations are in order,“ I announce to the room I just walked into. It was muffled from the echoes of my words, but I’m pretty certain I just heard the old man tense up and gasp. I wonder if he’s even aware of the reason this building is here in a roughly ten acre large fenced off area of thick redwood forest.

 

   This entire area is pretty much a feedlot for me and my fellow shamblers. Most just call us zombies. It’s fair, seeing as we’re corpses resurrected through a virus. We’ve got all sorts of creatures here. Orcs, humans, kobolds, kitsune… Some of us just prefer to jump them and chow down, but myself? I like to… "play” with my food. Hence, this building’s reason for being here. It’s a set. A set based off of a barber’s shop. Three guesses as to what I was before I kicked the bucket.

 

   The room me and the old crone are in is the one that has all the barber’s chairs and stations. He’s hiding under one of the stations… I know it for sure. I just need to narrow down which one.

 

 

   I walk up to one of the stations and rustle around a few bottles and open a few drawers. When I look underneath the station, I hear the sound of the old man crawling to one of the other stations to my right.

 

   Where there aren’t any exits.

 

 

   "Everything looks good here,“ I mumble as I move to the opposite station. The old fool should be somewhere to my left now. I repeat the same actions as last time. I begin to hum a slower version of "Shave and a Haircut” over and over again as I move down a row. My muscles feel so tight and my mouth feels like it might give itself a tear from smiling too widely.

 

   Snip, snip.

 

   This time, the old man scrambles to the next row down after I’m done with the third station I check. I saw him under there, but… I wanted to keep him sweating nervously for a while longer. It’s got a distinctive smell to it.

 

 

   Hehehehehehehe~! The absolute fool! He’s placed himself under the one station against the back wall! I feel like every part of me is vibrating! I want to run over there and stick my scissors into his jugular– No, no! Keep calm, keep calm… I’ve got to keep this little game up. Hehehehehehehehe…

 

 

   My fingers twitch as I go through this little routine one last time. As I stare at the old loon under the station I pretend to be surprised. But I don’t think he bought it. Oh, well! That’s actually kind of what I wanted.

 

 

   "Oh, hello there! What’re you doing in here after hours?“ I don’t give him a chance to respond. "Ooh, wow. You don’t look so hot,” I say as I yank the old man out from under the station. As I stare at him I can see the glimmers in his teeth vanish and move as his expression changes from shock to fear.

 

   I give him a smile. “Did you get locked in here? I’m so sorry, sir! How about I give you a haircut to make it up to you?” Again, I don’t give him time to respond. I sit him down on the chair and place his arms and feet on the appropriate rests. After about five seconds, some restraints automatically lock his forearms, wrists, and ankles in place. Pressure sensors are a wonderous thing, aren’t they?

 

   Hehehehehe… all this tension in my arms and fingers! I owe myself some release… He’s flinching and tensing up almost constantly! Maybe I’ll just start with the sides. Whoops, there goes the tip of his ear!

 

    Snip, snip.

 

   "Sir, could I ask you to hold still? I nearly took off your entire ear!“ I’m beginning to drool. I continue to cut his hair, occasionally lopping off chunks of his ears. This is just so much fun. The old man’s holding up surprisingly well. I don’t think he’s even begun to cry. Well boo! That simply won’t do. Maybe I’ll just…

 

    Snip, snip.

 

   There goes one ear. I’ll just leave this other one hanging by a thread. Ooh, what’s that noise? Sounds like water dripping onto medical grade silicone. Hehehehehe! Perfect. I think it’s about time to wrap this game up. My stomach is screaming…

 

 

   It always amazes me how much blood can shoot itself out of the human jugular. I feel all twitchy and my shirt’s all wet from drool! I had fun, old man. I’ll make sure you won’t go to waste.