WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

[A haze of smoke greets the screen, before it shifts and the consistently disdainful face of Floyd Lawton shows up and moves to the center.]

Hey. Computer lady. Leechitis, or whatever your name is.

I don't know if this is because you shorted out all our comms and are glitchin' somethin' fierce, but here's a hint. The shark wasn't the right one.


Nothin' personal, Shark. I was just rootin' for the hot broad that liked to bang me all the time.


[Yeah, that's why. It's not like he MISSES Jeannette or anything. Caring's for idiots, y'know.]

So, here's a question.

Since none of us actually die here - we just come back in a week like nothin' happened... is murder still a crime? Or is it downgraded to a kinda misdemeanor assault charge or somethin'?

Any of you 'hero' types more inclined to snap a neck or two, now that it's not permanent, and your whole 'you have no right to play god' schtick doesn't apply?

Seriously, enough with the crap. Get the power back on. Or is this not a job for Superman?

You don't want looters to start getting shot, do you?




( PRIVATE, ENCRYPTED TO CATMAN and GHOST )


( PRIVATE, ENCRYPTED TO AMES )

[A man in a strange one-eyed mask glares into the camera, studying it to make sure it's working. He looks singed up and it's possible he's still smoldering.]

All right, what's this horseshit? Seriously.

[His voice is hoarse, and he coughs a bit.]

I show up here, wherever the hell this is, against my will, some robot voice starts narrating some sci-fi crap to me, saying they're gonna try to enlist me as a damn peacekeeper for some planet that isn't even mine.

[A minor grunt of pain.]

So, naturally, I shoot up the joint and try to get whoever's jerkin' my chain to show himself, and I get about a million volts up my ass for my trouble. What, I'm NOT supposed to try and shoot whoever the hell's kidnapped me in the face? Last time I got shuffled off to another fucking planet, it ended ugly for the pricks who did it to me.

[Another groan, as his head falls into his hand.]

So I crawl my fried ass outside, only to get rolled up on by some two-bit cops who scoop me up and drop me in a holding cell in some dingy precinct that hasn't seen a mop since the 70s. Who do I gotta talk to to get the hell out of this joint and get a pack of smokes? I ain't about to pay prison prices for those things.

[His head thunks back against the gray brick wall behind him.]

And don't tell me we're having another goddamn "crisis." Even if that's true, don't tell me that shit. I'm sick of hearing about it.