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"You say you want to be king? So, when I burn your kingdom down, I will make sure you're still chained to the throne." - Unknown. Tarasov Prison wasn't the most welcoming place for ex-royal Moroi, not that Victor expected special treatment for his old status, he just assumed they would be perhaps a bit more tolerant to one who was once respected as him, but then again as one of the guardian's so kindly reminded him before entry, he had lost his respect and it was something he apparently couldn't win back after what he had done to the young Dragomir princess. Though Victor didn't let those words bother him, he didn't need respect to gain power eventually, he needed fear and control. Though of course there was little he could do about it while locked up in such a heavily guarded prison bathed in the rich warm caresses of sunlight. Tarasov Prison was inescapable, no one came in and no one came out without notice of it before hand. A few days passed and slowly Victor was able to fall into a bit of routine, most of his days he would spend in his oddly bear cell with perhaps a book in his lap to pass the time. Though it was never a book he wished to read, they did not give him such a privilege of a choice, it was merely take what they gave you, and he did without complaint. Then later on in the week he would be escorted to his feedings, then quickly ushered back to his cell. Tarasov wasn't a place for socializing and making friends, that was certain. So Victor played along with them, only speaking when spoken too. And when he was spoken to he was always painfully polite to those around him, though there was always a smugness to him. It amused him how they thought him to be such a dangerous creature, when just a few months prior they considered him royalty. It is indeed funny how these things change so quickly. Then a few more weeks passed in a hazy blur, and if Victor recalled it was a Wednesday when he received the news of a visitor come to see him. He was indeed pleasantly surprised to hear that said visitor was his wife, he hadn't expect to see her much after this...he heard she was quite devastated over the death of their daughter and of course he didn't blame her. Victor would be lying if he said Natalie's death didn't bother him, because it did...it wracked him with guilt. He didn't mean for his daughter to die, yes he may have manipulated her into doing as he wished but he had to admit having her go Strigoi was too far, even if he had planned to restore her back to her normal Moroi form after they had successfully escaped the academy. Time to seemed to go slower with each step Victor took towards the visiting room,  he didn't know what state he would find his wife in. She had always been very tolerant to his darker side of things, it was something they could be open about with one another, something they both understood for his wife had a darker side to herself as well, which caused them to get along famously when together. Though Natalie had been their pride and joy, they had tried so hard for a child for so many years, they were almost lead to believe his wife was infertile. Though soon after Natalie was conceived Victor was diagnosed with Sandovsky's Syndrome, which was proved to be the reason why it was so hard to get his wife with child. So to them Natalie was their miracle, and she had made his wife so very happy. And now her happiness was gone. Once they finally reached the visiting room Victor's jade green eyes shifted across the room as they fixed themselves on his distraught wife. She was lovely as ever of course,  her long wavy black hair was pulled into a bun, and her jade green eyes were wet and red with tears. When her eyes finally connected with his, Victor could see she was less than happy to see him and he didn't blame her. If he was to be honest, such a reaction from his wife left him a little heartbroken, he was use to looks of such love each time they were together...but it seemed as if that was long gone now, for her at least. "Irina, my darling." Victor said in a low tone as he strode towards the table she was seated at. "Victor." she said bitterly, her voice cracking ever so slightly. As Victor pulled out a chair the best he could with cuffed hands, he slowly lowered himself into the white uncomfortable plastic seat across from his sweet wife, folding his hands on the table in front of him as he looked at her with such intensity it seemed as if he was to bore a hole right through her. "You look lovely as usu-" "Stop it, Victor." Irina said bitterly as she glared at her husband. "Stop trying to sugar coat everything with pleasantries, I'm done with playing." she whispered as she shook her head, a few stray hairs falling in her lovely pale face. "Irina, my sweet." Victor said softly as he slowly reaching over towards her hand, causing the guardian's behind her to take a step forward. Victor found it ridiculous, he obviously wasn't going to harm his wife...he was merely trying to give her comfort as any husband should. But then again, why would they believe his intentions? He did have his daughter turn Strigoi. "Please, my darling. You must believe me, Natalie's death...was never intended." "Then what was intended?" Irina snapped, moving her hands away from her husband's touch. "To escape from the academy, of course." Victor said slowly, moving his hands away from his wife's. "You understood the importance of apprehending the princess, she was the only one who could heal me." he said in a stern tone, leaning back into his seat. "With my Sandovsky's Syndrome cured, our family could be thrown back into contention for the throne. Think of all the changes I could make as king, my love." "A stupid throne isn't worth the life of our daughter, Victor." she growled, her full lips twitching up into a sneer which revealed her fangs. "You had promised me you wouldn't involve Natalie!" she snapped, her strained voice echoing through the visiting room. "It was no fault of mine, Natalie wanted to assist me." Victor said quickly, ready to defend himself. "Her plans were brilliant, her aid moved me further in our plan. I would have been a fool not to take her advice." he said simply, as if he assumed she would merely take that for an answer. Irina's full lips fell into a frown as she looked into the eyes of her husband, the eyes of a man she once loved dearly. Though Victor was that man no more, she hardly knew him anymore. The Victor she knew wouldn't have sacrificed the life of their daughter for something so selfish. The man staring back at her, was not her husband anymore. "She was only a child, and you let her die." Irina whispered, tears spilling from her eyes and trickling down her porcelain cheek. "As I have said before, her death was never intended. After I was freed, I was going to take her to Robert. He could have saved her, you witnessed him restore Moroi before, you know it can be done." Victor said in a low tone. Victor held all his hope in Robert, he knew his brother would understand and ask no questions. He knew he would have restored Natalie without a second thought, because he held trust in Victor and his motives. "You're a fool, Victor." she whispered, shaking her head the tears still fresh upon her cheeks. "You act like you have everything under control, when you don't! I thought you were a better man than this, but I was mistaken. You're not a man, you're a monster."  she spat. "The world cannot exist without monsters, Irina."  Victor said coolly. It would be a lie if Victor said his wife's harsh words did not hurt him, but he knew his wife would not listen to reason. He had gone too far this time, and his actions would lead him down a dark path in which his wife would not follow. She was right, he was a fool... he should have never involved Natalie in any of this. Irina was right about every thing. Though Victor could not bring himself to admit to that, what good would it do anyway? It wouldn't make her happy, nor would it make up for what he had done. So he denied her words, he knew their marriage was now too far gone to be fixed. "I'm done, Victor." Irina said bitterly, standing to her feet as the chair scooted out behind her, its metal legs screeching against the floor. Victor let out a sigh as he closed his eyes, he knew this would be the last time he ever saw her. He loved her deeply still despite her strong hatred for him. He would always love her, until his last breath in this world. She was the only woman that he loved. Though as she moved on with her life, her hate for him building, he would have the fond memories of their marriage and their life. Fond memories he will carry with him through his darkest of days. No matter how much he would change, his memories would not fade. "I love you, Irina. Please do not forget that." Victor said softly, his features completely relaxed. "And I loved our Natalie as well, I always will." Though before he could blink Irina's hand made contact with his face accompanied with a sharp stinging pain in his cheek. His cuffed hands slowly moved up to his cheek, as he placed his hand on the red mark now forming upon his flesh. He deserved that, but he made no comment. She could hit him all she liked if it made her feel better. "I hate you." she growled, her delicate body shaking in anger. "I hate you! You are no husband of mine, you can stay here and rot for all I care." she snarled, turning sharply on her heel as she made her way towards the door. Her words seemed to not have phased Victor as he watched her, though deep down his heart had slit in two completely. His wife, his Queen...wished for him to rot here in this prison. He never thought his marriage could turn into such a hateful thing, though here it was crumbling right before his very eyes and oddly he felt as if the wound would not sting for so long. Eventually, he will be free of this place, and she will crawl back to him. Its not like she could divorce him, what would entire Moroi society think? Royalty did not divorce, no matter the crime of the spouse. To divorce would be an embarrassment. So, he merely sat there and allowed her to leave without a care in the world. She belonged to him, whether she liked it or not. As the white door swung shut, Victor slowly stood from his uncomfortable plastic chair, his cuffs clinking together as he moved. His jade green eyes then shifted over towards the guardians that were appointed to him, his lips forming a smug smile. "Shall you gentlemen escort me back to my cell? I would really like to continue with my reading." he said softly, as if what had just happened never occurred. The two guardian's shared a questioning look, though they merely shook their heads and grabbed Victor by the arm to escort him back to his barren cell. As they made their way back to his lovely new room, his lips twitched up into a smirk. Deep down Victor knew a turn of events were to occur, he would not be staying here long. Sooner or later someone would come for him, may it be Robert or someone else. The Dashkov family had supporters around the globe, surely he wouldn't be left here to rot. He would soon be free, and he will take the throne just as he was meant to. Luckily Victor was a very patient man, he could wait. Very soon the world will see what a monster he could be when it came to the things he wanted, which he always received. We live in a world where the Boogeymen are real. 

CHAPTER ONE  The Smuggler Corellia - Part I Four years later. After leaving the Order of the Jedi, Ma'Khina had sold Master Jemrin`s ship and bought a new one - a light freighter of the XS Stock-Class. A perfect ship for a smuggler, with hidden compartments and a few weapons. But the most important fact on this ship was, how fast and maneuverable it was. She replaced her lightsabers with a blaster and lived now the life of a criminal - still keeping the Jedi code in mind, following it. But life wasn`t just black or white. Someone couldn`t always just decide out of the fact to do what is right. Often enough the young Twi`lek had to do things, which followed her in her nightmares in order to survive or in order to do what she thought was right. Was it right to bring the life of hundreds of soldiers into danger, just for saving the life of maybe twenty? `Sometimes doing the wrong thing brings us back to the right way` did Master Jemrin say whenever his Padawan has done any mistakes. Now, that she was sitting in the cockpit of the `Lost Hope`, on her way to Corellia, she remembered those wise words again. Life wasn`t always just black or right. It was grey in many situations and too often it was covered in red.   Sitting in the cockpit of the ``Lost Hope`` a deep sigh escaped the young Twi`lek, her gaze wandering over the consoles which showed the actual sensor data. This didn`t look good. ``T7, two minutes before we jump out of the hyperdrive. Prepare the weapons`` she was serious and the tone in her words made clear, that she didn`t accept any ifs and buts. The small astromech whistled nervously and rolled to the back of the ship. Was he nervous? Frightened? Maybe he was. To be honest, Ma'Khina was nervous herself. But this wasn`t the right moment for feelings or worries. Each second they would arrive at Corellia.. and fly directly into a wall of imperial starfighters. Corellia, the capital planet in the Corellian System, was under imperial siege, no ship got in or out. With this in mind, Ma`Khina was trying the impossible. But her freight was important. Medical supplies and food for the poor souls, who were trying to survive in the middle of this war. And some weapons for those who wanted to fight back the Empire. The last time she had visited Corellia had been in her time as a Padawan and the Twi`lek still remembered some of the faces she had met in her time there. Knowing that they lived a life in pain and suffer since the Empire was there, was just cruel and Ma`Khina needed to do anything to change that. There is no emotion.. There is peace! Another deep breath was inhaled and the blue skinned woman straightened her back, rolling her shoulders to wake up her muscles. Her gaze wandered from her sensor data up to the big window in front of her. Each moment they would jump out of the hyperdrive. A soft tingle in the back of her mind tried to attract her attention. The force. Was it a warning? Was it a sign, how stupid her idea was at all? Or was it an offer to help her through this rough situation? Whatever it was, Ma`Khina ignored it. Instead she just shoved the tingle away and turned her full concentration into the situation. Her hands gripped tightly the helm of the freighter. From the back of the ship came the soft whistle of a scared astromech, telling her that he was in position and that the weapons were activated. ``Don`t worry, T7.. no one of us will die today..`` at least.. that was what she hoped. The ``Lost Hope`` jumped out of the hyperdrive - a bit too close to the enemy. Three gigantic Dreadnoughts of the Harrower-class filled her window. No time for some staring. Without any hesitation she jerked the helm to the side and the light freighter flew a curve to the right, avoiding to fly into one of the much bigger starships. ``Unidentified spaceship, stop your engines and identify yourself!`` ``How about `No`?`` keeping her communication system still offline, Ma`Khina only spoke to herself. Giving more thrust into the engines she jerked the helm back to the other side, flying directly back towards the Dreadnoughts. Of course they wouldn`t just draw aside. This wasn`t a game about who was the bravest. If Ma`Khina crashed into one of those colossus, the `Lost Hope` would just explode and the starfighter wouldn`t even care about it. Some scratches in the paint maybe, that would be all.  `Let`s hope that the shields work` That thought just crossed her mind as the imperial ship started to fire. Pushing the helm from one side to the other she was able to swerve most of the shots. But each shot that hit the freighter hurt Ma`Khina literally. ``Why does they always have to shoot?`` asking herself through clenched teeth she pulled the helm back, tilting the nose of her freighter upwards to guide the freighter over the starfighter. It was one thing when they shot at the freighter, but another thing when they shot at their own ship. Navigating her spaceship over the body of the Dreadnought she flew a dipsy-doodle to swerve the steady fire on her ship. ``You could start shooting finally, T7!`` the Twi`lek shouted over her shoulder, keeping her concentration onto her systems and the flying. The eyes of the Twi'lek widened as a half dozen of S 12 Blackbolts flew directly towards her ship, all of them faster and more agile as Ma`Khina's ship. Sweat pearled on her forehead as she collected her concentration. A tingle in her right hand and she jerked the helm to the left. The spaceship flew a sharp curve, only a few parsecs away of the fighters. Of course, they followed her. ``T7, six scouts right behind us! Show them how tough we really are!`` There came a whistle from the back of the ship and Ma`Khina couldn`t resist but smiled. Sometimes.. just sometimes.. this small astromech sounded exactly like Master Jemrin. He would have said the same to her. More imperial scouts crossed her way and with a deep sigh the blue female pushed some buttons on the console in front of her. ``Sure.. why not. Every time you think it can`t be worst, it becomes worst`` she cursed under her breath and activated the front weapons and gave more energy into the shields. With her thumbs she pushed the buttons on the helm. Luckily she could shoot two of the scouts into a bright explosion.  ``Unidentified ship. Here speaks Darth Malgus. The fun is over. Turn off your engines and give up finally!`` An ice cold shiver ran down the spine of the young Twi'lek as she heard the muffled voice through the speakers in her cockpit. Darth Malgus. She knew that name. She knew it much better as she wanted to know it. Only ten years ago he was rushed over Coruscant like a hurricane. In one big attack he had destroyed the Jedi Temple and killed hundreds of Jedis and citizens of the Republic, including six members of the Jedi High Council and the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Ma`Khina was ten years old when it happened and had just started her education as a Padawan. On the day when the Jedi Temple had been attacked, she had been on Ryloth with Master Jemrin. Lightyears had been between them and the Jedis who died on that day, but they felt each of their deaths painfully strong in their minds. The Twi`lek still remembered how much she had cried in that night, letting her feelings flow for the first time in her life. Most of the Jedis and the Younglings, had been her friends. One of them.. a Togruta in her age.. had been her best friend. The girl she had shared her room with. Andrana. A wonderful young girl, so lively and funny. A bit clumsy with the use of the force but still.. the best friend Ma`Khina could have imagined in her life. The young face of that lovely Togruta suddenly appeared before Ma`Khina`s inner eye. Always a gentle smile on her lips. No matter what had happened. This girl couldn`t move a rock with the force, but she could move someone`s heart just with her smile. The soft tingle in the back of her mind grew suddenly stronger and pulled the blue skinned Twi`lek out of her memories and back into reality. She gasped surprised as she saw those 15 scouts flying straight towards her. ``Karabast!`` A loud curse escaped her soft reddish lips and she moved the helm of the freighter to the right. Flying a big loop she tried to avoid a crash into even one of the S 12 Blackbolts. The console in front of her gave a long alerting bleep and with panic she turned her gaze onto it. ``No.. No no no no!!``The tingle in the back of her mind grew stronger and almost tugged on her nerves. ``T7, stop firing back! We have problems with the-`` A loud explosion right next to her broke her sentence. Throwing her arms up, she covered her head from flying fragments. A fire broke out at the console, but Ma`Khina had no hand free to douse it. Feeling the heat of the fire against the soft skin of her left arm, she concentrated on flying her freighter. ``I need a bigger crew or more droids..`` she muttered to herself, swerving her spaceship between all those laser-shots while the fire grew bigger. ``T7!! I have problems here! Stop shooting and come into the cockpit!`` the Twi`lek shouted over her shoulder, in hope her little friend was still there. Her sensors showed that the `Lost Hope` was already pretty damaged, but they still had a chance to get to Corellia. Maybe not in one piece, but at least they would bring their freight to those who need it the most. With a whistle the small astromech rolled into the cockpit and started to douse the fire. A deep sigh of relief escaped her and a soft smile curled up on Ma`Khina`s lips. Her friend was still alive and took care about the systems. But there were still twelve S 12 Blackbolts on their rear. No need to mention, that the Dreadnoughts were also firing onto the little freighter. Bluish blood ran slowly down her left arm. Fragments from the explosion had cut into her arm and caused wounds of different sizes. The Twi`lek ignored the pain in her arm and activated the communication system. ``Here speaks the unidentified ship: shut your mouth!`` she didn`t wait for an answer. Instead she deactivated the communication system and the speakers. Taking a deep breath she gave more thrust into the engines and the freighter jumped forward. Knowing her starship by heart she didn`t even need to look down as she pushed a few buttons on her console and programmed the control of the rear weapons to her console. But when her finger slipped off a button she looked surprised down. Surprise covered her face as she found her own blue blood on the console. ``..we all have to pay our prize for freedom..`` she muttered thoughtfully. Words her Master had told her a very long time ago. Only a few days before his death. Slowly she lifted her gaze up to the window again. Corellia. No Dreadnoughts or Scouts ahead of them. Just the blue planet. They were close. They still had a chance to get out of this alive. But they couldn`t land as long those scouts were still behind them. A heavy jerk ran through the ship suddenly as something in the back exploded. ``..ugh..STOP SHOOTING! YOU'RE DESTROYING MY BEAUTIFUL SHIP!`` Of course nobody except of her astromech could hear her, no matter how loud she screamed. But she just had to let her frustration out for a moment. With a few deep beeps did T7 rolled out of the cockpit again and to the back of the ship. Obviously wanting to take care of whatever just exploded. Ma`Khina didn`t look down onto her console anymore. There were more red lights and bad news than anything else at the moment. ``I hate doing this..but you guys don`t give me any other choice`` saying this she sighed again. With the push on a few buttons on the console to her right she opened one of her cargo areas and her old hyperdrive floated out into space together with a few other ship parts she had replaced before this mission. Her eyes were glued onto the sensor data her computer spitted out. The hyperdrive hit one of the S 12 Blackbolts and damaged it. This was the moment when she shot, aiming at her old propulsion system. Next she saw was a big explosion. A sigh of relief escaped her. Eight of the scouts were down. Four would be easily to handle. Giving full speed she navigated directly to Corellia and activated the communication system again. ``Here speaks Captain Ma`Khina from the Lost Hope. I`m through the barricade and head towards Bela Vistal. Four S 12 Blackbolts are still right behind me. I request help at the landing!`` Major Julan Tr�s here. I can hear you, Captain Ma`Khina. Help will come as requested. It is good to hear you, Captain!`` Those were great news and a soft smile curled up on Ma`Khina`s soft lips. Now she just needed to enter the atmosphere of Corellia and help would show up directly. Another explosion vibrated through the small ship. Those scouts had some really good pilots. Some who could actually aim before they shoot. Finally the nose of the `Lost Hope` broke through the atmosphere of Corellia, but the freighter didn`t become slower. Sweat ran down into her eyes and her breath grew faster. A slight dizziness filled her mind suddenly. Was it relief? Or was it just the loss of her blood? She didn`t care. Just a few more moments and they would be safe and the freight would be in good hands. Who cared what happened afterwards? She would just take a long bath in a bacta tank to regain energy for the flight back. The high houses of Bela Vistal appeared on her window and she smiled. Three corellian scouts passed by and next the Twi`lek saw on her sensors was, how the last four S 12 Blackbolts exploded in the blue sky. ``..safe..I can`t believe it!`` she muttered and tried to slow down the engines. The systems didn`t react. ``T7! We can`t land with that speed!`` she listened into the back but didn`t got any answer. ``T7??!!!`` No reaction. And no time for any worries. The ground of the planet became closer much too fast. ``Lost Hope, you`re much too fast. Take back some speed!`` ``What do you think I`m trying here?` Ma`Khina muttered. No matter what she did, the systems didn`t react anymore. Ma`Khina took a deep breath. Filling her lungs with life one more time. Maybe her last time. Lifting her right hand she checked if the belt was holding her tightly. The ground grew closer. The Twi`lek closed her eyes. A heavy jolt ran through the ship as the nose of the `Lost Hope` crashed into the ground. Trees fell down. Brown earth welled up and exploded into all directions. The Twi`lek jerked forward and hit her head against the helm. And lost consciousness.  

The Ruler of this group is Pharaoh Beliar Cobriana.We welcome all new members to take part in getting to know other members and family here, if you want to know more about the Kingdom, please don't hesitate to ask, we are all pretty friendly, even though we do tend to have very dark minds.If you need help choosing a character or position in the group please message either the group or Pharaoh Beliar.Here in the KOBA we take our alliances seriously and will not do anything to jeopardize them.  Simple RULES:No DRAMA pretty self explanatory, we are all adults here so let us act like it shall we? Please send starters or at least hello's out to Members when you join, this helps you get to know others here, also we do not criticize anyone's writing here, if you need any help with starters, just let your Empress know, she will be more than happy to help. While you are not required to have a storyline going with EVERY member we ask that you at least take the time to say hello.No Cyber bullying and do not mix Rp with Rl, not acceptable, and always seems to cause unnecessary drama.If anyone is found to be underage here they will be deleted from the group, 18+ only because we do dive into dark and macabre themes.All Parties involved need to be aware of all story lines's and need to have agreed on all terms.Respect must be held at all times for the Empress of KOBA her judgement on matters is final, they do have the right to disown or delete anyone causing undue drama.If you decide that you want to leave this kingdom for any reason, please email Empress Cobriana.Everyone here is able to roleplay their character as they see fit, there is no racism allowed of any kind,All Types of Sexuality are allowed, Girls can play guy profiles and vice versa, we see no reason why this has to be a problem, as long as the Profile stays in Character.Anyone having problems with another member are to come seek help from the Empress we do not like seeing unnecessary drama posted in bulletins & status's, it really does degrade a kingdom when this happens.New Members are required to fill in an application form which will be posted in a blog on this page and please sign our rules.-Pharaoh Beliar Sacriel Valcari-

       Mulan--?          |Aden--Lenne   |Eve--Ghost Heart (never married, Eve)  |Alex-- Elizabeth (died when Juliet was young)  |Juliet                Keira                   |        Noah----Naiya

Whitney had lived in New York for her entire life. She was born in Paris, but her parents were American citizens, and had secured dual citizenship for their only daughter weeks after her birth.  They had moved back to the city when Whitney was only a baby, at her grandmother's insistence. In fact, she had threatened to cut Whitney's mother off if she didn't "return her darling granddaughter to her true home." Because she wasn't old enough to remember those first few months of her life, Whitney considered herself a true New Yorker.  She loved the city, and everything it offered. She loved the privilege, and even the stereotypes. It was in her blood, in her heart, and in her mind. Still, after graduation, Whitney had briefly entertained the notion of leaving forever. Her parents were dead, her grandmother had turned into a total tyrant, and she craved an escape from the burden of being a Collins. So she planned to move to Los Vegas, a city her grandmother had pledged to avoid at any costs. It wasn't that she hated her family, exactly. Her parents were dead, and she missed them terribly. Her grandmother loved her dearly, but that was also part of the problem. Whitney, at a mere twenty one years old, believed that freedom was truly her best option. And Vegas was her top choice. Her first day there after graduation had only cemented her decision. Life was entertaining at every moment, and everything about the city screamed opportunity. A few weeks in, however, everything changed.It started with a drink. Whitney had gotten drunk one night and met a handsome stranger in the most expensive bar in Vegas.  They had slept together, and, at some point that night, signed a marriage certificate. It was only when Whitney had sobered up that she realized what she had done, and she had quickly called her grandmother in tears. Naturally, rather than avoid the scandal, Nana Collins had paid him off, and the annulment was secured.  Whitney moved back to New York, per her agreement with her grandmother, and trained to take over Coach upon the old woman's death. That was the biggest move of her life. It was also her deepest, darkest secret. As far as anyone outside of her inner circle knew, Whitney had been in New York forever, and always would be.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obYmpDk8r0Ihttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obYmpDk8r0IRooted in Natural Orderby Nike part 3   Rooted in natural order, I would visit my sister Clair, we studied together with our brother Vita in the University of Marseilles for Criminology besides Political Science and other things, it was of my finest admiration the way she would clean a murder scene made by the Kane's.  We would go to events my father President of France and Marseilles Elite Alexander Kane would have from his little cycle, the Richest man in the world who wished to invest in immortality and donated the hard work of the rest of the world into something impossible to believe to the mortal's eye.  We dominated the greatest investment in History after War Strategies and The Nasa, The new generation of hybrids would be programmed with the ability to connect their minds and process all their intelligence. The richest man in the world, did not know we was Gods, it would be a fraud to let them know the very Illuminaty had empower year after years the World Order and Control, from Atlantis, The Pyramids, Moises, Jerusalem, Petra, Alexandria's Evolution and stop the counts with our bloody tendencies. We manipulated masses like charlatans of great importance for the best civilization to prevail, we supported the first, we survived after every Empire's Fall, building it again. Only God's knew, the Gods behind the mortals. We would seat and see the richest walk, one after the other and they had the courage to proclaim them selfs in the teeth of hostility and decisions to the lesser. By 2045, we would have the majority of investors growth into what Zelus, the competitive God who added the history of the highest tendencies history to rival for the best, he was working ahead in 2,132 year for Mars Planet. The Kingdom of Hell with NASA and some Russian Business wished to continue with the illegal contraband of organs for the bio sensors into the robots and maintain the left over skin tissue from this rich man who would pay more then their fortune and create greater wars, and fancier slaveries to the poor with higher pseudo freedom's like 2 weeks of pity vacation with the hotted masses.  However, we would watch them pass one by one as we salute them directly. It has work this way for Millenniums and will work this way for more, to the average psyches and minds, to who have just an anima to learn the program of Titan Nature, or our Titan Business Steps.  My sister Clair helped me to keep grounded psychologically and spiritually. All those business to transfer human beings into avatars till the last point was something I could not tell her directly, like if it was fine. Clair walked me out the routine, to take fresh air, we would relax and talk about boys, man, elder man, we would go out alone for mountain climbing away from our tortuous and machiavelli work. We would bring poetry books to our camp, study away from what our parents and Godly ancestor left us. She would tell me things like._"I have never Insulted sis." We would cuddle around the fire as the little Virgin girls we used to be hoping for tomorrows charming prince, we would wake up day after day out the highest pick in the Alps and just breath away the moderating recycling Era, come down the lake and cheer up like if nothing was happening around the Universe, we discovered our paradise and hardly blamed. _"You held them in your hands. How many other lives can we save?" She would tell such things when I was holding a fish in my hands, and we would laugh letting it slide down back to its nature.  She was always flexible and I was too. Away from my history and my family broad me to renew our sense in life, after on, she became a secret agent to assassinate conflictive attitudes in power. A hight class seductress to share classified information and trigger them into false dates. I had remain virgen to any dirty business  could not double up my finest point.  That day she had seeing everything, some how she knew there was all those transactions made her think she had all the track behind her as she followed. I need it to solve this line between for humanoids to filter down a system of believe, and hide her precedence as much as possible before she holds the trigger before mediating. One thing Clari could not understand with patient politeness and discretion, how the distance works in the Golf Field, the rich people would have just to be more powerful and perpetual to take more over the worlds and the future.  Clair had seeing the alarm that day and came from Marseilles, nest to me, she had seeing too how Giselle entered and took my little brother onto my aunt Terra and talked about Lil's Mission, it all happened in minutes, Terra had fusion her power with my little brother Pyro, hugging him, transforming him into the man, the man he was to be in the future, this future was revealed to me as the existence of his manifested with fires.  I was going to be standing in charge, inside his mind too. But as grown up he was he could not see me in the future. In this vision could listen to my self in shouts coming out a hollow vessel that had no resounds but to my own psychological state, involved with no escape, the acute anguish of my shouts frighten my awareness._"You can′t control me, is all a big lie, you cant hide away and use my Intelligence, my victorious love, my human nature, my divine immortality, is not my world of slavery." That unorthodox vision in the future had no religiousness. I had a program transferred into my vital intelligence who used to win in the behalf of my ones, was null with epidemic programs against the elder Greek God′s information into a public image who oppressed the ancient secrets of the Underworld and Dijjins of Arabia, the lesser power the more to them, a power to be just re-directed. I was a Ghost, a Ghost inside a machine and my protection for Pyro was more then anything for the Empire, but how? What Empire was that, what kind of Hell would Exist in such dividend? Terror did not exist, the chemical reactions persevere and under drugs of control, could sense bio-sensors too under my flesh, so powerless and hostage under such, that a retro spectrum broad me back wanting me not to loose my self and identity.   Was the fight here or then, was the Present, was the Past, was the Future? or was this constant debate rolling in alignment DNA information with time and space frequency from before the Pyramids and his Slaves, I was a freaky free matter ready to contribute to humanity. We Gods could hold the multiparallel spheres of the matrix torus movement."Brother!! Zelus!! Go to the Further Future for the Emperor of Atlantis and I will move to Nightwolf his Wife and Terra, Mars is now taken by the Kingdom of Hell." My Mother Styx then shouted to Terra to drop Pyro down, Zelus moved rapidly away as they foreground the action. I could see the enemies creations. "There be no comedy for the robot of Dante, I'm telling you." "Brother!! Vita follow Pyro and stay always behind him, I must go, Clair we will see what The Goddess of LCP Terra has with NW there."  Pyro returned to his child form bringing us back to the present away what Terra had Embrace from. It was not easy to talk to the burning eyes of a child and explain him with success, but I was Nike, so I had to do it, he had an extremely contagious and consummating ground, it trilled me but it was dangerous to be part of him, so little, in such little body such intensity and fever, he pulled me with wish to have him with me, to be consummate for him, to orbit around him. Seeing how Terra was melted away from him and relaxed, would curve down out of guard._"My little brother, you must run, there is no safety in here you are our last hope in our return. Mother will be there soon." He hugged our mother and vanished away with Vita's impulse. The science, the occultism, the necessary to offset these dangers was of no experimentation, would show some awareness of the issue, and of the ways in which it might be tackled, we Olympian brothers did not act in our own prescriptions, we came on terms with problems no one could handle adequately into the present century, constantly, again and again, coming eternally.  Facing the Journey for the days of the next hypnotism works, controlling minds, manipulate masses, how enterprises think together, was no ordinary task to transmit. I'll do anything to bake cookies at home with my brothers and sisters, see mom and dad relax along their investments with us, proudly. But, when the Momentum of the Implosive theory reveals everything we have worked for and suffered will role by it self.

Whitney's week had been as exhausting as it was frustrating.  Her daughter had contracted a small cold, and Whitney was exhausted just from commuting back and forth from Staten Island to her office. She missed her life in her penthouse, which was still empty. But she couldn't return. It wasn't safe.  One night, after a particularly infuriating meeting, Whitney returned home, checked her mailbox, and found only one thing inside. That in itself was odd. It seemed that no other mail had come for her, for the second time that week. Trying to brush away the suspicion, Whitney sighed and carried the letter upstairs. Dismissing the nanny for the night, Whitney checked on Ariel, who was fast asleep in her crib. The blonde poured herself a cup of coffee, drowning it in caramel creamer, and carried it and the letter to her room. Plopping onto her bed, she carefully opened the envelope, retrieving the paper within. She had only scanned the first few lines when the terror squeezed her throat and forced her stomach to the ground. She forced herself to keep reading, and had to read several times before she truly comprehended the words within."Hello, my love. I heard you recently moved away, and I found that quite curious for someone in your position.  How can a wife just up and leave her adoring husband, with not even a note? How many times must I tell you that the money you tried to pay me was simply not enough?  We tried to get the marriage annulled, but it seems the papers never made it through. One could call it fate, I would say.  I came to New York to find you, hoping to share a fresh start, a new life. But you keep running from me.  I am your loving husband, your most faithful servant, and you insist on breaking my heart and leaving me stranded.I can only blame it upon that night.  That night that I, admittedly, lost my cool with you. You know that I would never hurt you, regardless of what I said. Your little friend was in my way, and all I wanted was some alone time with my beautiful wife. It would drive any man mad.  I've been trying to find you for weeks, but you are quite skilled at hiding. I had to pay your old door man, who is anything but cheap.  I will be over in the morning to visit. I do love you, Whitney. Nothing can tear us apart. No one can ruin what we have. And no amount of money will ever make me leave your side.  Who cares how we did it? We said I do, and that's what matters. Goodnight, my love. Yours truly, me."Something resembling a strangled whimper escaped Whitney's throat. She threw the letter on the bed as if it were on fire. He would be here in the morning. That couldn't mean here, here, could it? But a quick glance at her address on the envelope confirmed that much. Whitney, unable to think of a more logical option, jumped up from her bed, darted into her closet, and started packing. She had to get out of here. Surely there was a trip to Paris tonight.

I will break this down as simply as possible. I am not James Buchanan Barnes/the Winter Soldier or Sebastian Stan. If you believe that this is real, I suggest that you seek immediate psychiatric evaluation, possibly medication. Oh, I am an asshole however.There will be adult/mature themes woven throughout my writing. If at all possible, I will include trigger warnings for violence ect. If these things offend you, you're in the wrong place. On the rare occasions that I speak out of character you will note // before each posting. Failure for those symbols or something similar will indicate posting as in character and treated as such. I am primarily a multi paragraph writer. Sometimes I delve into the world of novella, normally when writing a starter, but I do not expect nearly as much in return. Quality over quantity. I have a strict LI policy. If I believe that you are underage, there is no way in hell that I am going to write anything that could be considered smut with you. As I have no way to accurately gather your actual age, other than point blank asking you; at which point you can lie, I'm going to gauge your maturity. And trust me, I'm rarely wrong.Owing to the time period that Bucky was born in, he has antiquated notions about homosexuality. It is NOT not be considered homophobic, he is just deeply confused owing to his training. I will not tolerate out of character drama. I don't care who you like, hate, want to fuck ect. Do not bring me into the middle of your petty squabbles, because I will drop you faster than Thor drops his hammer. Are we clear? Wonderful.

Dime por qu� lloras De felicidad Y por qu� te ahogas Por la soledad Di por qu� me tomas, fuerte as�, mis manos Y tus pensamientos te van llevando Yo te quiero tanto Y por qu� ser� Loco testarudo No lo dudes m�s Aunque en el futuro Haya un muro enorme Yo no tengo miedo Quiero enamorarme No me ames Porque pienses que Parezco diferente �T� no piensas que es lo justo Ver pasar el tiempo juntos? No me ames Que comprendo la mentira que ser�a Si tu amor no merezco No me ames Mas qu�date otro d�a No me ames Porque estoy perdido Porque cambi� el mundo Porque es el destino Porque no se puede Somos un espejo Y t� as� ser�as lo que yo de m� reflejo No me ames Para estar muriendo Dentro de una guerra llena de arrepentimientos No me ames Para estar en tierra Quiero alzar el vuelo con tu gran amor Por el azul del cielo No s� qu� decirte Esa es la verdad Si la gente quiere Sabe lastimar T� y yo partiremos Ellos no se mueven Pero en este cielo, sola no me dejes No me dejes, no me dejes No me escuches si te digo "No me ames" No me dejes No desarmes mi coraz�n con ese "No me ames" No me ames, te lo ruego Mi amargura, d�jame Sabes bien, que no puedo, que es in�til Que siempre te amar� No me ames Pues te har� sufrir Con este coraz�n Que se llen� de mil inviernos No me ames Para as� olvidarte de tus d�as grises Quiero que me ames, s�lo por amarme No me ames T� y yo volaremos uno con el otro Y seguiremos siempre juntos Este amor es como el sol que sale tras de la tormenta Como dos cometas en la misma estela No me ames No, no me ames No me ames

Spencer Hastings, from Pretty Little Liars, is Whitney's spirit animal.  They both have colorful pasts that they are less than proud of. They are both perfectionists who value hard work and intelligence. They share a similar style, employing both preppy and professional looks. And they both value those close to them. Their leadership abilities are endless.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uhr5Ah4fpU

Raising her eyebrows in mock disgust, Priscilla laughed, resting a hand on the stairwell beside her. It was cold to touch, the melting snow making it even colder but her gloved hands felt none of it as the rosy glow in her cheeks spread further. Her eyes were dancing as golden peals of laughter echoed around the empty courtyard. "I cannot say I truly remember the last time I actually laughed like this..." She mused, her free hand delicately lifting a blonde curl away from her face. There was a snake like charm about the smile upon her lips, as though she was assessing her prey, making certain that they would be worth the taste before she took a bite. His face was pale, his eyes dark but the pinched look on his face said that he was feeling the cold, but willing to wait it out a little longer for a little more time with Miss Mulciber herself. She was alone, after all, she was rarely if ever alone.Her free hand fell away from her golden tresses to rest on the covered arm of the dark haired boy beside her-he was still only a boy, after all. His eyes said that her touch felt like ice, even though she was shrouded by warmth. His eyes warmed to her though, almost like chocolate melting after being left out in the sun on a warm sunny afternoon. He ached for her touch but it was something that he would never, ever admit to. It he admitted to it, it would mean that she would win. He knew better, too, she was not his to touch. To seek out. She belonged to someone else, betrothed to someone who did not deserve her, but there was no doubt in his mind that it would happen. The joining of two powerful families would leave him without her by his side, even if it was just her comforting words when there was no one else around. He had never dared to say that he cared about her as more than that, knowing that the wrath that he would face would be too much for him, but that did not mean that he was oblivious to her. There was no one like Priscilla Mulciber. Golden haired pureblood perfection all wrapped up in one tiny package. She wasn't exactly tiny though, Priscilla was larger than life."You should be careful..." The words lingered in the air for he wasn't quite sure what it was that he was trying to warn her about. Was it a warning? Did she need to know? Was she in danger? The thoughts all seemed to melt into one as he stared at her, forgetting that she did not belong to him anymore than Lily did. "Severus, careful isn't in my vocabulary." The husky undertone of her voice gave way to his imagination, his eyes frighteningly bright, wondering vaguely if she was alluding to something. Could she possibly want more from him after all these years? He had constantly lived in the shadow of others, constantly standing dutifully behind whilst all the lovely souls seemed doomed to be forgotten. Priscilla wasn't lovely, nor would she ever be forgotten, especially not by him. He was not about to play into her games though. He knew what she was doing, knew why she had cornered him, asked him to go for a walk with her. It wasn't just because she wanted the company, she was as comfortable on her own in the middle of the common room as he was, and she certainly was not lonely. She was plotting, and a scorned woman was not one that he wanted to cross."Don't drag me into your little games, Priss, please do not insult me like that. I'm a human, not a toy." There was a pleading tone in his voice, the gentle whisper of it lingering in the cold as though frozen in the air between them. Priscilla froze, jerking her hand away from his arm, a fire roared behind her eyes as she placed her hand upon her hip. "You think this is a game?" Her words were low, dangerously low and he ached to take them back, to wish that he had never spoken. She could calm a storm, but when she wanted to she could turn a spark into an inferno. "I'm insulted to think that you would find me capable of that." She turned on the haughty charm, a slight tilt of her head showed that she was not amused at being discovered, her words meaning nothing to Severus as they came to a crashing halt between them. "If it is not a game then kiss me."The fire that burned in her eyes seemed brighter for a moment, flickering in every corner of the courtyard as though searching, always searching for the attention of someone else. The indecision was written all over her face, her eyes glaringly bright as she stared straight ahead at him. Priscilla knew that kissing him would keep her game alive, keep the chances of making him jealous far more real, but she could not live with the thought. Could not live with the idea of kissing Severus Snape. "You can't do it, can you...?" His whispered words seemed louder than ever to Priss and she wished that she could tell him that she could, if only to keep the game together, but she could not. Her fingers itched, her eyes widened and before she knew what she was doing, she snapped. Leaning forward, Priscilla pressed her lips to his own, her tongue snaking through his lips momentarily before she pulled back, a satisfied grin on her face. "I don't know what game you're talking about..." The words lingered in the air between them, his face flushed, her own seemed brighter than normal, but nothing like his own. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Priscilla winked at him, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.Taking a step back from him, Priscilla span on her heel and made her way across the courtyard, immense satisfaction mixing with the sinking feeling in her stomach. It wasn't that she was worried that Severus would develop feelings for her, it was as far from her thoughts as she could possibly get, she would have laughed had he ever said that he had feelings for her. A shadow fell over her from the distance and as she looked up, his face glared at her in the distance. "What's the matter, Regulus? Afraid of losing me...now?"

  "Priscilla, really, I am already disgusted that your brother is refusing to wear a tie with his shirt to the dinner at the Black's home tonight and then you come in here with a tear in the bottom of your dress? Change it immediately." Wrinkling her nose, Maile Mulciber tipped her head back further, the damp cloth on her forehead pressed firmly at the top of her nose. Staring down at her pale blue dress, Priscilla Maile Mulciber turned up the end of it with a tiny pink finger, her eyes squinted as she searched for the tear that her mother was talking about. Gently she trailed a finger along the edge of it, searching but essentially coming up with nothing. "Mother, I cannot see the tear..." Her voice was soft but it still seemed louder in the room than she had intended for it to sound. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, knowing that her mother was already cross, it would simply do no good to make her mood even worse, but it was hardly her intention. It was getting more and more difficult for Priscilla to find a time when her mother was in a somewhat decent mood, it was really more of a chore than anything else in recent times, but today seemed to be far worse than in weeks. There was surely something wrong, but what, she did not know. "Oh for the sake of Merlin..."     Lifting a dainty hand, the older woman lifted the damp cloth and tossed it to the floor, knowing that the house elf would be along to pick it up in a few moments and beckoned her daughter closer to her. Priscilla was twelve  years old, she ought to have known better than to pick a dress with a tear in it by now, Maile had specifically moved the one that she had chosen to wear to the back of the wardrobe so that she would not see it, but it was obvious that her daughter had found it anyway. Somehow. Running her hand along the edge of the dress, Maile could not find the tear that she was certain was there. "This is the new one, mother...the one that papa bought for me when he came back from Greece..." Her words hung in the air and Maile paused, turning the words over in her mind as she thought about what Priss had said. Was she wrong? Was this really a new dress? Swallowing, it was a thought that she did not want to consider. Maile had never truly been wrong about something like that before, it was simply unheard of. "Go and make sure Trudy does your hair right." She answered finally, sending her daughter away with a wave of her hand. There was nothing out of place about that dress...it was just perfect. Perfect. It was exactly how it should have been, she was wrong about it the whole time, she should never have even questioned Priss about it.     The Black house was a beautiful place, but it always seemed a little...cold. Perhaps it was the decor, or perhaps it was the house elf, but Priscilla still felt as though she was almost home whenever she stepped through those doors. Her father said that one day she would own the home too, her brother would get their own, naturally, it always went to the first-born, to the son, but that she would find her own home. Her father was always certain that she would marry one of the Black sons. It had always been the eldest one, her father said, Sirius, but, in recent years, things had changed. It was never going to be him, it had to be Regulus. That was what her father said, he was the one that would end up with everything, the eldest one was a disgrace to the line. If she stuck to what they told her to do, if he did nothing to ruin the name, one day he would find himself with a beautiful bride. Everything was already planned out, that was a certainty. Her mother spoke of Druella Black as though she was her bossom buddy, something that she could never understand. She had Regulus had known each other for years, she had admired him, believing her father's words about him. He told her that she would have a happy life ahead of her. She would be a Black, the prestigious name came with more promise than her own, although Mulciber was still a force to be reckoned with.     Watching him from across the ballroom, Priscilla studied her betrothed carefully, her blonde curls gently falling around her face. He had barely looked at her, not even once. If there was any doubt in her eyes that he wanted to marry her, it was this. She wanted him to remember her, wanted to see that she was there. That she had picked that dress because she knew that it would match his eyes perfectly. If he just glanced over at her, even once, Priscilla knew that he would be entranced by her, but he hadn't even bothered. She wanted to cry, to stamp her feet and demand that he look at her, but it was not something that she knew she ought to do. It was a childish thought, something that she had long since outgrown, but Priss was not used to people ignoring her. Everyone always noticed her. They would say that she was a perfect child, a golden haired angel with a face that would break a thousand hearts-except that one that she wanted. Was there something wrong with her, was that why he was not looking in her direction? Had she neglected to brush a few golden strands of hair out of her eyes? Had they twisted themselves together to become a tangle that she could not get rid of? It was something that she did not want to consider, and yet, it was there, on her mind. She could not stop thinking about it.     Her hand moved to her hair, unable to resist as she continued to watch Regulus from across the room. She could see the way that his eyes darted towards his parents, making small talk with a man who had new money written all over him. Priscilla was certain that he had only been invited because they wanted to know just how much money he had, he did not have a prestigious name. He wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, but his money was. What if he had a daughter that was far better than her? The thought intruded on her as though she had been hit in the face by a truck and the blonde shook her head gently to dislodge it. No, it simply was not possible. If he had a daughter, she would be fat and red haired, like his dumpy wife. She would not be the perfect blonde that Regulus needed, that he deserved. It had already been decided after all, they couldn't back out of it now. Her parents and his had made the decision all those years ago that the two families would join in one with their children, and Priscilla was looking forward to her life, in the future as Mrs. Regulus Black. She would make him wish that it had happened years before, she would make him realise that this had been the right thing to do. Certainly she believed that it was, he needed to feel the same way. Naturally.     She had been so distracted by her thoughts that Priscilla had barely noticed Regulus slip out of the crowd, making his way back through the kitchen as though he was trying to hide something. A lump formed in her throat-was he going to meet someone else? It was a thought that made her feel cold inside, something that she could scarcely imagine. There was no one else at the ball, no one that looked as good as her. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest, her eyes blinking faster, more furiously as she thought about it. Would be really dare to do that to her? Would he really meet someone else when he knew that she was there, that she loved him and couldn't wait until the moment the two of them were joined as one? No, it was a thought that she could not even consider. Would not consider. If he were to find someone else, Priscilla knew with certainty that she would not lay down without a fight, she would not let go of him without a second thought. She needed him to realise that she was not going anywhere, that she would always be there. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps the fact that he was ignoring her was his way of testing her, to see if she was worthy of the name Black. Of course she was, without a doubt. Priscilla was going to make him see it.     Her feet seemed to glide effortlessly through the crowds as she made her way across the room, towards the door that she thought that he had disappeared through. She could not see anywhere else that he could possibly have gone. Her eyes darted around the room carefully, watching to make sure that her parents could not see her, nor her brother but they were suitably distracted somewhere else. She slipped from the room without being seen and her eyes immediately fell on the open door to the garden. It seemed like it had been trying to close silently, but it was still open. Her fingers brushed through her hair gently, her eyes widening slightly as she made her way out of it. "Regulus?" Her voice was a gentle whisper in the slight breeze outside, but she did not need to look far to find him. He was right there, his back to her, looking out at the night sky in bare feet, the sand below his feet making her nose crinkle somewhat as she stared at him. "I thought that you were avoiding me." The words hung in the air between them as Priscilla tried to decide between joining him in the sand, and standing at the edge, close enough but still far enough away from the sand that her dress would not be ruined. "Won't you come back inside? I will find you something to eat, or perhaps something to drink, if you'd like."     The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself and she wrinkled her nose gently as she tried to stop herself from hating on the way that she had said them. She was beginning to sound like her mother, and despite the fact that Priscilla had always thought that her mother was perfect, there was something about sounding like her that was not what she wanted. It did not seem right, at least not yet. It was too soon for her to be sounding like her mother, perhaps in a few years time, but not yet. "Reg..." She said his name almost uncertainly, as though she was not sure if she was even talking to him. "Do I displease you? Would you like me to look differently? Do you wish that I was someone else?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she inwardly began to curse herself. "I am Priscilla Mulciber, soon I will Priscilla Black. I will never be anyone else, you will never have anyone better than myself." Drawing herself up slightly, her head tipped up somewhat, her eyes shining in the moonlight and the blonde tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. "You had best get used to what you see, because you won't have anyone else...there is no one better than me, obviously." She sounded haughty, sounded like a snob. She was pureblood perfection after all, and there was not another soul out there that would be better than her. She knew it.

*Jazzmin went out for a long walk.  She had no place in mind where she was going to walk to.  She eventually found herself on the shoreline walking in the sand.  She took her shoes off and walked a while longer.  She sat down in the sand looking out at the surf.  She felt the water calling her.  She looked around as she got back onto her feet.  She stripped down to nothing and walked into the water.*

PART  I"We are more than our bodies."Panicked breaths echoed loudly down a narrow and dark corridor. There were no lights and yet somehow this place always seemed to be illuminated well enough to reveal the horrors of such a twisted and unholy place. The walls, which appeared to be made up of living flesh, pulsed in unsteady rhythms that mirrored the palpitations of Sam's heart. Distant screams and cries of agony were always heard not far off into the distance, but the source of these sounds were never found. Sam could only guess that they belonged to souls of the condemned that occupied other parts of Hell, parts that were close by but not associated with the cage he had been confined to. Cage. He almost wanted to scoff at such a word, while the part of him that clung to sanity by a thread threatened to snap into a fit of psychotic laughter. The term 'cage,' at times, was rather comical to Sam, for this place resembled nothing of a cage at all. In fact, it was completely seamless. Like an illusion that had been depicted from the most deranged of minds. It morphed and it changed, adapting itself to mold into the perfect fear, carved from the very horrors of one's mind. This place was...alive. There was no way to know for certain of how much time had passed but, based off of how many times he had stumbled around this seemingly endless maze, it felt as if decades had already gone by. And unbeknownst to Sam, decades was more spot-on than he realized. Though he never aged in appearance, the weight of his torment and the state of his soul made him feel as if he was nothing more than a frail old man that would be seen knocking on Death's door at any moment. But Sam was already dead, and at this point it was just wishful thinking that Death would swoop in to grant him a more peaceful ending. Sam stumbled as he neared the end of the hall. The fleshy floors had begun to dip downward towards a darker path. He glanced over his shoulder quickly. The hall was empty behind him, for now. His attention returned towards the path ahead of him. There was no going backwards, only forward. He swallowed stiffly. His leg had just begun to move forward when the floor beneath him seemed to retaliate. His balance was thrown off as the ground began to roll like an ocean tide. Sam's arms flung out to either sides in a desperate attempt to maintain some form of balance, but it was futile. The Winchester's hands reluctantly reached out to rest against the squishy and soft tissue of the wall in front of him. All of his focus was put towards his feet. The floor seemed to rise further and parts of it had begun to grip around Sam's ankles and feet. He pulled up, but the floor pulled back. Sam grunted with discomfort as he strained to remove even a single foot from the floor's hold. He had been so concerned with freeing his feet that he had hardly noticed the warm sensation that had begun to ooze between his fingers. Brows furrowed as narrowed eyes lifted. The ability to breathe ceased altogether as his gaze met with the face of his past beloved. Jessica looked anguished. Blood oozed from various lacerations on her body and seeped through the cracks of Sam's fingers. Her face was charred and slightly disfigured, but he still recognized her. The flesh of her once beautiful skin was now charcoal black. Her vibrant blue eyes, which had once held such love and compassion, now reflected nothing but despair and misery. She appeared as if she had suffered eons of torture. Horrified, Sam immediately pulled his hands away, but it was pointless. His hands had been painted red, a simple reminder of who was held accountable for her unmerited death."Sam...Why did you do this to me?" Her soft tone bore a pain that was beyond Sam's comprehension. It pierced through his heart. A hundred or more times of this and Sam's guilt about her death had only ever increased. "Yeah, Sam! Why did you do this to us?!" A grizzly voice growled. Sam's eyes widened with fear as his head jerked downwards. The lively flesh of the floor that had gripped around his ankles had been replaced with two calloused and bloodied hands. A single face protruded from the depths of the floor. Blackened eyes glared scornfully up at Sam as his older brother bared his teeth in a deep scowl.This wasn't real. Dean was alive and Jessica...His eyes snapped shut as his jaw clenched. Sam could only hope that Jessica had found peace. That she had been allowed access to Heaven and not been forced to suffer an eternity in the fiery depths of Hell. But that's all Sam could do: hope. There would never be any sure way for him to know. For all he knew, this was what had become of the fate of her actual soul. "Look at me, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, disrupting Sam's poor attempts to blot it all out. The very sound of his brother's voice seemed to rattle the core of Sam. "It's because of you that I was forced to wade in through the sh*t that I did! You could never do anything on your own!" His scorching glare seared through flesh and bone. "I was the one that was always left to clean up after you. After all of your messes! I should've done the world a favor and killed you sooner!"Sam's heart plummeted. A stinging sensation warned the Winchester that his dams were close to breaking. The beginning of tears bubbled behind closed eyelids as Sam's thinned lips began to tremor. A deep line formed itself between narrowed brows and his vision of Dean became blurred behind the wells of his eyes as he forced himself to meet his gaze. There were many things that he wanted to say. More than anything he ached for forgiveness from his brother, but Sam knew that any words that proceeded from his mouth would fall on deaf ears. Words were meaningless here, especially when faced with countless hallucinations that materialized from the depths of one's own imagination."Sam...Why..?" Jessica's sorrowful voice continued to cry softly behind him. All the while Dean's shouts of disdain grew in volume as he cut Sam down in every way imaginable. Words of contemptment and hatred. Together their shouts and pleas echoed on until the sounds of their voices had become an unbearable white noise. In a desperate attempt to silence the racket, Sam clamped his bloodied fingers over his ears, but all to no avail. He would rather endure physical torture of unimaginable pain than to be forced to be faced with this. No instrument of any kind could dismantle him as brutally as the disappointment and abhorrence of those closest to him.It was then that a strong fist enclosed around the thick of Sam's neck. This single action seemed to catch the Winchester off guard. A look of shock flourished upon his features as alarmed eyes snapped upon his assailant. Malevolent eyes narrowed upon the tall Winchester as broken and jagged nails embedded themselves into the soft flesh of his throat. "Found you." The familiar sinister voice thrummed victoriously. The irises of Lucifer's eyes blazed like two suns that swam in a sea of crimson sclera, with a look of pure malice that never ceased to shake the Winchester.Sam's hand lifted in a feeble attempt to break free as sharp winces emerged from behind gritted teeth. The ability to breathe became a difficult task as air escaped in shortened breaths. This hadn't been the first time that he had ended up like this. In fact, it was nearly the millionth time. It never mattered how far into the abysmal depths he ran, with every turn and every glance over his shoulder Sam could always sense Lucifer's footsteps as they shadowed close behind. Perhaps a few minor details were sometimes altered, but the end result always concluded the same. Right here, always within Lucifer's profane grasp."You know that you can never escape, Sammy. So why do you always try?" The shock managed to subside now. The horror and pain of his prior illusions were tossed on the back burner as Sam snapped himself back to reality. A steel gaze hardened in his eyes as his nose crinkled with defiance. "Because...every second away from you," Sam managed through strained breaths, "...is well worth the trouble." "Still singing that same old tune?" Lucifer mocked with a humored grin. "Come on. Two monsters like us should be working together, not apart." He cooed in that eerily calm tone of his. Monster. That single word seemed to cut through Sam deeper than any double edged sword could. All of his life Sam had felt unusual. There had always been something that separated him from the average person and he had never been able to put a finger on it. It hadn't been until the last two years of Sam's life on Earth that his worst fear had been confirmed. Between Ruby and the angels, Sam knew with perfect clarity exactly what he was - and all that he ever would be."I'm not like you..." Sam growled softly, but the lack of faith in his own words was painted clearly across his face. Lucifer's head tilted as a single brow perked. It surprised him that the boy still managed to fight after all this time. He had proven be a lot stronger in spirit than Lucifer had given him credit for. A simple shrug was offered as Sam's words were disregarded. A free hand lifted to point a condescending finger in Sam's face. "The fate of your soul is like the fate of your destiny." His finger wagged gently as a wry smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "You can try and run away, but you'll only ever prolong the inevitable, Sam. Because, like this cage, there is no escaping from the blood in your veins."Sam cringed at the truth of those words. His entire being had been damned since the beginning. It had never mattered how many lives he saved, how much he sacrificed, or even how much suffering and pain he had endured for the sake of others - Sam's good deeds were in vain. He was a child of darkness, he had never truly belonged as a Winchester. His only soul purpose had been to act as a catalyst for the root of all evil. Sam Winchester had been nothing more than a pawn, built specifically for Satan himself. As if he hadn't struggled enough to accept the truth of his own damnation, every single person or thing he came into contact with also made sure to remind him. He had been faced with, not only his own scorn and self-hatred, but everyone else's. Not even his own brother had been an exception, which proved to be the worst feeling that Sam had ever known. His habit of self sabotage only seemed to deepen with every amend he attempted to make. It never mattered how many good intentions he had, because everything he touched turned black. There would be no stopping the infectious disease that coursed through his body. It would spread like a viral plague and desecrate everything in its path, until Sam was deprived of any shredded and stitched hope that he had left. And he knew how this would end, it never changed. It would be ignorant of him to continue and deny the truth, especially when he knew that chunks of him became lost by the end of every session. Resistance only made him drift further from any semblance of the Sam Winchester he once knew. His soul had been splintered into pieces like a broken mirror that he feared could never be repaired. Even in knowing this, Sam still wouldn't admit to anything. It didn't matter that in his heart he believed he deserved to be punished, or that he viewed his existence as a disgraceful sin just as much as everybody else. He would never give anyone, especially Lucifer, the satisfaction in knowing. He would not sway into the hands of evil, even though he knew that his perseverance would cost fragments of his soul. "...Say whatever...you want." Sam uttered through his clenched jaw. Beams of sweat rolled along his cheeks. "But it's gonna take more than just...words...to break me... " He boldly declared as hazel hues narrowed sharply. Even if he felt beaten beyond words Sam refused to simply lay down his arms and succumb to Lucifer's will. His fortress of reverence would not crumble so easily.A look of boredom surfaced upon Lucifer's bloodied features. "Sam..." His fingers tightened around his throat and Sam's face contorted in pain. Only a sliver of air was able to get through to his lungs now. Both of the Winchester's hands gripped around the devil's wrist as more pressure was gradually applied against his windpipe. "It's been thirty years, now..." Sam's eyes began to roll in the back of his head as a wave of heat flooded over his face. A darkness began to cloud his vision as he struggled to maintain consciousness. "And do you want to know what I enjoy most about our time together?" His other hand lifted and every bone in his fingers cracked as they flexed in preparation. "It's watching you destroy every sordid and pathetic bit of your soul, all on your own." Bloodstained teeth became exposed behind chapped lips as Lucifer's thumb continued to crush around Sam's neck. "Honestly, I don't think it's possible for anyone to do a better job at tearing down your own existence than you."Lucifer drew his hand up as a look of indifference glossed upon his features. "Oh well. Call me optimistic, but I think that we'll be seeing eye-to-eye very soon." A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The muscles in his hand tensed and flattened straight as all five of his jagged and sharp nails pointed towards the center of Sam's core. A white hot pain flooded every sense. The pain shot along every nerve in Sam's body as Lucifer's hand plowed through muscle and tissue to embed itself deep within his open chest cavity. A shrill scream erupted from Sam. With every agonizing twist and turn of Lucifer's hand, Sam felt his insides implode, and the vocal chords in his throat felt like they might tear apart. A red hot glow coursed through every atom of his body. This feeling was familiar - and it only ever got worse with every encounter. Everything that he was, and all that he ever would have been, was beginning to be drawn from him. It was a rush of blistering heat that burned from the inside-out. The impurity within Sam, the tainted blood of Azazel, was invoked by the black energy that had rooted itself in the center of his being; the place where the human soul resided, or in Sam's case, a slimmer of one. For Sam's soul had been ripped and torn beyond recognition and scattered throughout the cage. Bit by bit, for thirty years, Lucifer had robbed Sam of his character, determined to remove every last ounce until nothing of Sam Winchester remained.At this point everything started to go fuzzy. The searing pain had begun to grow numb as all signs of consciousness began to slip away. And Sam wondered, once the darkness came, how different things would be once he awoke. Would he remember who he was? Or the life he had once lived? Would all of his memories be forgotten? Jessica. His father. His brother. Bobby. Ellen. Jo. Chuck. All of the people he saved, or whose lives he had touched. Would any of it mean anything to him anymore? As he drifted further into black, as it seeped its way into his mind, Sam thought he heard an unusual sound. There came the soft hum of a high pitched frequency that steadily rose in volume, until the very sound threatened to make one's ears bleed. Blood and innards gushed as the hand was ripped from his body. The muffled sounds of Lucifer's agitated voice rumbled incoherently in the background. Heavy eyelids stirred as Sam made attempts to open his eyes, but it was futile. He was slipping fast and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Against the folds of his eyes he could sense a light. A bright light that offered something that had become completely foreign to Sam. And even though it was something that should have been easily recognized, he simply made no sense of it. He was impervious. The concept or even the idea of peace already felt like a distant memory. He felt nothing at all when the divine light shined upon him. He barely even registered that his body had been thrown as he was catapulted from the devil's grasp. But he never hit the floor...Sam had grown so accustomed to the cruelty of this place that any act of benevolence seemed unapt. He vaguely recalled the feeling of caring hands as he was gathered up into strong arms and all of the burdens of his former life, and years spent in torment, dissolved. The dense black began to fade and in its place a gray storm cloud swept in. The darkness no longer consumed, but lingered overhead as streams of light struggled to break through. The approaching storm is the last thing that Sam remembered before everything went blank.PART II"As my soul's laid to rest, what is left of my body - or am I just a shell?"Several weeks had gone by since Castiel had rescued the Winchester from eternal damnation and with each day that passed, the more aware Sam became of the changes inside of him. How could he not? He had noticed right away, though the hunter in him tried to convince himself that it was the possible after effects of being ripped from one plane and to another and that after a few days or weeks he would be back to his normal self. Nearly a month gone by and Sam had noticed no such change. Despite all the research and cases he had managed to get ahold of to occupy himself, Sam found that his mind still had too much time to wander. He was left in a constant state of questioning. He had lived twenty seven years on Earth before his death. He had had fears, worries, burdens...but more than anything he had had compassion. He knew with exact detail who he had been. Even with all of his flaws combined Sam had always had a devout heart. A troubled man with good intentions. He was a fighter; someone who strongly believed in justice and protecting the innocent, but all sense of that guy was gone now and past memories only felt like an elaborate dream."Something's different about me." "Why do you say that?" Castiel asked. He tried to seem surprised by such a statement, but in reality a sense of dread had washed over him. He knew that it would have only been a matter of time before Sam started to ask questions. "It just...it doesn't seem like I'm all here. Like something's missing..." Sam gazed inquisitively at the angel from his spot on the corner of his hotel bed.Castiel stood motionless. His expression had not faltered one bit. What other choice did he have other than to be honest with Sam? There would be no point in lying because Castiel was intelligent enough to know what it might be like for a human to exist without a soul. That kind of emptiness was too profound to cover up with a simple white lie.The silence went on for too long and before Castiel could construct a proper reply, Sam took a more direct approach. "I know that you know, Cas." Hazel hues trained firmly upon the angel. His words weren't a wild stab in the dark that expressed his hope of being correct. No. Sam knew with absolute certainty that the celestial being had kept something vital from him. Sam's forthright disposition left little room for Castiel to put off any response that he had. Sharp crystalline hues narrowed as a soft line formed itself between furrowed brows. The guilt that he felt in regards to Sam Winchester had a tight hold on him. So much so that he found it nearly impossible to muster up the courage to answer truthfully and admit to his fault. Because the words that he wanted to speak would bear more than the answer Sam desired to hear, they also bore Castiel's responsibility. When it became clear that Castiel wasn't going to provide him with an answer, Sam decided to drive the point home further. "Cas. I watched an innocent woman get killed." His tone, uncharacteristically calm, grew firm.At last the angel found his voice. "It wasn't your faul--"A swift hand rose to cut him off. "That's not the point." His forehead wrinkled as he emphasized his next stream of words. "It doesn't matter that I wasn't responsible for it or even if I had been. Because, either way, do you want to know what I would've felt? What I did feel?"Castiel's eyes softened and the heart within his vessel sank. There would be no reason for the young Winchester to say, Castiel knew. It would only make his remorse for Sam intensify if he heard the answer spoken out loud."Nothing. Not a damn thing." Sam's deadpan expression only verified the truth of these words and Castiel looked disheartened. "In fact, I haven't felt anything since I've been back. Not about the things that I hunt, the people I save, and least of all, the people who are supposed to mean something to me. Not you, not Bobby, not even Dean." The brunette scoffed behind an ill-humored smile as his arms held out to either sides. "And I don't even care." His arms fell back in his lap as a more serious expression nestled upon his face. "And I know that I should. I should care, because that's who I was, but I don't. Not even a little."Defeat wove behind blue eyes. Guilt overcame the angel as he held Sam's blank gaze. "Your soul..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his chin. Total detachment presented itself in his eyes as Sam plainly repeated, "My soul?""...I was unable to obtain it when I infiltrated the cage. I am truly sorry." His eyes begged for some kind of forgiveness as he searched the Winchester's face.Sam merely blinked. He showed no signs of panic or shock, or even anger. His soul was gone. It made sense. That one response put an end to all of the wondering and theorizing that Sam had slaved over for weeks. Not because he had cared or felt the need to cure his unwholesome state, but rather because the logical part of him had simply needed to know. Now he knew. A brief silence passed as the Winchester took time to process this information before a breath of air was inhaled and a light, "it's fine," dismissed the angel's apology. Bearing no further concern, whatsoever, over the topic, Sam rose to his feet and moved to collect his duffel bag. Castiel stood still. A frown formed upon his lips as sad eyes lingered upon the boy while he began to pack his things. For two years he had watched over the Winchester brothers. He had grown accustomed to the way both of them were, as brothers and as individuals. Sam had been the most burdened, and yet somehow had always managed to put his own needs behind to give help and provide sympathy to others. His altruistic nature had always been one of Castiel's favorite qualities about Sam, his second one being Sam's inexhaustible compassion.Now as the ebony haired angel watched Sam all he saw was a shell. He was dressed up and alive on the surface, but inside Sam was hollow and empty, just like a stage puppet left without its puppeteer. His actions would be meaningless without the strings of his soul to bring them to life. The saddest thing was knowing that Sam held absolutely zero interest in finding out more or even asking if there would be a way to fix it. Feeling the angel's eyes glued upon him, Sam paused from folding a pair of jeans and met his gaze. "What?"Concern replaced his apparent guilt as Castiel tilted his head. He knew that he should not have expected a typical Sam response, but even without a soul Castiel had thought that more questions would have been asked. The extent of Sam's lack of caring disturbed him. The despondent gaze vanished from his face as he quickly replied, "Nothing.." Castiel forced his usual stoic expression as his posture straightened. "I should return to my brothers. There's a lot of work to be done...but I swear to you, Sam, that I will find a way to fix this."Sam searched the angel's face for a stint. He felt that Castiel's concern was unnecessary, but knew from past memories how his usual self would have felt. A simple, "alright," was issued in response before the gentle flutter of wings was heard and Sam was left alone. 6 MONTHS LATER"You'll let me go, won't you? You understand!" The cries of hysteria were barely coherent as a curly redhead fell to her knees. A look of sympathy bore deep behind hazel hues as Sam gazed down at the woman. Blood and tears smeared against the skin of his wrist as she clung to him tightly. A calloused hand slid over her red stained one as Sam slowly lowered himself to her level, ignoring all of the blood that had pooled around them. His forehead wrinkled with compassion as he softly spoke. "I understand...believe me." Sobs racked through her entire body before her other hand clutched desperately around his. Wet and bloodshot eyes lifted to stare into his face of divine empathy. "I n-never meant t-to hurt anyone!" She pleaded. "Please...please, please!" More cries of hysteric erupted as she keeled over. Her head rested against the back of his hand as the tears continued to flow. Sam's other arm moved to weave around her in a comforting embrace. "It's okay. I know you never meant for any of this to happen. But I need to know where he's at now..." His voice was calm. "Where is he, Lauren?"The woman took a few moments to settle herself down. When the tears came less, she sniffled and sat up. Crimson fluid smudged against her pale skin as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her vibrant blue eyes steered upward to meet Sam's gaze as she weakly responded, "The old tunnels beneath the shop..." Shame and guilt mingled upon her features. "Please....I'm so sorry."The Winchester offered a sad smile as his hand slid from around her to rest against her shoulder. "Is he the only one that you helped?" Lauren's eyes welled with more tears as she reluctantly nodded. It was then that all signs of empathy and compassion wiped clean from Sam's face. His fingers clamped tightly over her shoulder as a cold and empty gaze penetrated through her. Not a single word was spoken as a sharpened blade plowed deep into her stomach. The vast hollowness of his eyes frightened the redhead as she peered in shock and wonder at him. With a quick twist and a jerk the blade was ripped from her insides. Blood splattered as she fell upon the puddle that already coated the floor. Her face contorted in pain for a few moments before the blood loss brought an end to her life. Sam glanced down at the tainted knife in his hand and wiped it off on the sleeve of his jacket. The woman hadn't been a demon, or something supernatural of any kind, she had been just a mere human - but with the blood on her hands she was considered no better than the monster Sam was after. Steel hazel eyes shifted towards the door. Thanks to Lauren, Sam knew exactly where to go to put an end to the ghoul that had claimed so many lives in this neighborhood. His hunt would have gone on for much longer if it had not been for his practiced skill. Over the past few months he had learned quickly how much easier life was without the burden of human emotions. Things were less complicated and decisions came quick. He had become the most efficient hunter, and the fact that he had mastered the art of faking emotions only made him that much more adept.With one last glance towards the deceased redhead, Sam tucked his knife away and headed towards the door. Tonight this case would finally close.---Bloodied instruments were tossed into the trunk of his car as Sam reached up to wipe sweat and blood from his forehead. The ghoul had put up one hell of a fight, but it had never truly stood a chance against Sam. A deep breath was inhaled as the trunk was slammed closed. The air in his lungs expelled with a sense of satisfaction as he spun his car keys around his finger. Long strides led him to the driver's side of his black 1968 Cadillac. The door was opened and he seated himself inside. The key was placed inside the ignition before the engine cranked to life. Sam threw it in drive and peeled off into the road. The Cadillac roared down the interstate as it weaved its way in and out of traffic. It didn't purr quite like the engine of an Impala, but it had provided a sense of familiarity for Sam. His hands gripped firmly around the steering wheel. This car would never compare to Baby in the way that it handled, but it had already proven its worth over the course of five months. In that short amount of time the wheels of his car had traveled across more than half of the country. It had seen lots of sights, been on countless hunts, and even provided a place of rest for its owner on more than one occasion. This car, the majority of the time, had been Sam's only company. He hadn't bothered to see Dean once since his return from the pit and he had no intentions of ever doing so. The only person from his previous life he had made contact with had been Bobby, and that was only so Sam could find out about any of his old belongings. It had turned out to be a good idea, because Dean, unable to stomach the belongings of his deceased brother, had pawned all of it off onto Bobby. That aside, with all of the anarchy in Heaven, Castiel had had his hands full and rarely found time to check up on Sam, which he was actually grateful for. The angel had begun to smother the brunette and the more time that passed the more adamant Castiel became about getting his soul back. At first Sam had thought nothing of it. If the angel had felt it was necessary, then Sam would simply go along with it. However, after months of being like this, he had come to realize how burdensome emotions were. They were more trouble than they were worth. Soulless Sam was completely logical, it's how he functioned and how he thought. Behind every action there would be logical thinking attached to it. The idea of regaining his human soul displeased him. The old Sam had carried enough baggage around when he had emotions that it was a miracle he hadn't offed himself sooner. This Sam wasn't entirely keen to experience that degree of misery and self sabotage all over again, and he had all of the old Sam's memories to serve as a strong reminder of why it was better to leave his soul in that bottomless pit. A muffled ring soon penetrated through the silence of the car. The ringing came from a phone and it wasn't the one stashed away inside of Sam's coat pocket. The Winchester's brows furrowed with curiosity as his eyes trailed towards the closed glove compartment. He leaned over and swiftly opened it to look at the small collection of his old phones that he had managed to collect off of Bobby. The vibrations of the ringing phone rattled against the compartment before it was plucked from its spot. Hazel hues glanced at the unknown number before his thumb wedged between the fold of the phone to flip it open. His eyes returned to the road as he answered. "Hello?" "Yes, this is Ms. Cathia calling from Sacred Heart Hospital for a Sam Winchester?""This is him. What's the problem?" The fact that a hospital was calling for him only piqued his curiosity."You were listed as an emergency contact for a Miss. Jessica Moore. She checked into the hospital with various bruises and injuries. Sh--""Wait, what?" Sam interjected, in his usual monotone voice, which the woman probably mistook for insensitivity. "Jessica Moore?" The name was spoken as if he expected the woman to correct some sort of mistake she had made. "Yes." Her tone made it apparent that she found his response to be very odd. "..Is there a problem?" Now her voice seemed wary. Perhaps there was some history between these two folks that wasn't entirely good. The last thing this nurse wanted was to bring in somebody that might cause more stress for the woman.The nurse's inquiry was heard, but Sam remained quiet as his mind drifted. Jessica Moore, alive? His former love, the only woman in his life that had been his entire world. She was dead, he watched her die. This only caused the hunter in him to begin questioning what was actually going on. Who or what had taken Jessica's identity? Realizing that his silence had gone on longer than what would be acceptable, Sam quickly responded. "No. There's no problem." If he was going to get to the bottom of this, he had to bring the old Sam back. Hazel eyes hardened with focus as he allowed himself to slip into character. "I just...It's been awhile since I've seen her." His voice altered completely. Shock and concern laced in his words. "Is she okay? Is everything alright?" "Everything's fine, Mr. Winchester." The lady assured him, and seemed to be relieved at his change of tone. "If you could just swing by and collect Miss. Moore to take her home, that would probably be in her best interest. I think some much needed rest is what she needs.""Right. Of course." Sam dug around the inside pocket of his jacket. "Uh, real quick, could you tell me the address for your hospital?" A notepad was retrieved, along with a pen, as his phone was held against his face with his shoulder. He jotted down the information before he spoke a quick thanks and hung up the phone. His cold, empty eyes narrowed as possible suspects and other various theories scrolled through his head. There was no way that it was Jessica, so logically, some demon or creature had taken her form. With his last case having just closed, Sam simply viewed this as another hunting gig. This new case would require some investigation, and that would start with interrogation of this thing.

These are to ensure we get along well and have a fluid writing relationship. Make sure you read them as there is a small test at the end for when you sign.1. I of course am NOT Clark Joseph Kent/Kal-El of Krypton/Superman he is a license owned by DC Comics/Warner Brother's Entertainment. This isn't so much a rule as it is a statement.2. I play the New 52 version of the character. This is important as it allows you as a writer to know which version of Superman you will be dealing with. If you play a character he knows I will interact with you as though you are the character from that verse. Unless of course you have a way for your character, from one of the various other universes, to exist on the same plane as him. (If that doesn't make sense ask me and I will clarify. I may have to edit this for my own peace of mind later.)3. I understand some people are here for sexual encounters. It isn't exactly my thing but I am not against it if a story leads to it. But if you push for it right away? I will delete you. He isn't into guys he was raised on a farm in Kansas, neither am I. So attempting that will be grounds for deletion unless your character is a flirt in that way. Flirting is one thing. Pushing it on me is another. To each their own just don't try to push it on me. Ok? Moving on.4. Relationships....not really pushing for one, but if one develops he's in it till it's over. He is a one woman Kryptonian. Nuff said.5. Now this one those of you who play villains will want to pay attention to. New 52 Superman is not as indestructible as his counterpart before the rebirth. In fact he has been known to bruise, get cut, bleed out the ears, have been knocked out etc by things the old Superman would have took on the chin with a yawn. So he can be hurt you can slow him down AND you can even stop him with the right equipment/weaponry. He also still holds his weakness to kryptonite and a slight weakness to magic.6. RL>RP This means I will reply to you as soon as I can. Mostly within a week, week and a half if not sooner. If it has passed two weeks? Please get a hold of me. Ask me what is up. Do not demand an answer or your reply. That is yet another ticket to deletion city.7. Last but not least? No OOC drama in my message box it will be grounds for the "d" button. This means no telling me, "how you think so and so is a slut". Stealing will also be grounds for deletion. Have fun, let's write AND when you sign these rules? I listed off FIVE, count them, FIVE rules violations I will delete you from my list for. List off the numbers of the rules they are all in down below so I know you read these.