Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Spin-offs Doc Energy: Chaos in Chinatown, Part 1 On Sat, 6 Dec 2003 20:28:00 -0500 Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000229 An old paperback book lies on a desk. On the cover is a man with dark hair and blue eyes. (OOC: Think of the actor playing Kovac on ER). He stands in a heroic pose, while a mysterious woman in purple stands by his side. He carries a strange device that seems to be doing something important, while the woman has two pistols in each hand. The front cover reads: "Doc Energy: Chaos in Chinatown." The back cover reads as follows: "An old enemy has come to play in the City by The Bay. Emil Romanov aka Doc Energy is attending a conference on New Technologies in Berkeley, he is contacted by an old friend. A strange set of occurances end in the death of prominent members of San Fransisco's Chinatown. When the Doc is called to investigate, he finds that there is more to this than meets the eye. After a near attempt on his life by a minion of an old enemy The Iceman, the Doc calls on the one person who can help him. But will the assistance of the beautiful Violet be enough to unravel this mystery? Will the mystery be solved before all of Chinatown erupts into a war zone? And who is the mysterious Hanoi Xan and what part does he play in all of this? And what does all this have to do with the legendary Spear of Destiny? For these answers (and a few more questions), dear readers, you will have to buy this book now." As we turn to the first page past the contents.... Prologue: Somewhere in the heart of Old Chinatown, December 1938. Hanoi Xan was not what you would call a impatient man. In fact, were people to know the truth about him, they wouldn't call him a man at all. A man of low flesh some in the old country of China would call him. A spirit, not quite man and not quite dead but somewhere in between. But he had several lifetimes of patience to learn, considering he was once a king and a warrior before the curse. Currently he was resplendent in a silk embroidered robe with intricate patterns woven into the cloth. His headdress was one that would be common for royalty in ancient times. In fact, his manner of dress spoke of a man outside of time and space, and yet part of it all the same. The fact that he was being visited by men dressed in a truly modern fashion made the whole scene appear surreal. Kim Chang was sweating and trembling with fear. He was currently here to give his report to Xan, who had requested an inquiry into the death of one of his most trusted associates. As he gave his report, a cold sweat ran down his back. He had not been in the organization for very long, and necessity dictated that he serve as his Master's right hand. One of Xan's trusted men had been killing in a very unfortunate "accident" involving a cart of fish, a barrel of nails, and a runaway carpenters truck. It seems that the man, whose name was Chen, was out enjoying a nice meal at home in Chinatown when suddenly there was a crash, and a barrel of nails had emptied its contents at high velocity in his vicinity. The fish cart that the carpenter was trying to avoid in his truck succeeded in causing him to run upon the sidewalk, hitting an icy patch. The truck turned over on its side, and a terrible noise was heard. When Chen went outside to investigate, the last thing he would ever see in his life was a open barrel of nails heading at high velocity toward him. It was a closed casket funeral. Xan was agitated and rightly so. He ran this territory under the watchful eye of The Ubiquitous Dragon. Though Xan had lived many lifetimes over, The Dragon was one individual whom he could both fear and respect at the same time. The Dragon had recruited him with the promise that he alone would be able to find a girl with green eyes to satisfy Ching Dai. A girl who could embrace the naked blade and tame the savage heart. So far, the ones that The Dragon had supplied him with were....less than satisfactory. But this was normal for Xan. Many women had fit the criteria but none had been able to pass the test, And he had all the patience in the world. But even his patience had it's limits. "Enough!" shouted Xan. His new man in charge of street operations in Chinatown jumped as if shocked. Beside Xan, Thunder, Lightning and Rain looked on with bored amusement, as if they were considering how much Chang would scream before expiring in the Hell of Being Skinned Alive. "I have understood that no one can explain how our best men are being killed in the street without any clue as to how it happened. I have also understood that many of our operations here have also suffered misfortunes from fire to flood to even the infestation of rats that resulted in an entire shipment of opium being consumed. What am not hearing is why is this happening to us? The Dragon I serve requires that I have an answer for him. Therefore you are to use any means at your disposal to find out who is doing this and why. If you succeed, you will live to a ripe old age, to dote on your children and grandchildren alike. If you fail, there will be no words to describe the suffering you will feel. Go now." Chang bowed nervously and exited the room keeping his eyes on his master until he had left the confines of the Throne Room. After Chang left, Xan turned to Thunder, Lightning and Rain. "I want you three to patrol the area and report any unusual activites. Even something that would seem normal under other circumstances. The Ubiquitous Dragon requires that I get to the bottom of this, and he will be.....displeased if I cannot provide an answer. He has told me a little of his plans against the King of The World, being that The King is currently occupied in Europe with everything that is happening there. These events have been hampering The Dragon's plans, and The Dragon is less patient than I." Xan suddenly turned wistful for a moment. [The Dragon reminds me a lot of myself when I was his age. Of course, I would have simply put all the King's loyal servants to the sword, but I am told that lacks a certain....grace. And tends to bring unwanted attention by the authorities and certain "mystery men" operating in the area.] He regained his composure and continued, "You are also to check on other operatives to ensure that they are not meeting the same fate as their unfortunate compatriots. One way or another, we will find out who or what is doing this and get to the bottom of this. Now go, and do not fail me." All three bowed respectfully and left to get dressed in "American" clothes. Chapter One: The Doc takes a Working Holiday >From the San Fransisco Chronicle: A Gathering of Minds by Brenda Law Berkeley has been a well known insitution of higher learning for sometime now. Many professors of various subjects teach things like philosophy, art, science, and most recently, theoretical physics. It is under these auspices that a conference has been formed to study Einstein's Theory of Relativity and it's practical uses. This conference has brought many advanced thinkers from across the USA and around the world. It has been rumored that even Dr. Einstein himself may appear here, which would be very exciting from this reporters point of view. The ones that are noticibly absent are the ones from Germany. This leads this reporter to wonder if the Nazis are keeping them close to home because of war conditions in Europe, or because they are planning some new kind of new theory. I arrived at the conference early Monday morning, and sought to interview one of the attendees. Unfortunately, many of these men (and a few women) are noticibly shy in talking to reporters. One, however, was more than willing to speak with me. His name was Dr. Emil Romanov and he was here to demonstrate a new kind of element he had discovered and it's practical use..... Later that evening.... Doc Energy was sitting enjoying dinner and drinks with his wonderful guest. The reporter from the Chronicle was very interested in his theories on the nature of matter and energy. He spoke of how he discovered his therories, leaving out a few important details, like his Ascension. He did mention that he had travelled the world with the famous Dr. Mercer. Brenda "Gracie" Law perked up at the mention of Dr. Mercers name. Her eyes looked at Dr. Romanov with a newfound curiosity. She had heard of Doctor Mercer and his crew for sometime. It was hard not to hear about him from all the things he had accomplished over the years. There were rumors that he also knew Doctor Eon personally, and had travelled with him many times. Doc Energy chuckled internally at his companions sudden interest [If she knew the half of it, she would probably suffer apoplexy. Not many can say that they have travelled with Doc Eon and his Men of Many Tomorrows.] "Yes, it is true that I travelled with Dr. Mercer. I have seen many wonderful places, such as ancient Tibet and other parts yet unknown." "That's really fascinating, Dr. Romanov. Are you related to the Romanovs that were the Royal Family of Russia before the unfortunate events of 1917?" "Da, that is true. My mother was a cousin of theirs and she managed to escape to Europe before things got really bad. I wished I had met them, but that was not my destiny." "That's fascinating Dr. Romanov. Is there anything else that you can tell me about you. My readers would want to know more about you." she says as she makes notes in her notepad. "WEll, I am a bachelor, primarily because my work requires long hours in a lab. So there is little time for romance. I have had the fortune to have dined with the legendary Ultra Violet, though it was strictly a platonic affair." Her eyes widened, "Ultra Violet? The famous Just Violet, the one who is partnered with the mysterious Doctor Energy? Their exploits are famous, including the overthrow of a plot against the British Prime Minster by a faction of fascist Brits seeking to ally with Germany? The same woman who saved a number of women and children who were escaping from the Nazi's in Austria?" "Da, the same. She did not speak of those events when we dined. She was interested in some of my theories and my history as a relation to the Tsar. She is a very polite woman, but I would hate to rouse her anger." he said, heat rising to his face slightly as he spoke of Violet. The adventures that Ms. Law referred to were exciting, but not nearly as exciting as what happened afterward between him and the Just Violet. As they continued the conversation, he noticed that his Life Sense was perked up. [Hmmm... Not surprising that Mercer would be here.] Suddenly, a knock came to the door of his hotel room. "Excuse me, please Ms. Law." "Please. Call me Gracie." "Gracie? Why Gracie?" he asked, curiousity piqued. "Well, my middle name is Grace, but also because I have been told I resemble Gracie from George and Gracie. In looks more than in brains, obviously." she answered. Doc Energy laughed heartily at the response, "Da. Very good. I wondered if you were perhaps in radio or films when I first saw you. Once you spoke, my observations were dashed on the rocks." The knock came again, and Doc Energy walked over to the door. He looked through the peephole and smiled as he turned to Gracie. "Ms. Law you are about to have a very good story in your article." He opened the door, and in walked Dr. Maxwell Mercer aka Doc Eon. Eon shook the hand of his friend warmly. "Romanov, you crazy Russian. I figured you might be here. And who is your famous looking friend?" Eon noticed the resemblence, except for the eyes. Romanov's guest had green eyes. "Doctor Mercer, I would like you to meet "Gracie" Law. She is a reporter from the Chronicle covering the conference at Berkeley. She was trying to get interviews on one of the conference members, but you know how physicists are?" Doc Eon strode across the room, and clasped the outstretched hand of Ms. Law. "Good afternoon Ms. Law. I trust that you have grilled my friend mercilessly. Your articles are very well done. It's good to see that more women such as yourself are writing in the papers today." Gracie flushed with pride, and trembled a bit, [Damn. I wouldn't kick him outta bed for eatin' crackers.] "Thank you Doctor Mercer. I am surprised and honored to know that you have read my work. Are you here for the conference as well?" "Alas, no. I have important matters to discuss with Doctor Romanov." "Ah.. Well, I have more than enough for my readers to raise interest in this conference. And the other things he mentioned should increase readership for the paper." "Well done. If you will please excuse us...." said Eon. "Yes, Ms. Law. It was an honor to be the subject of your next column and I eagerly await it." said Doc Energy. He took the ladys' hand and escorted her out the door. He watched her leave down the hall of the hotel and went back inside his hotel room. He closed the door, and reached into the pocket of his trousers. He pressed a few buttons on the device, and the room became a Safe Haven from prying eyes and ears. "So, Eon. What is the Man of Many Tomorrows doing speaking to a simple Russian scientist." said Energy with a grin. "Simple. That's a good one, Doc. Actually I have come here to give you information and a warning. The Iceman is in town." The Good Doctors' face became a mask of rage. "Volkov?? Here? I thought he had expired when Violet and I had blown up his HQ in Scotland during our last encounters." As he spoke the very air crackled with electricity. Eon nodded. "Yes. It seems he has been spotted several times. Once in Vienna where he has assumed the identity of a SS Officer named Von Schassborg who was seen entering a Museum holding the Spear of Destiny. He was seen leaving the Museum with a box in his hand and a determined look on his face. He was spotted over a month ago entering San Fransisco by train with a strange package in his hand. Agent G-5 of Branch 9 has been combing the area looking for clues. After the death of Inspector Broomfield, he made it his mission to find out how Broomfield died. What he found was an astonishing set of coincidences. The truck that hit Broomfields cab was a munitions truck heading for the military base nearby. During the accident, a rifle fell out of the truck and fired. It struck Broomfield in the head, killing him instantly. No other rifles were loaded in that shipment, and no one could explain how one rifle was loaded. And it would have been labeled as a unfortunate accident except for one things. Broomfield had a price on his head put on him by the Contedorri." Romanov looked puzzled, "What is the Contedorri?" Doc Eon looked up for a moment and thought, then said, "If I remember my facts correctly, the Contedorri is the organization run by The King of The World. It is said that if a box of cigarettes falls of the back of a truck in Amsterdam, the King gets a carton. His legend is made more mysterious by the fact that no one has ever seen his face and lived to tell the tale." "So, " said The Good Doctor slowly as if processing all of this, "The King of The World killed Broomfield?" "Not hardly." said Eon. "The hell of it is, there's no direct *proof* that he orchestrated this. Just theories and hunches. But what is mysterious is within the last month just after The Iceman's arrival, a lot of mysterious things have been happening to certain businesses in Chinatown. And from what I hear, there has been word that The Ubiquitous Dragon is also seeking the reason why. I can only suspect that it has something to do with Volkov." "Then we must find out just what device Volkov is using and get it away from him before anyone else gets their hands on it." "Agreed,"said Eon, "but the question is this. How do we go about it?" "Well, here's what I suggest. You will contact your man G-5 and see what he can find out. I believe I know someone that can help." Who is the The Good Doctor referring to? Can this person arrive in time to help? What is the Spear of Destiny, and how does it fit into the equation? And who is the mysterious Hanoi Xan? For these answers, you will have to read the next installment of.. The Adventures of Doc Energy OOC: To Zia. The idea is that you receive a message which you can decode using a secret decoder ring that the Doc gave you after their last encounter. If you want to bring your villianess into this, you are welcome to do so. ================================= On Mon, 8 Dec 2003 19:02:46 -0800 (PST) Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000230 > On Sat, 6 Dec 2003 20:28:00 -0500 > Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000229 > > Who is the The Good Doctor referring to? Can this person arrive in > time to help? What is the Spear of Destiny, and how does it fit into > the equation? And who is the mysterious Hanoi Xan? For these > answers, you will have to read the next installment of.. > > The Adventures of Doc Energy > > OOC: To Zia. The idea is that you receive a message which you can > decode using a secret decoder ring that the Doc gave you after their > last encounter. If you want to bring your villainess into this, you > are welcome to do so. OOC: Secret +decoder+ ring?! Is this another one of your pranks, Roger?? Nah, not even Roger could've set this one up. ;-) But I don't think there is any way that the Doc can actually send a message to Violet - he has no idea where she is, any more than Doc Eon himself would. A couple of other nits - do the Double Docs really not have any suspicion that these weird happenstances are caused by the 'device' of the Spear of Destiny? And is it really a mystery who the Doc is going to call - when Ultra Violet appears on the cover with him, hmmmm? But enough Editorial Comment. Let us get back to the real story. Chapter Two: A Stunning Shade of Violet "-of course, Dr. Einstein has spoken often of your work, sir, but he has just arrived in California for the conference from the East Coast. The flight was fairly turbulent, and the doctor retired an hour past." The woman pauses, rolling her eyes at the string of German that emanates from the receiver of the chunky phone and cord she is holding. " - excuse me, sir! I must say, I understand German - at least some of it, but a lady cannot admit to knowing some of the words you were just using." She waits again, smiling slightly. "Of course I forigve you, sir. Me? Oh, I'm his secretary from Princeton." Estes Graves raises a surprised eyebrow at the phone, and her voice (which any modern-day CAoLers would recognize as Zia's) becomes a tad frosty on the edges. "Actually, sir, the dean asked me to attend as a special favor. Dr. Einstein is somewhat new to our country, and it was felt he could use someone to attend to the mundanities of travel. Neither he, nor I, would appreciate your insinuation, and it was quite beneath a gentleman's honor to so imply anything so improper. I will inform the doctor that you rang. Good _evening_, sir." She hangs up with a bit more force than necessary. "Gad. If I didn't know how important that letter will be next year I'd quit _now_. Well, except that Albert is a lovable, sweet guy. Espeically for a true genius." She huffs a deep sigh, and then slips out of the room, locking Dr. Einstein's door behind herself. Walking to another floor, she unlocks her own door, and methodically unpacks before readying for bed. Her items are laid out in strict, almost military order for the next day, then the petite brunette sits down to brush her quite long hair. She yawns. The flight began awfully early this morning. "December 14, 1938." She says, thoughtfully. "Now, why do I have the strangest feeling there was something I was supposed to do today?" She tries to recall it for a while, but the near-thought stays quite out of reach. Finally she shuts off the lights, and lays down for some well-deserved rest. For a time, the room is very quiet, just her breathing to be heard. Then, the sleeping lady's eyes begin to dart around under her lids. A woman in all shades of violet, a wide-brimmed hat shading her masked face, shimmers into being at the foot of the hotel bed. The light plays deepest purple to ultraviolet in wild, glittering array for a moment, then it seems to draw itself into the figure, becoming real. The Just Violet gazes for a long moment, at her sleeping self. Then she turns and looks to the west, then the east. She tastes the spiritual winds, seeking to know what has passed in the year she has 'slept' - since saving that Prime Minister. "Memory still eludes my waking mind, but that cannot be allowed to interfere. This reality - it is _so_ dark. I sense such Evil here - already it seems enough to drown all Light. Mortal men doing such evil as no demon has ever imagined." Her voice is sad, quiet, and as solid as cold-forged iron. "Not the trenches, the gas, the influenza I fought two decades past. Evil has grown too strong; Good itself is fallen and gutters. It is rooted deeper and is far, far stronger than before." The woman pauses, her hands going to her guns, hat brim lowering as she continues. "In mindful dreams my inner self has slumbered but for briefest flickers of true need these past years, but now the foredoomed death-cries of millions Awakens me once more. Every world has this cycle of Darkness. "But here... here the Light is guttering. Failing. Even my heart is chilled." The hat raises, her jaw tightens, then her hands leave her guns to wrap the scarf about her lower face again. "I shall warm it. I shall make a fire of my enemy's battle standards - a purifying flame to kindle my spirit. It is time for the Darkness to again be shown the Light. The light of Ultra Violet." The purple figure is suddenly gone from the room. The sleeping woman who remains mutters, then subsides into deeper dreams of striding, being solely dressed in shades of purple... ***** There is a knock at the door of Doctor Romanov's room. When he opens it, to his astonishment, there stands the Just Violet, gleaming silk-armor, scarf, silvered guns, wide-brimmed hat and mask. Her face - her eyes - she hasn't aged a day in the last twenty years since they met. "Did you need Room Service, doctors?" The Lavender Lady quips with her characteristic good humor, as she quickly enters to avoid being seen by anyone else. -- Ultra Violet "This garden universe vibrates complete. Some, we get a sound so sweet. Vibrations reach on up to become light, And then through gamma, out of sight. Between the eyes and ears there lie The sounds of color and the light of a sigh. And to hear the sun, what a thing to believe, But it's all around if we could but perceive. To know ultraviolet, infrared, and x-rays, Beauty to find in so many ways. Two notes of the chord, that's our full scope, But to reach the chord is our life's hope. And to name the chord is important to some, So they give it a word, and the word is OM." - The Word, by The Moody Blues ================================= On Wed, 10 Dec 2003 00:30:02 -0500 Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000232 > On Mon, 8 Dec 2003 19:02:46 -0800 (PST) > Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000230 OOC: A little retcon is in order here. The Good Doctor looks at Doc Eon. "That's interesting, Max, but how do you *know* that the Spear is involved in this? What's your empirical evidence?" Doc Eon, knowing that his friend would ask him this question, responds, "Well, it stems from the legend of the Spear itself. It was reported in many battlefield stories that the general who held the Spear would not fail in war. It was only when the Spear was lost that the general would fail. Recently, the Nazis' have been seeking any and all Items of Power to use for their own purposes. This is a fact. Another fact is that Germany just annexed Austria, more specifically Vienna which is where the Spear is being held. Independent confirmation from the International Detective Agency has verified that the Spear *is* missing from it's display case. They also reported that a man bearing Volkov's description was seen entering the Museum, and was seen leaving with a large wooden box. His last known whereabouts were a train station heading for coast of France. From there, we can only assume that he travelled in secret to another location where he then made his way to Chinatown." Doc Energy looked over at his friend, and smiled. "Well, then we can only assume that he has the Spear. The Spear must have great control over Chaotic (OOC: Entropic) forces to affect random events in such a way. What we will need is assistance from someone if we are to succeed in this endeavor. It is fortunate for us that in the armor I made for her can also recieve communications. It's hardwired into the system and broadcasts on a Tech enhanced psionic frequency so it cannot be intercepted or blocked by any means." The Good Doc goes over to his travel bag, and retrieves a large device much like a walkie talkie, but with a few....enhancements. He speaks into it, {Computer, transmit the following message to unit UV Mark 1. Set for standard parameters and enhance for subliminal frequency should target not be in transmission range. Repeat message until activation of armor is detected.} {Compliance. What is the message, Doctor?} says a neutral female voice on the other end. The Good Doc continues, {Message is as follows: Doc Energy to Violet. Please report to my room in the hotel near Berkeley. There is an urgent manner which I need your assistance on. There is villany afoot in the City and the Just Violet is needed." End Transmission.} Doc Energy puts the device back into his travel case. Doc Eon, looking visibly impressed, says "You know, you will have to make me one of those wonderful toys of yours. It could really come in useful." The Good Doctor smiles and bows, "Well, tell me what you need, and I will do my best to procure it for you. It will have to wait until I can get back to my Labs, of course..." Doc Eon prepares a list, and both men await the arrival of Violet.... > "December 14, 1938." She says, thoughtfully. "Now, why do I have the > strangest feeling there was something I was supposed to do today?" > She tries to recall it for a while, but the near-thought stays quite > out of reach. Anastasia, the Good Doctors' electronic brain (Think of a supercomputer by today's standards, but about the size of the ones that were common for the day. Room sized, but extremely efficient and useful thanks to a few TechnoMagickal enhancements) detected the signal from the Just Violet's armor just as she was awakening. The message is transmitted in its entirety, with coordinates on how to get there. > "Did you need Room Service, doctors?" The Lavender Lady quips with > her characteristic good humor, as she quickly enters to avoid being > seen by anyone else. Both men stand up. Doc Eon bows and The Good Doctor offers his hand. "Why certainly, as long as you didn't blow up the kitchen in the process." he says with a good natured grin. "All kidding aside, I am glad that you came. It appears that our old friend Volkov has reared his ugly head again. This time he is in this City, and it's not a personal issue anymore. I realize that my reasons for catching him are somewhat personal, but I can assure you that this time, I will want to see him brought to justice. Whatever justice that is." Doc Eon nods, "Let us bring you up to speed on what we have learned so far...." After a little while... "....so that's basically what we know about him and the Spear of Destiny. As to how he's been able to elude capture just by being here, I cannot say. I can only assume he has found another master to serve. Who that master is, remains to be seen, but as we stated earlier, the signs are that he serves the will of The King of The World. And before open gang war breaks out in Chinatown, we had better head it off. Because once it gets started, it may engulf the city and eventually the state. The rammifications of this I don't think we need to stress any further." said Doc Eon, his face blank but his eyes noting a state of anger. "Da, that is my feeling as well. The first thing we must do is prevent the Ubiquitous Dragon from moving against him. To do this, we must monitor what his underlings and leutenants are doing here. Max, "said Doc Energy, having long since realized that all here knew each other well enough to be formal, "I think you will need to look into what the Dragon has been doing prior to his "businesses" suffering unfortunate accidents." "Well," said Doc Eon confidently, "I believe I may have a lead. One of my contacts in the FBI and Treasury Department have turned me to a business that may prove fruitful. The name of this business is Xan Trading Company which is located near the docks. The company is run by a mysterious character called Hanoi Xan. Treasury has tried to infiltrate the company, but due to the Asian influence there, getting agents deeper than just on the surface has been..difficult. Many who have tried to go deeper have ended up disappearing." Doc Energys' face suddenly lights up, literally as he gets an idea. "The reporter that was just here could do the legwork on the businesses that might be connected to the accidents. There would certainly be articles about accidents in the Chronicle. Max, you could use your contacts in the Government to find which one of these businesses are connected." Doc Energy looks over at Violet, "Do you have any ideas as to what else we could do?" Meanwhile, in the bowels of the Xan Trading Company.... Xan looked placid on the surface, but inside he was nervous. The Ubiquitous Dragon was a dangerous man to have as an ally, but even worse to have as a patron that you are beholden to. It was him, after all, that allowed him to contact the Jade Emperor to learn what he had to do to appease Him. The crystal ball he was using was filled with the image of a Oriental dragon. The dragon spoke, "What have you learned of the accidents to our business interests in Little China?" Xan smiled as he spoke, "The Storms have reported that a Westerner was spotted in an abandoned building nearby where the massage parlor was burned. He was seen briefly before retreating. Rain would have been able to pursue, had a light pole not toppled over just as he was rushing to the building. Fortunately, he was able to recover from his injuries, but by then the Westerner was long gone. He did get a good look at him, and my contacts at the Port Authority verifie d that he came on a boat from Europe under the name Von Schlossen." The dragon goes silent for a moment, then speaks again. "The name is unknown to us, but my spies in the Contedorri have told me of a new man that has been employed by The King of The World. He didn't know the name of course but he was able to tell me of an Eternal that was hired to protect him. I can only assume that The King has realized that I am moving into his territory. But his actions have revealed themselves to me, and they have also revealed that The King is involved in this somehow. A message must be sent that we will not be stopped in our goals." Xan smiled again, "Very good, my liege. What is the message that you would like me to send?" The Dragon smiled as much as a dragon can, "I want you to find this man. He currently sits on the City Council as Head of Goods and Services. He is The King's man in City Hall. This is what I want you to do....." Who is the corrupt politician who is in the pocket of The King of The World? What is the "message" that The Ubiquitous Dragon intends to send to him? Can our heroes act in time to start what looks to be the opening salvo of a Gang War? For these answers and more, Dear Readers, tune into the next chapter of The Adventures Of Doc Energy. OOC: Zia, keep in mind there's a heavy Buckaroo Banzai/Big Trouble in Little China thing going here. Sure, it's also Doc Savage and The Shadow but also keep the others in mind. Doc Energy -------- "Remember, no matter where you go; there you are." Buckaroo Banzai ================================= On Tue, 30 Dec 2003 13:15:30 -0800 (PST) Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000233 > On Wed, 10 Dec 2003 00:30:02 -0500 > Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000232 > > The Good Doc continues, {Message is as follows: Doc Energy to > Violet. Please report to my room in the hotel near Berkeley. There > is an urgent manner which I need your assistance on. There is > villany afoot in the City and the Just Violet is needed." End > Transmission.} OOC: Um, I thought they'd merely made arrangements to meet on a specified day, in a specific place, some twenty years ago? Ah well, I suppose it doesn't matter, since the armor is, well, wherever it goes until she Dreams it back into Earth-7's reality anyway. The receiver won't be getting signal. Well, i don't think it will. Hard to tell. ;-) > Doc Energys' face suddenly lights up, literally as he gets an idea. > "The reporter that was just here could do the legwork on the > businesses that might be connected to the accidents. There would > certainly be articles about accidents in the Chronicle. Max, you > could use your contacts in the Government to find which one of these > businesses are connected." > Doc Energy looks over at Violet, "Do you have any ideas as to what > else we could do?" "I suggest some old-fashioned legwork. The Spear of Destiny in Volkov's hands is not a comforting thought, but he must still move about. He must have a place to rest, eat, and transport about the city. The pattern of these attacks, their location and timing should be established." "Witnesses should be questioned. That will be dangerous, as the Chinese areas are very insular. That will help us track Volkov - if anyone will speak to another Westerner about it at all. Is there any local investigator we could trust? It would work better if I could be a blonde moll, it makes them overlook a woman. Are you sure you wish to risk your reporter in this manner, Doc? Thugs have little respect for journalists. Or anyone else, for that matter." "I will try to suss out his hiding place by the footwork route, without making myself too obvious." Ultra Violet grins slightly. "A change of costume is in order, I imagine." > OOC: Zia, keep in mind there's a heavy Buckaroo Banzai/Big Trouble > in Little China thing going here. Sure, it's also Doc Savage and The > Shadow but also keep the others in mind. OOC: Well, I liked both of those movies, so I'll try. I'm mostly following your leads, anyway. Ultra-Violet "Darkness cannot hide Evil from my Light." ================================= On Sun, 4 Jan 2004 21:23:28 -0500 Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000234 > On Tue, 30 Dec 2003 13:15:30 -0800 (PST) > Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000233 > > OOC: Um, I thought they'd merely made arrangements to meet on a > specified day, in a specific place, some twenty years ago? Ah well, > I suppose it doesn't matter, since the armor is, well, wherever it > goes until she Dreams it back into Earth-7's reality anyway. The > receiver won't be getting signal. Well, I don't think it will. Hard > to tell. ;-) OOC: Actually, the armor was specifically designed for dreamstates in mind. The signal in question operates on a subconscious level when not Dreamt back into reality. When she Dreams, the armor activates the signal which will broadcast any important information. > "Witnesses should be questioned. That will be dangerous, as the > Chinese areas are very insular. That will help us track Volkov - if > anyone will speak to another Westerner about it at all. Is there any > local investigator we could trust? It would work better if I could > be a blonde moll, it makes them overlook a woman. Are you sure you > wish to risk your reporter in this manner, Doc? Thugs have little > respect for journalists. Or anyone else, for that matter." Doc Energy contemplates this, and then says "You are quite right, lady. Thugs have no respect for most upstanding citizens, and they have less for reporters. Only their superiors have any idea about the power of The Press, but even they are prone to delusions." He sips his tea. "Where are my manners, would you care for some tea?" While Doc Energy goes to make tea, Doc Eon closes his eyes. He seems to be entering one of his famous trances. He assumes the half-lotus Yoga position on the couch, and sits quietly for a moment. Inside his head, gears are turning. After a moment that seems to stretch like a Indian yogi on a bed of nails, he floats a few moments above the cushions of the couch. This continues, and Romanov returns with tea for all. He gives Dr. Eon's pose a slight glance but continues to where he was sitting, placing the tea on the coffee table. "I have seen Eon do this a number of times, usually when he is faced with a particularly difficult problem. He will return momentarily." As Romanov says this, Doc Eon floats back down to the couch, opens his eyes and returns to a lounging position on the couch. Doc Energy looks somewhat bemused, "I assume that you have a solution to our current problem?" Doc Eon grins a trickster grin, "Yes, I do. Mrs. Law seems to have the most extensive contacts in this area, but it would be folly to send her alone. There is a fellow near Chinatown which I believe could help with some of the legwork. His name....is Dixon Hill." Meanwhile, near downtown San Fransisco.... It was a typical day in the City by the Bay. The fog that morning had been as thick as clam chowder, and the dark wetness of the streets gave the place an feel like the chill that you get when you feel you are being watched. It was on this day that an average man of slight build, with a tan fedora and a trenchcoat to match sat at a table in a local bistro smoking a cigarette and reading the Chronicle. The coffee on his table had gone as cold as the waters of the San Fransisco Bay. To the untrained eye, this would seem a casual pose. But this was no pose. The man was surrepititiously watching a couple eating lunch at a table a little further up. The man in the couple was a reasonably well dressed gent, in a Brooks Brothers suit with a hideously red and black tie. The woman was a looker, but with that hint of danger that indicated something other than what she seemed. The man at the table was looking nervous, though he was taking pains to hide it. Words had been exchanged, lunch was finished, and the man reached into the inside pocket of his suit and produced an envelope. As this exchange began, the man watching them looked up and studied the envelope as it was being passed over to the woman. Dixon Hill noted the exchange, and guessed that the envelope was a payoff of some sort. The hows and whys of it would come as they always do, but in the meantime he had bills to pay, so he took a job from some wealthy socialite who suspected her husband of cheating on her. It wasn't much, but after tailing this guy for weeks, he had finally managed to get a break. This dame had come to pull her marker on the guy, and she did it at his place of work. He had been really lucky that he had good reason to be at the courthouse that day, but it wasn't for this. The mark in question was one Assitant DA MacLeary, who was supposed to be on the fast track to success. A blackmail artist's dream come true, which is what the moll in the red dress was. After making a mental note to call one of his favors with the police to get a sheet on this dame, he folded his paper up carefully, took a drag from his cigarette and got ready to leave. He pulled a fin from his wallet and placed it under the coffee cup. As he walked out, he smiled at Rose the waitress and tipped his hat to her. As he arrived in his office, his regular secretary was out visiting her sick mother in Sacramento. The one the agency sent was compentent enough but he still couldn't wait to see his regular secretary again. She looked up at him and smiled, "Good afternoon, Mr. Hill. You have a couple of messages. One from Mrs. MacLeary and one from a Doctor....."she peered closer at the note she made, "Mercer." [Mercer? Now what would that crazy son of a gun be doing now?] he took the messages from her and went into his office. He took off his overcoat and jacket and hung them on the coatrack by the door to his office. He placed the hat on top of the hatrack, and strolled over to his desk. He figured the message from Old Lady MacLeary was a dispute of the money she was paying him or something related to her dear husband. He set that one aside and read the message from Mercer. It read: "Dix, I have a job for you. I will pay you twice your regular fee, plus your expenses, if you can do a little legwork for me. If you are interested, call me at the Waldorf Astoria hotel, Room 1202." The number to the hotel was listed with the note. Dixon thought for a moment, [The last time I got mixed up with Doc Mercer and his merry band, I damn near got killed. But I can really use that money. What the hell.] He dialed the operator, who connected him to the hotel. The phone rang for a few moments, and then someone picked up. "Mercer, this is Dixon Hill." "Dix, my friend. How the heck are ya?" "Not too bad, Doc. Business is what it is these days." "Still chasin' blackmailers and philanderers, eh? Well, I have something that could use your particular talents. Have you been keeping up with current events in the city. Specifically regarding a number of accidents of a most unusual nature." Dixon nodded in the receiver, "Yeah, I've been listening to the word on the street. What does this have to do with me?" Mercer chuckled, "Well, I think it would be best if we talked about this in person. No telling who could be listening." Dixon smiled, "Good thinking, Doc. Where and when?" he said as he produced a fountain pen and a pad of paper. "Lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, 4 PM today. Got it. See ya then, Doc." He put the phone back in its' cradle and got up from his desk. "Ruby, I am going out for a bit." "Yes, sir. What do I say if Mrs. MacLeary calls back?" "Tell her I have gone back to work. That should keep her happy for a bit until I can come up with something." "Yes sir." As Dixon Hill put on his hat and coat, he also went back over to his desk and got his trusty revolver. If it's one thing he learned, when hanging out with Doc Mercer interesting things were not just probable, but highly likely. Chapter Three: A Gumshoe on the Ground Dixon Hill couldn't help but marvel everytime he visited the hotel. There was something elegant about a place like this, even though he knew he couldn't afford a broom closet there let alone a room. As he sat waiting in the lobby (he had been there since a quarter to 4) smoking a cigarette, he saw Dr. Max Mercer exit an elevator and make his way to the lobby. With him were two women. One was a stunning red-head, dressed professionally in a manner that screamed "Press". The other was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. Dixon Hill rose from his seat to greet Dr. Mercer. "Good afternoon. Dixon Hill, I would like you to meet Mrs. Brenda Law from the Chronicle. Over on my right is the lovely Violet. And please wipe your chin, you are drooling." Dixon wiped his chin absently, feeling for once that he should have shaved this morning. "Mrs. Law I am familiar with, since I read the Chronicle on a daily basis." he says. He turns to face Violet, "But Mrs. Violet.....?" Mercer speaks up, "Just Violet, my friend. Her line of work requires a bit of....anonymity." "Ah. Something more than hired muscle, I'd bet." "Something like that. Shall we get caught up? I have brandy and cigars upstairs." "Sounds lovely," says Gracie "Works for me," says Dixon. Sometime later, in Mercers' private room... ".....and that's what we know so far. Dixon, what I need from you is your contacts in the underworld. Find out what's going on in the movers and shakers." Gracie speaks up, "It's my belief that a number of these businesses are connected to a Hanoi Xan." Dixon nearly chokes on his drink, "Hanoi Xan? The guy's a myth. No one has ever seen him and lived. Even Mob guys are wondering who this guy is and are paying top dollar for his head or the heads of his right hand men. It's rumored that his bodyguards are Men of Mystery who can control the very forces of nature. Course, I don't really believe that, since a bullet seems to be the great equalizer in all things. I hear rumors from my Mob buddies that The King has been very occupied as of late, so things haven't been doing so well. Until recently..." Dr. Romanov walks in with a glass of vodka in his hand, "When all the accidents started happening." "Right." said Dixon. "So what you need from me is to find out if The King of The World and his men have been moving about. The guy that you would want to speak to, Ms. Law, is Alderman Jones. Nathaniel Jones. He heads the Board of Ways and Means, which means that posh development contracts and the like get pushed through for the right price." Doc Mercer looks at Hill. "Well, if you are going to start asking questions, then I suppose I should pay you half up front and the rest when the job is done." he says. He reaches into his vest pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He fills out the check in the amount specified and hands it over to Dixon. Dix trembles slightly as he reads the amount listed on the check. He puts the check in the envelope sitting on the table, and stands up, "Well, I better get cracking on this. Time is money." Dixon puts on his coat and hat, and walks out the door with a slight spring in his step. [Wow. That would make the rent and then some. But obviously I am going up against some heavy hitters if this involves The King of The World. Good thing my insurance is paid up.] he thinks to himself as he walks out of the hotel. Drs. Eon and Energy watch him leave the hotel. Doc Energy speaks first, "I will follow him and see what he can find. A little protection is not a bad thing, yes?" "I agree.." TBC ================================= Subject: Chapter Four: The Violet Heat of the Night On Thu, 26 Feb 2004 17:36:03 -0800 (PST) Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000236 >On Sun, 4 Jan 2004 21:23:28 -0500 >Saint Dharma / Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message #00000234 Chapter Three: A Gumshoe on the Ground Dixon Hill couldn't help but marvel everytime he visited the hotel. There was something elegant about a place like this, even though he knew he couldn't afford a broom closet there let alone a room. As he sat waiting in the lobby (he had been there since a quarter to 4) smoking a cigarette, he saw Dr. Max Mercer exit an elevator and make his way to the lobby. With him were two women. One was a stunning red-head, dressed professionally in a manner that screamed "Press". The other was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. Dixon Hill rose from his seat to greet Dr. Mercer. "Good afternoon. Dixon Hill, I would like you to meet Mrs. Brenda Law from the Chronicle. Over on my right is the lovely Violet. And please wipe your chin, you are drooling." The blonde's lips parted, as if to interject, but she simply shook her head ruefully, instead. Dixon wiped his chin absently, feeling for once that he should have shaved this morning. "Mrs. Law I am familiar with, since I read the Chronicle on a daily basis." he says. He turns to face Violet, "But Mrs. Violet.....?" Mercer speaks up, "Just Violet, my friend. Her line of work requires a bit of....anonymity." "Ah. Something more than hired muscle, I'd bet." The blonde gives Mercer a hard glance, since he did not allow her to get a word in edge-wise while proceeding to give away facts she would rather not have known even by the well-reputed Dixon Hill. She is beginning to recall why she has such a penchant for working alone. "You are a very perceptive man, Mr. Hill." The blonde says in a soft, deep voice with a smile in the tone, if not on her face. "Something like that. Shall we get caught up? I have brandy and cigars upstairs." "Sounds lovely," says Gracie. "Works for me," says Dixon. Sometime later, in Mercers' private room... ".....and that's what we know so far. Dixon, what I need from you is your contacts in the underworld. Find out what's going on in the movers and shakers." Gracie speaks up, "It's my belief that a number of these businesses are connected to a Hanoi Xan." Dixon nearly chokes on his drink, "Hanoi Xan? The guy's a myth. No one has ever seen him and lived. Even Mob guys are wondering who this guy is and are paying top dollar for his head or the heads of his right hand men. It's rumored that his bodyguards are Men of Mystery who can control the very forces of nature. Course, I don't really believe that, since a bullet seems to be the great equalizer in all things. I hear rumors from my Mob buddies that The King has been very occupied as of late, so things haven't been doing so well. Until recently..." Dr. Romanov walks in with a glass of vodka in his hand, "When all the accidents started happening." "Right." said Dixon. "So what you need from me is to find out if The King of The World and his men have been moving about. The guy that you would want to speak to, Ms. Law, is Alderman Jones. Nathaniel Jones. He heads the Board of Ways and Means, which means that posh development contracts and the like get pushed through for the right price." Doc Mercer looks at Hill. "Well, if you are going to start asking questions, then I suppose I should pay you half up front and the rest when the job is done." he says. He reaches into his vest pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He fills out the check in the amount specified and hands it over to Dixon. Dix trembles slightly as he reads the amount listed on the check. He puts the check in the envelope sitting on the table, and stands up. "Well, I better get cracking on this. Time is money." Dixon puts on his coat and hat, and walks out the door with a slight spring in his step. [Wow. That would make the rent and then some. But obviously I am going up against some heavy hitters if this involves The King of The World. Good thing my insurance is paid up.] Dixon thinks to himself as he walks out of the hotel. Drs. Eon and Energy watch him leave the hotel. Doc Energy speaks first, "I will follow him and see what he can find. A little protection is not a bad thing, yes?" "I agree.." "Ahem, perhaps more than a little.” The blonde picks up the envelope Dixon Hill left on the coffee table. "Doctor, perhaps you should take this along and give it to Mr. Hill?" Chapter Four: The Violet Heat of the Night The club's small dance floor for the teenagers dominates the front room. A stage in back of it, with a band attempting to sing American rock and roll in Mandarin. The guitar solos were not adequate. The amplifiers were cranked too high in the bass; it was drowning out the girl singer's voice. With a frown of distaste, she hopes that there is another stage and crew in the back. The gorgeous blonde woman attracts eyes as she glides across the floor to the bar, leaving stunned boys and jealous girlfriends in her wake. Despite her four-inch, spike heels and obvious Caucasian ancestry, her petite height did not make her stand above the crowd, despite being the only round-eye in the place. Though for other reasons, she certainly was not part of the crowd, any crowd - anywhere. Only her short stature could possibly explain why she was here instead of on the silver screen, with that flowing sway to her hips and a face that seemed to glow of its own in the dimness of the club. The blue-green silk suit shapes itself to every curve, while the short jacket and shorter skirt highlights her perfect proportions. She carries a small bag in one hand. Bending over, she places it carefully on the floor. Almost every male gaze, and quite a few of the female ones, follow the motion, watching the double roundnesses appear and disappear in the rear of the barely-adequate skirt. With an eel-like grace, she slides up onto the tall bar stool. The bartender feels his blood heat as their gazes connect, then he feels it begin to burn as she gives him a slight smile that seems to lend promise to his imaginings. "The owner wishes an audition; my agent has made the arrangements. Please inform him I have arrived." His astonishment at her flawless, well-educated Mandarin shows. Her contralto is as fine as aged whiskey, so smoothly practiced and trained it's like warm velvet. It raises hairs on the back of his neck. A white card is placed on the bar's top. Two negligent fingers slide it to him, but both elude his own touch. The card has a small dove icon, with the words, "White Dove " as the name, followed by "Exceptional Exotic Entertainments ", and then, in smaller type, "Acclaimed on Four Continents and over Four Hundred Countries, represented by the Fulster Agency." The print is in the more expected English. Ushered into the hoped-for (and much classier) back stage, she proceeded to unveil her fan dance routine, in a manner of speaking. Even among these hardened denizens of the Underworld, she found great satisfaction that no one interrupted the performance. In fact, it was several long seconds before most of them came out of the daze. Always nice to have confirmation her older skills remained sharp. After re-donning her street clothing in the dressing room, the Big Man of the joint's summons reached her. With a smug smile, she walks out to join him at his table. Then her gaze crosses his woman's face. Violet stumbles, catching herself and frowning behind her where the desired ripple in the carpet has appeared as she desired. Thankfully, she is not wearing her usual face. Minerva had ripped her mask off that time she was hog-tied in Brussels. Infrared's power had burned her face so badly, it had required weeks of healing to regain her vision. Those weeks of wondering how long it would take had not passed easily. What is she doing here, masquerading as a moll? IR might use a man a while, but she was an egomaniac. It wasn't possible she was without some fell, ulterior motive. Did this mobster actually know the diabolical cleverness and depraved inventiveness of the mind within that tall, redheaded Progenitor by his side? "It's you!" Infra-red suddenly exclaimed; Violet turned to make a break for it. People of a certain level of awareness of how this Shadow worked could see through her Dream Disguises. Apparently, IR had recently reached that level of power, and could see through the White Dove's garments to the Violet's below. From the back of the club came a confusion of gunfire, a breaking of glass, and then, in the following stillness, an unearthly, monstrous roar. A few seconds later, Violet rolled on the roof, putting out the flames. The huge Chinese dragon's nose poked out of the sky light, following her rapid, burning retreat. "Great. As if Reddie wasn't hot enough stuff on her own, she brought a new creature feature." The Just Violet quipped, but it was an automatic, offhand one. She might have a legendary coolness in a fight, but the burning breath and fantastic size of the dragon was enough to disturb even her -- slightly. The fact that her bullets did not touch it contributed somewhat. The additional fact that it could fly while she could not was only icing on the cake. With a regretful sigh at the gathering crowd of innocents, the homes that would be destroyed if she fought this monster here, Violet closed her eyes -- and vanished. In a hotel room, a petite woman gasped and sat up abruptly in bed. "What the-" she stumbles out of bed, to turn down the heat, that had somehow gotten stuck on roasting. She wiped back hair soaked with sweat. "What was that all about?" She asked the empty room, puzzlement and plaintive complaint strong in her tone. ================================= Subject: Chapter Five: Blackout On Fri, 26 Mar 2004 19:24:59 -0500 Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000250 >On Thu, 26 Feb 2004 17:36:03 -0800 (PST) >Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000236 > > "You are a very perceptive man, Mr. Hill." The blonde says in a >soft, deep voice with a smile in the tone, if not on her face. Dixon Hill looked at the stunning blonde in the Halloween mask with a mixture of respect and awe. "Well, in my line of business I have a habit of sizing people up when I first meet 'em. This way, there are very few surprises in store for me in the future. My perceptions have often been the difference between ending up in the hosptial or my friends going, "Doesn't he look natural?" > "Ahem, perhaps more than a little." The blonde picks up the >envelope Dixon Hill left on the coffee table. "Doctor, perhaps you >should take this along and give it to Mr. Hill?" The Good Doctor nods as he takes the envelope and places it within the folds of his silk evening jacket. "I will ensure that he receives it as soon as it is safe and discretionary to do so, yes. Good evening to you, Ms. Law and Violet." He turns and opens the closet door which allows him to transform in private to avoid any sleepers witnessing him transform into his True Form and cause Paradox to come crashing down on him. When he emerges, the sight is similar to the getup that Violet has used in the past. The color was a brilliant shade of black. And with a whirl of his trenchcoat, he turns and opens the window and exits down the fire escape to the street below. >Chapter Four: The Violet Heat of the Night ... >In a hotel room, a petite woman gasped and sat up abruptly in bed. >"What the-" she stumbles out of bed, to turn down the heat, that had >somehow gotten stuck on roasting. She wiped back hair soaked with >sweat. "What was that all about?" She asked the empty room, >puzzlement and plaintive complaint strong in her tone. Meanwhile, at a seedy gin joint on 4th Street.... Consider the average layout of a bar. You have the door which may or may not be watched depending on the type of place it is. If it's a straight-up joint, chances are there isn't going to be a guy at the door. Flannerys Tavern was not one of those places. Also what is different from this place is the fact there's a gambling hall run in the back. If the heat ever came down (which didn't usually happen due to regular payoffs in the form of a plain envelope in the front seat of a squad car), the guy tending bar pressed a button with his foot to turn the red light on to warn the guys in the back, and no one would be the wiser. It wasn't a foolproof system, but it worked for a while. Dixon knew that the place was run by "Big Red" Flannery, one of the local underbosses for the Mob in town. It wasn't his usual watering hole, since he really didn't go for the Irish Pub theme. He sauntered in the door, watching the goon try to figure out if he's carrying a piece or not. [Good thing I don't normally carry a gun. However, the blackjack I stowed in my sock should make up for it, provided I play things Bogart.] He strolled up to the bar, admiring the dull polish of the oaken bartop which was was reportedly made from the mast of an immigrant ship that came from Blessed Eire Herself. "Scotch, neat" he said to the large, bearish bartender. The barkeep flashed a nasty look, but changed it to casual indifference as Dix laid a sawbuck on the polished bartop. "Keep the change." said Dixon, causing the barkeeps' eyebrows to almost touch the top of his balding head. He pocketed his tip and went back to polishing the bar. "So, is Big Red in tonight?" asked Dix. "Who wants to know?" said the barkeep Dix reached into the pocket of his well worn trenchcoat carefully, so the goon inside the door wouldn't get the wrong idea. He flashed his PI license. "Dixon Hill. Word is that he's in tonight, taking care of the place." The barkeep shrugged, "News to me. He's tending to his sick mother in Oakland." Dixon sighed, recognizing a dodge when he heard one. He reached into his wallet and pulled a Jackson. [Good thing I got paid today by Max] he ruefully thought. "Maybe my friend Mr. Jackson could get you to tell me if he's really here?" The barkeep eyed the bill, then leaned close. Dix could tell that he had been sampling the wares a fair bit, which would explain why the drink he ordered was so watered down. "Friend, I don't care if Mr. Grant himself came marching in. Like I said, he's in Oakland tending to his sick father." "Wait, I thought it was his mother? So his mother is now his father? What gives?" said Dix impishly. Just as he said it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he watched as two very long shadows flanked him. He turned around and looked up....and up. What he saw could be counted as 'True eye-watering ugliness.' The faces of The Oaks that Speak were well known in the Irish community as being roughnecks of the worst sort. Not that you could tell them apart, being twins and all. Even down to the twin broken noses and matching scars. They worked the docks and were present when Bloody Thursday happened. Word was that they were part of the group that got the CIO involved in it. They were also the ones knocking a lot of cops around until they started throwing tear gas into the crowd. Dave Flannery was seen knocking out a mounted policeman by punching his horse. The poor copper on the horse would have been torn to bits by the crowd had his fellow blueboys fired a mess of tear gas, including one can that struck Dave in the head. As for Sean aka "Hamfist" he was an amature boxer who was in line to become the Irish version of Marciano back in Boston until he had to beat it out of town to avoid a assault rap on his trainer. It was also known that their father was a bareknuckle brawler and taught his boys how to fight...dirty. They were both a hair shy of 7 feet and looked like they could take a rhino down without breaking a sweat. "Top o' the mornin to ya, fellas." quipped Dix in the phonyest Irish accent he could muster, considering the cold sweat that was starting at the back of his neck and working its' way down. "Big Red wants to see you. Now." said Sean. "Really? That's interesting. Dave is it?" "Sean." said the Irish oak on his left, glowering. "Right. Well, lay on MacDuff." said Dixon, standing up and downing his drink. "That's Flannery, wiseguy. This way." said Dave motioning to the door in the back. Dave opened the door, which led to another door on the inside. Dixon followed Sean in. "Say, did you guys hear about that boxer they found down on 18th St.? Last I heard, he was still in a traction. Seems someone took exception to his face and decided to redecorate it." Sean smiled a predatory smile, "Not that we would know, but I guessin' he'll probably think twice about not following orders." "That's funny, because the payout must have been pretty high on him. Over the hill, not really supposed to fight again, but wanted to make a comeback one last time. The bookies must have took a bath on that one." said Dixon amusedly. "You got a pretty smart mouth, gumshoe. Too bad the rest of you isn't so smart." said Sean just as Dave blackjacked Dixon, knocking him colder than paint on an icehouse floor. [Max better have a good medical staff on hand] was the last thing on his mind just before everything went dark. Across the street, Doc Energy watched Dixon enter the bar. Dixon couldn't see him from where he was standing since he had the stealth mode on his servosuit active. Of course, the fog that just rolled into the bay made it even easier to conceal himself, considering the fog was thick as good borstch on a Sunday. He needed something that would be stealthy yet functional, since the eyes of Paradox were everywhere and he didn't want to attract undue attention. [Good thing I made a point to contact Hammersmith about the Z-wave energy I had been picking up in my lab recently.] he thought, remembering the moment when he ceased being Emil Romanov and became Doctor Energy. Hammersmith told him after much poking and prodding that his energy form was a result of an interaction between Z-waves and the electricity from the giant Tesla towers he had at his lab in Russia. Hammersmith wanted to refer him to another prominent member of the Aeon Society, but Emil knew there was a risk that the Technocrats could find him through them, so he politely declined. Since that day, he had been working on different formulas for his servosuits. One design looked a lot like a medieval knight, only with the eye slit glowing a Etherial blue instead. This latest one was his best design. The circuitry was powered by the low-level energy field that he constantly generated when he was in his corporeal state. This allowed for certain things that he had built in to be powered without using a battery pack, which was very bulky and hard to conceal. This suit was designed for covert operations, incorporating a variety of devices for defense and offence. He subconciously checked the twin Electroguns he had in holdouts under the sleeves of his coat/battlesuit. After that, he reaches into the one of the pockets and wrapped a black scarf around his head, leaving the eyes and part of his nose uncovered. Donning a black felt fedora, he altered his magnetic polarity as he took a running jump off the edge of the building, allowing him to float the distance over the street below. He landed with a tuck and roll behind the bar, making very little sound. In the relative darkness behind the bar, he could see a number of empty liquor boxes among the regular trash. #Activate stealth mode.# he said into the comm system built into the scarf. #Compliance.# said a female neutral voice in his head. He felt a tingling sensation as the suit used his energy reserves. To the naked eye, nothing would appear where he stood. He snuck down the back alley, not making a sound as he stealthily approached the corner of the building near to where the goon at the door stood. Back in the bar, Dixon felt the cold splash of water on his face, and looked up groggly, seeing double and feeling like a sledgehammer had been hitting his head. Repeatedly. A single bulb hung in the room, barely illuminating two chairs. One of these chairs had him in it, and he realized that his hands were tied behind his back. [Oh great.] thought Dix, [My dry cleaning bill is going to be hell.] He heard a door open with groan of seldom oiled hinges, and he felt rather than heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps coming toward him. He watched, the stars he was seeing starting to fade, as Big Red Flannery himself sat down in the chair across the table from him. He regained his senses, looking around and seeing the Oaks that Speak flanking him again. Big Red Flannery was a large man, a bare-knuckle brawler gone slightly to seed from old age and too many potatoes and corned beef. His famous red hair was starting to retreat from his freckled forehead, but his eyes belied a cunning mind behind the otherwise obvious muscleheaded look. "So, the great Dixon Hill decides to grace us with his vaunted presence. Tell ya what. You tell me why you are here looking for me, and maybe my boys will go easy on you." "Sure, like the poor boxer they damn near broke in half last Saturday?" said Dixon, instantly regretting it as one of the Oaks punched him in the ribs. He coulda swore he heard a rib groan. Big Red laughed, "Well, Joe had to be taught a lesson. A man goes against orders, soon the others get ideas that maybe Big Red's not got it anymore. Next thing you know, I get a phone call from Chicago or New York telling me that maybe I should step down and let someone else handle things. Now, I got a reputation to maintain, and if some poor palooka gets put in the hospital eating through a straw while in a traction, I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it, boyo." He stopped laughing and his face changed to serious, "But that still doesn't explain you bein' here. Last I heard, Dixon Hill was workin for old ladies and widows. And Joe didn't have a wife and his mother's dead 10 years now, so I am thinking that you are here to cause trouble and poke that famous nose of yours where it doesn't belong." The cold sweat returned, but Dixon played it Bogart. "Nah, actually I am here to sell you a subscription to Encyclopedia Britannica." Big Red flashed a look to the Oaks, and they decended upon him like a dog on a bone. This time, one Oak punched him in the ribs, causing them to groan while the other one punched him in the jaw. Hard enough to knock a few teeth loose. Big Red shook his massive head, and leaned forward into the light. "Now, look. You're a funny guy, Dix. I like you. Most of the guys I know say you are a stand-up guy, if a little too nosy for your own good. So you can imagine my dismay when I hear that you are in my joint asking questions. Some of the guys would be just as happy if I gave you a tour of the Bay from the bottom, but I am a fair man so I figure you can level with me. I would hate to be wrong." Dixons' vision unblurred after a bit, and he suddenly was inspired. "So would I, since it's my neck here. Actually, I heard that you boys were getting the runaround by The Tongs." Big Red's face suddenly became inscrutable, which was a sure sign for trouble. He flashed a look with his dead doll eyes to the Oaks that Speak, and they proceeded to do a jig on his lips, using their fists. "For someone that only deals with old ladies and poor sainted widows, you know a lot. Too much, really. So I figure a know-it-all private dick isn't gonna be missed. But since you probably aren't gonna remember much, I figure you should know something. The Tongs have been hitting us hard in our own turf. Usually it's handled by the higher ups, with a minimum of bloodshed. But they've been tromping in our gambling and bunko rackets. So I get word that a very special gentleman is coming to town and to give him anything he wants. Never much cared for Krauts or Russkies myself, and this guy seemed like he was both or neither. But all he wanted was a car, a disguise, and a place to hang his hat and coat and store his luggage when he was done doing what he needed to do for the day. Somewhere in Potrero Hill." Dixon nodded, "That must have been pretty tough to take, learning that the family doesn't trust you to take care of problems on your end of town." Big Red flushed, "You're not kiddin, bucko. All we do is send our tribute to the bosses and they make sure the family is happy. On top of it, I am losing a fair bit on the building he's staying in. I used to run my booking joint there, but I had to relocate to this place here, which cuts into my numbers racket." he said with a growl. Then he shook his head, "But that still doesn't explain what you are doing here drinking foul Scotch and insulting my intelligence. This is your last chance to tell me what you are doing here, before I give you a lesson in flying off the Golden Gate Bridge." "Actually, turns out I was looking for a big, red-headed street-level thug who has delusions of grandeur, but it looks like I found him so my search is over." quipped Dixon. [What the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound of flesh. I hope The Doc has a backup plan.] he thought just as both Irish Oaks proceeded to play Punch the Dummy on his face and ribs. While this was going on, Doc Energy realized that Dixon had been in there a long time. Sneaking down the alley, he came to the back area behind the bar. He couldn't see anything unusual. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a pair of aviators' goggles. His vision turned greenish, which indicated the night vision enhancement was working fine. #Computer, scan for heat signatures using thermal scans.# #Yes, Doctor. Scanning now.# There was a shift in his field of vision as the back wall he was staring at changed. He could see 4 figures, two of them sitting, one of which was losing heat in certain areas of the body, indicating some sort of trauma occuring. The other two were flanking one of the sitting shapes. There were large amounts of body heat being generated which meant that there was a lot of excercise happening to them. [Just as I suspected. Looks like Dix is in it up to his neck. This would probably be a good time for a distraction.] he thought to himself. He searched the darkness of the alley for something, and found it in a form of a junction box on the far wall, under an awning to protect it from the elements. It shone a dull gunmetal grey, which was more plain to The Good Doctor since his goggles allowed him to see at night as well as he would in the day. He opened the box, and found the main fuse. As he took off his goggles and put them in his pocket, he took off his right glove, and looking around to see if anyone was watching, he quietly energized his hand until it crackled and glowed an electric light blue. He then lightly touched his finger to the fuse, and projected a time delay charge. He willed his hand to go coporeal, and put the glove back on. He resumed the stealth mode on his coat/servosuit and approached the guard outside from behind. He waited until he heard a pop then a *FIZZZZZZZZZZ* as the charge surged through all the fuses in the box, blowing them out completely and frying the electric wires inside. The guard made to investigate the noise, and ran hurriedly to the alley. Moving away from the guard running down the side alley on the opposite side of the building, he snuck over to the front door and peered in. [Good, the lights are out. This should be easy] Drawing his ElectroTesla Guns in a cross-draw fashion, he took aim at the two street lights illuminating the sidewalk and front of the door to the bar. There was a flash and a pop as the bulbs burnt out. Wreathed in darkness, he holstered one of the guns, and quietly opened the door to the bar. Dixon thought that they had knocked him out again, but he realized that the light had gone out. "Funny, Red, I thought you had paid your bill?" "Shut your pie hole. Sean, Dave, go outside and see what the blue hell is going on, will ya? I'll keep an eye on this guy." said Big Red. He opened the door and shouted, "Somebody want to get me a damn flashlight? I can't see me hand before me face." Holstering his gun Doc Energy thought, [I suppose I ought to shed a little light on their problem.] #Ivana, activate Assimilation Mode# #Yes, Doctor. Opening Z-ray batteries and awaiting input.# There was a blinding flash of St. Elmo's Fire, temporarily blinding all inside the bar. He shifted his form from corporeal to semi-corporeal, the effect being that his entire being glowed bluish-white. Blue-white lightning sparks were travelling over his body, dancing like electric snakes. The bartender, blinking a few times, thought quickly and grabbed a seltzer bottle, hoping to spray him with it. Doc saw him do this, as slowly as if the bartender were moving in molasses. Moving just out of the line of fire, he resumed normal time and threw a stun lightning bolt at him, knocking the barkeep out of his shoes and into the back wall of liquor, breaking just about every bottle and cracking the mirror. He turned his attention just in time to see the two Irish Oaks coming out of the back door,attempting to blindside him with a double clothesline. Slowing time again, he ducked that, and delivered blow into the solar plexus of the nearest man with the palm of his hand. Normally, his punches don't carry a lot of weight, but combining the speed he was moving at and the energy aura he was projecting, he managed to double the man over which allowed him to give a savage knee to the man's head, sending him crashing to the floor. The other twin realized what happened, and in a fit of rage tore a stationary barstool from the floor and came at The Good Doctor swinging. [Wow. I guess the legendary Irish temper is true. That and these two have been trained in the art of fisticuffs. And it looks like they have also done some wrestling as well.] thought the Doc as the barstool narrowly missed his head a second time. Meanwhile, Dixon heard the commotion going on so decided to up things a little. "Tell you what, what say you save yourself the pain of humilation by your peers and cut me loose. Then maybe I can stop your boys from getting their butts handed to them." He couldn't see him, but if he could, Dixon would have been slightly afraid. Even moreso after hearing a growl that would make a strongman blanche and a stomping of feet out of the room and into the bar. He had just enough time to shout, "Look out, Doc! He's coming behind you." Doc Energy heard Dixon shout, muffled though it was, and he slowed time down further and watched as a older man who was obviously the father of the two louts came crashing out of the door in a hail of splinters. Big Red charges the glowing man, absently grabbing a chair and preparing to swing at the glowing Mystery Man's head. Suddenly, Doc dodged out of the way as the other Irish Oak swung at his head. Just as Big Red Swung at Doc's head. He stopped, pointed his finger and quipped, "You Irishmen really shouldn't charge into battle so often. The results might be shocking." just as he released a lightning bolt at the barstool. The charge wasn't enough to kill, but it was enough to make it extremely painful. The other twin joined his brother on the floor, and his father blew back into the wall, and slumped into a heap, his clothes smouldering and smelling of ozone. Most of the other goons fled out the back, likely to be caught by the cops who were on their way to figure out what was causing a blackout in this building as well as the streetlights outside. Doc Energy opened the inner door, noting that this place was used as a gambling hall of ill repute. "Dixon Hill. Where are you?" "Doc? When did you get a Russian accent?" said a voice coming from the side room. "Doc, yes. But not the one you are thinking of." said Doc Energy who opened the door, found the lightbulb, unscrewed it and placed it in his hand, taking note of the surprised look on Dixon's face lighting up as the bulb lit up. "Doc Romanov?? Boy, this is a surprise. I never pegged you as a Man of Mystery." "There are many things you probably don't know, but now is not the time for that. Did you find out anything?" "Plenty, but there's still one thing I need to know from Big Red. He still alive?" "He is still alive, yes. I gave him and his son a mild shock." said The Good Doctor, chuckling. "Good. Come on, let's complete the circuit." Outside the bar, Doc and Dixon were walking down the street toward the next cab stand. The cops would have a field day with the bar and the gambling hall inside. "I guess The King will have one less penny from that place for a while." said Dixon thoughtfully. "Da, my friend. And it was very good of Mr. Flannery to tell us what part of Potrero Hill his "special" friend from overseas was staying. Volkov needing an entire building doesn't surprise me, since it's easier for him to control. He probably has guards stationed there on the lower levels, with his main base being on the top of the building. He more than likely has several escape routes planned just in case." said Doc Energy. "So, where to now?" asked Dixon. "Actually, first I must give you this." said Doc handing the envelope to Dixon. "You left it in the hotel room. Violet wanted to make sure that you got it. Max will be very pleased to hear your report. It's fortunate for you that news of this will not get back to The King since I conveniently zapped the Flannerys' short term memory." "Actually, that wasn't necessary, since the Flannerys' are probably done in the Mob department anyway. If you really want to get this guy Vodka.." "Volkov" said The Good Doctor amusedly. "Whatever. If you wanna get this guy, you aren't going to be coming at him directly. Chances are, whatever he has that's causing those businesses to suffer misfortune like they have, he's going to have something to deal with you. You've tangled with him before, right?" Doc Energy nodded. "Now he has the backing of a very important person. This means he's going to expect you to do something." Doc Energy nodded, "So it would be best to not give him what he wants, yes?" "You got it. Now let's catch a cab, and get back to the hotel." Back at the hotel... "Ah, Emil. And Dixon! Good lord man, you look as though you went twelve rounds with Marciano himself." said Doc Mercer jokingly. "You could say that, Max. You could also say I had a first hand experience of Irish temper." "Indeed. Well, let me make a call and get you a cab to take you to the hospital." "Nah, that's okay. They didn't break anything, except maybe my pride. Maybe a few bruises, and a shiner to beat the band, but nothing broken. I am going to need a little more for my dry cleaning bill. Blood stains don't come out of the wash." "Fair enough. So what do you have for me?" "Well, you aren't gonna believe this...." Later.... ".....so that's basically everything Flannery knew, eh?" said Doc Mercer. "Basically. He was just responsible for Volkov's well being and making sure he got everything he requested. Other than that, nothing else." Doc Mercer smacked his fist into his palm. "Damnation. That still doesn't prove whether or not he indeed has the spear." "Right, which means we are back to square one." said Dixon "Well, not exactly... Ms. Law told me as she left the room that she was going to investigate Supervisor Jones tomorrow morning at City Hall. She said she would call me as soon as she had something definate. And we still have the location of where Volkov is stationed. The local mob would most likely have the place covered, but there's got to be some way to get in there. Dixon Hill removed the raw steak from his eye where one of the Flannery boys had blackened it. Bits of cow blood clung to the perpetual five o'clock shadow that roughened his face. "Actually, Max, I believe there is a way to keep an eye on him." said Dixon pointing to the shiner. Max chuckled at his friend's humor, "So enlighten me, O Great Detective." "Well," said Dixon, "there was one unusual thing about The Iceman's list of things he needed. He insisted that where ever he was put, he needed to be close to a Russian restaurant. My guess is that he's been pining for the Motherland a lot recently. Flannery originally balked at the idea, but knowing the long arm of the boys in Chicago, he gave in and gave The Iceman what he ordered. According to one of my clients who lives in the Potrero Hill district told me of a little mom and pop restaurant on 18th Street, which is in the heart of the Potrero Hill District. The only thing that puzzles me is why he would insist on being there, when Haight Street is a lot closer to Chinatown, or even the Mission District, which is where a lot of the criminal element lives?" Romanov stirred his white Russian and floated down in the soft leather chair near the window. "Perhaps his pining for home is some kind of misplaced nostalgia for the Motherland. The fact that he's using a car gives him the advantage of not relying on the cable cars to get where he needs to go, plus it limits the risk of him being spotted anywhere. Though I daresay he would resort to using the cable cars as a human shield should he be captured." He took a few more sips from the milky white liquid and continued, "Plus there is the fact that he's a master of disguise as well as possessing an uncanny ability to keep cool in any situation, no matter what is going on around him. They do not call him The Iceman for nothing." Max Mercers' face became impassive, which was usually a sign he was solving a particularly difficult puzzle. Suddenly his face brightened. Romanov looked over at his friend amusedly. "What do you have cooking in that brain of yours, Max?" "Well, it's not borscht. But I daresay The White Russian might be Very Interested in the activities of our friend Mr. Volkov." It was a very good thing that Romanov had standards, otherwise he would have wasted perfectly good vodka in a spit-take. As it was, he coughed loudly, flushed beet-red, and gave Mercer a withering gaze. "My friend, you and I have travled the world together. I am deeply offended that you would even *consider* talking to that traitorous bastard son, let alone putting him on the trail of Volkov." Mercer's stone face cracked just a little, "True....and were it not for the fact that I know certain things, I would have never suggested it. As it is, if Volkov is successful, he will be powerful enough to take out The White Czar and lead his armies to re-take Russia and restore it to it's former glory. I've seen that he's canny enough to keep The Czar alive, only to keep him as a figurehead while he wields the real power behind the throne." Romanov thought for a moment, his forehead furrowing furiously as he did so. "Most likely he would be made Commander of the Army which would give him the resources he needs to conquer whatever he and The Czar sees fit to take. I dare say he would be as powerful as The King himself, considering that he has a good knowledge of how The King operates in Europe. This would then allow him carte blanche to take over the known world." said Max grimly. Dixon sighed. "I suppose you need someone to do some digging and find out where *exactly* Volkov is staying as well as find out how to get the White Czar hooked into it?" "Actually, Dix, that's exactly what I had in mind. And I am willing to offer you more money in addition to what you have earned finding out where he was located in the city." grinned Max, reaching for his chequebook. "Well, if you put it that way, when do you want me to get started?" "Let's wait a few days while you heal up properly. If you want, I can have my people take care of you. Here." Mercer writes an address on a slip of paper. He hands it to Dixon, who takes a look at it with his good eye. He emits a low whistle. "The Ritz-Carlton. Pretty posh." Mercer grinned impishly, "I thought you might use a change of scenery from your usual office. I can have my secretary call yours and get all the information you need. I can also have a doctor from San Fransisco General take a look at you on your way there. It helps when you make a donation to the Children's Ward." "Indeed," said Dixon, pocketing the paper and the cheque Mercer had finished writing for him. "Well, as much as I enjoy chewing the fat with you fellas, I need to see a man about a horse and I need to get looked at by The Docs' docs." he quips as he takes the slightly-greying steak off his eye. He walks into the bathroom to wash up. [No sense in looking like I just stepped out of a slaughterhouse.] He walks over to the sink, which gleams in the flourescent light on the ceiling. "Geez, Max. You could eat off the floor in here." shouts Dix though the door. Mercer laughs heartily, "Indeed, my disheveled detective friend. It's one of my routines I like to use to sharpen my mind and organize my thoughts. Not that the cleaning staff here did an excellent job, mind you." Suddenly, a loud forceful knock sounds on the door to the hallway. Mercer, realizing that it's way too late for visitors, goes to the bed where his jacket is, and pulls out a .45. Doc Energy pulls out his ElectroTesla Guns, which are fully charged and glowing a white-hot blue, indicating that they are set to heavy stun. Mercer stands to the inside of the door and answers, "Hello?" Suddenly, the door blows inside in a burst of fire and gunsmoke. The "rat-tat-tat-tat-tat" sound of two Thompson submachine guns blowing large holes in the now ruined hotel room door. A few of the bullets strike Doc Energy, the force of which knocks him back into the wall where he collapses, unmoving. "Emil!" shouts Doc Eon, firing a few rounds towards the door as he dives over to where Romanov fell. There is a *CRASH* as the door flies open, knocking it off it's useless hinges. Two men quickly a large box into the room, then flee down the hall into a nearby stairway. Dixon opens the door quickly, scanning the room carefully to see if there is anyone unfriendly with a gun near. Realizing that the gunmen have fled, he dashes over to the box in the middle of the room, which is now open. "Uhhh.. Doc. This doesn't look good. It looks like a timer.....and it's counting down. It's a BOMB!" Who is the mysterious bomber? Has Doc Energy been killed by the mysterious gunmen, and who are these gunmen working for? And what will be the fate of the Just Violet? For these answers and more, gentle readers, be sure to get the next installment of.... The Adventures of Dr. Energy ================================= Subject: Chapter Six: Bombshells On Wed, 19 May 2004 19:23:35 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000254 In our last episode: Dixon opens the door quickly, scanning the room carefully to see if there is anyone unfriendly with a gun near. Realizing that the gunmen have fled, he dashes over to the box in the middle of the room, which is now open. "Uhhh.. Doc. This doesn't look good. It looks like a timer.....and it's counting down. It's a BOMB!" Chapter 6: Bombshells "Excuse me, Dixie." Violet says, having somehow appeared immediately behind him. With a casual strength utterly at odds with her dimunitive though superlative physique, the Violet Vixen picks him up and bodily sets him to one side. Then she scoops up the bomb. Violet light flares, throwing back sharp shadows in the wreckage of the hotel room, streaming from the woman now racing for the window -- despite being on the sixth floor! She doesn't seem to run as much as blur -- a streak of purple light almost like trapped lightning in the room. A crash of glass, a grinding noise from her booted feet on the window's ledge, her elbow having broken out the thick glass with deceptive ease. Her legs push her off far off the building, into the open air. Her coat waves behind as the Just Violet leaps prodigiously toward Certain Death. Before Dixon can even reach the shattered window, a huge, sharp noise slaps the building. More windows break nearby, as a huge fireball roils harmlessly in midair. Debris rains down with the glass, but he can see no remaining sign of the woman who leapt with bomb in hand. Has the Just Violet's brave rescue been the end of Ultra-Violet's campaign against Evil? * * * * In another room, the secretary awakens with a start at the huge noise. Sitting up in bed with a singularly disturbed expression, Ziactrice expounds to the room in deep dismay, "Why does this Shadow always give me horrible nightmares? And that didn't sound like car backfire." She pads to the window to look out, wondering what all the noise was about. * * * * How did Ultra-Violet know about the bomb? How did she manage to get there in time to save the others? Is Doc Energy hurt -- or dead from those bullets that struck him? More answers to be revealed in the next episode of The Adventures of Doc Energy! =================================