Clockwork

          The mystical figure, who moved with an exeptionally jagged and uncomfortable roughness in his joints, jumped over the rooftops with odd mechanical grace, large black brass-rimmed goggles blazing in the sun and a red silk scarf twisting in the wind behind him. The man increased his speed and some of the red tiles on the roofs of London cracked under his brass-buckled boots and shattered into pieces. People on the streets stopped to stare at the weird agile figure rapidly moving through the sunriddled sky. The running man in long leather jacket had reached the Thames faster than any steampowered locomotive could, but he didn't make any efforts to stop or slow down. All throughout the mechanical man started echoing sounds of small gears grinding and springs winding themselves up. At the very edge of the last roof he propelled himself high above the murky water. Time seemed to stop for a while as an old fisherman glanced heavenwards at the gentleman soaring over his boat. The mechanical man didn't worry about not reaching the other side, he knew exactly how far he was going to jump. A loud crash sounded over the whole city-block before the young-looking man swiftly escaped the cascade of shattering bricks from a riverside wall he had broken with his less than perfect landing. He stopped in the middle of an alleyway behind "The Devil's Tavern" and listened... he could hear nearly everything going around in the city and yet not the sound he was looking for. It had stopped. Why had it stopped?
         That voice, that ticking couldn't belong to any other timepiece- it had to be Griffin's. Although the timepiece sounded normal to everyone else the robotic human could hear a distinct difference in every clock. Griffin was a scientist, a genius and yet a psychopath. He was a thief, an arsonist and a murderer, who was easily trackable, but no matter how hard one would look, Griffin would remain unseen... The clockwork-man knew that the criminal was perfectly invisible, but not completely imperceptible. A few years ago the mechanical man had sensed Griffin's ghastly presense in a South England pub- he could hear a fainth breathing and heartbeat coming from an empty seat and on the table was a barely visible crystal pocketwatch that ticked in the most abnormal way... and later all became clear with the help of an anonymous law enforcer, who traded confidential information for gold.
        The man with brass-rimmed goggles had no other clues, thus giving up became his only option. He decided to take the streets this time around- humans had always amazed him as they made him wonder... What makes them tick? The evening had arrived almost inconspicuously and a slight dribble of rain made it seem even darker. The gear-gutted man slowly made his way through the town and that's when he heard it- The glass timepiece. In a split-second the ticking gentleman had disappeared from the streets. He made his way staright through the city over the roofs and under bridges and soon he stopped... There he was- The invisible man in a trenchcoat, face wrapped in gauze and eyes covered with dark glasses. Every streetlight he passed by seemed to flicker as if they were trying to hide the monstrous criminal in shadows. In a blink of an eye the mechanical man had silently pinned psycopath to the ground. He was trying to struggle out of his coat, but it was already too late. "Your time has run out, Griffin..." The man said with a metallic voice as Griffin shoved his hand in his coat. "Think again..." Chuckled the man covered in bandages and fired a shot. Hundreds of small gears and bolts spewed out of the humanoid machine and the ticking stopped... Griffin stood up and laughed. "You can't catch the wind, dear friend..." The hollow rattle of tiny metal pieces filled the empty street. Although one ticking had stopped, the other still remained. The figure in bandages faced away and took several long steps on the cobblestone road before realising, that he was walking of tiny shards of glass. His eyes widened as he grabbed for the pocketwatch- It was gone. The man turned to look back at the robotic corpse, but all he felt were two cold hands grasping his neck... A garish crackling split the night and the invisible man appeared once again: First the bones, then the nerves, muscles and bloodvessels and finally his pale-dead skin. 

And it all worked out like clockwork.

Purification Ritual

The cold winter-wind was dragging loose snow all over the gravel-road leading to a tall old building
in the edge of the village. Several horsemen had already arrived at the church and most were still on the road.
Every family within the seven villages around the church had received one of many obligatory invitations to another "Purification ritual". The people sent only the men although the note had mentioned that children are highly desirable.

Half of the ritual hall was already filled with whispering peasants staring down at the hole that descended
at least 5 feet into the floor and seemed like a weird gladiator pit. In the middle of the sand-covered lower-floor, in a circle of large rocks, there was a pillory standing on a pile of hay and logs. The farmers were nervous as they knew what the ritual was all about. One of them whispered to another in a deep scottish accent: "Last time they had less people watching... they stoned her to death after pouring hot silver down her throat..." The other man was short and was twisting his already torn up hat: "They're gonna purify Katherine tonight. I thought she was a healer, I even got help from her now and then. Who knew she was a bloody witch? They say she dressed in the skins of wolves at night and killed all old Rothner's sheep ... monstrous." The other man, knew that the woman had been taken by the church inquisition for questioning, but he looked baffled: "The whole herd? Well I guess she's getting what she deserves... Hold on, didn't she have a daughter? Yes, little Madeline... what's gonna happen to the poor girl?" The man put his hat in his pocket, while sighing and stared at his feet: "They'll kill her... and I guess it's for the best... spawn of the devil... to hell with them all."


The hall was almost completely filled with people and the ritual began. The monks on the other side of the inquisition-pit started chanting silently in latin as the high-priest walked to the altar covered in candles and lit three of them.
"Dear peasants..." He said with a dark grin. "...once again you have encountered a problem of the darkest kind and once again the church is happy to help you." The priest waved at a man with a black mask standing in a small iron doorway in the brightly lit executioner's pit in the middle of the church. The executioner entered the room under the floor as the air was deathly still and the only thing that cut the low mumbling of the monks was the sound of shackles creeping out from the metal doorway. Soon the fat man with a black mask returned while dragging a young woman behind him. He attached Katherine's swollen wrists into the pillory and locked the contraption tightly. 


The clergyman looked down at the woman and smiled: "It is rather unsettling to think that this woman, Katherine Barnes, has been a part of our community for years and all this time... a servant of the devil. Today we can all rejoice, for this woman's soul shall be cleansed. As some of you might know she used witchcraft to turn herself into a wolf so she could feast on your cattle. For the sake of the villagers the witch must be burned!"


Long disheveled hair covered the young woman's face, wet from tears, as she was silently weeping. Her clothes were ripped and covered in dirt. Katherine raised her head and looked at the farmers, who had gathered in the church. "Please... I am not a witch...I.." She tried to talk, but her mouth was too dry. She teared up again as she saw that on the edge of the pit stood Madeline, looking down at her mother with tears rolling down her cheeks. Katherine wanted to shout, but she was tired and powerless. The executioner set fire to the hay in the edges of the stack of logs in the middle of which stood the scared woman. The fire got closer and Katherine felt the hot flames dancing around her.


The heavy doors of the church flew open and from it entered a strong mistral that roughed up the villagers as it passed and ascended onto the flames. The candles on the altar and in the chandelier under the ceiling went out. Katherine stared at the frozen hay and logs around her and the thin layer of snow that covered the floor. The fat executioner quickly grabbed his axe and took a swing at the woman in the pillory. The axe fell on the ground- Between Katherine and the fat man in a black mask had appeared a figure in a hooded cloak, with eyes that burned bright and blue. The executioner fell on his knees, and stared into the hooded woman's eyes. His chest started emitting faint tendrils of light and the woman caught them in a small crystal vial.
"This woman has done nothing wrong, the ones eating your sheep and cows are right under your noses..."
Every candle in the large hall burst in blue flames and the high-priest shouted out in anger: "Prohibere eius!"
The demons in red cloaks leapt through the air and landed around the blue-eyed woman in a perfect circle. She looked around and clenched her hands into fists from which grew out two short glowing daggers.


The monks hissed at the mage and ran at her, but she was too fast. The daggers sliced swiftly through the throats of four monks, who spewed black blood that smelled like sulfur. In a blink the woman had burnt two others, but she seemed to have missed one, who stood his ground behind her. Through the ceiling fell a large sledgehammer that  crushed the demon, who had stayed unnoticed. The hammer was followed by a muscular man dressed in black leather and wearing a mask sewn together from pieces of burlap sacks, bearing an ominous smile embroidered into the material. He picked up his weapon from the demon's chest cavity and looked around.


"Heed our warning, villagers! The church is not what it seems... and the Guild of Assiah will not tolerate killing innocent people!"

The Gentleman's Way

      "The crowded streets of London are particularly breathtaking on fine summer-evenings like these." thought Lancelot while making his way through the countless teenagers, businessmen and couples,clinging to eachother. The light wind was roughing up his black suit, that looked almost too noble, because of the victorian waistcoat underneath the jacket and of course the unusual neckwear- a royal cravat made from red silk, stolen three weeks ago. The young man- not more than 17 - seemed almost like he had stepped out of a painting to take a nice stroll on the streets, but then again he was firmly holding a fairly modern-looking black umbrella.

During peaceful moments like these Lancelot usually kept an inner monologue: catalogueing his thoughts, people on the streets, cars passing by and every possible threat. "Male, 20-25 years of age, a modern baseball-cap- probably one of them hippity-hoppity fellows, slight limp in the left leg..." Ventrue was distracted by another individual, obviously a drug-dealer... and judging by his thin moustache and the length of his jacket probably also a sexual predator of some kind. "People roaming the streets of this city... Some of them earn their money honestly, some dishonorably and some of them are like me."
Lancelot Ventrue noticed a chubby man in an overly-expensive suit (even for the streets of London) and "locked on" to the target. "Male, 50-58 years of age, wealthy, in a bitter mood, distracted- Perfect victim." Ventrue lifted his chin up, thus looking even more posh and bumped into the old man, with a moderate amount of force. "Hey! Watch your step, punk!" shouted the rich elder in an arrogant manner. In a split second the young man's hand had snatched the wallet from the fatcat's jacket. Just one charming smile and humble apology later he had already disappeared into the heavy crowd. "Wallets, watches, phones and jewelry are so easy to misplace, especially in a big city where there's people, who practise my profession." A short man wearing aviator sunglasses stepped in front of the young pickpocket and crouched to tie his shoelaces. Ventrue's eyes widened, time seemed to stop and thoughts started echoeing through his mind.

"Professionals tend to work in trios: The Blocker, who distracts the victim,..."

The black-suited young man dodged the crouching man after which an African-American girl in a purple hoodie tripped into him and grabbed the freshly-stolen wallet.

"...the Cannon, who obtains the item of value..."

Ventrue casted a glance behind him just in time to notice that the wallet was dropped inside the backpack of a bald man with a red goatee and rather unstylish flip-flops.

"...and finally the Shade, who takes the item and disappears... Let's have some fun, shall we?"

 Ventrue reached under his longer than usual blonde hair and tapped on his nearly invisible earpiece: "Thor calling Wolfman, male in his late twenties, brown backpack, red goatee- moving towards the cave."

    200 feet away, in front of an italian café behind one of the restaurant-tables was a man observing his surroundings through two holes cut into a newspaper. "Wolfman to Thor, I see the target. Wolfman's leaving the cave." Behind the newspaper was a tall young man
with a painfully obvious fake moustache and a brown bowlerhat. He paid for his tea, tipped the waiter and started following the thief listening to music from his earplugs. After a few zig-zags between different small empty alleyways, it was clear that the Shade with
the stolen wallet had noticed "Wolfman" tailing him... but then again the slightly overweight man with a bowlerhat wasn't trying to be silent and made sure to smack every metal object on the way with the end of his walking stick. "Back off, chump, this is none of your business! I'll break your legs if you won't stop following me!" The bald bearded man was getting anxious at "Wolfman's" calm and positive look and pulled a switchblade out of the pocket of his yellow jumper. *click* The stainless-steel blade propelled out of the handle.

The well-dressed man ripped off his moustache and put it under his bowlerhat while spinning the wooden stick in his hand. He smiled and cast a wild glance at the opponent: "Tell me, mr. Thief, have you heard of Bartitsu, the gentleman's way of fighting?"

The Ominous World II

     Last night a caucasian male in his early 20s walked inside BRED Banque Populaire, grabbed a stack of 20 euro banknotes, walked out and disappeared in the nightlife of Paris. He didn't pick any locks, he didn't open any doors and yet the security cameras show the skinny man, with a black goatee dressed in a steampunky leather costume complete with a silver cane, move in and out of the bank freely. How?
     Every human has a forcefield around them, an aura as some call them... you might even call it a soul. Individuals, who can see the life-energy around us and predict our moods or even thoughts, are not uncommon, but there is another kind of use for that field- Keeping a person from falling apart. There are some humans with skilled control over their physical body. They can loosen the connections between every particle in them, while still maintaining the connections and staying intact- this allows them to move through seemingly solid surfaces. Although these people are in control of their body, their minds are usually as unstabile as their particles. 


   Victor Grigoriev, 21, short black hair, goatee, severe bipolar disorder. The skinny russian had been kept in  an asylum since he was 11 years old and in there, during a sucide-attempt, he found the amazing gift that allowed him to simply leave the high-security building. Although Victor was mentally unstabile, he wasn'tstupid and managed to keep the police off his tracks easily. He didn't knew what he was looking for, but before he had been locked into the asylum, he had been to Egypt with his mother and that trip had always been his happiest memory, so why not do it again?

If you could go anywhere without being asked any unnecessary questions, where would you go?

The Ominous World I

     Have you heard that your whole life runs past your eyes right before you die? It's true, but it isn't some poetic/pathetic reminder of all the good deeds you've done or every kind word you've said, it is merely a savepoint. Everything you've felt and everything you've seen will be saved as a cluster of memories that represents a person. "Why?" you ask.

    Many mortals have wasted their lives in order to find the cure for death, but they never knew that we all hold the key, we all have the patential to live forever. The human brain was designed for immortality- Although man as a whole ages and fades, the mind is infinite. The reason of this "emergency back-up data" is simple... to cheat death and live once again, but everything good has a bad side.

     The streets of Dublin were clogged with people, running up and down the streets, but he felt that it was peaceful somehow... reminded him of London and the days he spent in his grandfather's house.

Howard Baker, 28 years of age, perfectly shaved head, rough face-lines, menobilist. Three years ago his grandfather had died. Usually mind-movers or menobilists get killed, because people, who have enough money to buy a new life, have dark secrets that need to stay hidden. Howard's grandfather had been cautious enough to live a rich life and also train an apprentice- It took the bald man a year to get the very basics down, but as grandfather had said: "One must never stop learning."

     Howard straightened his old leather jacket and stepped onto a bus. The mind-moving jobs had become rare, since many of the menobilists had been killed by organised crime leaders or rich high-rollers, but he had saved some money from earlier jobs and this kind of work had brought in a decent sum. His last job had been transferring an elderly woman's mind into a young asian girl. There used to be some conflicted feelings about ending someone's life like that, but business is business and the rich people will win most of the time. The man had sat down in a basement and placed one hand on each of the woman's foreheads. Every menobilist had their own way of picturing the minds- Howard imagined a simple holographic interface with two folders, but his grandfather had seen two books on an old writing table. After doing his job he got his money and left... as simple as that. 

     Howard wasn't afraid of death, but living as someone else had crossed his mind several times. Receiving a new life would usually be tricky, because there would be a need for an apprentice, but then again two menobilists could keep a perfect cycle of immortality... 

Howard Baker's phone started playing the theme-song of Doctor Who, on the LCD display was blinking a writing: "Grandfather"- on the man's face appeared a warm smile.