Living_Hellfire

Of all the topics I've posted, this is one of my favourites! Please keep posting music!

The Man in Black leaned casually against the lamppost with his hands in his pockets, listening and breathing slowly as he took it all in. The sickly sweet smelling blue smoke coalesced about him, despite the soft breeze in the warm autumn afternoon. "I reckon Professor Cao has the right of it fer the most part." He said around the cigar jammed between his teeth. "However, I'd like tae mention that it's nae so much about bein' a special, pretty flower er snowflake, with respect, Professor." The Man nods. "I reckon yer a well meanin' lass, aye?" He looked up slightly, the opaque shades fixing the young woman squarely. "May I spin a yarn?" Asked The Man in Black. "I happened tae have had the privilege o'bein' born an' raised in a wee fishin' village in Islay." He continued, without waiting for permission. "It was a brilliant childhood, aye, so it was. Me mum an' da an' all me brothers all took part in that grand tradition. On occasion Da would take us out, one at a time, mind ye, on oor wee boat tae catch oor supper." He pulled on the cigar, inhaling deeply and sending another plume of royal blue smoke into the air, just as the lamppost turned on as afternoon turned to dusk. "One early mornin' me da woke me tae take me fishin'." The Man in Black grinned at the memory. "'Twas a secret, so it was. Pressed his finger tae his lips an' all as he woke me from me bed an' stole me away. Me siblins were nae the wiser. Down tae the dock we went, oor tackle an' nets all wrapped in skins so's they wouldnae make any noise at all." Again with the cigar and the blue smoke. "Once we were upon the water in oor wee boat, nets out'n an' lines cast he said tae me 'Fergus, it's important ye recall this, aye? Ye must always be the best man ye can, fer comparison is the adversary o'happiness. Ye cannae be anyone aught then who ye'are.'" He paused a beat before taking the cigar from his mouth and pushing off from the lamppost. "Professor Cao," he said, with a slight bow "may I say again t'was a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance again. I look forward tae seein' ye about campus." "Tori, yer a brilliant young woman with a bright future, but if'n ye e'er find need, I reckon ye ken how tae find me, aye?" The Man in Black winked from behind those opaque shades. It wasn't visible, one couldn't necessarily see it, but anyone paying attention knew it happened. The sharp clack of hard-soled loafers disappeared into the nascent evening as he disappeared from sight, a warm breeze in his wake.

The Man in Black slowed after a few steps. "Aye, Professor, thank ye kindly fer yer invitation an' the honour is mine, I'd be quite pleased indeed tae join ye fer a few moments." He replied, as he leaned against a convenient lamp-post, facing the two. The smoke from the cigar gripped between his teeth encircled his hat like a halo. "A pleasure tae make yer acquiantances indeed." He said with a grin and a nod to both. "I would quite enjoy the opportunity tae spend some time with ye, Professor. I've had very little opportunity tae familiarize meself with colleagues an' fellow faculty." Mr. McRae cocks his head slightly, his brow furrowing over his burnt orange shades. "Is that so, lass? Well, as it turns out I've nae e'en heard yer name mentioned, tae be honest, but please do ken that yer welcome tae come see me anytime. I've been tasked with aidin' primarily students with superhuman abilities tae find their way, tae guide'em in order tae show their best pathways tae bein' guardians o'this city an' the mort... the folks what live within it." The Man in Black takes the cigar from his mouth "Havin' said that I'm always available tae any student fer any reason, e'en if it's jes' tae speak yer mind er get summat off yer chest. I'm here tae lend aid tae youngsters such as yerself, whatever ye may require." "However, I'll nae force, nor will I countenance a student tae be forced tae see me if'n they would prefer not tae." The blue smoke from the cigar coils around The Man's arm and neck "I am curious, however, if'n yer comfortable sayin' so in this company, nae offense, Professor, what sortae 'expectations' are ye speakin' of?"

Captain Norm Smith toweled himself off as he stepped out of the shower at Station 15 of Paragon City's Fire Service in Steel Canyon. He had missed supper, the training he had planned for his crew had been cancelled and the station visit from Paragon City Elementary 22 had been cancelled because they weren't in station, having been dispatched to a particularly gruesome motor vehicle collision including two hospitalizations and one fatality. Most recently he and his crew had returned from a high-rise fire at Paragon City University, Steel Canyon campus. He dressed quickly, dragging on his station wear. Despite his exhaustion he couldn't help but check his appearance in the mirror of the communal bathroom. The dark blue uniform was still sharp and crisp, despite the abuse it had suffered. The silver bars on his shoulders were a source of pride as he buttoned his shirt. He breathed, and then again and steeled himself before pushing open the door of the communal changing room, only to come face to face with Howard Marsden. "Hey, Duck." "Captain." Duck looked curiously at his commanding officer. "You okay, sir?" "Yeah." Norm rubbed his face and smiled "Just tired. I have a lot of paperwork to do. Is there anything left over in the kitchen?" "Yeah, Chief Grakist bought us pizza and sent it over, there should still be some on the table." "Thanks, Duck." He paused "Have you all eaten?" Marsden smiled. "Yessir, we're all well fed and taken care of, thank you, sir." Captain Smith nodded and smiled "Get some sleep. That's an order. Please extend that order to both Gilchrist and Swayne. I want you in your bunks immediately. Phones down, do I make myself understood, firefighter?" "Sir, yes sir." There was a moment when both men made eye-contact. The love and care of brothers. Howard Marsden made his way towards the barracks. Norm carried on through the tiled hallways of the fire station to the kitchen. A large space with an enormous wooden table upon which was several pizza boxes. He rifled through the cupboards for a clean plate and swiped a couple pieces from the most convenient box, thankfully there was no pineapple, and made his way to his office. It was a small affair, still made of the same large concrete bricks painted institutional white. A single bed with his bedding, a desk, a phone and a computer with limited access used only for filing reports on calls responded to and completed. He sat and tapped the space bar to wake the machine and double clicked the icon that would grant him access to the city's database wherein he would enter his reports on his calls that day. And then he jumped at the scrabbling at his window. He fell back as he twisted in his chair, landing on his back as he beheld a three foot, blood red demonling scratching at his window. A horrifying visage, a thing made of nightmares all talons, fangs and wings, it mocked and jeered, snarling its hostility before it was swatted away and replaced by a familiar face. The window only allowed a view from the shoulders up but what Norm Smith saw was unmistakable. The bespoke suit, fedora and burnt orange shades. The cigar burning brightly, the blue smoke coiled and capered playfully in the darkness outside the the captain's window. The Man in Black grinned. "You!" Norm scrambled to his feet. He glared at The Man through the window before pointing towards the main door of the station and stalked out of his office, but for some reason not before scooping up the plate of cold pizza. Captain Smith stalked through the halls of his station toward the man-door just to the left of the bay door. This was his station, his crew and he would be damned if some meta would intimidate him in his own home. The angry Captain strode through the halls of the fire station and wrenched the door open to confront The Man in Black who leaned casually against the three foot half wall, upon which stalked that same little demonling, still all snarls and spittle, pounding its right fist into its left palm. "Who the fuck are you and what do you want?!" Smith demanded, his breath forming clouds of steam in the cool autumn evening as he confronted The Man in Black. He calmed himself, but not before noting that not only was The Man was wearing shades in the dark, but that he was smoking. Not just the cigar. Of course, the cigar was a source of smoke but The Man in Black himself was smoking in the cool night air, a dark and distinct unnatural warping of heat and pressure. Captain Smith steeled himself against the chill and asked again. "Who are you and what do you want?" The Man in Black took the cigar from his mouth and pushed himself off the half-wall, the blue smoke from the cigar coiling around his arm like a serpent. "I beg yer pardon, Captain, an' I apologize fer Screwtape." He motioned to the little bastard stalking the wall, staring hungrily at the plate of pizza in Norm's hand. "I jes' wanted tae express me appreciation fer the werk ye've done." The Man in Black shrugged. "And you thought this was the best way to do it? At almost midnight after the day we've had?!" The Man nodded. "I appreciate that ye'r in nae mood fer visitors, I'll nae take any more o'yer time, jes' take this." And with that he snapped his fingers, producing a puff of flame and smoke that lit up the block. Norm had no choice but to squeeze his eyes shut against the brilliance of the flame as it snapped open and shut. As his pupils contracted again he found himself blinking in the dark and as reality came into focus he found himself warm again, perhaps too warm, sweat beaded on his forehead. Screwtape snarled from his perch on the half-wall. "Yer bravery was beyond anythin' I've witnessed from mortals in quite some time, Captain." Said The Man in Black as he held out a card in his right hand. "Yer a credit tae yer service an' tae yer species. Please take this card, if'n ye've e'er need o'aid jes' toss it intae the nearest open flame an' I'll hear yer call an' come tae yer aid." Every instinct in the old firefighter screamed danger as he stared deeply past the shades and into the fires that burned behind them, and yet he still reached out with his left hand to take the card. The Man in Black nodded and stepped back, disappearing into the darkness. Screwtape snarled again, barking at Smith once more before flapping his wings and taking to the night. The cold, autumn air returned, sending a shiver down the station captain's back before he returned back inside the station. Norm stared down at the card in his hand. It was a plain thing, the colour of ivory and upon which were scorched the words "The Legendary Living Hellfire". The pizza in his right hand was hot and sizzling on the plate.

The sound of hard-soled loafers is unmistakable as it approaches. "Philosophy, ye say?" He puffs the cigar, blue smoke coiling about his shoulders, seemingly with a mind of its own. The Man in Black looks curiously from behind opaque, burnt orange shades at the Daniel and his companion with something that might be considered recognition. "Indeed that was me own major at Oxford many years ago, so it was." The Man finished with a grin. He pulls his tie and clears his throat, the smoke strangely halting in its coiling, trailing its way around The Man's waist. He coughed, as though suddenly realizing the awkwardness. "Ach, I'm afeared I'm a wee bit outtae practice, I reckon I've interrupted, but here we are." He grinned from behind his cigar. "Again, I beg yer pardon, I jes' thought I'd introduce meself tae the students hereabouts on campus an' p'raps me fellow colleagues?" He cocked his head at Daniel, recognition flashing again across the surface of the opaque shades, as though something behind them reached for a kind of understanding. The Man turned to the young woman enjoying her meal, "Howdy, lass. Ye may call me Mr. McRae. I'm a guidance councilor here at Paragon City University." The Man smiled warmly, genuinely. "Me office is down t'wards the North wing, in the, erm..." he seems slightly abashed "It's jes' past the storage area an', erm... the broom closet." He gathers himself, smoothing the jacket of his bespoke suit in a vain attempt to retain his dignity "Please feel free tae visit at any time." He smiles again. "It's a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, lass." The Man in Black nods to Daniel before moving on, but not without that same flash of understanding and recognition. The fire. The civilians escaping out the rear of the building. This would not be Daniel Cao's last encounter with Mr. McRae and he knew it. An uncharacteristically warm breeze follows The Man in Black as he makes his way past.

Tommy "Two-Times" Fertucci adjusted his tie, stretched his neck and cleared his throat as he waited in the front room of the warehouse. An attractive, young man sat behind the reception desk pretending to ignore The Family Capo standing between him and the door and trying very hard not to notice the bulge under the mobsters left arm. The silence is palpable and awkward. "I'm sure Mrs. Figgins will be out to see you shortly, Mr. Fertucci." Said the young man, unprompted. Tommy grunted. The sharp clicking sound of heels rose in the background, followed by an authoritative voice; "... reports by Monday. Also, make sure Quinn has everything she needs for her project and call my wife and make sure that she understands that I'll no longer be available tomorrow for dinner. Ah! Mr. Fertucci!" Abigail Figgins is short, dumpy and terrifying. The heels that made all the racket are Vera Wang, her pantsuit is Ralph Lauren, the glasses magnifying her eyeballs on her round face are Dolce and Gabanna and the purse held by her assistant is Balenciaga and is full to bursting. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Fertucci, I meant no disrespect." Abigail said as she looked around the front room, speaking to everything and everyone other than Tommy. "If you'll follow me I'll show you through to where we keep the item." "That's quite alright, alright, Mrs. Figgins." replied the mobster and he plucked a toothpick from his lapel pocket. "Although, my employer, my employer might be... dissatisfied with the level of soivice demonstraytated by this here, uh... wait period, should he ever choose to present himself in poyson, poyson." He chewed the toothpick, flicking it from one corner of his mouth to the other as Abigail registered the threat and directed her attention to Tommy for the first time. "Yes, of course. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Fertucci. Please follow me." Tommy wouldn't be disappointed with what he saw in the back room of the warehouse. At the far end of the room, to the left of the entrance and visible from the gallery was a production line slowly grinding out small, sharply edged devices. Further to the right along the back wall was an array of cages containing citizens of Paragon City in various states of distress, easily identified by order of abduction. The newest were distraught. Some were railing against the bars of their cages, others sobbing and crying out for aid. The more veteran captives, having witnessed their fates were resigned, sitting quietly in the corners of their prisons. A squad of heavily armed guards in flack armour armed with long poles, electricity arcing from twin prongs, emblazoned with the stylized C for Crey Industries approached one such cage. They jabbed the naked occupant, a middle-aged man who screamed and writhed in agony before wrenching the door open. Tommy leaned against the railing of the gallery, looking down onto the floor and watched as the Crey guards hauled the semi-conscious man out of the cage and placed him face-down on a surgical table. Restraints snapped closed, holding the man in place as Crey scientists approached with various hand-held equipment. The man struggled against the restraints as best he could, but there was nothing for it at all. The people in lab coats went about their business of installing one of the sharply edged devices into the base of the man's skull and the man went still. The restraints snapped open and the man pushed himself up to a sitting position. Tommy watched as there seemed to be a brief conversation between the man on sitting on the table and what appeared to be the scientist's team lead and then stood and marched calmly, peacefully and obediently towards a line of naked people standing against the far right wall. The man took his place at the end of the line. "So, you see, Mr. Fertucci." said Abigail to her guest "This facility, a subsidiary of Crey Industries, has perfected a harmless device that renders its subjects so completely susceptible to suggestion and so docile that you and your associates should never have to use force against them ever again." Tommy "Two-Times" is impressed and it shows. Imagine not having to trash a liquor store to collect protection money. Imagine not having to slap a prostitute around just to get them to pay their cut. Imagine not having to break a person's legs just to get a gambling debt paid. This was a wonder. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, placing it in his mouth "Do you mind if I smoke, smoke, Mrs. Figgins?" he asked, already sparking the Zippo. "No! Mr. Fertucci, no!" But it was too late... The Zippo flew from the Mobster's hand as he lifted it to the end of the cigarette. It tumbled to the ground as a strong gust of hot, dry air swept across the gallery and a figure stepped seemingly from out of the flame of the open lighter as it lay on the corrugated metal floor. Tiny at first, but growing in size rapidly as it took the shape of a man. A man in a flat, black suit with burnt orange pinstripes with hair to match, tucked up under a black fedora. The Man in Black turned to face the Mobster and Mrs. Figgins, a cigar gripped between his teeth. He grinned, his eyes inscrutable from behind opaque, burnt orange shades. "This... this isn't what it looks like!" Exclaimed Abigail Figgins as Tommy took a few steps back and away from the interloper, reaching slowly for his gun tucked away in the holster under his left arm. "Isn't it?" Asked The Man in Black as he strolled casually to the railing of the gallery, looking down at the production line. "So, ye mean tae say that this isnae a slavery production line?" He took the cigar from his mouth and leaned against the rail. The blue smoke from the cigar coiled about him like a serpent as it hung from his relaxed fingers. The tips of Tommy's fingers touched the gun under his arm. "I wouldnae do that, mate." Said the man. Tommy paused. "Here's what's about tae happen, then." The Man in Black grinned again. "First of all, yer tae hit that wee red button o'er there an' shut this production line down." He motioned to the dead-man button on the wall just inside the entrance of the room. "Secondly, yer tae call the PCPD an' report yerselves an' turn yerselves in." "Yeah? An' what if we don't do that, do that?" Asked Tommy, the tips of his fingers still caressing the 9mm under his coat. The Man in Black pushed off the railing and took a step towards the two, the sharp clack of his hard-soled loafers echoing off the now still factory floor as all eyes focused on the trio above them. He jammed the cigar back between his teeth and pulled his shades down his nose to reveal eye sockets filled with malevolent, hungry flames that almost seemed to reach towards Tommy and Abigail. "Do I bear a resemblance tae Batman tae ye, mate? What d'ye think'll happen if'n ye dinnae do as I say?" ****** A sharply dressed older man sits behind a desk, facing the camera. "Thank you for joining us for tonight's broadcast of PCTV, Paragon City's most trusted news source, I'm Graham Richardson. Our top story tonight, several arrests have been made in a case involving cybernetic implants designed to make slaves out of their hosts. Implicated are both The Family and Crey Industries, with more is our very own Katy Griffin, live and on scene with this report." Emil Marcone snapped off the tv and threw the remote across the room.

The Old Man hauled on the cigar gripped between his teeth as he watched the young hero walked way. His eyes flicked to the alleyway, noting the civilians making their escape through a rear exit of the residence before turning his back and heading towards the main campus building, a tiny Demonling his only company. "You're an abysmal teacher, you always have been." The Man in Black made no reply. "You couldn't teach an imp to steal a coin." Screwtape sneered as he trailed behind The Old Man. Screwtape's taunting continued as the The Man in Black turned his back to the fire and headed towards the main campus building. "Your greatest success as a teacher was scarring the psyches of your students on your last day, Angziel. You will never achieve what you did before, these young meatsacs will never trust you. You will always be an outsider to them. You are dangerous, arrogant, one might even say 'preachy'" The Demonling snickered at the reference. "The best you can hope for is to be some unknowable, unapproachable Legend, but even then why should anyone listen to what some mythical, condescending asshole has to say about anything? You haven't had a single student visit you or ask for 'guidance', you even had to insert yourself into mortal affairs in order to satisfy your own ego. You're being humored by these sheep, for the sake of mortal politeness. You're pathetic." "So ye say" replied The Man "P'raps that's so, but if'n we're discussin' mistakes allow me tae remind ye that ye're soulbound tae yers truly fer the crime o'failin' at yer own duty o'guidin' lesser Locals in temptin' mortals. It would seem ye've learned naught fer in all the years we've been stitched together ye've ne'er failed tae disappoint in yer predictable countenance, ye feckin' wee bastard." For a moment there is silence between the two, broken only by the click of sharp-soled loafers and Infernal talons as they scraped along the stamped concrete of the quad. "How is yer nephew, by-the-by, Screwtape?" The Demonling's lip curls as he glares as The Man in Black, but he says nothing in reply. "Aye... s'what I thought. I reckon I'll keep me own council on matters o'guidin' youngsters, thank ye very much, ye wee gobshite." The Man in Black and the Demonling rounded the corner of the main campus building and disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.

The Man in Black puffed the cigar, the sweet smelling blue smoke quickly rushed away as the two and a half inch hoses hit the front of the building. Max felt the droplets from the reflected spray on his large shoulders and looked at The Man maintaining a discreet distance as they ambled down the sidewalk. His suit was dry, but he seemed to be shrouded in steam. "Max, I reckon ye were attemptin' tae make entry tae render aid, aye?" He doesn't wait for the young man to answer, seemingly already knowing what to expect in reply he barreled on "An' it's a noble urge, aye, so it is." The smoke from the cigar mingled with the steam as the two made their way to the end of the block, out of the way of the pandemonium unfolding behind them. "Y'see, m'boy, one o'the hardest lessons tae learn fer folks like us is when tae allow mortals tae do fer themselves." He motioned to the activity in front of the building as more and more firetrucks arrived, spilling out people in grey and yellow bunker gear, air tanks strapped to their backs. "Come with me, lad." The Man in Black led the young athlete across the street towards the quad where they could get a wider view of the scene. It didn't take long before Max saw that it wasn't the bedlam it appeared to be. As they watched together there seemed to be an order to the chaos. Firefighters went in, while others came out. The exiting firefighters were blackened and panting as they approached a crew of their siblings at an easel, there was an exchange of tags and markers and then they were hurried off to a hastily erected tent where they were given water. Their air tanks were refilled by a special truck. They stayed in this tent until breath was caught, hydration replenished and spirits renewed whereupon they donned their masks and refilled air tanks and re-entered the building. Designated officers wandered around the residence building and it became clear that they were scanning for any lapse in safety protocols that might put the men and women fighting this fire at risk. Ambulances arrived on scene to care for persons carried from the building, providing oxygen and first aid. PCPD cruisers screamed up and officers began to provide scene control, preventing civilians from exposing themselves to danger. Before long the smoke billowing from the top floors of the building turned to steam and a radio was overheard as District Chief Kent Hamilton declared an "under control" meaning the primary seat of the fire was extinguished. Now overhaul could begin. So far no civilians, powered or otherwise had been transported to hospital. The Man in Black took the cigar from his mouth with the first two fingers of his right hand, letting it dangle at the end of his arm, the smoke encircling his arm like a serpent. "D'ye see, lad? Ye must allow mortals tae do fer themselves. This is yer first lesson. We're here tae aid'em, nae tae babysit'em. We cannae do it all, e'en in life er death matters. They must do fer themselves." "We're nae gods, nae matter how much power we wield, we must trust'em tae look out fer themselves. We cannae save'em, we cannae do fer'em in e'ery case er they'll lose the will tae do fer themselves an' that's the worst crime we could e'er commit, lad. Tae take from mortals their will tae aid themselves is akin tae scorchin' the earth ourselves." The Man jammed the cigar back between his teeth. "D'ye unnerstand, lad?" *** Captain Norm Smith led his crew out for the last time. His bones ached, his lungs burned and every muscle in his body screamed with the weight of his gear. At 52 years old he was staring down the barrel of the end of his career but he looked at the faces of his crew, all burning with excitement and satisfaction at having done their duty. They wouldn't see the moisture in his eyes as he led them to the accountability board to exchange their tags. He looked across the street and his eye caught a well-built young man standing next to a familiar figure. A Man in Black who winked at him from behind opaque, burnt-orange shades. Norm Smith didn't see the wink, but he knew it happened. He nodded and headed to the tent.

The tones at fire station 15 in Steel Canyon South rang and four sets of boots hit the floor. Captain Norm Smith took brief note of his crew as they scrambled up from the kitchen table and raced to the bay floor towards Engine 5. Firefighter Gavin Gilchrist was first in his kit and first in the rig, slamming the "enroute" button from the driver's seat on the Mobile Data Terminal while Firefighter Talia Swayne hit the button to open the bay door. "Duck" Marsden took his seat in the crew 2 position in the back of the rig and was strapped in before Captain Smith even mounted the passenger side front. He looked back to check his crew, finding them locked and loaded he nodded to Firefighter Gilchrist who then gunned the engine and lit up the lights and sirens. Engine 5 roared from the station towards danger and all was right with the world. ((for reference to these characters please see )) ***meanwhile, at the campus*** The Demonling scrabbled down the darkened hallway on all four legs, wings laid flat along his back. He turned the ninety degree corner, scoring long, deep lines in the marble flooring with his talons as he made the turn, barking in a guttural language at the top of his tiny lungs. The Man in Black stuck his head out his office doorway at the end of the hall, a cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. "Settle!" he said, stepping out into the hallway as Screwtape slid to a halt before him, leaving even more gouges in the flooring. "Begin again." The Demonling barked a single word in Infernal and The Man frowned. "Show me." he said, pointing down the hall. The two set off at a brisk march. **** "Dispatch from Engine five." "Engine five, dispatch." "Engine five, on location 542 Cartwright at Paragon City University Steel Canyon Campus, we have a six storey multi-residential hi-rise, type five construction. Multiple people evacuating, open flame showing from three sides, put in a working fire, I'll be Cartwright command." "Dispatch copies, on location, establishing command. Working Fire." Captain Smith replaced the hand-held in the cradle of the mobile of the rig and stepped down onto the pavement. His crew knew their assignments and needed no instruction; Firefighter Gilchrist leaped from the driver's seat and raced to the back of the Engine, grabbing a hose from the back of the engine and hauling it to the nearest hydrant while Firefighters Marsden and Swayne hucked their high-rise packs and grabbed their halogens and axes. The fire scene was bedlam, because it always is in those first few moment. Civilians, powered and otherwise raced out the lobby door in their pajamas, some still holding text books. As Captain Smith acknowledged the next incoming ladder, instructing them to take control of the lobby as a District Chief pulled up in an SUV. Dispatch acknowledged and stood by patiently as Captain Smith relayed his size-up of the situation. District Chief Kent Hamilton took command. "Ladder 27 from Command." Lieutenant McCarthy thumbed her lapel mic as she led her crew into the building's lobby. "This is Ladder 27, go ahead Command." "You are now lobby control sector, please secure the fire panel and take control of the elevators." "Ladder 27 copies, we are now lobby control." "Engine five from command." "Go ahead Command, this is Engine five." Captain Smith turned his lapel mic into his mouth as he spoke. "Engine five, you are now fire attack." Norm Smith takes a moment to lock eyes with his crew. This is the big show. This is where a firefighter makes their bones. Firefighters Swayne and Marsden stare back at him. "Engine five copies. We are making our ascent." The Captain leads his crew to the stairwell as civilians continue to pour out of the elevators, into the lobby and out the front doors. *** The Man in Black walked towards the fire scene as multiple fire trucks of various configurations pulled up and slowed his roll slightly as he recognized what was happening. Mortals were doing for themselves. He chewed his cigar as the little Demonling gesticulated frantically. The Man was calm as he watched Captain Smith take his crew into the building. He watched as powered youngsters found their courage and attempted to make entry. Some did so because they felt they needed to prove something. Some did so because they felt that they were about to lose something. The Man in Black strode past the Command vehicle towards the front of the building, arriving at the same time as a large football player named Max tried to bully his way past the police officers and firefighters maintaining entry control. "Max!" The young man turned his head. "Max, I dinnae reckon we've met, but I've heard yer name about campus an' yer a good lad, but, mate... allow the professionals an opportunity tae do what they've been trained tae do, aye?" The Man in Black gestured to the side of the building, out of the way of the entryway. "Come along, then, lad." The Man in Black gestured away from the entryway of the building, grinning and winking from burnt orange shades, the smoke from his cigar forming a halo around his head. There's a small pause as the large young man considered whether or not to break his way into the burning building, but instead decided to trust The Man and step to the side. "We've nae met, mate, but ye may call me Mr. McRae." Said The Man.

Some really great replies!

The Man in Black winked at his friend from behind those burnt orange shades. "Jes' be yerself, mate an' dinnae concern yerself how others go about their affairs. Take folks as they come an' be kind. That's all ye can do."

Yeah, I get that, that's why I'm "not it", but I'll tell you this... I will help however I can.

Not if it's not for profit.

Seriously, someone should organize that. Not it. But someone should. Wouldn't take too much, probably just a nice hotel somewhere with a reasonably large conference centre attached, done over a weekend. Let's get the conversation started.

Dude, I can literally watch your writing improve with each post. Keep it up!

The Man in Black used his sleeve to polish the strangely onyx coloured plaque outside his office at the far end of the main campus building. Grinning behind the cigar he nodded to himself, reading the words again; "Mr. McRae" "Guidance" He pushed the door open to his little office, buried in the bowels of the building. Beyond the administrative office, past the cafeteria, behind the janitorial wing in a long forgotten back end of the campus. The interior was hardly plush, but almost entirely black. A functional, if institutional looking desk, a strange and heavy yet functional chair behind it. Book cases lined the room, filled with tomes and volumes of known and even occasionally unfamiliar lore. All made with the same strange mineral, black as the heart of a singularity, drinking in the light around it. Four actual torches lit the room, one in each corner the open flames licking at the black ceiling. Two chairs sat before the desk, cushioned but not extravagantly so, the way one might think of a chair to welcome a guest for a short time. A guest that may have something important to discuss but is not interested in lounging. Mr. McRae rounded the desk and sat himself slowly into his articulated, heavy Infernite chair and leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the desk. His enjoyment of the moment was short-lived as the three foot Demonling sauntered around the corner and into the room, posting up against one of the black book-cases. "So, this is what we're doing now?" The Man in Black puffed his cigar and stared at the ceiling. The imp snorted in derision "Of all the things you could do, you choose this?" Infernal is a guttural language, comprised mostly of grunts, growls and snorts. The syntax is fairly sophisticated, relying mostly on emphasis and context but at the end of the day one can only spend so much time Downstairs before one becomes inured to it. It's the kind of language that sinks into your bones. "Shut it, Screwtape." Replied The Man as he turned his head to regard his tormentor from behind opaque shades. "This is what I've chosen fer the time bein' an' I'll have none o'yer saucy lip about it." The little demonling snorted. "You have the power to rule this world, and you choose... this?!" His wings fluttered as he motioned around at the little office in the backwoods of the building. "You have the power to usurp both Marcus and Stephen, you could burn this entire world to ash! You could send all of humanity Home and you choose to spend half your time standing on the end of a dock pulling fish and the other half telling children how to not be children? What's wrong with you?!" "Aye!" The Man in Black stood, resting his hands on the desk as he leaned forward in anger. "I do choose it, ye gobshite! It's the place where I may make a difference in guidin' these youngsters, summat ye failed tae do with yer own nephew, didnae ye?!" Screwtape snarls in response. "An' yer failure tae guide yer kin is what tied ye tae me as penance, isnae that the case, ye feckin' bellend?!" The Demonling launches himself across the desk at The Man in Black who smacks him out of the air, sending him rolling into a corner behind the desk. "I'll nae have it, Screwtape!" Declares The Man as he takes the cigar from his mouth, the blue smoke encircling his hat like a halo. "I'll-" "Ye'll be feckin' silent! That's what ye'll be, ye bastard! This is what I've chosen fer the time bein' an' Granda himself kens quite while that it's temporary, but fer now I'll aid these youngsters howe'er I may, and ye'll be feckin' silent about it!" And silent he was, in a very tense moment as the little Demonling picked himself up off the floor with as much dignity as possible. There was a knock on the doorframe... "Excuse me, Mr. McRae? May I have a word?" The Man in Black and The Demonling turned their heads... [OPEN TAG]

"Owning of public spaces" I'm gonna need you to read that again. It's public. You can't own a public space. If you're RPing in public then it's a tacit invitation to anyone around to join in as they see fit, that's how it works. You can either welcome them or move along to another location. If they start following you around, well... then that's a little different, particularly if you've asked them in a polite /tell OOC to stop then it becomes harassment, but one has a responsibility to do what one can prior to it getting to that place.

Honestly, based on your post I'm not sure I would want to RP with you either. There are no set of hard rules, beyond what's listed in terms of codes of conduct, friend. You don't get to pick and choose and then complain when others do the same. Take the L and move on and find others that are more like-minded. Maybe, if you do that long enough you can create a reputation such that the group you're complaining about rethinks their position.

The Man in Black followed Dean Richards into her office, clocking the wooden furniture enrobed in cloth and leather. "I'll stand, if'n ye dinnae mind, madam, but d'ye mind if'n I smoke?" He asked as he reached into his breast pocket. Despite the few minutes buried in his jacket, the cigar was somehow still lit as he placed it between his teeth. "This is a non-smoking campus, Mr. McRae." "Would it help if'n I tol' ye it wasnae a real cigar but an exhaust of a sort?" Constance Richards, having been around the sun more than once understood that the world she lived in wasn't black and white. "What do you mean when you say it's an exhaust?" The Man in Black pulled slowly on the cigar, sending a plume of blue smoke into the ceiling. "Jes' that. I'm afraid I've certain... gifts, ye may call'em. Y'see, I'm a conduit." He gestured to the sink through the open door to the Dean's private bathroom. "Nae unlike a faucet what cannae be shut off." He gestures with the cigar "This aids me in dissipatin' the heat so's nae tae do harm. It's nae toxic tae mortals, I assure ye, e'en though it appears an' smells like it may be." The Dean leaned back in the big chair, considering The Man in Black. "So, I assume you'll feel to smoke that thing in our classrooms?" "Aye. If'n ye'll have me." "And why should we make an exception for you on this, a non-smoking campus? Are you expecting us to make explanations for your to every parent, every student, every single complaint or question?" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the large mahogany desk. "You're not off to a good start, Mr. McRae." After a brief, tense silence Dean Richards snaps open a set of reading glasses and opens a manila file and begins sifting through paper. "You have an impressive, if brief career as a teacher. Less than ten years at PCHS here in Steel Canyon. Well liked by students and colleagues." She looks down again, rifling some more through the pages. "An impressive recommendation from Principal Decker. Multiple student awards and an exemplary pass percentage." She looked up, lowering her glasses slightly, making direct eye-contact, getting the sense that whatever was behind those shades was staring right back. "What makes you think that you're ready to make the jump from teaching high school to educating at a university? Don't get me wrong, Mr. McRae, your education is stellar from what I can see and I don't doubt that you were a brilliant teacher at PCHS, but from what I can tell here, according to your own records you don't even have a Master's degree, let alone a PhD." Another tense silence. "I'm really trying to help you here." Constance sighed, dropping the veneer slightly and in so doing becoming slightly more human. "Look, Mr. McRae, I think I know very well who you are. It's here, in the file. It's one of the most open secrets in Paragon City. The teacher that disappeared after the Malta takeover of Steel Canyon High School in 2004. It's right here in black and white. Nobody ever seems to mention it or want to talk about it, but here we are." "I dinnae like tae talk about that, madam." Dean Richards tapped her index finger across her mouth thoughtfully as she leaned back again in the chair. The silence was slightly less tense. She sighed, closing the folder. She removed the reading glasses, placed them back in their case and then positioned them precisely in the spot on the desk. "I'm afraid I can't offer you a position as an instructor, Mr. McRae you just simply aren't qualified." The Man in Black nodded. "I unnerstand, thank ye fer yer time." He grinned amiably and turned to leave. "There might be another option, however." "Aye? An' what's that, then?" "We live in a complicated world, Mr. McRae. Many, I might even say half of our students are powered. They're young, they need guidance from an old hand and I daresay that there are no hands at this sort of thing that are older than you. You've been here from the very beginning, when Paragon City was young and fresh, when it birthed its first heroes." She stood and came around the desk to lean herself against the front, arms folded. "It's Liv, right?" The Man in Black nodded. "Look, Liv, I'll speak plainly; These young people certainly need and desire an education, it's why they're here. The thing they lack, however, particularly amongst the powered students is guidance and that's something that most of our professors lack in terms of understanding." She gestured to herself "For example. I lack superpowers entirely so I have no idea how to guide these young people. Maybe... you might be able to help with that." The Man in Black pulled on the cigar thoughtfully, the blue smoke obscuring him briefly. "Y'mean, as a kindae guidance councilor?" Constance waggled her head back and forth "Yeah... like that. Would you be willing to be available for that kind of thing?". **** The door to the dean's office swung open and The Man in Black strode out towards the exit without a word. The dean approached the receptionist's desk and spoke softly, in that way that office workers do. There was a hushed conversation and Dean Richards placed an alabaster card on Johnny's desk. "That's the guy?!" Johnny exclaimed, only to be immediately hushed and reminded of where he was and that professional conduct was still required. "That's the guy?" He whispered to his boss. She made direct eye-contact and nodded, her eyes bearing a warning before returning to her office. With a few keystrokes Johnny opened the staffing file in the central database, created a new row and column to accommodate the new entry for Guidance Consultant. With trembling fingers he began to type the name 'Fergus McRae A.K.A. The Legendary Living Hellfire'.

Thunder rolled over Steel Canyon as The Legendary Living Hellfire descended from the heavens and the pressure wave from the sound barrier collapsed. He slowly cruised above the campus, taking note of students, both powered and not as they made their way about their day to and fro. The old man remembered wistfully his days as a teacher at Paragon City High School, the excitement in the eyes of a student as they came to a realization, connecting dots in knowledge. The camaraderie that came with young people eager to learn, finding friendships and new beginnings. He pushed through the Hellfire towards the rear of the main building, tearing through his armour into more appropriate attire. The Man in Black nodded to the custodian exiting the rear entrance. Large, black plastic bag in hand, the custodian simply nodded back at the man as they crossed path, the scent of the cigar smoke both sweet and acrid in the man's wake. Sharp, hard-soled footsteps in the hallways in the secret, hidden places of the building. The parts that students and even staff rarely see, the places where the business of maintenance and care-taking are done. Where cleaning supplies, custodial equipment are kept. Where breaks are taken, time is spent lounging and the occasional birthday cake candles are blown out. These are the secret, hidden places of a school. The Man in Black knew them well from his time spent educating the youngsters of Paragon City. He found himself in a hallway on the first floor. Carefully avoiding close contact with the various persons moving from place to place, he managed to glean directions to the Dean's office from a passerby, despite their obvious distaste for the fact that he was smoking what appeared to be an enormous cigar indoors. The Man in Black was unsurprised both at the distaste for his habit as well as the directions given. A school is a school is a school. He found his way to the main office in short order and stopped. He was an old man. He's retired. Does he really want to do this again? Does he want to relive this? Again? He can't just stand at the end of a dock and fish for the rest of eternity, at least not where there was opportunity to make a difference. He steeled himself and passed through the door. A desk, behind which was a youngish looking, bespectacled man stops him short. "Hello, how can I help you?" Asks the receptionist. The Man in Black clears his throat, taking the cigar from between his teeth and tucking it into his breast pocket. "Howdy. Me name's Fergus McRae an' I'd like tae speak tae the Dean about a teachin' position. Can ye aid me?" "Ah" says the young man "Do you have a resumé?" "Nay, nae on me, anyhow, but I hold degrees from Oxford in History an' English an' I was a teacher at Paragon City High School in Steel Canyon prior tae o'four. I'm sure ye can find me records." The bespectacled young man types some more. "Ah, yes, Mr. McRae?" He pauses "You're Scottish, right? The spelling of your name is odd. Usually with Scots there's an 'A' before the 'C' in a name like "McRae". When there's no 'A' that usually means Irish." "Aye, that's so, well caught." The Man in Black grins. "Me da wasn'ae from here when the name was took, but I assure ye, I'm as Scottish as they come." "Well, Mr. McRae, please have a seat and the Dean will see you shortly." The Man in Black glanced at the highly flammable office furniture and balked slightly. "I'll stand, if'n ye dinnae mind." "As you like, Mr. McRae."

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I remember your name as well, I didn't think we had beef. My "bleating" as you put it is and has always been in fun. I'd be happy to discuss whatever issues you have with me if you'd like.

I feel I may be remiss in neglecting this channel on the forums, but I hope to make up for that now. Some of you may remember me from Justice. I played in Beta, I led the team that won the first ever Time-Force competition. I was a member of the Forum Cartel on the Live Forums and I'm a friend. I currently exist on both Everlasting and Excelsior. Don't be afraid to say hello.

Khalisti Wharf was quiet. It's always quiet. The man stood at the edge of the dock, fishing pole in hand as he watched a squad of Sky Raiders head East, out over the Atlantic. A three foot tall demonling lounged nearby, clearly bored as he picked at his teeth, his eyes tracking the same movement as the man with the fishing pole. "I suppose you'll be investigating their purpose?" Screwtape asked. The man pulled slowly against the line, reeling slowly, saying nothing. "An entire squad of top fliers with breathing apparatuses accompanied by a Sky Skiff, heading over the ocean, gaining altitude and you're just going to stand there, fishing? Who are you?" The demonling snorted. "When I've a mind tae hear yer opinion I'll give ye a sharp kick, ye feckin' gobshite." But his eyes still tracked the progress of the Sky Raiders as they grew smaller in the distance. The clicking and sucking of Screwtape picking at his teeth competed with the cry of the gulls and the restless washing of the tide as the man slowly dipped a shoulder in surrender. "I'm s'posed tae be retired." Screwtape said nothing. "Feck it." The man said, collapsing his fishing rod and bundling his kit. He drew a circle in the air, opening a portal to a pocket dimension and dumped his fishing gear before stepping off the dock and into the air. Lightning struck and thunder rolled as The Legendary Living Hellfire hurtled upwards into the early morning dawn in hot pursuit, a trail of burnt orange flame in his wake. The fish would never recover. *** He knew that he was not unknown to the Sky Raiders. They had heat-sensing tech that could detect him so he hid in the best place he knew; in plain sight. Keeping himself between the sun and his quarry, The Ghost of Paragon City tracked the pirates as they continued to climb, gaining altitude quickly well beyond 20,000 feet. Before long the target of this enterprise made itself apparent. A Norwegian Airlines A-340 on long approach to Paragon City International Airport appeared in the distance. Four Sky Raiders equipped with jetpacks and self-contained breathing apparatuses, accompanied by a Sky Skiff manned by two officers looped around to the North of the approaching aircraft, taking up escort positions behind and alongside the passenger plane. He didn't have a radio, but he knew what was being said to the captain of NOR.198. He was being diverted and forced to land elsewhere on pain of destruction. The Legendary Living Hellfire poured on the speed, diving towards the Raider lagging behind and below the port wing. The Celestial blade Lightfire passed through the pirate, immolating him in a flashing, vengeful burst , sending the debris and what was left of a man tumbling to the hungry waves below. One down, four to go, but now he was behind, his interception spent. He arced around, reducing speed and tightening his turn and he oriented back towards the tail of the airplane, the air behind him screaming its scorching objection, the sound of reality itself shredding behind him aurally, The Man on Fire broke the sound barrier to catch up to his prey. The Raider above the tail section opened fire on the port wing, leading his target and getting lucky, shredding the critical leading edge and the Airbus dipped left, falling into an uncontrolled dive. He then rolled over on his back to engage his pursuer. A veteran and not easily flappable the senior Sky Raider selected his weapon to burst fire and with carefully managed aim greeted his foe with the contents of the clip of his rifle. The burnt orange flame grew larger as the clip emptied and as the Raider reached for a fresh one he realized he was too late as he scrambled to take aim before he was engulfed and carried forward over the leading edge of the port side wing, his equipment fried and immolated he had only a few moments to consider his existence before oblivion took him and his remains were released to tumble down into the water. The Legendary Living Hellfire soared above the left wing, channeling heat and rage from Downstairs, reducing the air pressure above the wing thereby lifting it and stabilizing the aircraft temporarily before looking to his right to see a ten year old boy. Blond haired and blue eyed the boy gazed in wonder. Liv gave him a wink before opening his arms against the wind. He barrel rolled around the aircraft, sending a blazing bolt of concentrated Hellfire into the Sky Raider on the starboard side of the aircraft. The woman tumbled away, dead before she hit the surf. Three down, two to go, including the Sky Skiff. The lone Raider raised his weapon against his enemy, but for some reason didn't pull the trigger. Instead he placed the safety on and dropped from view, disengaging his jetpack briefly before flaring again and heading to shore. He was allowed to live. Years later he would tell the story of how he quit piracy and who it was that convinced him to do so. The Angel on Fire carried on towards his quarry. The Airbus-340 was in rough shape. The leading edge of both wings had been shredded and the passengers traumatized. The damage from the turbulence of the fight had weakened the integrity of the aircraft itself and it was now in what could only be described as a controlled fall towards Paragon City International Airport, but the battle was not yet done. The Sky Skiff oriented its guns towards its aggressor, but to no avail as both pilots were witness as a very angry, bearded man wreathed in flame landed on their craft. Teeth bared, eyes aflame he gripped the clear cockpit of the Skiff, digging his hands into the windshield, the plexiglass melting away beneath the heat. The officers watched in horror as The Legendary Living Hellfire literally dug his way into the space, ripping open the plexiglass shielding. The captain of the skiff actioned the only option available and pulled the ejection cord, sending himself and his navigator into the sky, leaving the skiff to erupt in flame, debris cascading and rattling along the fuselage of the airplane they were meant to hijack. Liv let the craft go and concentrated on his priority; The safety of the aircraft and the civilians aboard. He pushed off from the wreck and pointed himself towards the nose of the A-340. Its approach was too steep, it would slam into the earth well before the button of the runway. Liv pressed forward towards the nose of the aircraft. As he rolled over on his back both above and ahead of the plane he caught a glimpse of the two pilots, both straining against the yolk to pull the aircraft up. He channeled Hellfire. The air temperature above the airplane spiked, reducing the air pressure, forcing the nose upwards. Inside the cockpit the OAT indicator rolled over, smacking hard against the pin as the passenger aircraft righted itself just in time to slam down onto the runway. The main gear collapsed, issuing a shower of sparks as emergency vehicles screamed their approach. The Legendary Living Hellfire disappeared into the sky, leaving a trail of burnt orange flame in his wake.

[Oslo, Norway, circa 2016] Bjorn Johannsen loved airplanes. His entire life, all ten years of it he'd been obsessed with the idea that a person might design, construct and operate a machine that could take a human being into the sky, defying gravity in order to travel at speeds that defy organic ability. So when his mother told him that they were going to board a flight from their home in Oslo to visit family in New England the excitement for his first time aboard an actual aircraft was unbearable. Hannah, Bjorn's mother regretted telling him so early as she faced weeks of harassment about their departure date and had to deal with the grumpiest of children because the boy could barely sleep. Lesson learned, she thought to herself. The main terminal of Gardermoen Airport was enormous. Bjorn's skin tingled as the bouquet of burnt kerosene and hot bondo assaulted his nose as he and his mother exited their taxi at the departure lane. He could hear, from the other side of the terminal the orchestra of "air-side" operations; Auxiliary power units sipping Jet-A1 fuel as they powered the internal lights and processes of the aircraft parked at gates. He heard the sound of a 737-800 series landing, thrust reversers at full. He breathed deeply as he listened to the excited chatter of his fellow passengers. The taxi driver hauled their luggage out of the trunk, handing the boy his carry on and helping his mother load the baggage onto the push-cart that would accompany them to the check-in desk. "Good morning, gentlefolk, my name is Captain Halfnir Andersen and I am your captain for this morning's flight to America. We here at Norwegian Airlines take pride in our efficiency and service and we welcome you aboard flight NO.198 bound for Paragon City International Airport. We will be travelling at a cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet at a speed of approximately eight-hundred, seventy kilometers per hour. Barring any trouble we should arrive at our destination in approximately eight hours. We ask that you buckle your seatbelts, please pay attention to the pre-flight instructions provided by our flight attendants and obey all instructions given by our in-flight crew. We hope you enjoy the flight." The message repeats in English as the pre-flight pantomime begins. Strapped tightly into his seat by the window, negotiated as such by his mother, Bjorn watched the runway lights flash by with increasing speed as the inertia of the A-340's thrust pressed him back into his seat. His feet kicked involuntarily with excitement at the back of the seat in front of him as the aircraft approached V-1, rotating upwards into the sky. The runway retreated away from view as they lifted off. He watched as the air-side of the airport slid past the window and, not unlike angels in a story book the airplane took to the sky. He relished the feel of valsalva by working his jaw, the eustacian tubes clearing the fluid gathering in his ears. There was nothing about flight that Bjorn did not love. He reached out to his mother beside him, held her hand and quickly fell asleep. Bjorn awoke suddenly to find himself staring at the screen displaying the most recent Toy Story movie. He yawned and stretched. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, please fasten your seatbelts as we are about to enter a period of turbulent air." The stewards immediately begin coursing the aisle, ensuring all passengers are secured before strapping themselves into the jumpseats in the galleys fore and aft of the aircraft. Bjorn glanced out the window spying a tiny speck. He pressed his forehead against the window, trying to focus but was foiled as the speck that caught his attention suddenly flared and disappeared from view. He looked up at his mother who was focused entirely on the door of the flight deck. He squeezed her hand, causing her to look at him. He smiled. "Everything will be alright, momma, I think we have an angel with us." She squeezed back, smiling at her brave son. The plane shook, eliciting cries of panic from most passengers, but not the boy and his mother. They gripped hands as they both looked out the small portal window, watching as a streak of burnt orange flame soared past, rolling over the top of the airplane and out of view. The plane shook again, the roar of an explosion on the port side of the aircraft shaking it out its path, forcing the nose down as the explosion swallowed the air pressure around it. The A-340 dove as the passengers rose in their seats. Hands rose to the ceiling of the cabin as the mortals aboard screamed their terror. Suddenly the nose of the airplane turned up, the dive turning to a low climb, slamming the passengers back into their seats. The cries began anew. Bjorn looked out the window, just quick enough to catch a glimpse of a man on fire. The man glanced at the port-hole window, making eye-contact with the boy, winked one flaming eye, opened his arms against the wind and vanished in a trail of burnt orange flame and black smoke. The boy squeezed his mother's hand. The plane rocked again, shuddering hard to starboard. As the plane dipped right that same streak of burnt orange flame scorched past above the critical leading edge of the wing, reducing the air pressure and lifting the wing thereby leveling the aircraft. Against all caution Bjorn unbuckled himself from his seat, wrestling away from his mother his sprinted down the aisle toward the tail of the plane, tracking The Angel on Fire barrel rolling around the Airbus. It was only then that he spotted the Sky Skiff as it soared past. The boy dove at the steward strapped to his seat in the rear galley, finding welcoming arms wrapped around him as the world shook and trembled and all the population of that tiny place screamed in terror. The explosion rocked the aircraft. The boy peeked out from his shelter through the little port-hole windows, spotting flaming shrapnel and debris as it fell away. He looked up at the startled steward who had caught him, thanking him silently before crawling his way back to his seat, fighting against gravity and inertia as the Airbus somehow managed to climb against all odds. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking! Please stay in your seats as we are about to make an emergency landing at Paragon City International Airport!" Bjorn scrambled his way back into his seat, enduring the onslaught of his mother's recrimination for his escape. He didn't care, he had seen something very few other people ever had. The Airbus A-340 smashed down, the main landing gear collapsing with the impact. In a shower of sparks the plane slid slowly to a stop, the emergency doors bursting open. Green fire trucks and blue and white ambulances rushed down the runway to greet passengers as they slid down yellow, inflatable slides. Bjorn Johannsen looked up as the paramedic checked him over, his mother hovering nervously nearby. A streak of burnt orange flame disappeared into the night sky.

This is a good one. Liv certainly has enemies but they tend to be groups and not individuals. He has allies and associates, but no real rivals. I'd never thought of it in those terms. The closest I can get to is that there are certain characters that he's met that are rather more villainous and yet he remains friends with them. Their conversations are cordial and even affectionate, but every now and again there's a comment made to the effect of "... but if I catch ye doin' it, yer done. Well done indeed."