Thunderbird's Wings [Stories of the Aegis of Muse]

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Note: This is based on the premise that players can produce short stories about their interaction with trainers or in other ways to qualify for some IP and broaden the amount of material in the game.

Fred had let Mario go off to save whoever the man was on the beach. Normally, he'd have called himself insane. Bring as much backup as possible. But in this place, in the area where the spirits exalted the land and played out their existences, he felt that it behooved him to go alone. All of our spiritual journeys are alone, after all, and if he were to face destruction at the hands of an angry Thunderbird, better he be the only one so destroyed.

Standing Earth's staircase connected into the sky, into a land of clouds and rain. Fred knew somehow that he could be sucked into the sky at any moment, careening too high and either being lost forever or returning at once without the feather he sought. So he focused on each new jutting rock and climbed. Iron will would be the wrong word: Panic filled his every vein as he saw the ground below him, fear of heights gripping, exhaustion taking, but he smiled to keep his heart strong and let the panic carry him into the sky.

As he began to walk on the clouds, he heard angry cawing from above. Thunder exploded around him, lightning jutting down at him. He began to dance, his legs spinning, body twirling. A bolt struck from the right! He danced to the left, his leg singing, making a steaming whistle of burnt flesh. Now from behind! He leapt forward and continued his dance. The thunderbirds began to circle. As each tried to swoop down, he pointed his hand out, threatening an implied reprisal.

The clouds formed into a jutting shape, almost like a throne, but much more akin to a nest. In it, Thunderbird sat, crackling orbs of storm forming eyes to gaze down at Fred.

"What brings you, mortal, to the Aerie of the Thunderbird?!", Ondi spoke, the screeching of an eagle balanced with the bass of thunder. "Do you intend to steal what you desire? Is there a message you want us to be a courier for? What business do you presume forms a shield from the thunder above?"

"I seek a feather". Fred knew that honesty and directness would serve him well.

"A feather of the Thunderbird is a great gift indeed, young one. What makes you think YOU deserve it, phoenix brother?!"

"I don't think I do. The spirits indicated that I was to be given a legendary item. And of all the items I could think of, your wings was the most useful, the most necessary, to accomplish the goals I need. I'll get my own wings eventually. But I need to borrow yours."

"Is this not the basest insolence?!"

"Ondi, are you not a bird? Do you not have feathers, talons, beak, eye?"

"Do not be shrewd, human. Say what you intend to say."

"Your feathers molt like all birds. All I ask is what you don't use. That's the natural cycle."

Ondi ruffled his feather in contemplation. "You are right, phoenix brother, I do not need the feathers I molt. But if you take them, you obligate yourself to hand what you do not need to the next down the line, and so forth."

"I've always been generous."

"Generosity is a way of life, not simply aggrandizement or appeasement of guilt. It is a cycle of favors that retains the cosmos. Transfer your wealth to others. And remember the favor you owe me."

"I will help you against Uktena when you need it, Ondi."

"Then you may have a shed feather."

The feather fell to the ground in front of Fred. As he gripped it, he knew what was to come next: Dusk Sky empowering the wings, them bursting from his back, the visage of thunder wrapping around him.

Ondi called out, "One of the Thunderbirds is returning to the ground. Ride on his back and go where he is going."

"Thank you."

[eyolf]

Cory's cell phone rings. The odd thing was is that anyone who would call was sitting next to him.
"I wonder who this is? Hello?"
"Yes this is Sniper wolf, I understand you need some help"
"Oh yes I could use all the help I can get."
"Good, meet me in Tahoe."
Click


Cory gets up and from the small table where Evan and Fred are sitting.
Fred says " Who was that?"
" It was Sniper wolf, from MGS. I am suppost to meet her in Tahoe. I have no idea where in Tahoe ether."




more to come later

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

"I imagine that part of the point, Cory, is that she'll be aiming down a barrel at you and is looking for you and you have to find her. Sniper Wolf... Two FOXHOUND members... Hmmmmm..."

[eyolf]

Fred WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!!

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

OOS: Huh?

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Sayyid Jarrah looked at the mantelpiece of his hotel room. Though he was in sunny Florida, his heart knew no solace. While others whiled the days and nights away in bliss, he knew only vengeance and, underneath it, agony. The Marquis hotel was not his home. The call of the Island was real: That was his home, where the shelters he had constructed had held happy memories.

The mantelpiece had two faces displayed prominently: An old photograph of Shannon Rutherford, his love on the Island, and a photograph of Nadia, his childhood love in the rest of the world. How he had always thought of those two as separate: World, Island, Iraq, Island... But it was all Widmore. A man who in his mind was not so much flesh and blood as fangs and flame. Widmore, who was responsible, however tangentially, for the state of the Island and for the crash. Widmore, who set into motion the chain of events that led to Shannon's death. And Widmore, who directly assassinated Nadia. Oh, Widmore would pay, as Sayyid had.

A knock on the door troubled Sayyid. Who had known him? His friend Michael Westen had, through the services of that well-meaning fool Sam Axe, arranged him a surreptitious place to stay, incognito, under the radar. Perhaps it was maid service. But Sayyid's intuition told him this was an important call. And important meant dangerous.

He opened the door. A boy? Ponytailed, wearing a leather jacket, heavy weights all over him, the floor sagging... A strange assassin, but Widmore had sent stranger. Including yet another love, this one aborted even after a few days. Sayyid pulled the trigger on the Desert Eagle he carried. The boy flew back against the wall. Sayyid fired two more times. The sound of gunfire was muzzled by the silencer Sayyid had acquired, but the gun still kicked like a mule. Blood trickled even through the thick armor the boy apparently wore, and the eyes (green, Sayyid thought) had closed, for the last time.

He came closer, quizzically looking. Why were his instincts telling him that he was making a serious mistake? That this boy was innocent?

Then the boy's eyes opened. In a way Sayyid had never seen, the boy flew along the ground, propelled by no force Sayyid could recognize. Slamming them both into Sayyid's room, the boy attempted to get on top of Sayyid.

Kenpo. And other tricks. Well, an assassin he may be, but he doesn't seem to have a killing intent. Sayyid's hand reached up and grabbed the boy's neck. Much harder than anyone I've encountered to throttle, Sayyid thought idly. The boy made a motion as if to say "Time out." Sayyid hurled him away and drew his weapon again. "Who sent you?"

The boy held up a finger. "Can't... breathe..."

"Your oxygen will return in twenty seconds. In thirty seconds, I expect an answer."

Fred took in deep gasps. God, this guy was about as badass as he had come to expect. "Michael... told me... about you..."

Sayid kept his face clear. "Michael was supposed to keep the nature of my stay in Florida a well-kept secret."

"Which should tell you... I'm here... for a good reason.", Fred replied.

Sayid nodded. "Then tell me the reason."

"Long answer or short?"

"I want information. Torturers learn to surmise the truth from the short answer."

"My friend's family has been kidnapped by monsters. I want to save them."

"That is all?"

"That's why I said that's the short answer. Long answer: I want to learn what you have to teach."

Sayid stood. "What I have to teach is vengeance and pain. If you want the skills of a torturer, join the CIA. If you want the skills of a soldier, join the Army. I have nothing to teach you. You are not a torturer, and vengeance is not your path."

Sayid was surprised to see the boy leap to his feet and come face to face with Sayid, inches apart. "I hate the CIA and I hate the Army. I don't have the time to go through their BS. I need to get good, and I need to get good fast. You come to the best. You protected dozens of people on the Isl..."

Sayid kept his calm, but his figure became more menacing. "How do you know about the Island?", he said, voice raised slightly.

"I don't work for Charles Widmore, or the Others, or anyone. I know because... well, because I've heard the stories. You're... you're a TV show. Most people don't think you're real." Fred whispered, "You weren't real until a bit ago..."

Sayid sat down on the bed. "This could pose problems." Would Jack be safe? What about Kate? Locke? Everyone left behind on the Island?

"See, that's what I need. Already, you're thinking about how this will affect how safe you are, how this changes things. I'd worry about my existential nature."

Sayid shook his head. "It changes nothing. You have come here to learn from someone who does not want to teach."

"You need money, right? You're living job to job?"

"You are a boy. That money should..."

Fred pulled out a suitcase of cash. "$100,000."

"The money is not an..."

"Money is always an issue. $300,000."

"There is my integrity."

"It's my choice to learn what I want to learn. If you don't teach me, I'll find someone worse than you. $500,000. You could fund a lot of ops with that."

Sayid sat down. "And for this exorbitant fee, what would I teach you?"

"Everything you know. Guns, survival, electronics, mechanics... Everything."

"Very well. But you have paid this fee to have my training. Not my friendship. I will teach you as I was taught: By force, by conscription. If you want to be a soldier for whatever God you serve, you must begin as a soldier."

* * *

Fred had never been good with mechanics. Fine motor skills, fine focus, no room for error... He struggled, looking at how to solder this connection on this phone. The iron was hot, he applied it...

And got shocked.

"Ow! Fuck! You turned up the voltage! I was almost done!"

Sayid broke the phone with a hammer. "Missions have time sensitive requirements for a reason. An enemy guard or a bomb will not hesitate to kill you because you were 'almost done'. Now, begin again."

Sayid swept the broken pieces away. He grabbed another phone from the pile of cheap disposables they had purchased. This one would have a new problem. "I am astounded at your superhuman endurance, so higher levels of voltage are required to simulate the consequences of your error. We will ratchet this to five thousand volts, double the normal lethal limit."

Fred gritted his teeth. Clear your mind... meditate... Think clearly... He opened up the casing, and this one was clear. The battery was just a little busted. A few seconds of work would do it. He smiled and cleared it. "Done." Sayid moved to shock him again, so he said "Wait! In the real world, if you get your job done fast, you can double-check, right?" Sayid nodded. Fred looked it over. He checked. The phone worked fine. Sayid smiled. "Good. In the real world, you can sometimes give yourself more time than you expected through fast talking."

Fred looked at the phone again. "Why such an easy one? Are you getting soft on me?"

Sayid shocked Fred. Fred shook a little and cursed under his breath. "Not all missions are created equal. On some, you have far less time alloted than you thought you would need. The mission is harder than planned. But on others, you have far more time alloted than you actually need. The mission is easier. It does not matter, though. You do not know how difficult the mission will be. Therefore, you do every job correctly, as if the consequences would be dire. Because eventually, they will be."

* * *

The boy's gunmanship was never terrible, but Sayid figured out that it was all guesswork. Superhuman agility, perception and dexterity had allowed the boy to aim as precisely as a sharpshooter in the right circumstances. But that would be over. The shooting range he had rented had incredibly difficult targets.

Fred yelled through the earphones, "Why am I learning to fire like a regular mook? I have superhuman abilities, why not start me at that level?"

Sayid responded, "You expect me to dignify that with a response? You are also superhumanly intelligent, yet it does not stop you from asking such questions. You must know how it is done right. Even if you discover later that you must change your methods to deal with your advancing physical capabilities, you must know how it is done at the lower levels to provide you a foundation of skills. Now, as we discussed earlier: Exhale as you fire, inhale afterwards."

Fred nodded and fired. This was the first time he had ever practiced with a gun, and his hands were calloused and raw. But hey, he had yet to practice with the minigun...

* * *

"That was an enjoyable hike!", Fred commented. He was wondering what the trick would be this time.

"Yes, I was pleasantly surprised by the swamp. Now, tell me: On the third turn, roughly how far would you estimate the tree was?"

Fred smiled. This time, he got Sayid. "About a hundred feet. I kept notes on this map here."

Sayid nodded and examined the map. "This is a very clumsy job, but it is an attempt. Let us hike it again. This time, you will reconstruct it properly afterwards."

"But real surveyors..."

"Are not what you want to become. I had to make maps from memory in situations of grave danger. Failures cost lives. And this time, we will raise the osmium weights. Doing the job correctly the first time is your highest priority."

* * *

Fred had gotten as good as he was going to get with demolitions, tracking, hiking, wilderness survival, cartography, interrogation, Sambo...

So why was he tied to this chair?

Oh, right. The torture.

Sayid arranged the instruments of his adopted trade. Blowtorch. Lemon and salt for wounds. Peroxide and rubbing alcohol to prevent infection and sepsis. Pliers. Hammer. Scalpel. Stun baton. Saw. Drills. Hydrochloric acid. His fists.

"No human being deserves to use this technique. It is an art whose use costs one one's soul. I have been a walking dead man since I acquiesced to using it. But you may be different. If you yourself are tortured to the point of breaking, you will know what it costs those you do it upon. And you will not use it lightly."

And Fred screamed until his voice was hoarse. Then Fred cried. Then, only emptiness and a sea of pain awaited.

* * *

The last episode of Season Three of Lost died down quietly. Fred finished his third room service waffle.

Sayid nodded. "Well. I must admit, things occurred somewhat differently, but that is what I imagine an observer would have seen."

Fred shrugged. "Eh, it was just entertainment."

"I suppose those not privy to it would find it entertaining. Your scars are healing up well", he said softly.

Fred smiled. "And yours?"

"Are rather deeper, I'm afraid."

Fred nodded. "When you were torturing me... I couldn't even remember who you were, or why I was there. I wanted to go home. I didn't even remember where home was. But somewhere in there, there was me standing aside, saying that... Well, that I would lose everything, everything I am, if I hated you, if I wanted you dead, if I ever stopped loving you as another human being. Ever thought that maybe, just maybe, it's just as bad to hate yourself as it was for me to hate you?"

Sayid was silent for a moment. "You are young. When more and more of your life is taken, it becomes much harder to... Nadia deserves her revenge."

"Hey, you don't need to answer to me. I just won't walk that path."

Sayid thought of counselling otherwise, then decided against it. He smiled. "No, I imagine not."

Fred smiled. "Hey, I'm gonna check up on you, 'kay? Make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Sayid agreed wordlessly.

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Lord Coake looked down the sidewinding path. Truthfully, even with the apocalyptic disturbances that had rocked his world, forming wastelands, great cracked expanses that almost seemed like the skin of some horrid god, this... Earth, after this "Cataclysm", was something beyond what he had ever imagined. Even after a hundred years (had it really been that long?), he still was astounded by the formations on this planet. A waterfall had become inverted, then dried, forming a series of brutal cutbacks. Unlike most of the Minnesota and Illinois area, the heat was oppressive and dry. Though he did not feel it, he knew that his less immortal companions and bodyguards felt the parching bumps on their tongue, the water being drained from their very skin.

Again, the small caravan turned. But this time, ten men in cloaks stood in their way. Coake looked under the cloaks and saw the distinctive sign of knight armor. What is this... I have not asked for assistance from the Fellowship.

Lord Coake came to the front of the caravan, smiling broadly as he did to all travellers, whether they be human, elf, Sasquatch, or even demon. "What is thine business?", he asked. His noble background had never quite left him, and even with hundreds of years of contradicting habits, the patterns of his home struck him.

"Lord Coake, in line with the Code of Knightly Valor, we insist that you draw your blades and ready for battle. Your failure to stand righteously against evil has compromised our Fellowship and driven us into civil war. We give you one last chance to side with the patriots of Tolkeen defending their land against Coalition aggression. For even those few evils that Tolkeen has committed are in no way analogous to the aggression of the Coalition States!" One of the men spoke, a Psi-Sword pointed directly at Lord Coake.

Lord Coake sighed. Even with centuries of experience, he had never thought that when he had come to this world, found peasants and valorous men creating weapons from their mind or learning to feel the warmth of a laser cannon to hide, and took their disciplines and his leadership to bring together the Order of the Cyber-Knights, that one day he would be not only the figurehead of an organization that he only rode on wildly like a man at a rodeo, but that his private estimation of the good and evil of a conflict would become an iron edict.

"Brothers, friends, we may discuss this instead of turning to blades. The Code demands that we do not ambush others who feel that they do right. The people of Tolkeen have suffered terribly. But throwing our lot into temporal political conflicts weakens the order and makes us vulnerable to being controlled. And were Tolkeen not currently under invasion, I have no doubt that every man jack of you would look at their summoning of demons, their creation of hideous automata, their alliances and dalliances with dark factions, their experiments, their necromancy, and demand that they abandon it. Wrong does not become right simply because war is afoot."

Lord Coake was no child. He knew that, unfortunately, these were men for whom might truly did make right, no matter how ornately crafted their rationalizations. Not brutes, but warriors with no moral compass in a brutish world.

"You have chosen unwisely", the speaker simply said. Leaping high into the air, the sound of his armor clanking, he put both hands around his gleaming blue cleaving blade, massive in its girth, and swung down. Lord Coake drew his blades up. Weapons were drawn, both guns and swords.

Then there was a crackling, yellow light filling the air.

Both sides had no idea what was occurring. Was this a trick of the others'? A Coalition ruse? Maybe slavers? Who could know in this dangerous world?

They saw a boy. The boy did not have the appearance of someone who had fought on this world, or indeed on any world. His skin bore no witness to storms from Rifts, from dust clouds, from back-breaking work to plant radishes or tenderize Fury Beetle meat. But despite this, the boy seemed to recognize at once where he was, and what was happening. Lord Coake thought, It is the one iron law of adventuring that no amount of it will ever release you from new experiences and new surprises. How could a boy with so little experience, so little harshness written into his veins, be so calm, so familiar with a new world?

"Auuuugh!" The boy screamed. So quickly he turns to violence. Either he knows this situation or he is less peaceful than he seems. Rocks seemed to come from nowhere, rolling down the mountain. This mystic avalanche was confined, but it did the trick of a real one: The stunned assailants were thrown down the side of the mountain.

Lord Coake did not recognize this spell, but he knew to never overestimate providence. Looking down the snaking path, his caution was rewarded: The assassin knights had been knocked to the next path, but were not even close to dead. Indeed, only one was even injured. While five ran up the path, five more blasted upwards and threw grenades. Lord Coake's defenders threw spells and blaster bolts downwards themselves. Their superior angle and gravity advantage was quite palpable.

From a tree above, a sniper took a shot at the boy. A psychic barrier absorbed the shot, but the barrier seemed oddly weak. Moreover, the boy was as surprised as anyone else. Meanwhile, a mage striking invisibly from shadows to the other side struck Coake with a Power Bolt from behind. The battle had become more complex.

Coake and two of his guardians ran down the path to engage with the men. Now that they had the clear height advantage, they would be in a superior position. But Coake knew these men had prepared for this terrain. No, he would have to be unorthodox. Though he did not look it, he once was a Ranger, and Rangers never forget to make the land their unpredictability. He nodded his two guards on as he leapt down the side of the mountain. I still have it, he smiled, as his gray hair belied his ability to tolerate the steep grade with a sure footing. From his gauntlets, a magic net enveloped three of his opponents. He quickly decapitated the one closest to the edge of the net and let the remaining two sit for awhile. His two warriors now faced one man, but these were experienced assassins. Six Psi-Swords clashed, the assassin battling Coake's bodyguards using quite stellar tumbling to continue a flawless defense with attacks that were hairs breadths' away from killing blows.

His assassin faced him. The two men circled around, more cautious than the wild battle going on around them. Coake found a rise in the ground, slight, but it let him rocket forward. His foe met him, their blades clashing.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, Coake saw the boy seem to grow gleaming wings of thunder. He had heard about this: The wings of the Ondi. But this was a gift he had never heard of. Nonetheless, it gave him a renewed vigor and power, surprising his foe, letting him get a brutal knee to the stomach and go onto the offensive.

The lad rocketed forward, screeching claws and beaks surrounding him, almost transformed into the visage of the Thunderbird itself. The sniper fired panic fire. One shot broke the barrier. Another pushed through a second, soupier, more liquid barrier. A third pushed through a magnetic resistance field, and the boy felt it. Hmmm... He took a laser blast? Well, he must have superhuman endurance. Perhaps he is not human, or not fully so.

The amazing speed of the lad's flight caught up with the sniper rapidly. The lad shattered the rifle in half. He then grabbed the man and flew down the mountain with him, finally heading out into open air and throwing the man down. As the man fell, he smashed him in the head with a massive spiked hammer.

Such viciousness... Just enough combat expertise to know how to strike brutally, just too little to know how to restrain, how to not use fear and anger.

The ranged attackers below Coake now had to split three directions. One began to fire at Coake, knowing that despite Coake's preternatural ability to dodge or parry his attacks eventually Coake would make an error. Two more kept firing at the two firing down at them. Two began to fire at the boy, but his velocity was something they rarely had to deal with. Nonetheless, they scored blows.

The boy turned around and began to chant. "Light.... show!" Coake knew to close his eyes. No one else did. The area was filled with blinding white light. Then the sound of weapons fire filled the air. When the light cleared, the sniping attackers had been routed.

Coake smiled. The battle was going his direction. He said to his blinded foe, "Those who lie in wait with spiders often find themselves bit by scorpions." He slashed the man's torso in two, the body parts rolling down the side of the mountain. It was unfortunate that he could show no mercy, but saving his men was priority number one.

The battle had become a rout. The men under the net could be restrained, and were. This left Coake to deal with the lad.

Climbing up the mountain to the mage who had struck him with a Power Bolt, he saw the lad busily beating through the mage's body armor. He knew that soon the armor would shatter and the man underneath would die.

"Boy! I thank you for saving my life. Let me reciprocate by saving your honor. Hold yourself. There is no need."

The lad stopped remarkably quickly. "Thank you, Lord Coake. I'm... I'm sorry. I just... I can't think straight. I..."

Coake nodded. "We will restrain this man and bring him to the justice we can. You will tell me your story. And you have my thanks still."

* * *

"So. That is what brings you here." Coake sipped his tea. He liked it strong, but he noticed the boy continued to thin it with cream. "Ah, my boy, if you do not like the tea, we have coffee or juices. Hydration is important."

Fred nodded. "I just hate to waste food."

"Well, of course, but it is just as much a waste to force something down that you will not appreciate by adding more food to it. This Gades and Amon... they sound like the arrogant gods I have had the displeasure of interacting with in my time. I find it odd, though, that you were brought to me at this moment. It must be fate, or the hands of one of the many higher beings I have had the pleasure of serving and respecting."

Fred shook his fate. "I don't think so. I think we make our own fate."

Coake smiled. "You clearly have the brains for a philosophical discussion. Indeed, much more so than your combat talents. Why do you wish so desperately to be something you were not? You were a student, a writer, a lover of knowledge. Why not stay that way?"

"Because... because I've always wanted to help others."

"Well, my young man, I have heard that same sentiment from thousands. And those thousands each had a rage they did not know. Now, you have clearly been trained to control your anger, but..."

"I'm split across multiple dimensions. And I know who you are. I respect you. Your death would cause much grief and much more destruction, not to mention make any survivors of this attempt look like fools for their valor. I don't think it's fair."

Coake sighed. "Of course it was not fair. But you were helping no one with nearly brutalizing the mage either. Remember that: You made yourself into something to fulfill a dream. Don't let the something you became kill the dream."

Fred nodded. "Where are you going? I forgot."

"Aurora, my command post. The Sorcerer's Revenge has caused an unprecedented refugee catastrophe, numerous crimes and slaughters of innocents. We are doing what we can to protect retreating soldiers, civilians..."

"Well, I need to get back home. But I want to know if I can cash in on a favor first."

Coake nodded. "And what would that be?"

"I want to be a Cyber-Knight."

Coake was unsurprised. "I imagined so. It would be my honor to try to train you, as we train all those willing to learn. But you cannot learn quickly. It will take you years, and you wish to get back home much sooner."

Fred knew this response would come. "I can conjure a Psi-Sword already."

Coake blew on his tea calmly. "So many Mind Melters. They find that their wild and deeply personal power does not match our own expertise. Our Psi-Sword is an extension of one's very soul, one's life essence. It is not a gentleman's projection or a manifestation of rage or will."

Fred continued onwards undeterred. "I know the principles of Zen Combat. Of the living Cyber-Armor. Of the dual Psi-Sword, the Psi-Shield."

"Then you know as much as Ms. Tarn, and her path is a different one, a noble one."

"I know multiple forms of martial combat. Telekinetic blade combat. The principles of the Jedi, an order much like your own. I have military experience, leadership skills. I have been inside a computer and absorbed knowledge of psionics, of the living energy in us all. I can enter dreams and split into two, each of whom can learn separate things. I have visions that can aid me in predicting my opponents' actions under Zen Combat..."

Coake smiled. "With all those gifts, why become a Cyber-Knight? Might it be an idle vanity? Or a trophy?"

Fred sighed. "Cyber-Knights are disciplined. I need that. They know how to channel their life energy. I need that too. Battling technology is essential during my time, maybe even more than here. And... I have always wanted to be one."

"And are you not a demon, and something else I do not know?"

"Lord Coake, all I ask is time in the dimension where time has no meaning. If you find that there is nothing you can do to get me what I want in a reasonable time frame, then I will return later and try to study the normal way, the long way. But with your aid, and the aid of Sir Taloquin, I think I can master your knowledge quickly."

Coake sighed. "You are a gifted student. And you are used to being treated as a gifted student. But what gifted students forget is that their gifts can be impediments, curses. There is no fast track. You must learn the same lessons, and sometimes those lessons cannot be taught at a faster pace. But I said I owe you my thanks, and my code of honor demands I pay back this debt. I will get a Shifter to send us to that place."

Coake's voice tightened, became quite ominous. "But be warned. We are beings of time and space. My arrogance nearly led me to madness there. If I feel that you are going down that path, we are leaving, and you will learn at the pace I am comfortable with. That is also my code of honor."

Fred nodded. "We have an agreement."

* * *

They had passed through the portal. The landscape stretched out in front of them. Barren, for time had never existed for things to grow. Solid, for time had never existed for things to break. Flat, for time had never existed to shape crevasses and hills. The air felt like steel: It did not want to move. Coake smiled broadly. It was quite nice to be here without a dangerous dungeon to explore. Fred was practically collapsing immediately.

Coake sighed. "How appropriate that I must teach a child how to walk when he wants to learn how to fly in a week. Stand!" Coake's transition from kind derision to a sharp bellow was quick. Fred forced himself to his feet, then fell again. This process repeated several times.

"Have you learned your lesson?", Coake commented.

"The air... It's like when I move through it, it gets solid, throws me back down."

"Yes. The air here is static. It does not move, it does not desire to move. When you move as you do through it hastily, roughly, with your strength, you simply increase the amount you displace. You must move slowly. You must make no tears in the air, simply move along with it."

Fred nodded. First he tried to move slowly. That helped, but it didn't do it enough. When standing, he would inevitably have to move jerkily at one point, and that required moving faster, and that earned him a painful return to the ground.

He cursed and became frustrated. He then calmed himself. He had been tortured, this was nothing in comparison. Like Daniel Gilbert pointed out, our minds protect us from the big much better than the small. Okay. Thinking like that helped.

He thought rationally. If it wasn't speed, what was it? Of course. Grace. He just had to stand fluidly.

His martial training took over from there. He stood easily, and as he moved, he became accustomed to it.

Coake nodded. "Good. That was quite fast, but I expect that has to do with your highly developed attributes. Now, onto the next phase..."

* * *

Fred finally lost it. He had been sitting in the lotus position for hours.

"Come on! I only have like a week here!"

Coake turned to him and sighed. "No matter how wise you may be, all students must become petulant. And no matter how limited the teacher, they must be patient. Our agreement is that you will take as long as it takes to do the job right. Meditation is the first step. If we cannot feel our bodies as they are, master our gangly limbs and our clumsy legs, how can we ever hope to add a new limb? Or two? Your blades must be part of the mastery of your body and mind. I wish that it were possible for every student to forget that the blades existed..."

Fred smiled. "Remember my advantages?" <Insect queen, please, erase from my memory temporarily the knowledge of the Cyber-Knight's psi-blades. Just repress it.>

In a moment, Fred nodded. "All right, gotta sit here." He returned to meditation.

* * *

Fred began to shape the blade again. A triangle formed in his hand... good... then the white came, surrounding it, unwittingly consuming it, and then the explosion happened again. It was like a thousand razors stretched radially into his hand. "Auuuugh!", Fred screamed, bleeding profusely onto the ground.

Coake sighed and bandaged the hand again. Immediately, Fred was healed. "It seems that we are at an impasse. Your power is unorthodox. We must reexamine how it's conjured. You are trying to force the doctrine of the Cyber-Knights onto your body. Instead, ask for that to flow through what you have."

* * *

Taloquin was no more experienced than Fred was, and had to learn the same lessons when brought to teach him here. Fred had more than a few laughs at his expense. The Oak stoically endured. He admitted to himself, though, that he had just the slightest satisfaction in trouncing this boy after having taught him to form his psi-blade.

"Oh, come now. First you claimed that two swords were too much, then my sword was too long, now I am using a dagger." Taloquin made sure to frustrate the boy. Failure was essential for success, and one form of failure was frustration.

Fred sighed. "I'm not that easy to screw with, Coward Taloquin. Ever figure out if Rigeld REALLY was lying to you when he said that you were a coward?"

"Now that was simply uncouth", Taloquin replied. The dagger came to Fred's throat again. "You have multiple styles! This is a weakness! I can't believe I am saying this, but when you move to block, you think if you have to use this 'Shii-Cho' or 'Trispzest' or borrow from Kenpo!"

"It would be a lot easier if my blade was at all reliable", Fred excused.

"Mr. Lumina-Weise, most knights I have trained or seen trained had to practice with wooden swords. Rigeld was the only one I saw who could create a partial blade. They eventually have a 'Eureka' moment and it comes fully formed. You have the advantage not only of an incomplete sword but of three distinct methods to create one."

Fred sighed. "Yeah, okay, count my blessings, but I still have a problem."

"Then abandon your conceptions! You keep trying to direct the training a particular way. Why not engage with it as a problem-solving exercise?"

Fred thought for a moment. "Well, the Psi-Sword I create is a good single blade. I know how to do it reliably. Why don't I make the regular Psi-Sword, we'll use that for dueling, and that'll get me the rhythm so I can create the Psi-Sword you suggested earlier?"

Taloquin smiled. "Good! Let us proceed."

* * *

It happened.

While meditating, Fred was thinking about the arbitrary distinctions people make, one of his favorite concepts. Where was "real" difference and where was just semantic difference or perceived difference?

Then he realized it. His disciplines to create his sword... They were all one. His preconceptions had thrown him off. The word "Psi-Sword" was wrong. It wasn't a sword, it was a shaft at first. And it wasn't psychic, it was his own energy.

At that point, he looked down and saw the first gleaming blue shaft of energy. And he smiled.

* * *

"Shouldn't I have had a Dream Vision by now?", Fred asked.

"Some Knights go their entire lives without a vision. You already have visions of the future. The Dream Vision is not a vision of the future but a statement to the Knight. It is a deeply important statement of one's life intent. You are cavalier about visions because you have them so often. When the time is right, yours will come."

* * *

Fred had his head bowed to Lord Coake and Sir Taloquin. He knew the honor this was: Being knighted by Coake himself, a second generation member. He had reached proficiency in the elements of the code.

Fred felt the gleaming light and the warm energy of Coake's blade as it gently tapped his shoulders and his head. He felt no fear that he would be cut.

Coake smiled mischievously. "I have given much thought to your knighting, young Lumina-Weise, and I have decided that Sir Lumina the Enlightened most accurately conveys the man I first saw with his wings of thunder."

Fred said, "That's... that's an awful pun."

"And it matches your sense of humor. Rise, and welcome to the fraternity of the Cyber-Knights."

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Fred felt a little silly, standing near a single white flower with a crude Buddhist shrine. There was nothing silly per se about the grave: While the woodworking was not top notch, it was passable, and clearly heartfelt. No, what was silly about the grave was nothing innate to it, but rather that it was merely a few thousand feet from another grave for the same man he was enshrining here. He was near the Temple of Exar Kun. And he had drug a grave... for Exar Kun. The grave was a full one, nine feet deep, enough to put a coffin in. Had he made a coffin. Which he hadn't.

He had been following his instincts recently. The battle for Exar Kun was planned... But that was part of why he was here, wasn't he? Because he had planned to attack another creature. Well, no, not attack. After all, all he was doing was making a circle. Exar had attacked first. And nothing could justify doing this.

Well, hold on. He was going there to defeat Exar. To come into Exar's tomb and attack him.

But he never came into the tomb, and the reason why he did this was because of Exar's past, present and future crimes.

But they hadn't come for a crime that was being done literally at that moment. And like he would argue about Iraq, attacking someone for something they might do in the future, even are nearly certain to do in the future, is not okay.

But Iraq is about states, and this is about people. The two are massively different. Further, war and bombing has collateral consequences. Exar's defeat did not.

Okay, so he knew that Exar would assault him first. All he had done was be there with Mario.

But he knew that Exar would attack. He goaded him.

And, no, that was no excuse for what Exar did. He had done nothing wrong. But to provoke another so that one could then defend themselves...

Fred was certain that the defeat of Exar Kun was right. Exar Kun was unrepentant. He had been planned to be kept here, not infest others. He should have been dead. He had recently possessed cultists and would soon attack another. This would stop the death of many innocents. And it had cleared the Temple for those still alive.

But he had planned for it, and it only came to him later, that he could try to save Exar. Well, not entirely true. He would have thought about it earlier had Exar not been such a tough nut to crack. And he had always hoped that he would release Exar from suffering, from being trapped. But would that be right? One could say that about an unwilling euthanasia, a mercy angel. And so what? The order that one thinks in isn't important, what one DOES is important. As the plan formed, Fred began to think about redemption. And defeating evil was always his plan.

These were his fulminations. Guilt was preventing him from feeling the truth for Exar. So he focused again on the grave, on the sorrow of death not on the sorrow of how death makes the living feel.

Exar Kun was an evil man for the vast majority of his life. Always rash, proud and impudent, he was soon turned to the Dark Side by the knowledge he was too proud and too intelligent to avoid absorbing. His Master tried to aid him, and he refused to listen. He chose rage and hatred. He absorbed Freedon Nadd, his own Master. He killed many, exterminated an entire species, and would have killed more of the Praxeum. Betrayal, arrogance, violence, tyranny and death were his legacy.

But always, there was a response to each. For one, he had made advances in knowledge, in cultural and technological achievements and history. Though this Galaxy seemed to decry such things, Fred could not do so so easily. A double-bladed lightsaber was a remarkable technical achievement. And though Wehrner von Braun nor Mengele were not excused because of their contributions, neither did their contributions fail to exist by virtue of their actions. Rashness, pride and impudence are not evil; they are certainly not worth being punished. Exar Kun was curious, and curiousity led him down a path before he could ever be fully aware. His focus on engineering, politics, power and dominance made him never realize that his choices had been sharply constrained. Freedon Nadd, for example, had made sure that Exar would turn to the Dark Side by making the choice either death or doing so. What would Exar's death have accomplished? Fred would not be so quick to dismiss someone making the choice to survive by anger or fear. That is what humans do, and humans are not evil by that virtue.

Fred gripped Exar Kun's lightsaber. Despite its black taint, the evil it had done, Fred could feel its blue core, a core that did not amplify evil. Exar Kun was like many engineers: He committed evil cerebrally, from his brain. His feelings had been squelched, who knows by what. Fred had had brief flashes of Exar's childhood, but never had he discovered at what moment Exar lost his humanity. Maybe Exar never did: Maybe his brain weakened him. But not all such geniuses turn out that way.

And that was what brought him back to himself.

Exar Kun was a master of magic. Fred was a natural genius at it, apparently. Exar Kun was a brilliant mind, a precocious genius with a touch of arrogance. Fred was the same: Though Exar was a master of engineering, he also had had a religious experience when reading forgotten runes, something Fred could understand deeply given Fred's love for the written word. Fred and Exar shared a love for knowledge, and dismissed the idea of forbidden or lost knowledge. Many had called both prodigies. And both had disapponted mentors and loved ones, though obviously Exar Kun's errors were of infinitely greater magnitude. Exar had absorbed Freedon Nadd with magical contrivances. Fred had done so as well.

And, somewhere between the two, and Mario, they had broken the cycle.

Exar had realized the error of his ways. Exar and 400 Jedi whose death he was responsible for had ascended. Exar's heart had opened: The true spiritual nature of the universe was revealed to him.

And Fred had realized errors too. To defeat Gades, Amon, Erim, Daos, the female Juggernaut, Darth Bitchious, and so many others... to protect the world... to create his perfect world... these things had amplified his innate power hunger.

It was still true: He did not want power for its own sake. But this could disappear so quickly when one had to face powerful opponents, in the brush with competition.

Fred had developed numerous darker powers. Hollow. Necromancer. Lich. Demon. Sith Student. Even his training with Sayid was darker than normal, training in torture and combat. He had wanted to be a whitelighter... Well, that had passed.

Part of it, of course, was the opportunities available to him. The possibility of becoming each was opened to him, and he took it. This ambition was not necessarily evil.

But it could lead to a dark place. And so, like many young, or indeed many people, Fred had to be reminded of the endless interchange between means and end. End is what is always sought, but means as a practice determine the selected patterns of ends.

It was time to direct his energies back to the light. Both from an engineering perspective... and from a personal perspective.

Like the lightning, I cleanse without being corrupted. I've managed to absorb all this... But even the lightning has to stop falling. The vajra, its purity, must be developed. Must be earned. It's a wisdom, a truth, that when we save others, we save ourselves. Exar Kun broke the cycle just as much as I did.

Having four hundred ancient mystics calm him was very nice. Fred was grateful: Grateful that he had so far killed almost no one, had felt sorrow for each death, had enough of a moral compass left to know about his guilt. Grateful that he had a chance to be here, saving lives, interacting with heroes.

He returned his thoughts to Exar Kun. There was one more reason this grave was silly: Exar Kun had died, but he had not gone. His existence in the Force was insured, his redemption making him a Force Ghost.

But life mattered. Doing the right thing mattered. Letting one's friends, one trust, one goodness mattered. And it was what would keep Fred on the right path.

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Fred stood in a great white desert. The sand blew by a force that was not quite like wind. This was Hueco Mundo. But he could see in the distance empty white space, a sign of the limitation of the simulation space. This was Hueco Mundo simulated by the computers of the Nebuchadnezzer.

Mario had raised an interesting point to Fred. Had any of them CHOSEN this path? Had Mario chosen to be a Jedi? Or had that been chosen for him, by this imagination force, by midichlorians, by a prophecy? Were they simply the puppet of stories, slaves to the necessities and exigencies of drama and plot? Fred had many replies to this notion in his head: They chose to develop these powers, making them theirs; they had replied to the real world's dilemmas that they faced with their own choices; their siege upon Exar Kun, their liberation of the Bonesingers, their freedom of Gades had been their own stemming from their own plans; Fred had always wanted to be a Magi and so the choice was extraneous. Yet those words did not mean anything when he looked down at himself and saw him as a Hollow, a fate that he had not entirely chosen. The voice of Warren in their debates about free will came back to him: Was freedom anything but a phantom when considering that one had by definition to respond to the world's actions?

In a moment, his meditations ceased when he was kicked viciously in the side by a leg that felt hard as a truck tire.

"Hollows do not meditate or think or introspect. They're always on their guard, always looking for prey." A gruff voice filled the air.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not just a Hollow. I don't need to think like one."

The gruff voice continued, "Don't waste my time!" Fred was kicked in the stomach again before he could react. He was lifted lazily into the air and fell backwards in what felt like slow motion. Fight time. An experience he had only started having recently after becoming a real Magi.

Fred gained his footing through a back flip and punched forward, but already the man was to his side, kicking his shin in from the side.

"Hollows are not like shinigami."

"Observation of the year."

"Shut up!", Grimmjow replied, smashing Fred in the face with his elbow. "We live on our own. We make alliances of convenience. We do not teach each other. Shinigami can learn from each other. They can develop their kido, their flash steps. Boring. The only thing unique about them is their zanpakuto."

"And Hollows?"

"Make all their own powers. We must figure out for ourselves what we do."

Fred lashed out with a blow, "Well, I didn't ask to be a Hollow. When Exar manifested O'Tengu inside of me, his subconscious pain took over. It turned me into a Hollow."

Grimmjow angrily grabbed Fred and threw him to the ground, viciously punching him over and over. "None of us Hollows asked to be Hollows! We were transformed by pain and fear! Stop whining about it, you got it easy. Hollows learn to stop begrudging who they are and make their own self from what is given to them. Or they die. It is what separates an arrancar from a Hollow: That desire to be oneself! To make oneself!"

Fred blocked feebly. "It shouldn't have to be that way! We should be able to choose what we are, what our powers are!"

Grimmjow lifted Fred to his feet. "Then choose. Ryoka? Hollow? Shinigami? Because wishing to be a shinigami won't make it so. So will you choose to have your powers no..."

Fred's eyes flared red as he simply replied, "Cero."

The red blast struck Grimmjow in the face and tossed him back a few feet. "Your first cero. It won't come again 'till later. If you want to be original, make yourself original! Grab control of your fate! You've made your choice, to live with who you are, making decisions, changing! Sometimes it'll be only a few choices, sometimes many, but always it is you choosing!"

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Fred knocked on that familiar green door. Odd that, despite how important this home was to him, he had had trouble remembering the color of the door. Bluish stones, orange-colored bench, orange columns with orange lights... that was easy. But the door was blurry in his mind's eye, even with his vastly increased intellect and memory.

Besides, this was hardly the home he remembered. He looked down the driveway, and he saw charred monster remnants, decaying rapidly. Sigils were written all over the driveway. Some were explosive fire wards, other markers for traps and Shadowstep teleportation, and yet others holy wards. Fred knew that this was his sisters' handiwork, and Roo's.

The powers inside, the three of his father, his sister and her husband, had shrunk in his absence. No, rather, his had grown.

He rang the door. As he waited, he took off the osmium weights, gently placing them on the ground. He similarly took off his backpack. And his armor. He wanted his Mom to see him in something resembling his old self, even though he was not his old self, even though he had become painfully aware of that chain of fate in his soul that his Hollow self was slowly eating, even though his bones felt cold, even though his humanity now rode on him defining himself as human and staving away doubts, even though he knew he could not be here long enough to rest.

Well, maybe he could rest a little.

His mother opened the door. She was dressed in funeral garb. He had never seen his mother dressed that formally.

"Mom?"

Mom simply stared. She screamed, a horrible shriek of fear, as if she had seen a ghost. For her, it was exactly that way.

The shriek turned into a hug that even with all of Fred's strength took his breath away and lasted. He saw his sister and Roo come up, his sister joining in. His father even joined in, a clear sign of how serious this was.

Fred was relieved that Mom seemed not to notice or ask about the armor he had left on the ground. He told the insect queen to monitor it as he went inside. He knew, he felt through empathy but also knew from his love for her, that she wanted only to focus on him being alive.

They sat down on the couch. Silence reigned and went on for a period that even with a cybernetic clock system Fred could not keep track of.

Finally, Mom said, "Oh, booba, where have you been?! Everyone had forgotten about you! Your teachers, the police, they seemed to think you never existed! Your cell phone number wasn't in our records! We couldn't find your birth certificate, or your pictures! We started to think you never... never had existed. But I never stopped doubting! Searching!"

Fred said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I was... sent away. I didn't want to go, but I was made to by someone."

Shayna said, "Christiane? I need to ask Freddy some questions, okay?"

Christiane nodded. Fred grew grim.

"Freddy, where did you go?"

"I was stuck in dimensional limbo. Amon's chaos effect made me travel among my friends. I went to Rifts Earth's America and Germany and to the Star Wars world."

Roo said, "Rifts, like that awesome book?"

"Yeah, though I wasn't in China, unfortunately."

Shayna nodded. "I did research on Amon. He doesn't come first normally. Gades does. Where is Gades?"

"He was the puppetmaster behind that kidnapping of our friend's mom I told you about. But we convinced him that it might be time to try life as a human. The moment we did, Amon made his move."

Roo says, "That explains it!"

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Explains what?"

"We've encountered a lot of monsters who claimed to be working for 'Destruction'. We thought it was Baal or something, but apparently it's Gades! Anyways, these monsters are fighting the other ones. They're the weakest and the least numerous, but they've been a big help."

Fred asked, "Speaking of, why are you two here?"

Shayna sighed. "Well, your Mom wanted our help finding you, and also to protect the house. We're in a natural pathway of travel for the monsters. But they've started to steer clear, so I think I'm going to set up a portal here and start the fight."

Fred nodded. "I'm part of the people in New York, fighting against zombies there."

Roo said, "Ooooh! How's the gear?"

"Eh, mostly vendor trash."

Dad and Mom were deeply confused, but Dad said, "So, you were in another world. Is that why you couldn't call?"

Fred nodded. "I was in an alternative gobbledygook dimension. See, Mom, all those hundreds of dollars on those books did pay off! I'm a Cyber-Knight!"

Mom said, "I'm just happy to know you're alive." She checked her cell phone. "See? My booba's number is in here!"

Shayna laughed. "My little brother owes me some gear. We couldn't farm while we were out here!"

Fred sighed. "Do you honestly want my gear? I have plenty of Legendaries."

"No, I can't use lightsabers." Roo nodded. "I'm working on the proficiency, though. Sneak attack plus lightsabers for the win!"

Fred nodded. Mom said, "Freddy, I want you to stay here. The world is dangerous out there, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Fred sighed. "Mom. Remember how last time I showed you how I could barely lift a car?" Mom nodded. "Let me show you something."

Fred walked outside. He dropped his weights onto the ground, showing that they would sink a little into the mud. (Apparently, a lot of water magic got used recently, since part of the ground was wet; other parts were caked by Shayna's fire). He then strapped all of them on. "Osmium, Dad. These weigh 15,000 pounds." He then lifted the truck easily over his head, then put it back down. "I could toss it up and down, but hey, I already owe you one truck."

Mom was about to speak, but Fred came up to her and said, "Mom, there was a reason I was sent out. I know you don't believe in a God, even a God like the deists do, but I do. I believe that there is a fundamental reason and love to the world. I had started to wonder after this whole Kin thing, but now... now I don't. Because I was sent all over the universe to become so much stronger. I saved an old man, Mom, from a prison of hate and anger he had been in for his whole life. I liberated a planet from an evil empire. I freed a town. I stopped an assassination. And I have a plan, now, to fight back against the world. I know you want me safe, but I know you know that I have wanted this for my entire life. I'm going to do some things that are tough, some things that make people question who I am or my goodness. All I want you to do is believe in me. Believe that no matter how powerful I become, no matter what I do, I am still your booba. Because if you do that, if you have that faith, I'm going to stay that way. Now. I want to visit, but right now I can't. Right now, I have a city to save."

Fred redonned his gear and mounted his Gryphon. "I promise I'll call, but I have to go, Mom." He felt silly saying that phrase, how little it had meant before when he told her that, how much it meant now.

Solfeather took to the sky. Shayna said, "Don't think this means you're stronger than me, Freddy. I still have enough spell damage gear to wipe you off the face of the Earth."

* * *

Ratchet fired at the last newt charging the mansion. He had spent his time constructing a signaling device. The Autobots were needed.

Suddenly, he saw a gryphon in the sky. He aimed his cannon, but... this was Fred!

Solfeather landed with preternatural grace. Fred leapt off. "Hey, Ratchet, it's time to go. We need you in New York."

Ratchet nodded, as best as a giant machine could. "I have made preparations to protect many refugees here. They're protecting the town and helping liberate it. And I have been working on projects for you."

Fred added, "I have a lot of parts for that thing we talked about. But still no protoculture, or many of the other key parts. Still, it's a tad closer..."

Suddenly, from above there were many bright white stars in the daytime sky. Ratchet began to communicate a bevy of radio signals, Fred hearing this over his sub-electronic converter. Fred shielded his eyes.

The stars grew bigger, and landed around the mansion, making small smoldering craters. Suddenly standing were Bumblebee, Jazz, Dogfight, Hotrod, Hotshot... Easily twenty Autobots stood. And amidst the center of them, Optimus Prime.

Optimus Prime leaned over and said, "What must we do to liberate this planet?"

[Transformers World Unlocked!]

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Canon update!

Optimus Prime et al have not shown up yet. Cory, Feickert and Fred met Ratchet, but then Ratchet got sent back. Fred did have a talk with his parents, but not in the same manner. Fred trained with a real Grimmjow, not a simulation. Fred did liberate Exar Kun, but with much less benefit than in the old timeline. He trained under Coake and Sayid as above, only the reason why Fred was in Rifts Earth was due to early adjustment of the dimensions, not Amon.

[Frederic Bourgault-Christie]

Fred found himself in a great, absolutely black space. His body was completely outlined, absolutely visible, but everything else was utterly dark. The space seemed visually to extend in all directions with no horizon, no limit and no end, like a great black square (even though his vision formed it into a sphere). But even though the room to his senses was infinite, to his instincts and emotions he had one, tiny path to cross. Across from him was a man with a regal white robe and jacket, outlined with black.



Fred looked at himself. Ponytail, leather jacket, no scars or tattoos... this was apparently his residual self-image.

The two men approached each other, eyes drifting to maintain eye contact.

"How embarrassing must it be", Aizen declared, "to have your only viable strategy to defeat your opponent be to fuse your soul with him, thereby making conflict impossible?"

"About as embarrassing as not anticipating such a move", Fred replied. "Especially given your history with Metastacia and Aaroniero."

Aizen replied, "I made every move according to the information I had perfectly."

Fred said, "And so did we, but we had the humility to control for chaos factors. Life isn't always a chess game."

"Or, perhaps, you simply got lucky, assuming poorly that I could have had no knowledge."

"I guess we'll never know."

The two were now within conversational distance of each other.

"How selfish of you to rely on your friend being willing to kill himself to accomplish your plan."

"Two things: It was OUR plan, and being fused with an arrogant, tyrannical monster like yourself was no small sacrifice either."

"I suppose it wasn't so selfless, though. He knew that he would be able to take advantage of it as well."

"No, he didn't. He suspected that was the case. But he was willing to go through guaranteed death, and endure the terrors of a Death God's stomach, and the fear of death, in order to defeat you and save Orihime."

"How sad. She is already spoken for."

"That's not sad, it's noble."

"So the fact that he had a strong estimation that he would acquire personal gain makes it no less selfless?"

"Of course not. Selfless acts can have ancillary benefits. It's about your estimation of risks and the intent of the action. He had no reason to expect that he would survive."

At this point, Aizen and Fred were eye to eye.

"And what is our combined intent?"

"I don't disagree with cosmically changing the universe. But I don't want to do it by a single King. That vacancy on the top of the world should be filled by everyone. Not just one person."

"So there is no provision for excellence?"

"Au contraire, there is far more. Everyone's excellence is summed up."

"I can simply overwhelm you. I will be weakened, true, but you will be trapped in your own body and mind."

"You can try. You have more willpower and ambition than I do. But you don't have connections. I do. I have things I want to protect. That gives me power. It gives me a support network."

"Surely you're not saying that your 'heart's' strength is stronger than my willpower?"

"In a sense, yes, but I'm not saying it's anything mystical. It's as real as willpower can be. And, of course, you have no other moves left, Aizen."

"What do you mean?"

"If you don't work with me, what I can do is depress our combined powers. You will be so weak that you will be consumed by your own Hollows, by my friends, and by Soul Society. You won't even have a zanpakuto".

"So you're counting on my being unwilling to destroy myself to destroy you."

"Yes."

Aizen chuckled. "Fair enough. You win."

Fred replied, "No, we win".