2004-03-23 - 7:49 p.m.

The Doc sent a throwing dagger through the slimline LCD monitor and repressed a shudder. When he had agreed to help the Estros track their quarry--thinking, at the time, that this would be a long-run favor for the Hero and Quentin Holte--he had no idea of their truly estrogenous intentions.

Still, being the Doc, he had suspicions; vague warnings confirmed by the nanocams he had meticulously glued onto minute sparkles within Circe's glittering lip-balm. A threat was on the wind, a herald of changes that could pose a threat to all: the paradigm shift between single icons and marked men.

Although, Doc thought with a grin, he would cut a swath through hell to get a glimpse of the Hero in a blueberry-muffin spattered apron.

An inaudible ripple passed through the floor, just over the range accessible to his highly-tuned sense. Someone wanted to have a chat.

"..."

"Nice conversational skills, Hero," the Doc chided with a smirk.

"How much do you know?"

"...Everything. And more. I've been having my Precogs study the shape of these events day and night. And my new set of runes seem particularly attuned to matters of the...heart."

"Shit."

"Indeed. Can I interest you in some information? Or perhaps you're here to purchase the footage and biodata my little robots have recorded so far?"

"You can't prove shit with that, Oblivion! Inadmissable. Keep this shit up and I'll be over there pistols blazing before you can blin--"

"I have a new base of operations, hero. Much more discreet--and well fortified--than the previous one."

"You fucker--"

"I also have G-readers just over three microns in size that can be sent on rove with an attached microengine."

"..."

The Doc leaned back in his chair, took a slow drag from a black onyx pipe, and smiled at nothing in particular.

"...Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement?"

"Perhaps, Hero. Perhaps. Call me next week, and give my number to the illustrious Mr. Holte. For now-- tootles."

"Just a fucking minut--"

CLICK.

The Doc faded into the shadowy background of his hideout and began to prepare himself for the troubles to come.

Conflict was always so...profitable.

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