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Paul Sanderson

Rider on the storm.

0 · 126 views · located in Sol Avenue and Lady Une Drive

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

Hold on we brave, the waves, don’t fall,
When the Sherriff’s got your back, against, the wall.
You’ll become a slave, if you fear, to brawl.
That’s why we crave, to conquer, all.


Image

Ex-operative for a top secret organization, now on the run.

So begins...

Paul Sanderson's Story

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To the one side of the big road leading into the city, lounging in the tall, cool grass of the night, Paul Sanderson folded his left leg over his right, bent knee, his eyes turned towards the sky, watching the few stars he could make out against the flare of the City behind him. It wasn't his favourite activity - despite being a romantic, Sanderson much preferred the glow of his computer screen to the glow of the sprawling night sky. Still, he couldn't help appreciating how small, insignificant he felt among all of that sheer... space.

A sigh interrupted his musings, and he caught sight of a... perrrrsson? Standing at the archway of wing city. Paul sat up, being as quiet as he could be as he approached the figure, curiosity getting the better of him as he thought of what to do, what to say.

Just go with it, Paul. The moment.

"SURPRISE, MO'FUCKA!" Paul shrieked, before landing directly in front of Aquilar's path. "WELCOME TO TH' PALACE OF B-BOY KING!"

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Paul grinned, took a huge breath, and exhaled slowly.

"Sorry! It seemed like a fantastic idea at the time. You know," he added, "I think that people get to complacent with walking down this road, knowing that a huge city lies in wait for them. They get too... what's the word... complacent? Oh, I've used that already. SAFE!" He suddenly bellowed, snapping his fingers and pointing at Aquilar. "The word I'm looking for is Safe, Alex."

He glanced at the figure, from their shoes to her head, adjusting the ragged and ripped tie around his throat as he did so. "Anywhoozle, just thought I'd give you the scare. Gets the heart pumping, blood flowing. And, also, apparently allows you to use sarcasm to a great effect. If you were a pokemon, I would've just given you a TM, baby."

He arched an eyebrow. "You are quite pretty this evening. Unless you're a man, in which, you are quite handsome. I'm Paul. Is that a fly?"

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Paul guffawed, delighted with ors. "There's that sarcasm again! Brilliant, just brilliant. You're really quite a gem, friend. Though, I sense that you're looking for conflict, and you just won't find one, here!"

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He took a large step backwards, folding his arms and bowing deeply. "However, on the subject of Social graces, I do not believe that you have spoken your name. Which keeps me at quite the disadvantage - a position I don't like being in."

He straightened, beaming. "If you must force me to ask, however... What is your name, enigma of the roads?"

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"Aquilar!" Paul shouted, taking two large steps forwards, his hand outstretched to meet hers. "Aquilar. Very nice name. Far more interesting than my own. I often consider changing it to 'Smithsonian' or 'Diatribe' or 'Donatello.' I like Donatello, but I'm afraid people might think me a ninja turtle."

He moved his hand a little closer to Aquilar's, intending for the person to shake it.

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"But yeah, so that's why your name interests-"

Paul froze in mid-sentence as she clasped his hand between her own, his own brown eyes studying the predicament before meeting her own once more, seemingly flabbergasted.

"Did you... Did you just venus fly-trap my hand?" He asked, brows furrowing.

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Paul gaped at her even further.

"Okay, not knowing what a handshake is is something that I can oversee, my dear... uh, person. Of either gender. But not knowing what Wing City is!? That's a travesty! I urge you to sit! Wing City is the biggest city on Terra. It's filled with sin and rock music, love and loss, fantasy and science fiction. It has construction in the mornings, drug deals at night, and is generally one of the better times in this place."

He paused. "What are you looking for? Just travelling?"

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Paul nodded, waving her inside the city. "By all means! There's an inn just down the road - they take cash up front, or whatever currency you have on you. I'd love to tag along, but... I'm going to star gaze some more. Following you would be boring."

He pointed straight towards the road. "You can't miss it. Big "Inn" sign out front. Lovely people. And good luck with the Oolanicity thing!"

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As soon as the person was gone, Paul skipped back over to the grass, slumping down upon it, and grinned up into the sky.

"What a night."

The setting changes from wing-city-main-entrance to Gambit's Bar

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"Was there any description as to the killer?" Bowler hat said, slowly twining his hat around and around, nervous habits displaying. Among these three, the name Lucius Kane clearly was synonymous with "invincible", judging by the shaken looks on their faces at the man's apparent demise. The other man just remained staring at the ground, quiet, contemplative.

"There was video feed from outside the ship," The good doctor began, tapping his fingernails on the table. "It appears that a young man who hadn't any contact with them prior to this moment. Kane attacked, the boy seemed to defend himself-"

"Aggressive defense, Doc," piped up the third man.

"Clumsy defense," corrected the doctor. "Kane essentially appeared to have run into his own blade."

"Ain't like him to just attack random bystanders, though."

"Indeed." The doctor paused, turning towards the man in the bowler hat. "This is more your area of expertise."

"Wait a minute. You don't mean to tell me-"

"Mayers had always displayed above average psychic manipulations, even before I put the augmentations in. It is well within the realm of reason for her to have somehow bypassed Kane's defenses."

The third man rubbed his temple. "Shit. She sicced Kane on the kid?"

"Not well, Paul," the doctor said, slowly. "But yes."

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As Kamala straightened and fled away from the scene, Paul's sharp eyes followed, twisting in his booth to watch the boy fleeing. The glimpse he had of the young man's face made him pause, reaching back...

As he snatched the grainy photograph from the table, Bowler hat continued speaking. "It's just... I don't see how she could've overpowered him! He'd been trained extensively - that was even before you gave him the implants and before he had any of the tech. He should've been just fine!"

"Excuse me for just a moment," Paul murmured, tossing the photograph back onto the table before zipping his hoodie all the way up and exiting into the back room, in pursuit of the young man.

As the door swung shut, Paul affected a visage of pure concern. "You alright there, buddy? Seems like you had too much."

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Paul couldn't let him leave. He needed to keep him here, in case his instincts were right. And they were never fuckin' right. But, hey, maybe this time he'd actually get some information out of this wild-goose chase.

Paul placed a hand on each of the young man's shoulders, gripping firmly. "Hang on now. You need to sit down a minute, else you'll just wind up upchucking all over yourself. Take it easy; have a seat, relax."

He popped a cigarette out of a slightly crumpled pack. "You smoke, kid?"

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Paul watched the young man for a long time, narrowing his eyes at him. Eventually, he spoke again. "I'll fetch it for you. Will you be here when I get back?"

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Paul met his eyes, level, and realized all at once that this very well could be a play. But the kid had to know that they'd have his prints, his name, digital fingermarks on his Kindle, if they went back and picked it up. If he was the one that had murdered Kane, and he ran now, he'd sentence himself.

"Yeah, why would you." He said, raising both eyebrows and fixing him with a pointed stare. After a brief moment of eye contact, Paul turned and walked from the room, headed towards the kid's table at a leisurely pace.

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Paul shook his head as he walked back towards the table, snatching the device up with slight annoyance. When the doctor and bowler cap glanced towards him, he waved them off. He was going to go back inside the room, see it empty, and start dusting the device for prints. The guilty ones always ran. Always.

"Need a hand, Paul?" The doctor asked, beginning to rise. Paul shook his head.

"Nah, just need to bring this to someone." He waved the Kindle at the two men, crossed the bar, and opened the door to the back room, facing away from the random car that came crashing int Gambit's.

"Hey, Kid?" Paul called, rolling his eyes at the empty room. "I got your thing."

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With a solid thunk, the bucket slammed into the top of Paul's head, the metallic ringing suddenly filling the small space, reverberating around brooms and mops and wooden kegs of ale. Paul would've been okay, too, had he not tried to step forwards to avoid it, his sneaker sliding on a very wet and very putrid puddle on the floor of the store room.

He was suddenly airborne, his hair landing with a wet smack against the floorboards, throbbing in two places as his sweater grew smeared in the evidence of Kamala's guilt. Paul had only time to think not again before succumbing to unconsciousness.

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As Kamala was exiting, leaving a no doubt gross feeling Paul on his face in the back room, covered in sick, the two men continued to chat, unaware that their third companion would not be joining them.

“Burned to death,” the man in the bowler cap said, shaking his head, “what a way to go.”

“Indeed,” was the curt reply, the doctor going back to studying the photographs.

“Was there anything unusual about the scene, other than what you’ve told me and Paul?”

The doctor shook his head. “Nothing too far-fetched, Simon. When I found the ship, there was a five foot wide hole cut into the side of the hull, where the incinerator is. We had to skim the thickness for cost purposes. Kane’s idea. The only real risk is that he trails ash from the incinerator.”

Simon nodded, curious. “Could’ve been from one of Kane’s... creative interrogation techniques.”

The doctor nodded. “Absolutely. He loved using the incinerator for torture. It also probably explains the bone chips around the grass.”

“Bone chips?”

“Mhmm. Human bone fragments. There were a bunch spread around where the hole was, a few traces found on the hull itself, some blood. All of it was fresh, but that doesn’t mean anything. Kane was here to round up Mayer’s supporters.”

Simon sighed. “We lost a damn good agent today, Dr. Light.”

Light took a small sip of his drink. “I think,” he began, “that’s your problem. Not mine.”

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The man who followed the Lacrosse-bag toting young one stepped into the bar, surveying it quickly. He glanced down at a photograph, squinting at the picture stamped into polaroid for a moment before narrowing his gaze towards Sen. Nodding in confirmation, he strode to the person's left, leaning against the hard surface of the bar as he waited for the Soldier to take note of him.

"So, none of my files have anything on your gender. Are you packing cock?" he asked, by way of greeting.

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Paul chuckled slowly. "No problem. Still doesn't answer my question of you, though."

He shrugged, popping a bar peanut into his mouth, crunching down on it as he chewed thoughtfully. "Here's my card; contact me in a half hour if and when you want a job. I have a proposition for someone of your talents, and you can't say know to the cash I'm offering."

He slid a white piece of paper towards the he/she/it/them/xyr, standing to his full height.

"Sorry to hear you won't sleep with me."

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Paul blinked.

"Well, shit. You don't even know what it is yet. I could go tell you to go undress that guy," he jerked a thumb at Brass Vatidor, "while whistling Dixie and fighting Cryoface blindfolded. Don't you have, like, a code, or a system that says that you don't say yes until you hear the job? Sloppy, Sen. Sloppy."

Still, the man in the white shirt and tie sat back down. "I can't talk about it here regardless; too many watching eyes, and if some mega-army gets wind of it, I'm up shit creek. Gotta low key this thing. You understand discretion, don't you, gassy?"

The setting changes from gambits-bar to Canti's Diner

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Paul grinned. "Short version? There's a dangerous girl out there, and I want you to put handcuffs on her any way you can."

He slid a manilla envelope towards Sen, glancing out the window and taking a sip from a mug of coffee. "Long version; there's a very dangerous girl out there, and you're probably going to have to bean her over the head with something heavy before putting cuffs on her. Not much else you need to know, and there's only so much I can tell you. Get your questions out now; reward's a million USD in any form you wish."

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Paul took another long drink, his eyebrows waggling. When he finished, he sighed happily before launching in.

"She is the most dangerous piece of balled up hatred I have ever seen in my life. She's a liar, a cheater, a manipulator, and that's before she begins fucking your mind with her tendrils of psychic powers. She's angry, and she doesn't have anything to lose. She is the most dangerous person you will ever come face to face with - in this life or the next."

He smiled, reaching a palm, spread open towards Sen. "Want out yet?"

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One of the best things about his job was the invention of the cellular phone. Not just as a way for himself to communicate, but as a way for everyone around him to be tracked subtly, quietly. The tech behind it was a lot of words that began with 'tele' and were over eight syllables - the kind of words that he frowned at very hard whenever one of his tech guys spoke to him - but he understood both the value and the economy behind being able to track anyone with a wireless signal.

That was how he entered into Canti's bar, his hands shoved into his canvas jacket's pockets, gaze flittering around the place, looking for flaming red hair. When he spotted none, he pulled his trucker cap low, sat in the stool to Kamala's right, and grunted out an order for black coffee.

"You know how fucking hard you are to keep a track on?" he said to Kamala by way of introduction as the waitress poured the cup. He lifted it to his lips, his stare straight ahead.

"And for god's sakes, don't hit me with a bucket again. I'm not going to hurt you."

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Another slow slurp of coffee. Another small smile. "Us fucks? As far as I can tell, I've only met you once, unless... ahhh, you've met Jon."

The click of the ceramic against the counter top. "I want a bitch locked away before she destroys the entire city. I want a Yacht, triple deck, with matching Ski-do's. I want four beautiful women hanging along my arms every single step of this glorious life. And I want to be a millionaire. But I'm not here about what I want; you can't get me what I want."

He lifted the mug again. "You've been warned, I take it?"

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Paul grinned into his mug. "Drop the tough guy act, kid. You're barely old enough to shave, let alone swagger around with a chip on your shoulder. It's time to wake up and smell the coffee."

Paul reached into his jacket and tossed an envelope towards Kamala, turning to face him for the first time in the entire conversation. "In there's eighty thousand dollars, a false I.D, car keys to a beat up Chevette outside. Get in the car, take the money, go and disappear somewhere. We won't follow you, and it's too early in the game for Harriet to be after you right away. She'll catch up eventually, but you can live a happy life until then. Or,"

Paul tapped his finger against the countertop. "Or, you can earn double this. All you have to do is make contact with the woman in broad daylight. Then, your part in this is filled. Girl's locked away, you have a hundred and sixty thousand, everyone's a winner."