“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of gentleman caller?” the somber red-haired woman asked, traces of distain dripping from her lips.
“And I thought you were supposed to be some kind of psycho whore,” the pale and disgustingly thin man replied.
She eyed him up, wishing that she possessed the strength to rip her electrified bars out of their sockets so she could run away from her verbal tormentor. His comments about her mental welfare struck her hardest and were by far the most annoying. Her complaints to the self-righteous warden had apparently fallen on deaf ears. Perhaps it was part of her punishment.
Her physical prison was comprised entirely of a titanium cage that had something like a hundred-thousand volts of electricity coursing through it. Barely twelve feet by ten feet, the dank cell might as well have been in solitary for as much attention as she got down in their lab. Others were there, too, of course. Across the dark room was where the pale one sat in his own cage; beside him another that had remained in a coma since she had been brought there. This was where they threw all the crazies, the serious head cases that required constant medical attention. Mere yards away, behind a six-inch thick security door, was a medical facility that contrasted the one she was in like night differed from day.
The warden never brought the activists back to where she was. No, they were only ever shown the nice conditions given up front.
“I mean, Jesus!” the pale man, Deacon Frost, continued. “Look at yourself, Typhoid! You look like a strung out streetwalker that’s ready to do just about anything. Tell me something…how many times have you offered to su--”
“Just shut up…” Mary replied timidly. She was concentrating on something else, for once able to ignore the vampire’s constant nagging.
He scowled at her in total contempt and turned away in frustration. A pile of emptied white intravenous bags lay in the corner of his cell, devoid of the simple solution he constantly craved. A similar bag hung in Mary’s cage, also empty of fluids. Her bag, however, usually contained chemicals to keep her sedated.
No one had come to change her bag. She was wide awake and feeling frisky. That shouldn’t happen.
“Where are all the mad scientists?” she asked no one in particular. She tilted her head around to try and get a better view of the medical lab but couldn’t see anyone but the other captives. “Damn it…”
As much as she hated the watered down Hell that was the Vault she hated the fear of being without her medication more. Typhoid Mary, as she was known in the criminal underworld, suffered from dissociative identity disorder. Before she had developed the disorder and sworn that a man would never cause her harm again she had been the simple, and even dainty, Mary Walker. She hated prison and would do anything to get out into the free world again, but she was horrified at being out of control of her very personality once more.
Truth be told, as plain Mary Walker she wasn’t exactly what someone would call innocent. But as one of the other personalities she was simply scary.
“Stupid retarded bitch,” Frost muttered just loud enough for Mary to hear him. “Suck you dry before you know what hit you…”
She had no idea how long it had been since her bag ran out but if the headache was any indication it had been quite some time. She shivered as she began to notice just how cold the dimly lit room really was.
“Gentleman my ass,” the vampire continued as he stalked back and forth in discomfort. “Just my luck to get stuck with no one but Bloody fuckin’ Mary…”
Mary felt the chill grow stronger, as if the room’s temperature was dropping dramatically. The staff had provided her with a couple of thin blankets but they wouldn’t be much help. The cold was piercing her entire body, even her soul. She needed to get warm. She needed…fire…
Mary’s eyes glazed over as they rolled back into her head. Pieces of her mind splurged together, sending her to the floor in convulsions.
“Why can’t – holy shit!” Frost swore as he rushed over to see Mary spasm in pain. “Yeah, baby! You prissy bitch!”
Just as suddenly as her convulsions had begun, they ceased. Mary rolled onto her knees and tried to stand up, her eyes now back to normal. She felt different, like something long suppressed had finally been let out to play. She turned her gaze left and right, taking in the creepy confines of her prison as if for the first time.
“What’s the matter, Mary?” the vampire mocked with a slight giggle. “Mary, Mary, quite contrar--”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, suckerhead,” Mary shot back. “And burn.”
Deacon Frost raised an eyebrow in curiosity. What did she mean by that? Maybe she was more intoxicated with insanity then he realized. Whatever had happened, she seemed fine now. More than fine, actually. Like an entirely different person.
A single wisp of smoke stroked Deacon’s nose hairs and he sneezed in reaction. His eyes followed the trail of smoke to his own feet, which were somehow smoldering.
“Burn,” she repeated.
Fire engulfed the vampire, eliciting shrieks of pain. The flames licked at his decaying skin, eating away his hair and muscle. Deacon stumbled backward in his fright, no longer being cautious of the electrified bars surrounding him. As the fire ravaged his body he fell back against the far row of bars, which immediately sent shocking volts of raw power surging through his nervous system. His screaming finally stopped as his lungs gave out and he fell to his knees, and then to the floor. The fire slowly chipped away at his corpse, his tender undead flesh especially vulnerable to the flame.
The woman who had been Mary Walker looked on proudly, a sick glimmer in her eye. She stared at the fire washing over the vampire and reveled in its power. Like the flame she would take back what she wanted, and no man would harm her ever again…
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Marvel 2000 Proudly presents... |
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| {{
All inmates will move back to their cell blocks in a calm and orderly
fashion…}}
The electronic voice continued to drone over the loudspeakers all throughout the complex, barking mundane orders at the prisoners. Clad in their gray uniforms the residents of the United States Maximum Security Installation for the Incarceration of Superhuman Criminals did as they were told. Even the most stubborn and strong-willed among them knew when to obey their caretakers. “I know this is like my first day and everything,” Norton Fester, the Looter, asked his recently acquired boss, “but shouldn’t a lunch hour actually be sixty minutes? Why are they making us go back early?” “Their ranks are being used elsewhere for some reason,” Otto Octavius answered. “Have you noticed that there are noticeably less Guardsmen surrounding us then when our meal began?” “Yeah…hey, you’re right. It’s like something big is going on and they’re corralling us back into the pens.” “Precisely,” Octavius stated as his thought process began to spin. “Our jailers’ attention is being diverted for some reason. Now may be the perfect opportunity to proceed with my plan.” “Need me to bruise up another old guy?” Norton asked anxiously. The thrill he had experienced in taking down Adrian Toomes earlier had been a bigger rush than he could have anticipated. Since internalizing his power, even the sophisticated dampeners installed all throughout the facility weren’t enough to squash his strength. He was no where near the power level he should be but he was far above a normal human’s abilities. “Relax, Looter,” Octavius mused while he passed under the only exit from the mess hall. “All in good time. You’ve already proven yourself useful to me; there’s no need to exasperate matters more than necessary.” The villain known to the general public as Dr. Octopus raised his gaze to take in the long corridor he had to walk down along with the other inmates. The tall, stark walls were depressing as they all looked the same, dull color. He hated his confinement but he couldn’t help but respect the building’s structure. He knew more about the complex than possibly any other inmate and knew about the possibilities it housed within its walls. Above the marching prisoners were three Guardsmen, down from the usual seven. They stood on raised platforms especially created to keep a watchful eye on every inmate that passed underneath. One green-armored guard in particular caught Ocatvius’ eye and he made a motion to him, one that looked casual to everyone but the Guardsman. The message had been passed. “So what’s the deal with Hammerhead?” Norton asked. “An old rival.” Otto looked over his shoulder to a few yards behind them in the line where Hammerhead and his cronies were walking. “And much more. We’ve had more than one encounter on the outside. You might call us blood enemies.” * * [Thanks to Meriades Rai for helping me research Ock and Hammer’s “relationship!” – D] Hammerhead returned his gaze as did each of the men walking beside him. Shocker and a man Hammerhead had referred to as Stilts each had a look of smug satisfaction plastered on their faces, as if they knew something Octavius didn’t. “Don’t worry,” Otto continued, “before long he’ll get what is coming to him. Whether he wants it or not, Hammerhead will receive his just dues. All in good time.” “What’s that plan you mentioned?” “You’re about to find out, Mr. Fester,” the portly villain answered. The inmates steadily shuffled along to the end of the corridor, keeping pace like they normally would. Upon reaching the T-intersection where everyone was directed to the right, one of the three Guardsman stood waiting to usher Octavius and Fester to the left. A few nearby individuals turned their heads in curiosity but soon lost interest once they saw that it was Dr. Octopus being separated, which suited them just fine. “Hello, Daniel,” Octavius said to the Guardsman, the green armor reflecting nicely in his oversized sunglasses. “I trust everything is in order.” “You got it, Doc,” the security official replied with a slight Southern drawl. “We’ll have to make this fast, though. The warden is this close to putting the place on lockdown. If you aren’t back in place soon--” “Just take us down one floor to the second cell block. We won’t be longer than five minutes and I’ll make sure you continue to receive visits from our mutual associate.” Daniel’s helmet nodded in understanding. He turned back around and led the pair down the hallway to a service elevator, inputting the correct codes into the wall mounted touchpad. The codes ensured that their short jaunt in the elevator wouldn’t be recorded in the complex’s computer logs, something Otto had insisted upon. After all, it was also in Daniel’s best interests not to be associated one of the inmates in such a way. “You’ve got the run of the house, Ock,” Norton commented as soon as the lift’s doors slid shut behind them. “I’ve learned that no matter where you find yourself there is one constant,” Otto stated, a casual glare tossed at the Guardsman. “Sex is an industry that thrives on repeat business. Now, when we get to our destination, Norton, I want you to remain silent. Your role is going to be the strong silent type, do you understand?” “No problem. Where are we going?” “To find someone of great use to me.” James Rhodes felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he took to the air. His boot jets propelled him above the Vault and toward his target, with all of his sensors blaring information across the HUD inside his helmet. “You guys picking me up, okay?” he asked the voice activated microphone just above his chin. {{ We’ve got you, }} the warden responded through the feed piped into Rhodes’ headset. {{ Vitals, radar, sonar, LSAT…we’ve got you on all fronts. Connection’s better then even the Guardsmen interface. Stark hooked you up real nice. }} Jim smirked as he ran another quick systems check, his third in the last twenty seconds. Tony Stark had indeed made sure his War Machine armor was working perfectly before he left for Colorado. Thinner than the suit he first donned as the pseudo-Iron Man, this version of the War Machine assault armor fit him like a second skin and had been customized to his specifications. He certainly hoped it was better than the Guardsmen armor since the new Super-Adaptoid had proven more than enough to take down the best the Vault had to offer. * * [Last issue. – D] The armor itself was loosely designed off of Stark’s earlier Iron Man models with one huge difference: the War Machine was tactically designed for offense instead of defense. The black and white color scheme was the largest visible difference but the various pieces of equipment hidden within the unit made it something that even a small army should be scared of. “Coming up to eighteen hundred feet,” Rhodes reported. “Scanners showing the bogie coming in fast. He’s all done with bashing in the monorail. Powering up shields.” Rhodes felt a pair of energy shields erect just above the top of his forearms, generated by field projectors in his gauntlets. The shields were similar in design to gladiatorial arm braces, each a foot in length and eight inches in width. They could withstand somewhere close to a metric ton of pinpoint pressure, or so he had been told. He hadn’t yet run across a situation where he needed to use them since Tony installed the option. With a little luck he wouldn’t need to find out. “Targeting…” he said in anticipation. His sensors locked on to the blip in his HUD, his shoulder-mounted sonic cannon swiveling with the turn of his head. Wherever he looked, it looked. “Moving to interc – shit!” Rhodes swore suddenly. A stifling boom sounded as the Adaptoid broke the sound barrier. The green automaton slammed hard into Rhodes’ side, his armor’s defensive grid screaming with alerts. Even through the thick, titanium-laced exosuit he felt the wind knocked out of him. The Adaptoid kept pushing him down through the sky, its powerful arms wrapped around his waist. Rhodes tried to gain control of their descent by positioning his boot jets but the Adaptoid was definitely the one guiding them. “Hands…off!” the freshman security chief commanded. Rhodes arched his back to gain what little leverage he could and jabbed his right elbow into the back of the Adaptoid, knocking them off whatever course the robot had in mind. He slammed down again and then a third time, each hit causing the pair to drop several dozen feet in the air. Thoughts of his past battles quickly raced through his mind in hopes of finding a tactic to use against his opponent. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. He had never faced one of the Super-Adaptoids before, as Iron Man, War Machine, or as part of the Worldwatch organization. Whatever he was going to do he had to do it fast. Squirming and exerting the servos of his suit, Rhodes twisted around in the Adaptoid’s grasp, finally able to bring his chest to face the silent android. “Suck on this!” he muttered as he activated the uni-beam weapon mounted in the center of his torso. Blinding light flashed over the Adaptoid’s body, searing the green fluid skin covering its back. Rhodes had no idea if this thing could feel pain but his attack had apparently been enough for it to release him from its death grip. Smoke wafted from the Adaptoid’s body as it drifted back and away from Rhodes, its face still a blank slate. “What do you want?” he demanded of his opponent. “And don’t give me none of that following orders crap.” A small slit formed at the base of the Adaptoid’s skull, as if the thing was trying to create its own mouth to speak from. It was like something out of a horror movie. :: Analyzing… Level thirteen energy weapon acquired. Files updated. :: The Adaptoid’s chest began to shift and change shape. Before Rhodes eyes the android’s upper torso formed a perfect match to his own chestplate, except it was still entirely green. An iris at the center popped out of the mold and began to open, energy starting to bubble and spew forth from it. Rhodes instinctively raised his arms in front of him, blocking the uni-beam blast with his forearm shields. The energy shields held against the assault but his HUD told him they wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. Raw energy bounced off the shields and dissipated like water evaporating under intense heat. Rising just enough to aim over the uni-beam, Rhodes fired his sonic cannon, its concentrated audio blasting the Adaptoid full in the face. The air between them rippled slightly under his audio bombardment and the robot was forced to stop its own attack. Its fluid skin washed over itself as the simulated chestplate was reabsorbed back into its mass, the Adaptoid’s eyes glowing a bright orange hue. {{ Rhodes! }} the warden yelled into his ear. {{ What’s happening up there? We’re tracking some huge amounts of energy transference. You toast the damn thing yet? }} “Might have scrambled its circuits with some sonics,” he answered, irritated at the disruption, “but I wouldn’t bank on it just yet. He’s just kind of floating there for the moment. What’s the word on backup?” {{ We tossed the monkeys back in their cages and a fresh wave of Guardsmen are on the way. Put the bastard in a choke hold or something. }} :: Analysis of exoskeleton complete. Defense grade: B, integrated. Files updated. :: Rhodes’ eyes bulged with the realization of what had just happened. While he had been conversing with Warden Jones the Adaptoid had been processing his armor. Not good. Jim raised his gauntlets and let out a double dose of repulser blasts even as the Adaptoid’s form started changing into a green duplicate War Machine. The force beams knocked the automaton head-over-heels but no actual damage had been done. Angling his boot jets to propel him at the Adaptoid, Rhodes rocketed toward the copycat. He needed to move quickly before it was too late. He threw a right cross that was powerful enough to shatter a brick wall, following it up a left uppercut, and then another haymaker to the face. Left and right, back and forth, Jim refused to let up. He feared that if he did the android would get away, unstoppable. Smashing his knee into the “stomach” of the android, Jim swung around behind the Adaptoid, catching it in a half nelson hold. He hesitated for a split-second, pondering if he really wanted to do what he had in mind. Remembering the image he had watched of several Guardsmen being slain by the inhuman machine within his grasp, James Rhodes knew he didn’t really have much of a choice. He was putting himself at risk but that didn’t matter right now. “I really hate robots,” he murmured as he slid open a compartment just below his shoulder clasp. From within the chamber popped out three small discs, each no bigger than a silver dollar. Rhodes caught them in his free hand and reached around, slapping the discs onto the Adaptoid’s chest. “Say adios, chuckles.” The shaped charges exploded with brunt force, each detonation building on the last. The black and yellow colors of the blast mixed with the green hue of the android’s skin, casting an eerie shadow over Rhodes as the explosion caught him, too. The ground came up fast through the eye slits in his helmet, but the HUD had been damaged in the blast. Several systems were down, including the program that coordinated the gyroscopes in his armor. It was like he was punch-drunk. If the mask of his helmet hadn’t been there he would have felt the rushing air slapping against his face. It might have even been enough to keep him conscious. Presently, however, James Rhodes was fighting a loosing battle to stay awake. He hoped his last ditch effort to stop the rogue machine had worked. He wouldn’t be much good to anyone now as he began to lose power with every yard he plummeted. As he teetered on the edge of consciousness, a stabbing pain slammed into his back. The sound of metal bending and buckling roared into his ears; his armor beginning to crack. The sudden hit pulled him back into reality, which he immediately wished it hadn’t. The hit could only have come from the Adaptoid and judging from the strength of the impact the android hadn’t been weakened at all. The robot’s feet were firmly planted in Jim’s lower back as it continued to shove him downward. Rhodes had failed and now the Super-Adaptoid was driving him straight for a section of the Vault.
“I swear, you must be the most disgusting person I have ever laid eyes on,” the Tarantula accused with his thick Spanish accent. “Usted puerco gordo, how can you live with yourself?” Hubert, also at times referred to as the failure of a villain called the Walrus, allowed his eyes to meet his cellmate’s but refused to let any part of speech escape his lips. His nose had finally stopped bleeding from the Tarantula’s painful introduction to his character, a reminder of the Spaniard’s last order. “Good,” Juan de la Vega added. “You remember to not speak like I say.” Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Juan guessed at least three people were making their way toward him, another perfect opportunity to show the other prisoners within earshot how tough he was. His government had originally found him in a prison, and having served time before, he knew that the only way to garner respect on the inside was to show you would accept nothing less from anyone. Not even the warden. “Come to see the new arrival, eh?” he shouted through the laser grid that served as holding bars. “Let me out to play, you little cockroaches! I promise I…Hey! You! Let me see your pudgy little face so I know who to break first.” A Guardsman leading a stocky man in glasses and another man with facial hair that looked wired and ready to pounce stepped into view. Juan sneered at them in total confidence, ready to counter whatever words they could possibly throw at him. Behind him in the cell he heard the Walrus ruffle his sheets a little as he climbed back into bed, the springs buckling under his enormous weight. His confidence redoubled as the memory of his beating the fat man raced through his mind. “Shut it, tonk,” the Guardsman ordered. The pudgy one shifted his oversized sunglasses as he viewed the Tarantula. “New arrival?” he said. “I’m not impressed.” “Cague a comedor. I’m one of the deadliest men to come out of South America. Care to see what Boca Del Rios has on an obnoxious pastor de cabra?” “What an incompetent asshole,” the burnout with the goatee said. “Let those bars down and I’ll show you which new arrival has what it takes…” “Quiet, Mr. Fester,” the one with glasses said before turning his attention back to the Tarantula. “You’re a fighter?” “The best.” Juan stepped forward as close as he could to the energy bars, their heat radiating against his skin. “A trained assassin that could bring even these guard dogs to their knees.” “Right,” Fester scoffed. “Is this the guy we came to see, Ock?” “No,” another voice said from the opposite side of the hallway. “That would be me.” Fester and Ock turned to face the slim man who had spoken. He was lean and muscular, but it was the kind of physique that didn’t stand out in a crowd. He looked like a man who could blend in just about anywhere, with a face that would leave your mind as soon as he left your sight. His hair was red but it didn’t look like his natural color. He was alone in his cell, one of the few solitary rooms available on the cell block. “And who are you, amigo?” the pompous Tarantula asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Their cells were directly across from one another but Juan had to admit he hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention to this man. “Abbot,” the man answered. “Sinclair Abbot. I expect you’re here to tell me it’s time to get moving on things, Octavius?” “Yes,” the portly man in glasses answered. “Daniel, would you please let the Spymaster out of his cage so he can run an errand for me?” “Not that I need him to,” Abbot said with a smirk, nodding at the Guardsman. “I can get in and out of just about anywhere. I assume you’re paying the usual, so where am I headed this time?” “To the facility’s medical ward,” Octavius said as the Guardsman stepped forward to deactivate the energy bars of Abbot’s cell. “You have a delivery to make.” The impact had been one for the record books. Concrete, bedrock, and support structures had been reduced to rubble with Rhodes and the Adaptoid at ground zero. The battered hero managed to roll up onto his knees despite the messages his body was telling him. It hurt to even breathe but he made it onto one leg, leaning on a chunk of debris twice the size of himself for support. “Shit…” he said through clenched teeth. He tried to stand up straight but a throbbing pain in his lower back told him that wasn’t a very good idea. Slipped discs and torn tendons appeared in his imagination. Pressing a pair of latches on either side of his now useless helmet, Jim yanked off the round piece of armor to get a better look at his surroundings. Judging from the quick look he had gotten at the facility’s blueprints he had landed in the northwest corner of the compound, which was far removed from the cellblocks and the Strongroom. There was something specific housed in this corner…he was having trouble remembering… He dismissed the thought and began checking what was left of his armor. Most of the white segments had been scorched to a pale gray. If there was such a thing as a bum superhero he fit the bill perfectly. His removed his chestplate that was nothing more than dead weight at this point. His gauntlets seemed to be in working order although dangerously low on power and one of the forearm shields wasn’t operational. The metallic white skin that was like a pair of thermal underwear was partially damaged but providing necessary movement. At least he wasn’t trapped in his own armor. :: Primary objective complete. Beginning secondary objectives. :: Rhodes whirled around to see the Adaptoid floating a few feet in the air, orange energy still cascading out of its eyes. He had been impressed before but now he was just terrified. The Super-Adaptoid appeared to be completely unharmed from the crash. Two things then donned upon James Rhodes that made the situation even worse. First, the area they had decimated in their fall was where the Vault housed most of their network databases, including electronic file backups and power distribution. Outside of the Strongroom this section had been the nerve center of the complex. There were secondary generators in the Strongroom that would kick in immediately, but what kind of damage had been caused in the initial fallout? Second, the Adaptoid was staring straight at him. Letter From Prison Another issue and a bunch more plots underway. This issue was supposed to wrap up the first arc, but as you can plainly see, that didn’t happen. Am I getting a bit carried away? Perhaps. Part of the reason you didn’t get the conclusion to “Breaking and Entering” this time around was because I figured a way to integrate future plots sooner. All these seemingly random scenes with character you’re reading will all get connected eventually, I promise. Now…on to the feedback! Cory Wiegel posted this review on the M2K Message Board (which I strongly you encourage to check out if you haven’t been):
Big thanks to Ingram for developing the Walrus with me. That scene never would have come to fruition without Ingram, so round of applause for him and his ideas that I stole... borrowed... loaned... Rhodes is someone I felt was really perfect to put inside the Vault, because like you said, the readers need someone to root for/identify with. I wouldn't really say he's the central character of the book, as I consider the Vault to have an ensemble cast. However, since the first arc is rather Rhodes-heavy, I can understand how he's seen that way. The Vault will slowly start to darken Rhodes as a character over the course of his tenure (although Rhodes isn't exactly a shiney penny, now is he?). I can't wait to play on Rhodes brush with the more brutal side of his personality within the confines of a maximum security prison. For the first arc, I wanted to display different aspects of the prison and the society within. There are three main plots going on currently to reflect this: Ock's power struggle with Hammerhead (showing the dynamics already in place), Tarantula's admittance into the Vault (showing how a n00b fits in while exploring the more personal side of being confined), and Rhodes/Adaptoid (showing that the Vault is more than just about villains couped up in one place). I admit that I may have faltered really making these aspects shine, but that's something I'll try to fix in the next issue. Doc Ock is the character I chose to better display how prison changes a man. On the outside, Doc Ock is RESPECTED. On the inside, Doc Ock is friggin' SCARY. Out on the streets he battles Spider-Man with his tentacles, while on the inside he intimidates everyone he meets. Hopefully, I'll be able to eventually get this across better *haha* I'll certainly take all that into consideration for the next issue. Thanks Big Pappa C! Now we’ve got one more review to take a gander at, this one from Meriades Rai that was also posted on the M2K Board:
In the second issue I tried to explore the themes and personalities of each character as opposed to making lots of shit hit the fan. As I said above, I consider the cast of Vault to be an ensemble one as opposed to focusing on one central character all the time. I want all the important players in this title to be developed fairly well, but I've apparently sacrificed a little of the plot in order to do that (even though I actually foreshadowed quite a bit in the second issue). I'll play around with this surprisingly delicate balance in issue three (surprising to me, anyway *haha*) I plan to develop the Vault staff, making it just as important as the inmates are to the series. Is Hitch dead? We'll see... The Warden will be getting some of the spotlight where the staff is concerned, as he's the guy who runs the place and isn't so squeaky clean. I'll have a few Guardsmen developed more (both corruptible and untouchable) later on down the line. Honestly, I pitted Ock and Hammerhead against one another because of their old rivalry. In addition to my being honest, I really wasn't aware of just how serious their feud apparently was. It's been a LONG time since I read some of the stories you're referring to, and now that I think about it, you're absolutely right: I'm not doing their relationship justice. I'll take this to heart and rework some of the interactions I was going to have them partake in. Big thank you sent your way! As always, keep the feedback coming and thanks to those who have helped me out all ready! -D.
Golightly |
