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The Sun in the Shade


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8th June, 2024

 

Mid Afternoon, Somewhere in the streets of Freedom City

 

It started with a hot day on a hot pavement. A straightforward day that would not be proceeding forward in any manner of straightness. 

 

A chance encounter. 

 

Rock Rockhead, the short, squat, square-headed rock singer of many voices (screeching, crooning, belting, roaring, falsetto and bass) was signing a few autographs as he stepped out of his sports car. Sunglasses, leather jacket, leather trousers. Tattoo and sweat on his skin. 

 

And Jack Davydov walking past him. Towering past him, actually. Rock Rockhead was a man in his thirties, strong, an excellent singer, an outstanding composer, but not tall. Even in his subtle height-elevating shoes, he was five foot eight. 

 

And there was one "fan" who stood out. Over six foot, wide built, holding a baseball bat, sweating like a pig, face twisted in some kind of screwball lunacy, stammering out some insane words. 

 

"Why... wh-wh-why you put a lid on it, Man?" he growled. "Why bottle it up? All the rage?"

 

He hefted his baseball bat. Looking like he might swing at any moment. Although he looked so crazed, it might be a swing onto his own forehead. 

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The sun was shining today, and Jack couldn't help but notice how much the heat was getting to him. He fluffed his hoodie in an attempt to generate some air flow, the scarred skin of his exposed biceps gleaming with sweat. Jack focused his mind for a breif moment and the air around him began to cool considerably. He was still getting used to his new abilities, and today he was especially grateful for them.

 

Jack's lumbering strides had taken him far today and he realized that he had wandered a bit away from familiar ground. He studied his surroundings,  pulling a wrapped cheeseburger from his pocket and absently unwrapped it. He ate it in two bites and as he chewed somewhat thoughtfully, he noticed the very nice car pull up.

 

A small crowd of people seemed to gather as the man got out and signed a few autographs. Jack had to look twice to recognize the Rockstar. He had never seen Rock Rockhead from so close, but there was no mistaking him at this distance. 

 

A man bumped into him, carrying a baseball bat and muttering to himself. The bear spirit within him perked up, its senses recognizing a possible threat and going into fight or fight mode almost immediately. Whatever was going on it was not good. 

 

Jack immediately put himself in between Rock and the man with a bat, hoping to placate the crazed fan with a disarming smile. "Huhlo Friend." He gestured to the bat. "Seems odd time to be 'aving baseball game, no...?"

Edited by Jack
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"Get lost, kid!" snapped back the thug. 

 

He paused, looked up. Tall as the thug was (and he was tall), Jack had six inches on him. And was a lot broader. 

 

But the pause did not last long. Something lit up behind the man's eyes. Something red. He gripped the baseball bat with both hands, so hard he threatened to splinter the handle. "Come on then, big man... you got it bottled up tight, haven't you. Even more than this pussy. I can feel it. Come one then, have a go, if you think you are hard enough..."

 

The small crowd of onlookers and autograph signers started to disperse - and fast. Rock Rockson started to edge away, until a baseball bat slammed in his way. 

 

"Not you, pussy..." grunted the thug. "Not till I get a taste of that anger..."

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Both men would notice a considerable drop in temperature around them as Jack's features adopted a more serious expression as he looked down at the thug in front of him. A little bit of frost even formed on the thugs bat as he held it out. The thug probably didn't recognize the warning this was meant to be.

 

"Anger ist not alvays so productive..." Jack said softly. He could feel the spirit within him waking up, answering the call this man was radiating. Jack did not understand what this man wanted from himself or the rockstar...but it didn't feel good, and Jack could almost smell the crazy oozing from this man. There were innocent people here that could get hurt, a realization that fueled the spirit's wrath. This idiot thought he could harm people?

 

Jack let out a calming breath, the cold air turning to vapor in the heat of the day. "Perhaps ve can go somewhere less crowded to talk dis out..." Jack offered, trying to deescalate before hell froze over.

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"Go somewhere?" grunted the thug. 

 

"I tell you want, buttock-face, this here bat is going to go somewhere, straight between your stuck up cheeks!"

 

The man clearly had not thought through betwixt which cheeks the baseball bat was to be inserted. Perhaps he had intended for the tip to be inserted in both orifices, in due order. But whatever his plan, he had decided to swing for the teeth first. Perhaps in an attempt to hear the pleasant sounds of shattering molars, perhaps to smell the enticing aroma of flowing blood. In any case, it was a strong blow. 

 

But would it hit?

 

And, more importantly, would it even hurt the giant frame of Jack?

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Jack felt the bat connect with his face, but he didn't flinch or move a muscle. His demeanor darkened considerably and the air around them dropped to almost freezing. The thug could see in Jack's eyes that he would get what he wanted from him. The animal fury of the bear spirit within him would not sit idly by and let this threat go unchallenged.

 

Jack's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as his words came out in a slow, soft tone. "Alright... 'ave it yours vay." Without thinking, Jack lashed out towards the Thug, his giant hand aimed at his throat. If this idiot wanted to poke the bear, Jack would not hold back.

 

[Making an attack and using Improved Grab feat]

 

 

 

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The Man blocked Jack's outstretched hand with his throat, and made sure he pressed his advantage by forcing Jack to stay standing up on his feet, whilst leverging some height for himself by using his jawbone to press down on Jack's iron fingers.

 

The baseball bat fell to the floor with a resounding clatter. 

 

"Guh - Guh - Guh..." he gasped, dribbling a little, scrabbling the air. 

 

"Woah, dude! You got him!" gasped Rock Rockson. "Give him a good punch in the face, man! He deserves it!"

 

Rock Rockson was flexing his fists - his face white from (fear? anxiety? Rage?) - looking like he was ready to dity his knuckles on the thugs teeth himself, if Jack didn't. 

 

And something... something hot, dark, like a jungle at night... something eldritch brushed against the air, savouring the sweet taste of rage...

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Jack lifted the thug off the ground, frost forming on his knuckles. He stared into the thugs eyes, the beastial fury within him barely contained. This human had tried to hurt him, and worse, wanted to hurt others. His grip tightened as he thought about the things he could do to this villain.

 

Something felt wrong though...the air smelled foul around them. Jack let out another frosty breath and let the thug tumble to the ground. His inner bear was satisfied it had proved itself dominant. 

 

Jack finally heard what Rock was saying and shook his head. "You are right, I got em." Jack said, his expression softening. "And ist wary nice to meet yous Mister Rockhead. I yam Jack." He offered the man his hand.

Edited by Jack
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Rock took Jackson's hand and gave it a firm shake. Rock was probably past fourty, and looked older. Maybe hard living had taken its toll. He was shortish but broad, and his hand still had a strong grip, full of callousities. A bass player as well as a singer. And, if Jack recalled correctly, pretty decent at both. 

 

"Jack, pleased to meet you. I'd like to offer you a job in security at my gigs. If you would like..."

 

"As for this piece of garbage..."

 

Before Jack could correct, Rock Rockson kicked the thug in the ribs. Something went "Snap" in a very painful way, and the Thug screamed. 

 

Perhaps Rock had kicked too hard - he looked flushed, and winced. 

 

The seething Eldritch phenomenon dissapeared. Leaving a taste on the tongue - dissapointed. 

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"Have to run it by parents, but security job would be fun, no?" He smiled at the Rockstar and then turned his attention to the thug on the ground. He had heard what sounded like the man's ribs breaking and he felt a stab of pain for the man. Jack wasn't entirely sure this man was acting in his right mind.

 

He knelt down and ran a hand over the Thugs torso, frost crystalizing on his back and shoulers as he pulled heat energy from the air and channeled it into the man. Jack focused on the energy he was siphoning through his body down through his hands. A warmth would spread over the Thugs torso as Jack's eyes closed, pulling on lessons his grandfather had taught him. He could see the fractures in his mind and one by one he gently knitted the bones back together until the energy was spent and his entire back and arms were covered in ice.

 

"I think something more going on here mister Rock...something not normal..." Jack trailed off, wondering what he had walked into today.

Edited by Jack
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"Not normal?" asked Rocky. Rubbing his knee. 

 

The fractures had sealed up nicely. The thug had given a few groans, but there was no doubt the man would live. He was asleep now, pain ablated, eyes closed. 

 

Rocky looked left and right with suspicious eyes. 

 

"You feel it to, do you? Something's been bugging me. Whispering in my ear. Hot, dark, like smoke, I guess. I honestly thought I was going crazy. Partying too hard. Not enough sleep, too many dr-- I mean, ah. Partying too hard. Lets leave it at that."

 

He sniffed and wiped his nose. 

 

"I need to get my head straight... say, can you help? You look... actually, what do you look like? Never seen a man like you. Those scars? What are you, some kind of shaman?"

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"Aye, feels it too." Jack confirmed with a nod. Something was definitely not right, though it didn't seem to be setting off his spirit's senses at the moment. Jack could do with a few more lessons in magic.

 

The Rockstar definitely acted like he was on something of the partying variety, though Jack had no idea what it could be. Tweaked, was how his mother always called it.

 

"Aye, my grandfather ist Shaman of our peoples. I knows some of it. I may be able to help if ve can figure out what ist causing it." Jack glanced down at Rock with a curious expression. "What it whisper in ear?"

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"Whoa?! You are a Shaman?" said Rocky, leaping to conclusions. "I mean, like a real one? You should come and do some blessing on my new album. Sacrifice a goat, or something. I could do with the sales..."

 

Rocky Rockson was doing ok sales wise. But no more than ok. A perpetual B lister, acknowledged but not lauded. And with insidiously slipping sales from his third album onwards. 

 

"What's it whisper?"

 

Here, he grew conspiratorial. 

 

"How I've been a victim. Injustice. How other people have got the better of me. Taken advantage. You know that feeling, right? When something goes wrong, and you can't do anything about it? When you dig your nails into your palms, wanting to let your fists fly but you know you can't?"

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Jack nodded warily. "Vell 'ave never sacrifice goat before, but perhaps a few words in Ket may help sales. Cant hurt to try, no?" He wasn't sure that anything he could do would really boost sales....but perhaps it would boost Rocky's confidence which could lead to more sales eventually. He shrugged inwardly.

 

"Tis easy to be upset with those feelings. Powerlessness make one very angry." He could speak from experience, although lately he didn't feel as powerless as he used to. "Vhy vould something vant to stir up anger? Is it feeding or just cause chaos?" He looked down to the unconscious thug. "Dis guy looking for violence. Perhaps..." Jack trailed off, unsure where this line of reason would be going. It was all so strange. A random thug wanting to cause harm for no apparent reason.

 

"Do yous knows vhy dis man vanted to hurt yous...?" 

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"Him?" replied Rocky, screwing up his face and landing a spit on the unconscious man. 

 

"Never seen him before. Maybe some crazy fan. He said something about... what was it... why I never let the anger out? Pfft. He should see me backstage. I got plenty of rage. But you gotta pop a cork in it, you know? That's what I sing about. Bottled up rage. Twenty first century malaise."

 

"Look, I really need to chill. Somethings eating at my nerves in the city. I'm gonna head out to the forest. Want to come? My new security guard?"

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Jack looked from the unconscious thug to Rocky and shrugged. "Sounds okay to me." Something was nagging at the back of Jack's mind about all of this but he had no idea what it could be.

 

Jack started following the Rockstar, keeping an eye out for any other crazed fans that might be about. "I understand about bottle up rage. I have bear inside me..." Jack said, starting up a conversation. "Forrest ist often good place to 'chill' "

 

"Rage and malaise, good rhyme"

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And so...

 

...Later....

 

...In Wharton State Forest

 

Rocky pulled up his moderately expensive car on the outside of the forest. The sun was getting low, but it was not dark. The daylight streamed through rich and tall trees, creating a dazzling speckling of orange beams. 

 

Rocky flexed his hands into fists as he got out the car, heading into the woods as if pulled on a lead. 

 

"Something in here... it calms me. But never sates me. The Forest is like... like when you relax and feel sleepy, but cant sleep. Like a rest which doesnt refresh you..."

 

He turned back to Jack with a pained smile. 

 

"Maybe thats how it is, huh? No rest for wicked thoughts...."

 

He looked like his eyes were hollowed, exhausted. But then he turned back and headed in deeper to the forest. 

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Jack got out of the car opposite Rocky and looked towards the Forrest. "I find peace in de quiet...but wicked thoughts are usually de loudest to drown out in best of times." Jack said, somewhat to himself.

 

"Usually, valking or planting help take mind off tings. Never one to sit still for meditating."

 

A thought occurred to Jack, "or maybe dis place haunted and keep yous from relaxing." He chuckled softly at his idea.

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"Haunted? I guess so..."

 

Rocky paused, pressing his fists to his temples. 

 

"You know about Wharton Forest? All sorts of spooky legends. Native Americans did some shamanistic voodoo here. Zombies. Werewolves. That kind of stuff. You got any Shaman senses? Your ancestors calling to you?"

 

Rocky stared around, taking in the canopy of leaves. 

 

"I feel... tired, here. This place sucks me. Like its feeding on me. Not a bad thing, when you are a ball of rage and sweat."

 

He sighed deeply, looking ten years older. 

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Jack stood at the edge of Wharton State Forest, his massive frame dwarfing the man beside him. The trees loomed ahead, their branches intertwining to create a canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth, and perhaps a moan of something more...

 

He nodded to Rocky's words. "Da, I has read 'bout this place." Jack said, his voice low and gravelly, his eyes never leaving the forest as he spoke. "Dey say it's haunted. Spirits roamin' through the trees."

 

A small smile played at the corners of Jack's mouth. If only Rocky knew about the spirit that resided within him, the polar bear that granted him his incredible powers. But that wasn't something he was ready to share just yet.

 

Jack chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate the air around them. "Every kind of magic different, Rocky. Not all of it ist good."

 

As if on cue, a gust of wind whipped through the trees, carrying with it a sound that could have been mistaken for a whisper. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his connection to the natural world heightening his senses.

 

Jack shook his head, his white hair catching the dimming light. Deep down, he knew it was something more. The forest was alive with energy, and Jack could feel it pulsing through him, calling to the primal force that resided within his soul.

 

This definitely did not feel like the good kind of Magic.

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GM

 

It definately did not feel like a good kind of magic. 

 

In ages past - long, long ages, longer than any human civilisation - something was born here. Some festering spirit that fed on resentment, frustration. Not the actual act of violence, no. Something much more insidious, something born from surpressed rage. 

 

And it had reawakened. 

 

Why? Perhaps it was the city, full of crushed hope and simmering resentment for the man who had it easier, for the man who had it all. The man with the yacht, the penthouse, the smart suit or designer dress. 

 

Perhaps it was something else. 

 

Forming from the shadows, a deeper shadow formed in the trees above Jack. A shadow licked by flame, with two orange eyes and an orange maw, grinning. 

 

"Quite the feast!" said the shadow, grinning wider. 

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Jack looked up, his eyes narrowing at the shadow entity. His arms crossed over his chest, muscles rippling under his tan skin. The thing above him flickered with an eerie glow, its orange eyes burning holes into the night.

 

"Quite the feast!" it said, voice like gravel scraping against metal.

 

Jack raised an eyebrow, maintaining a facade of indifference. Inside, though, confusion gnawed at him. What was this thing? Why now? His mind raced with possibilities. Could Rocky have led him into a trap? He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

 

But outwardly, Jack smiled, flashing a bright white set of teeth. "Da," he replied in a confident tone that betrayed none of his inner turmoil. "I enjoy good feast too…" He paused for a moment, thinking, then chuckled softly to himself and added, "…but probably not in the same way you do."

 

The entity's eyes flared brighter for a moment, and Jack felt a chill run down his spine. He forced himself to remain still, to keep his posture relaxed. It wouldn't do to show fear or doubt now.

The presence of the shadow triggered a response deep within Jack. He felt his inner beast spirit stir, an ancient rage bubbling to the surface. The primal anger surged, raw and wild, demanding release. His muscles tensed, every fiber of his being straining against the urge to transform.

 

A low growl rumbled in his chest, almost inaudible but potent with barely contained fury. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. Jack's breath came faster, each inhale and exhale a battle to maintain control.

Jack forced himself to relax his fists, fingers trembling as he pried them open. He focused on steadying his breath, drawing on years of discipline honed in the wilderness of Siberia. He couldn't let the beast take over—not here, not now. Jack's eyes narrowed further. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple despite the chill that emanated from his body. The beast spirit roared inside him, a tempest of ice and fury clawing at his mind.

He fought back with every ounce of willpower he had. He envisioned the serene landscapes of Siberia—the snow-capped mountains, the endless forests, the stillness of nature undisturbed by human hands. It helped ground him, tethering him to something calm and constant.

 

"Yous may 'ave to find feast elsewhere, if dat ist wat yous lookin' for..." The beast inside him snarled in protest, but he pushed it down, buried it deep where it couldn't reach him for the moment.

 

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The entity's smile broadened. "But you don't know what I feast on, do you?"

 

It stood up straight, stretched, patted its shadowy stomach with shadowy hands. 

 

"Good. Good you don't know. I had thought Rocky was a fine meal, but you, my dear... you are a banquet! Mmm...mmm....mmm....I can feel it, the cap on the bottle. The plug in the engine. the steam!"

 

"I'm not going to eat you. I doubt I could, even if I wanted to. Not yet, anyway. I don't feast on flesh. Flesh feeds on flesh. I am a spirit, and a spirit feeds on spirit."

 

He shook his hands. 

 

"And do not worry, I am not going to consume your soul. I am more of a symbiote than a parasite, you would say. Many have called me a blessing, although some have called me a curse."

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Jack took a deep breath, then another, trying to steady himself. The air chilled in his lungs, bringing a moment of calm in a sea of confusion as the entity's words echoed in his mind. What kind of feast was this thing talking about? His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the creature's intentions.

 

He exhaled slowly, watching his breath form a misty cloud in the air. His fingers still trembled slightly, but he forced them to unclench, to relax. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a drum, but he focused on slowing it down. He couldn't afford to lose control, even this far from the city.

 

The shadow flickered above, its orange eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down Jack's spine. He felt the polar bear spirit within him stir, restless and agitated by the unknown threat.

 

Rage? Despair? Was this thing feeding off negative emotions?

 

"Feast?" Jack asked, his voice low and gravelly. "What kind of feast you mean den?" His eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and wariness etched across his features. He took another deep breath, willing his heart rate to slow.

 

"Symbiote, da?" Jack grunted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Gots one spirit bonded to me alweady. Do not think yous play nice together." He could feel the polar bear spirit stirring within, a cold fury building in response to the shadow's presence.

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GM

 

Slowly, the Shadow started to solidify. It was a subtle thing, to be sure, but it was there. What was a barely perceptible darkness now had edges, a density. Not fully intangible, but no longer an ethereal ghost. 

 

And all the while the smile started getting stronger. 

 

The burning smile widened. 

 

"I can feel the rage, the anger. The beast you have leashed. I could not hope for a fatter pig..." it mused, burning eyes raised skyward. The shadow rubbed its stomach. 

 

"You can call me Sunshade..." it whispered. "The burning heat, contained. That is my nature...."

 

And with that, in the blink of an eye, it evaporated into dark shadow and streamed into Jack. 

 

And then it was gone, leaving Jack with a heavy weariness...

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