The Book of FoxFire is a mythological book with the many stories that one man

The Book of FoxFire is a mythological book with the many stories that one man, Davey-kins FoxFire, have experienced and collected during his life after it fell to his arms. These stories become the comic books and strips created out of the skills and talents he later developed. This is one such stories.

The Book of FoxFire: Once and Future Shadow

Series: The Book of FoxFire

Story: 01—The Human Hard Drive

It was a winter's night in the early 80s. Christmas Eve.

A lonely log ladder, towering above an empty schoolyard, got an unexpected visitor at that strange hour. A boy about 11 years old who had already had enough of his short life to last him to his old age was climbing that ladder. He had enough of the constant bullying from his peers and humiliation by his teachers. It had dragged him from an exceptionally gifted kindergartner to a hopeless flunker at 6th grade. He had advanced in grade only because his teachers didn't want another year of him. He had gone from a child who was only thought the best of to a whipping boy who was there solely to be kicked around for whatever went wrong in the world. He was someone who lived his life from beating to beating and wasn't considered as much, if at all.

The last straw came about an hour before. At the Christmas recital, somebody rigged his Santa suit to disintegrate right where he stood. Everybody in the hall had a good laugh, at his expense.

The child just couldn't stand any more. He ran sobbing past mocking children and irate adults who demanded that he repeat the scene for the next two performances. He ran out of the hall through a snowstorm and into the darkness until he couldn't hear the laughter or any other human voice.

He didn't stop running until he came to that log ladder. He was usually found there during recesses or when his parents wouldn't let him in his own house because he needed to be played at by other kids. Normally he was on the top rung with the occasional catcalls from below telling him to jump to his death. All too often someone actually climbed up to push him off.

There was a good reason why he chose that place as his personal retreat from the world below him. There was a constant wind at the top of the ladder, an altitude where flags flutter and birds fly, which effectively drown out the noise below him. There he could study the clouds at day and the stars at night—yes, he did show up there at night when things at his house got too intense. He could look for any deity that would claim him or any changes in his fortune in the sky above, and in a way, around him as well. He looked for anything that would ensure him that his past existence would not be the theme of his whole life.

Emphasis on the word, 'any,' and he didn't care who. Never mind what he heard in Church.

Normally he would be found there and dragged back to his school or his house with at least a thorough tongue-lashing but usually worse, but not that night. The snowstorm he had run through had grown to 100-year blizzard proportions with the addition of a thick fog, covering the outside world as if by a flood. The streets were impassable and the visibility all but a few feet. The storm also effectively hid the log ladder below the child in the white and darkness that flowed over and around him as well.

For the first time, the child finally felt that the world he knew had disappeared. It was just him and the wind around him. The wind seemed to blow louder through his hair and into his ears, whipping around his small frame and up to his chin as if to gently guide him to look above.

He did look up and saw what would be the one and only Christmas present he ever needed. The holiday would have no more purpose after tonight because of its presence. Because his silent cries in the night had just been answered.

A book as wide as he was appeared in the neatherspace above him. He stood up tall over the top rung to reach for it, welcoming it into his arms. It was made out of wood and bronze with pages lined in gold that gave the inside of the book a fiery glow. The book was locked tight with a latch similar to diaries, and it was encrested by a foxtail-like shape over the felt covers.

The lock sprang open at his touch, as if it were accepting him, and it opened itself to reveal virgin pages of the softest vellum inside. The darkness of the nighttime snowblind left his presence as the book opened. A fire that the boy had never seen before surrounded him. He could feel the heat and light it gave off, but it didn't cause him the pain of burning, even as it started to ignite the log he was standing on and even seeped through his body and into his soul. And through his handholds to the book, he could see the flicker of flame begin to write on the pages.

It started with a mere trickle, a sole flame forming a single letter.

Then a word.

Then another word.

A sentence.

A paragraph.

And another.

And a third.

They seemed to pour out from the boy's own soul: Stories. A whole universe of stories appeared from every genre imaginable. He saw a romance tale appear in the parchment, then a mystery, science, history, tragedy, comedy, and more and more. Page after page flew past as it was written in fire and flipped over, yet there seemed to be no end to the pages within the book.

It didn't seem weird to the boy. He was already deeply lost in the words that appeared in front of him. In fact, it actually felt right to him, more right than anything else that had occurred and occurred in his short life.

And then the dam really burst open. Wide!

A picture was painted in flame with the text.

And another.

Several of them merged to form a comic strip.

Then a whole series of strips.

Then a whole comic book.

And another.

Pictures and words danced together in perfect harmony. It almost resembled the music that now sang in his ears and in his mind. A whole world, no, a complete universe, flowed from inside him out onto the paper, and then back to him. He felt it resonate inside him as he actually felt every story and tale in his own soul.

He never felt so good about anything like this before.

So right.

So alive, alive for the first time ever.

He closed his eyes.

He took in a breath.

He felt his legs take leave of the log below him.

The fire instantly disappeared. The log ladder was completely consumed, no longer needed, mere ashes to be covered by the snow.

The child was never seen again.

Only the stars and the snow were the witnesses.

____________________________________________

Present Day

The stars are just as enigmatic as the long bone-shaped spaceship, which passes underneath them. The spaceship has a giant dirigible-shaped construct, which is attached on the top and spread out across its spine, dwarfing the craft. On the dirigible is one word, in all capitals except for the I: NiTRO.

The scene fades to the inside of this novelly designed Space Blimp to the bedroom of the one who will be narrating this tale. The room appears to be for a young teenaged girl. It has pastel papered walls, various stuffed animals, several outfits including those made for show apparently, the occasional shoe strewn on the floor, and the obligatory dresser with a mirror and makeup kit.

But as she starts speaking, the pan continues to reveal that which is rather out of place at first: A detached robotic forearm with a strange device strapped—no attached—through the length.

I get a lot of questions about myself. What I am? How I was made? Am I related to Brent Spinner?

The panning passes a poster of Data from 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' which is autographed by Brent. The words read, 'Here's to Roll Rabbit, the one who beat Starfleet to it,' and ends on a recharge device wired to a recliner, in which lays a very pretty and a bit sexy female android. She looks almost perfectly human with two exceptions. The first is a second pair of ears—rabbit ears—sticking straight out from her long and deep purple hair on her head—with matching cotton tail which is seen under her legs. The second is the fact that she is sleeping a bit too soundly. She isn't moving at all, much less breathing. She is wearing only a loose white shirt, which drapes over her ample C-Cups and curved hips, and panties that hide viewers from what is her genitalia. Her clothing doesn't hide much of her otherwise naked figure.

Well, I'm supposed to be the real world answer to the android he plays in that show.

A loud ping is heard, signifying the end of the recharge cycle, and the robot springs to life, starting with pink-colored humanlike eyes which flutter open and then with the rest of her as she takes her shirt off to unplug the connection to the recharge device from her navel. A good view of her firm chest and torso with only a satin bra hiding her otherwise apparent nipples can be seen.

As you can see, I'm the culmination of countless decades of technological innovation, one human's life and a decade of another, and as you can see, the libido of more than one guy with too much time and no girlfriend to share it with. Not that I would have minded though, I do have the Bunny Girl subroutine in my programming, as well as the capacity to give and receive . . . oh, I'm rambling, am I? Davey-kins says I do that at times. Oh well.

She finds a rather form-flattering purple and deep pink jumpsuit to put on—making sure that the tail is outside the pants—and straps a sash tight around her slim waist as her slender feet slide into a matching pair of pumps. Afterward she actually twists off her own left forearm and, after placing the now inert limp into a drawer, snaps the robotic arm with what she calls her 'Utility Arm' in place. She then bends over to the makeup counter to give her synthetic skin some decent color. You can only tell it's not a real skin if you have a near microscopic view of her too-perfect complexion to see the actual fibers.

Those parts aren't just for show, though. The ears are my sensor array: My hearing, vision and smell, as well as Infrared, Radio, and electronic communication connections that come in handy. They had to put them there so that my head can have enough room to properly express my facial expressions. And my Bun-Bun? It's a perfect heat sink, keeping my primary components in my chest properly cooled. Okay, my rack does the same job of a human as well, if any of you were asking that.

Roll is followed by the camera as she walks down the long and rather expansive hallway leading to the front of the craft. She stops by a cupboard to make some coffee from an automatic drip machine, which is located across from another door labeled, 'Captain's Room.'

Despite the reason why I got my last name, my first name has more to do with my primary program. I'm named after a certain Capcom character who is similar in my personality and function. Roll is a robotic sister to Megaman; a rather bright and cheerful assistant and homemaker. Add the sensuality and tenderness of a young woman who discovered guys, and I become the perfect companion to whoever has me. But to the person who actually has me, I'm that and so much more. Probably why I consider myself to be one lucky android. Now if I can wake him up.

She turns around to open the door. Somewhere in the unkempt bed is a man in his early thirties who is obviously turning in his sleep. Roll just sits on the edge of his bed and pats his head with her left hand.

His first name's David, I know that much. For all I know, he doesn't have or need a last name. He calls himself Davey-Kins FoxFire, though. Everybody else knows him as a rather eccentric comic book artist. I just know him as my boyfriend, if a robot could have one. That's what I call him in public, after all. I'm very fortunate to be one of the few that sees the man under the ego. Ego. That's something I can talk blue streaks about, but more on that later. I think I may be narrating out loud.

"Yeah, Ah believe y'are." David mutters. Roll puts her hand over her mouth in a surprised gesture. At that David merely takes Rolls hand down and puts a finger to her lips moving them to make a smile. "That's awrite . . .

You try spelling a Southern Accent. He's always had it since . . . well, since he was born, and never had the ability to correct it. I'm glad he still has it, in my humble opinion. It gives him some charm.

. . . Ah was abou'ta expect y' anyway. Yer know? One can set their watch t' y' activity? You've been givin' me these wakeup calls at th' same time ever since Ah've known ya."

"What can I say, David," Roll says with a giggle, "We androids are creatures of habit. We do our best on a schedule, but I've shown a bit of flexibility along the way, didn't I?" Roll's soft hand moves down to stroke his leg. "I've shown that many times while we have been here."

Yep, we did do it. We'll probably do it some more. I've got the equipment and the capability for the whole sexual experience, right up to pregnancy and the occasional disease. The semen goes into a reactor, which converts it into energy, which in turn saves juice in the battery. I even feel a surge through my body, which is the equivalent of a woman's climax. Part of the Bunny Girl package I somehow got. At least Davey'll let me use the 'official' terminology and not come off as a talking inflatable doll. I've seen otherwise living human beings who were reduced into just that. Very unfortunate.

David however smells the coffee. "Hey, this here's Irish Cream. Yer've got different flavors of Joe, heah? Way to go." He then gives her a kiss. "Let me get dressed."

"Sure thing," Roll says with a smile as she picks up the pair of pants from the floor and fetches the rest of what he wants to wear for the day. Not much for the formal attire, he would put on anything that fits.

There are two traits that would make a robot want to have a particular user. One is that they keep up the upkeep and upgrading of his robots. I have a 35 Gig drive that I'm anxious to fill, and the recharge station is always available for me. David insists that I keep my batteries on a good charge. You've just seen the second: The fact that my user loves his robots. Whatever the treatment resembles a pet, or a sibling, a friend, to even a lovers relationship like mine or even to the point of being man and wife. It's the affection and care that would make your android want to do . . . .

Roll's thoughts are put on hold by a doughnut in her mouth! David's way of telling her that not only is she being too talkative, she's acting like an overzealous saleswoman!

David however is back to his cup while she is standing there with her mouth stuffed and her eyes blinking. "Good thang y'can stomach sweets. Gimme th' status report once y' gulp that down."

Jelly, my favorite. <gulp> Yes, what goes down my working mouth goes into the reactor too. Every now and then I do need to get rid of the waste. Any toilet will do.

"All systems onboard the NiTRO are green, and we have just entered this Earth's atmosphere. In about 5 minutes, we will be passing Cuba . . . "

"Dump our trash ovah Havana. Ah need t' let that bastard Castro know what ah think o' him."

"Done," she says without as much as a batted eyelash. "And may I request Janet Reno's residence for the next dump?"

David nods his approval with a smile as suction sounds can be heard from the trash compressor.

Roll continues. "Neo-GismoTech recorded that new 'CardCaptors' show for the Theater Mode."

Neo-GismoTech is what the company that made me eventually became. It's a high-tech industrial giant in the robotics field. I happened to be one of the earlier prototypes.

"Th' one as butchered t' Hell as DIC's Sailor Moon?"

"Apparantly so . . ."

I have to find out about these anime translations. Maybe it's something an android can improve on.

" . . . Oh! And a new story web site wanted submissions and they listed you by name."

David's eyes light up. "Really? Wanted stories form me? Well, Ah think Ah can supply th' site with enough fresh meat."

Roll follows David to the living room/bridge/studio as he walks past the walkway between the controls and the drawing table to an empty semi-darkened closet consisting of a bookstand with a book on it.

The Book of FoxFire has always fascinated me, mainly because it's so mysterious to my standards. I used every scan this spaceship has and I found nothing about it outside of it being a wood bound diary.

David has a reverent look as he holds out his hands to the book . . .

. . . but in the hands of Davey-Kins FoxFire . . .

. . . . and the book flies to his hands!

. . . It shows it's true colors.

"Funny that y' mentioned 'CardCaptors,' Roll-chan," David says as he sets the book on a table. "Dis hear book does look like it was made by Clow Reed, but Ah'm only hearsayin'. Maybe Ah'll ask Sakura and Shoryan about it."

David pops open the book, but instead of pages, the book opens a compartment with several notebooks, drawings, and envelopes inside. "It has two modes, Case Mode an' Book Mode. Most of th' time, Ah keep it in Case Mode, an' that's what most people see when thair lucky enough t' see it open. Don't look like much, ain't it? Just something for me t' stash mah notes in. But th' real magic comes in th' Book Mode, and to git t' there . . . "

He closes and locks the book, and digs inside his pocket for a chain that is looped through a belt clip. It has his wallet at one end, and a stubby key at the other.

"Ah need this. Ah just insert it in a hole by th' lock, give it a turn and . . ."

As the key is turned, a sound similar to a deadbolt slide is heard. When he opens it this time, the book reveals written parchment.

"It's pretty incredible how stuff Ah put in Case Mode comes out here in these pages. It's 'The Neverending Story' on stereoids."

I've seen that series and I've gotta admit, he's got a point. Although I've seen the most of David's stories, and I doubt that anyone from Bastain's group would survive.

"So," Roll asks, "which story will you start on?"

David just smirks and flips a page. "My own. It's about time ah showed you all about mah own tale, and it deals with the area I've set the navigation computer to."

Roll checked the monitor and seen that everything's progressing nicely twoard over an unmarked building a few miles away from Las Vegas. "I must admit to being rather unclear about why we're going here. There's appearingly nothing appearant outside of a vacant building, and I'm surprised that it wasn't imploded to build another casino. This is Las Vegas we're talking about."

"You're not th' first not to see much in this spot. Would'cha believe that Ah'm one o' th' only 5 people who know the location o' this? It's a secret safehouse of one Copper Mystran, professional hypnotist an' noncultural sleuth. One of the ol' tahm radio sleuths with a network o' operatives. Only instead o' findin' fully grown stooges, he picks troubled young teens off th' street an' reforms them. He takes them to this place rat chere dat's only whispered about over there in Sin City. They say that those that gets dragged hear don't leave the same person, if they leave at all. They call this place the Crucible.

"The Crucible." Roll says while compiling this data. "Webster defines a 'Crucible' as a vessel of a very refractory material used for melting and refining a substance that requires a high degree of heat, such as a metal. It is also a place or situation in which concentrated forces interact to cause or influence change or development."

"When ya consider that th' item being refined are human spirits," David replied, "then this place is both for a lot of people, including myself." He smiles at that. "Ah can't believe that Ah just stumbled into th' place until Ah stumbled into Copper himself."

=======================================

It didn't register in the younger David's mind that he ran into somebody until his rear informed him that he flopped hard on the desert floor. He didn't know where he was when he opened his eyes which he closed when he found his book and found himself somewhere warm, dry, and pitch black. He didn't have an idea of where he was at--for all he knew, he was in another world, or somewhere worse--so he merely walked in the direction in front of him hoping he'd find something before he got too hungry or tired. He quickly caught the book that fell to his side and peered up to see what he ran into.

And saw a pair of steely eyes from behind a white expressionless mask staring back at him.

He naturally gulped. Even if he was able to talk, too scared to do so. He just slowly back away to put some space between himself and this floating pale face before he turned around and book the other way at top speed.

"Don't be frightened, child."

It came from the mask. A voice that seemed to echo in his mind. It had a quiet power to it, soft to the ears yet was made as a command. Nevertheless it seemed to stung in the child's mind, as if he would be in pain even by the gaze alone. It didn't stop him from backing away.

Until two white gloved hands went for his shoulders. The child let out a scream when they touched, his mind racked with an intense paranoia. The scream was quickly stopped when one of those hands covered his mouth.

The mask let out a long and loud ssssshhhhhhhhhhh with seared into the child's ears. Not as if he'd be able to say anything else. The 11-year-old was absolutely trembling before the man in front of him. If he could get away from that white mask, he would be aware of it. He had on a tuxedo, complete with a top hat, bow tie, and coattails. There was a medallion that hung from his collars and a cape that was red on the inside, black on the outside, and rose up to the man's head which made him all but invisible in the darkness at first. Granted, this costume can allow this figure to be menacing and frightful if it was needed, but even if it wasn't the case here, it left this child visibly in terror, even when the figure knelt in front of him with his arms on the child's shoulders."

"It's all right, child." He told him. "You're quite a bundle of nerves here. You're obviously lost, in fact, I don't think anyone would know that this place existed. You do not know where you are, do you?"

It was a question, and despite the calm voice, it carried a demand for the child to speak. However, the child could only shake his head in the 'no' direction.

"I would expect that, this place can be very dangerous for someone like you. Do you know what awaits you a couple miles down that road?"

Another 'no' shake from the child.

"Then come with me, child. You probaly would like a meal, a change of clothes, and a bed to sleep in, and I'm sure I can offer that to you."

This one was less of a command, more like an invitation. For a while, it has yet to register in his mind. He did indeed heard stories about people who would take him away to do something to him. He didn't know exactly what it is, but he was told that it wasn't nice. However, the child just couldn't refuse this man. Maybe it was the fact that it would be the second time that he was taken somewhere, the first one caused by the book he was still clutching to with both his arms now. Or maybe it was a touch of naiveté. Or maybe it was the fact that this man's voice was getting to him.

Or maybe it's the medallion that the man is holding between him and the child. It caused a kaleidoscope that sparkled right into the child's eyes, causing him to blink . . . .

. . . . and opened his eyes again in the most comfortable bed he ever found himself in. It was all he knew about until he instantly fell asleep.

_______________________________________________________________

A lit table is seen from above, with only darkness around. The two gloved hands appeared which presented a Grammar School ID and a notepad. He laid the ID face down on the table and made a pen appear out of thin air and began to write. On the cover, he put down a name:

David FoxFire

He opened it to reveal virgin lined paper, and continued:

12-31-1995: I have found this child wandering around the Crucible with only the shirts on his back and a large coffee-table sized book in his arms. He was a bit unresponsive as well as terrified, displaying signs of autism, as I approached and questioned him. It is apparent that he was alone and I doubt that anyone would look for him in the vicinity, so I took him inside.

It is with great surprise that I found his school's ID, which resides in the St. Louis area! I attempted to call the school, and later the authorities at that town, with a rather curious result: It appears that the child was lost in a snowstorm after a traumatic event, and was found dead. Despite the tones of voice on the other end, I can tell that the child was not thought of highly, especially with this public school. I would have just dismissed this as another Hellmouth case, but this happened fifteen yeras ago! This means that, not only has this child traveled through time as well as across states, I have a humbling revelation that Hellmouth cases isn't a modern trend.

But how can a child virtually disappear from Missouri and end up in Nevada fivteen years in the future, I wonder?

I cannot help but shake the feeling I have about the large book he has. It's as if it has a strange power but isn't completely known yet. It is very alaboratly ornimated with foxtails and the word down it's spine: FoxFire. This is why I'm naming him David FoxFire. Maybe the child knows more about this book, and I'm very interested in what he has to say about it.

Once I can get him to come out of his shell, that is. The treatment he got in that school must've been horrendous, since the only thing he learned is how to withdraw into himself. Of course, I've handled cases like this before. This won't be too dificult.

=============================

Over the time he was placed in his room, the young David didn't do much. He mostly slept, ate, took a bath, and huddle in the nearby couch. He found the wall to wall shag carpeted room rather large and well lit because of the mirrors on the walls and ceiling, giving it a more spacious view. Or was that because he tended to make himself smaller where he laid or sat. As he expored the room, he didn't find much else except a radio which can play music but not from any stations. The drawers only had extra T-shirts, briefs and socks that's his size, but nothing else. The two visible doors lead to only an empty closet and the bathroom. He also saw the side show posters and pictures that were posted where there were no mirrors. One of them was a show poster of that very man who took him here, and that's where he found out about the name of 'The Great Mystran, The Once and Future Living Shadow!"

He couldn't find a way out, which added to the disorientation of having no sense of direction or time, and with no outside windows, no connection with the world as well. However, he is becoming aware that someone is taking care of him. Although he couldn't see a way that anyone can get in, someone did bring in the meals which he all but picked clean and supplied extra clothes for him to wear once he returned from the bath. It felt thin enough for him to feel confortable, even though it had long sleeves, red striped collars, and a black vest with the similarly textured black pants. There wasn't anything other than socks, but he was going to keep them off anyway.

He smiled a bit while he put them on, finding that they fit him exactly. He figured they got his measurments from his old clothes, whatever they were. So he just flop in his couch and fidget with his book. Mostly he read the stories in them while listening to the radio.

================================

"That's when ah went an' discovered th' two Modes this hear book's got. I thought Ah broken something off at first until Ah found out that it's a key. Ah took the strings off my shoes before they took th' shoes and socks away and made a makeshift keychain around mah neck."

================================

He finally fell asleep like he always did, clutching his book in a death hold like a teddy bear. When he woke up, he found himself in the bed with the book at the side. He was given a note stating that he wouldn't want the book, and he kept it as a bookmark to remind himself of this. He found another good meal waiting for him in a table which was promptly devoured.

Later on, he was listening to the radio, listening to the babbling brook which came from the recording that was transmitted there, there was a voice, that same voice, which softly spoke just barely over the water.

"Hello there, David."

He turned around toward the bed, where the voice came from. He could swear that nobody was there before. But there he was, Mystran, that dark cloaked masked figure that took him here--wherever here is--apparantly appearing out of nowhere!

"Don't be frightened, child. Come here, let me get a closer look at you."

The command-slash-invitation of his voice was added by that gloved hand that seemed to hover between the two and crooked a finger, which made the curiosity in the child overwide any fear. He cautiously moved twoard Mystran again, who knelt down to his eye level and held the child's body in his arms. Once again, he felt the fear over what this meant before that Christmas Eve, but quickly died down when what he've always expected and dreaded didn't appear. Mystran just held him there, his eyes behind his white plaster expressionless mask locked into with with boy's.

"I've taken countless young people, just as yourself, here to this place," the voice behind the man's unmoving mouth began. "In the times I've moved among the shadows of this world, I have seen way too many slip through a short and lonely life without knowing the good they can do with it. Some of the kids I take in find that potential which I tend and nurse intil they grow up to make a good life for themselves. Others allow me to mold and shape into a protential they couldn't find themselves. Some of them I keep here, while others are sent to friends of mine to fill any needs. And every now and then, I find someone who's a little of both. Regardless, they leave here, if they do, to a better life than what they would have gotten." He then eased back and rubbed his plaster nose. "I don't know which path you'll be taking, but until you do, I give you sanctuary here, in my Crucible. Please, accept my hospitality, and be at ease. Think of yourself as one of my children from now and forever, Davey-kins."

The boy merely blinked at this. He knew what he heard, but part of him didn't understand it. He has simply haven't heard of walk like this, at least not in such a benevolant term. He wanted to reach up to him, touch him.

Mystran somehow sensed this, and moved the child's hand up to that mask. "Go ahead, David." He explains as that smoove and firm layer of plaster that is held fast to his real face was felt, poked and explored. Only the eyes were visible, as well as the ears. The mast covered the rest of his entire face and hooks under the chin to cover most of his head. "I got this mask when I first discovered who I started my detective shick. Got into it mainly because I felt I can actually do some good with my powers and abilities. But . . ."

He sighs, showing a bit of sorrow over it. David blinked and moved closer at this.

"I had an accident that destroyed my face. You wouldn't want to see what it is now, which is why I will always hide it. I didn't want to have people run in terror at my gaze."

"ooooh," Davey said, finally finding his voice. "ah'm sorry, mistuh Mystran . . ."

Davey didn't know it, but Mystran was smiling behind his mask, as well as feeling a tear that fell down his cheek. "That's all right, child. I adapted with my infirmity, and it gave me an affinity with people who were hurt as well, some inside as well as outside. People like yourself, my child."

All that David knew that there was someone who was like him. Someone with his own pain that kept him diffrent from everyone else. Someone David himself finds a kindled soul with.

That settled it with the child. It was the first smile he had on his lips in years, and he almost didn't know how to make one, but he showed it to Copper as he moved closer to him, finally sitting up on his lap when he was invited to.

(Induction Sequence where Copper gets Davey completely relaxed and trusting in him, then pushes a button to slide the bed halfway in the wall. He leaves after this.)

_______________________________________

Copper's words echoed throughout his mind without any resistance as he slept in that bed. It was to be the first untroubled sleep he had in a long while, and he would have remained there without a care. However, woke up from that sleep he did, in the same bed he found himself in, and in the same room he found himself in.

Yet, everything about the room has changed for the child, and it wasn't because of the sole addition of a third doorway leading out of it. Or was it the child himself that was changed, he wouldn't know himself. What he did know that this place, this entire complex that Uncle Copper sent him to—nevermind that this was the first time this child referred to Copper Mystran as an 'Uncle,' but it seemed natural for him—was filled with hearth and home. Warmth, comfort, and safety was in every wall, nook, and cranny.

He found his book in a leather shoulder bag, which also had a notebook on a clipboard, a set of mechanical graphite and color pencils with a sharpener, and extra room for anything he'd find in the future. But as he reached up to collect the bag he found that the rest of the clothes have already been put on him: Not just white with striped shoes but also gloves on his hands. But that didn't match the surprise he had when he looked at the mirror and saw a mask of his own over his reflection's face. A smooth white veneer of face paint completely covered the exposed skin from the collar to the hair, including the ears and all around the neck. His lips and eyes were subtly lined out as well as dawned in eyebrows, cheeks, and the tip of his nose to keep it from being frightening. When the child touched it, expecting the makeup to be greasy and fearing he might smudge it, he instead felt it to be rather plastic and very permanent. It's as if Uncle Copper bonded it into his skin.

As his mind wondered over where he got this mask—not that he minded, the whole outfit felt right to him. it made him look more like his Uncle—he heard Copper's voice in his head. He couldn't remember when he told him this, but his voice went through his head with great clarity. The voice was filled with love yet it commandeered all of his thinking, and it immediately became his own thoughts as he heard them.

Your past is gone, my child. Remember no more.

Cast away your memories of that time, and forget.

Yes, my child, you can forget them, forget them forever.

Because you, Davey-Kins Foxfire, are my child now.

'Forget?' Davey-kins thought out loud, as if Copper was physically in his midst. 'What would ah want t' forget? Was there anything back home ah wanna . . . . remember?"

As he said that, he felt light headed. His memories grew rather fuzzy, as if a thick cloud rolled into his memories. He can remember the vague reflections of what has happened—the constant bullying and berating, as if he was born just for that--but outside of one certain item, that night on that long-forgotten winter night on that log ladder where his Book came to him, every detail of exactly how it happened was shrouded in a haze as white as the snow that fell around him then. As white as the mask of his Uncle. As white as the mask he has on himself.

"No," Davey finally said. "Ah don't wanna remember anymore. Ah hava new life here, an' this is mah home."

He felt happy as he said that. He didn't know if he felt that before, but happy he was.

He heard Uncle's voice in his mind again.

That's right child. You are home here, as my boy. The gift I gave you—your own mask and clothes, as well as you name—marks you as mine. I took you away from the pain of your past, all that shame and disgrace. I took you here to stay as long as you live, so your mind and spirit can heal and grow. And in time, you may be able to help others as I've helped you. Until then, you will stay here, as my beloved child, for now and forever.

The frightened and lonely child that Uncle saw when he first found him was replaced by the happy and bright little boy he saw in his own reflection. He laughed; the first laugh in a long time, as long as he remembered.

The laugh attracted a girl who came in through that new door. Davey knew she was a girl because of her outfit: A figure flattering sailor-suit style dress with a hairbow, long gloves and leg warmers. Her face was made up whitefaced like his own, only with the eyelashes and lipstick, and she appeared to have on a thin cloth body suit between her own skin and her dress, concealing every inch of her body. She looked appealing to him, he considered her looks rather cute, and so did she when she commented about the matter. "At first I looked like Copper turned me into some sort of living doll, but we all get used to it. In fact, I never felt cute in my life before he took me here."

"Uncle Copper's got other kids like me?" He asked the girl, who nodded. He continues. "At least he treats all th' kids he adopts. By the way, Mah name's Davey-kins FoxFire."

"You've got a last name?" The girl exclaimed, after introducing herself as Amara. "I can't remember mine anymore. It's just too fuzzy for me to remember."

"Uncle Copper done made y' forgeit 'bout y' past too, I see." Davey began to sniff the air. "Mah last name's on this book Ah'm lugging around. Ah'll show you as ah follow mah nose to whoever's cooking."

"I'll come with you," Amara said, "I'm starving. Maybe you can tell me where you got that accent of yours. It sounds Texan."

"Ah might as well came from there." Davey said as he led Amara arm-in-arm out the door and into a new life. He never came to that place anymore, and he didn't mind because he would find a new place to crash. He didn't see the pair of older women—dolled up in French Maid outfits—enter the room from another direction and started to clean up, removing any and all signs that Davey was ever there. One tells the other that Master told her that he might find another one by Tuesday because of a Consumer Electronics Show that opened yesterday, so the room best be ready in time. The other agreed in time, hoping that He would be pleased.

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