Something really weird? I can still see earlier posts.

That’s one point towards this being an illusion created from my mind.

That, and the weird comics I’ve found in the drawer.

This floor, these curtains, the bed, the walls, the sounds of cars outside, I’m pretty sure none of it is real.

Why am I writing this then?

If this is all in my head, then what’s the point in writing anything down if nobody will ever see it.

Well, another reason I type things out, take a few hours out of my day, is because I like to get it out of my head, it makes the ideas and events feel a little more tangible.

No, you didn’t miss a post, I just wanted to get that bit out of the way first.

But I’m really not in the mood for microcosmic anecdotes at the moment.

Contrary to the clean green walls I find myself comfortably enclosed in, I am in the middle of a life and death battle.

I guess the best place to start is where I left off last time right? After doing decently against Pugal and Noah, I retreated into the nearby mountains for the rest of the day. Why did I run miles away from a battle I was winning, a fight in which I had the advantage in strength, skill, and agility? Because I knew for a fact I wasn’t going to survive if I stuck around.

I knew some weird shit like this would happen.

I didn’t know I’d end up in a room that smells like fucking lavender, but I knew somebody was going to pull some black magic.

My first concern was that I had misinterpreted Pugal’s powers, I mean, what I posted the other day was just a guess made during combat.

What are the odds of him just being a guy who’s good at bouncing things?

Yeah, the hot pink ball on his head makes him look like the sort of guy to have an ability like that, but I’m weird looking and I can level a small building.

Probably.

Yeah, I can level pretty big building, what’s to say he can’t make my eyes bounce out of my head when he gets serious.

I was worried about that on the scene, but while I was jumping away, I considered that the other guy, Lechoslaw, might be way more powerful than these guys, even if they were holding back their real strength.

I hadn’t even a clue as to what his actual abilities are, even now I’m guessing this is only one of them at work.

So, for about 10 hours I sat in the mountains. There is so much up there you couldn’t even believe it, unimaginable wonders such as:

Marshland.

Thorn bushes.

Sheep singular.

Yes, I had all this and 10 hours to think back on every horrible possible torture they could employ in order to kill me, draw me out, or worse, persuade me.

Though this floral scented room is nice and all, it will take more to make me bend, so no worries on that front.

Somehow this was the first time I had given any thought to them exploiting my ‘hero’s code’, by threatening literally anyone they’d at least get me to consider joining them as an option.

I’m sure Clover’s caught on to that tidbit by now, though to what degree, I’m not sure.

I noticed that I also care about dying to a lesser degree from the other two things.

Is that normal? To not really value your own life as much as, say, your morals, your identity.

I think it’s normal, at least when you haven’t been on death’s door. Most who haven’t will tell you that they would rather jump in front of a trolly to save another person’s life. The weird thing about me in this situation is that even if you told me that was 'puppy strangler Malone' on the tracks, I’d probably still jump, and I have been on death’s door, arguably through it.

Why? Because I want to be a hero.

And you could argue that a real hero wouldn’t throw their life away so some asshole can continue strangling puppies, but I think that if I don’t try to strive for that sort of heroism, my own kind of heroism, then nobody else will, right?

Under the dark of night, I finally went home, running along the ground to keep a literal low profile.

After I took out Lechoslaw’s goons, and from the way he talked about them they were his goons, I’m guessing this has become a little bit more than a simple territory scuffle between me and Clover.

I’ve realised I can take down two low ranking Units, but 100?

Not to mention that most of them are highly valued, opposed to skin-head.

After getting home, did I scout them out again? Did I try and get them by surprise?

No. I went home and slept in order to be well rested for an exam in the morning.

I figured if I went to sleep at 11, got up at seven, and then studied for 2 hours before the exam, I’d be good. I probably did crap, but I can’t change that now, can I?

For a couple days I neglected Shamrock, not because I was afraid, (I’d say I was weary), but because I wasn’t in a good condition, I’ve once again incurred a wealth of injuries over the months, from the Circuit board to the dynamic duo, I’ve had it rough and I’m not too sure about how to go about asking Bob for a 10,000 dollar can of magic foam.

I rested my body for a little while, instead of running into another Pooka situation.

Jump forward about a week, I’ve done most of my exams, and this nasty cut on my side has finally cleared up, back pain is going away, and I couldn’t stay down for much longer.

Remember what I said about jumping in front of trollies is how I hero? Well, if I just sat back and let these Mountain guys move into my city, then I would be sitting by the tracks while people are in the way of harm, wouldn’t I?

They could always use Clover’s ability to make us run into each other in the street anyway, so if they are after me, I’d rather seek them out on my own, do this on my terms. I buckled myself up for getting another gash in my side, another semi-permanent type of muscle pain, and probably getting a bowling ball thrown at my 'little green'.

Suffice to say, there was no way I was getting out of this without taking damage. Or apparently, getting trapped inside another false reality.

I checked the hot spots but everywhere turned up dry, the construction site was hard to get into unseen, and it really wasn’t worth it, all I did while I was there was accidentally jump out in front of one of the builders, guy nearly fell of the damn roof.

I caught him though, no harm no foul, right?

I checked Clover’s house, but it was completely devoid of life, curtains drawn, lights off, nobody was home, this was really weird because I’d seen Saoirse at school every day.

I thought she might have headed back to England, or wherever they’re situated, only waiting for the week to be over so she could finish her tests or something.

Then I found a note half wedged in the letter box.

It had an address on it, a local hotel, pretty pricey one too.

Guess I’m not doing this on my terms after all.

This was one of the few tall buildings in Tralee, I don’t know how many stories tall it is, I don’t have much of a reference for that sort of thing, but I had some fun trying to get to the top, I under shot it loads of times because I was afraid of hitting a window or breaking a wall, so there’s a good chance that they saw me at some point.

It means I don’t have to make a scene at reception though.

In the end trying not to break stuff didn’t matter, because to get into the door on the roof I had to break it. Thing was locked tight.

I fumbled about trying to find the exact floor and room. When I did get there, I knocked like an idiot because I thought there was a chance of this being the wrong room, that it might have been some old rich lady.

While I was slapping my face, a voice came from beyond the door, “Room service or social?”

“Try waste disposal you crackety asshole!” I said it in a quiet voice, trying not to disturb the neighbours.

There was a pause for a moment, I thought about saying it again.

“Alright, it’s open.”

I’ve become weary of opening doors with bad guys behind them. I stood to the side of the door, pressing my finger down on the handle, before kicking it open lightly. I counted to three, and flopped around to face the room, dashing head on into the opening.

I scanned the entirety of the hotel room in a few seconds: three rooms other than the one I was in, one to my left was likely a bathroom judging from a towel on the door, the tv was on, muted, though it was angled in such a way that I couldn’t see the screen. In the far-left corner, there were sheets and sheets of newspaper, the sofa had been shifted into the middle of the room, facing the screen.

Clover was laying on it lazily, a bowl of crisps on her chest. She looked up to me when I came in, then she stared behind the sofa, the corner adjacent the newspaper pile.

Lechoslaw had a revolver pointed at her head.

I skidded to a stop, and waited, before I could form an idea of what I was seeing, Lechoslaw spoke to me.

“You are Shamrock. Though I already knew that. I am Lechoslaw Limorilow. Though you probably knew that, from the little dialogue you over heard last week.”

He was… exactly how I’d imagined him. His facial features and build matched his grim tone of voice perfectly, though I’d say he was younger than his voice and marionette lines suggested. His hair was raven black and fell in a hood down to his shoulders, leaving his pale bony forehead exposed. I pieced together that he must be from some eastern European country from a slight accent I’d only now noticed, and him having similar characteristics to many immigrants I’d known locally.

He held the gun to her head loosely, however, the impression he gave off was that of someone who knew what they were doing, like he’d been here a thousand times, his eyes certainly supported the feeling; cold dark irises with not a glint of emotion.

He dressed for a funeral too, a black overcoat with quite a bit of bulk to it. You might think he had some fat or muscle to him, if he wasn’t betrayed by his knobbed wrists, and his slim trousers.

I tried to think of something to say, but I hadn’t planned that far, my mouth hung agape, on the verge of words.

“Well?” He toned, “Why are you here, hero? You must have a reason for all of this commotion.”

I motioned to Clover with my head, getting into an offensive stance again.

“She’s alright,” he answered for her, “She’s agreed to this situation. She said you wouldn’t risk her life, despite you being enemies. I wanted to have you as a captive audience for a few minutes, maybe far, far longer if you don’t play your cards right.”

I frowned, asking Clover, “And you told him that why?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Again, Lechoslaw answered for her, “She’s currently deaf. Noah’s work, at my request. I hope it was not a necessary precaution. That relating to my last note on you playing your cards right.”

I nodded, “Right, I’m playing black jack with two eights. What, I join The Mountain or you blow out a high-ranking members brai-”

I stopped myself, picking up on a more subtle feature of this Limorilow, a small tattoo of a crown under his left eye.

“Shite.” I at last said, “You’re on the same level as her? I still doubt you can just kill your peer if theirs a Unit in Ireland you don’t like.”

I half imagined a raising of his brow, seconds before a bang filled the room.

I smashed my hands to my head; Clover didn’t react at all.

I waited in horror for her to slump, for blood to begin pooling, I was shaking at the thought of her being dead, just like that.

Once again, I was hit with the reality of the situation. What it would really mean if she was dead.

I’d be alone.

“Hmm.” Lech mumbled, “I’d forgotten some of the factors in this, for just a moment. The weight of the gun, the push back, the stickiness of the palm in such a position. Though, all of this can of course be attributed to, as many would call it, good fortune for my ‘peer’.”

His tone of voice belonged to that of a smiling face, but his lips still hung low, “A miss.”

My stance was completely broken, and I again noticed a slight twitch in his black eyes, “I’ll advise you not to misunderstand; I had intended to blow her brains all over this overpriced hotel room, I wouldn’t have covered the floors otherwise. It’s a lowly place, but that doesn’t mean the cleaners should have to scrub as much grey matter from the floors. Though I wonder what they’ll do about the hole in the wall… I’m sure you’ll agree that you are to blame for that, yes? You did not believe me. I simply had to show you, didn’t I? For you to understand.”

After maybe a minute of shivering, gathering myself, I pulled a bluff that I’d been meaning to play tonight, though I would have liked to do it under more fitting circumstances.

“The note you left at her house, that was one stroke of good luck. That was a second. She still has- has two more.” I had been meaning to find this out, the specifics of Clover’s primary ability.

Even with all the time I’d spent with Clover, I never did find out specifics such as, when she consciously uses her ability does it do what she wants or what she needs? Or the thing I was testing now, is there a limit to how much she could use it?

Yeah, bad time for testing, but it was the first thought that came to mind that wasn’t, ‘oh shit’.

Lechoslaw didn’t blink, “Either she told you that out of necessity when she was being attacked by those Americans, a dull move that an amateur might make,” He shifted his gaze to the back of her head, “Or perhaps the two of you are closer than I’ve been led to believe.”

I regretted my actions.

He soon looked back at me, “Though I doubt she would put herself in this position if you had any knowledge to give that would do her harm. I think it best that you know the truthr, that she only has one more use of her probability manipulation. Just in case you’re planning on making any rash decisions.”

I noticed my mouth was dry.

“I must admit, yours is a fascinating case,” he paused, and for a moment his expression seemed to change, as if were about to say something, but caught himself on at the last minute. “This… fixation with being a ‘hero’, no doubt inspired by the many cookie-cutter films being mass produced at the moment. I’ve encountered many complexes built around an individual’s powers, but tell me, what exactly does the form of a hero look like? As an emanation of that concept, I’m curious as to how you embody it. In layman’s terms, what does all of this mean? What is your purpose?”

I tried to formulate an answer as he looked me up and down. “A hero… a hero is someone who- uhm,” I thought of how to best condense every hero into one, “A hero is a person who gets into fights with assholes, usually for the betterment of society, or in order to save an individual.”

“’Betterment of society.’” He copied, “And what exactly do you do to achieve such a goal? I don’t see how being able to jump very high or smash things solves any flaws in man’s world. If anything, it is a regressive action you undertake. It would be well and good for you to hunt down beasts, like the Cleaners of a certain Organisation, but this is a sleepy island, old and storied yes, but those stories are past their time, they’ve been burned and buried. I don’t see anything for someone like you here. Unless you somehow believe that ‘punching’ drug addicts will make any problems disappear? More will be bought and grown, product and customer. Hospitals will still be under staffed, pollution will still be created at an alarming rate, and people will still die in cozied gutters.”

I licked my lips, the roof of my mouth; not a drop of moisture.

“Then this concept, ‘hero’, it seems to be something you believe in, rather than an idea that has any merit. Where does this faith come from? Could it perhaps lay more so in your second point, saving the individual, an indulgence of a single ego. But when a human being chases an idea with no merit, treating it as something golden, wouldn’t you say that’s to the satisfaction of your own ego? It certainly lines up better with all this mindless brawling you’re doing, the addicts, the scuffle the other week, the very fact you went looking for us, three visitors in your country that, as you are aware from your eaves dropping, were here to simply check in on a comrade. I don’t have much of an excuse for last time, we struck first, other than the fact that it was awfully rude of you to intrude in the first place.”

He eyed the rim of my mask, “With that information, I’d say you’re just a simple-minded thug.”

I don’t really know if what he said shook me, or if it was the gun fire earlier.

I snorted in some air and jabbed back, “Says the cold-hearted killer. Says the man who associates with, if not is a drug lord. I’m not stupid, or ‘simple-minded’, it’s obvious that you’re going to cap this monologue with the ‘join the Mountain’ schtick. You’re not going to break me with some shitty psycho analysis, there is nothing you can offer me.”

He looked down at his shoes, “If I were a child, I’d have ended this conversation there, the line would have fit like poetry… But I have more to say.”

Clover laughed at something on the tv, I never found out what she was watching.

“I never said you were simple-minded. It was heavily implied with the information I’d presented, but that is not all I know about you, Sham Rock.” He pronounced my name strangely.

"You have a skilled eye, Mr Thatcher may be a slow man, but he is a seasoned combatant. he admitted to underestimating you, but not to the point where it would have decided the match. He made note of your ability to quickly assess your opponents and form a plan accordingly, you not only defeated him, but you also uncovered his weak points and took advantage of them. Not to mention Pugal, who for reasons that I haven’t yet realised, has had the faith of the crown placed within him. So no, you are not a simpleton, nor are you a common thug.”

He leered at me from that darkened corner while Clover enjoyed her movie.

“You are a hyper effective killing machine. You break men. You can break far more, and with far greater purpose. Do you know what the value of your life is? What all of ‘Shamrock’ is worth? That is something I shouldn’t have to tell someone as astute as you.”

That line unnerved me.

“I want you to think on the few people from the Mountain you’ve met, excluding Pugal who you know next to nothing about. You have myself, there is no doubt that I’ve earned some ire with this little situation, but I typically spend my time ‘helping people’. I travel the world, unrestricted by man or nature’s borders. I’ve sought knowledge, I’ve given it freely to those who ask or have need of it. I’ve aided many people, some you might say are even my enemy, not to dissimilar to your approach with Miss Clover.”

The way he gestured with his free hand, for a second it seemed as if he was going to stroke her, and it made me sick.

“I’m sure you know her well by now. Abrasive, poor management skills for one who has been crowned, and caught up in her head far too much. But even with every fault, she has become a central stone in the Mountain, she has become a person that many, including his Majesty, have come to care for.”

He looked to one of the doors to his left, “And of course, Noah. You heard right. He is a… white supremacist. He believes himself to be of a different breed, despite him having far more glaring genetic defects then any real human. He is a mutant. The malformed spawn of a pregnancy carried out too close to certain substances, who, too cope with what he’s been denied since birth, has grown hateful, and like you, violent.”

I shouted at him for comparing me to a someone like that, but he cut me off. “But behold! Even he has found pride in something beyond his small world, he has worked with people his baser instincts would repel him from, he treats Pugal with what little respect he can muster. The best is brought out of him. Because all are equal in the range of the Mountain King.”

“Why is that?” I jokingly questioned, “Is it because his royal highness is so pretty everybody stops fighting when he bats an eyelid? Is it because they all believe in this greater good crap? That if you do what you’re told it will pay off in the end?”

There was a definite lowering of his brow.

“Greater good? What do you really know about the Mountain?” I didn’t answer.

“The goal of the Mountain is a mundane one. One shared with virtually every organisation in human history, perhaps an inevitable due to the very concept and course of society. His majesty seeks for the most delicate path, the hardest and kindest way to get to the finish line.”

“World domination.”

I did laugh at that.

I said after a good minute, “Wait, so selling drugs in Tralee, Ireland, is all a part of that? What other operations do you have going on, does Pugal steal candy from babies? HA HA! Thanks, you were making too much sense for a second, but now I know you’re a crazy asshole.”

He was not amused in the slightest. I’m not used to this kind of opponent, the kind that doesn’t care.

“There can only be one nation if humanity is to survive. I don’t expect you to understand, but tensions are constantly rising around the world. I’ve seen it. The archaic empirical nature of Russia, the countless warring nations in Africa. This cannot last. And if there methods are used to determine the final nation, then their greatest government investment will be in military arms, and when there is no longer a need for militaries, it will be dumped on peacekeeping. They shall dissuade division, and so they will fall into the trap of shunning progress, real ‘societal betterment’ will be shunned for tradition. Either this nation will reign till the sun implodes, or unlikely anarchy will destroy civilisation. I can go further into how each option will be brought, but we are shortening on time, the neighbours may have called for the police by now.”

I once again squared off, getting into a stance that would allow for me to make quick movements if necessary.

“It is curious. Can you move faster than this bullet? The distance between us is around 25ft, this bullet need only travel a few inches. There will be a time for you to struggle, to try and close this meagre gap, but not before I am done speaking.”

I didn’t move, but I stood ready, kept my feet light on the ground.

“I want you to imagine, ‘hero’, a world where you are able to save people, as you claim to do, not just yourself or this city, not even your island. The work you can do with a large budget, trained legions of men, can actually go towards making the world better, now and forever after. No man is an island they say, and so we must be a mountain, many mounds joined together.”

I looked around the world a bit more before doing anything rash. Clover had started to fidget a little, she looked at me, then at the floor, then back at me. I felt like she was trying to tell me something, or that something was about to happen that I didn’t know about. Lech had been hinting to an insurmountable obstacle, whatever he could do, with paranormal means or with ingenuity, the possibilities were endless.

He raised his voice, “Listen when I am speaking, please. You must understand that you are but one in a horde of hundreds, there is nothing you can conceivably accomplish by going against not just us, but the Mladenets, or Schism, hell, if you are as stubborn as you seem, then even the Internationals will prove to be your enemy. You hardly fended off those followers of the Liquid-crystal God, I doubt you’d stand a chance against that fellow from Belfast. Not to mention the coming of June. You do know what happens in June, don’t you?”

There was another slight shift in his face, as if he were struggling to force out an expression that conveyed any sort of compassion.

“No one is saying for you to steal candy from babies, you’ll keep your autonomy and be given more resources, weapons and technology. You could finally put this façade of being enemies with the little Miss to rest. Information on whatever you need, that I can provide personally.”

The last point I let him make before I shifted my body weight was, “Do you have any idea how you even came upon your ‘superpowers’?”

I tried to move sporadically so that whatever he was going to pull would be a little trickier. I swayed to the left, kicking myself off the wall in a zigzag, he commented, “A no, then?”

He closed the transaction.

“Well, just know, that I’d give you the world.”

Then I was here.

At first, I thought he’d covered the room in darkness, made me blind, I jumped up from bed like I’d had one of those dreams where you're falling.

As soon as I got on top of the covers, I realised I was in a different room. I thought that he might have teleported me somewhere, and so I searched with what little senses I had left, I sniffed, opened my ears, closed my eyes to force them to adjust a little faster.

Going from the hotel lit by lamps and televisions, to a room with only a slight line of orange from outside, like that of a street light, it can make you think you’re blind.

I couldn’t use SP2 to turn on any lights, it can only turn them off, so I darted for the curtains and tore them open. The first thing I noticed was that regardless of my haste, I hadn’t literally torn the thing form the wall, something I’d regularly do when adrenaline is pumping through me.

I panted and scanned the streets outside, it’s not anywhere I recognise, seems to be expensive student accommodation, like I’d seen on my visit to Dublin.

If I had been teleported, I could be anywhere in the world, hell I could be anywhere in the universe for all I know.

So I tried to look at the number plate of one of the cars, but gave up, due to my tired eyes not being able to make out the smaller details.

Wait, tired eyes? I wasn’t tired earlier, I was sore, but I got eight hours of sleep last night. It was at this point I realised that I wasn’t sore. I felted an area that was sore on my back, only to find that I was out of my suit.

I clenched up, slammed my hands to my head, my mask gone- my mask is gone!

Then after feeling a little bit more, I realised I had a haircut, or had it treated, or something.

I turned to the slightly better lit room, and searched the walls with a hand covering the upper half of my face. Finally, I found it, wincing as the world was brightened up. After flickering my eyes, a little, I could take in my surroundings better. I looked around the room.

Green walls, poster of some superhero that looked like a knockoff, and a mirror.

I screamed a little, nearly falling on my ass.

I moved, and the reflection followed. But it wasn’t me, no way that was me.

I looked at my teeth which seemed to be unnaturally white, never mind my normal jaw being appealing, this guy’s was flawless. He had a boyish look to him, his bright green eyes definitely helped. He didn’t have any bags under his eyes, and his complexion was clean as soap. I looked at it for a long time, just the face alone, then I moved down to the rest of my body.

Fucking jacked, lean as all hell.

I pulled some flexes, and every single muscle put me to shame.

At first, I thought he’d switched my bodies, that would explain this freaky Friday BS. Then I noticed a birthmark, my birthmark. I won’t say what or where, but it was definitely me in the mirror. This was me.

Even when I contorted my face in bewilderment, it was still annoyingly handsome.

No, it isn’t my face. This isn’t real, it can’t be. I searched drawers, everywhere in that room, and found a few of my personal objects, among a wealth of comics and other iconography I’d never be able to afford.

Finally, I came across a phone, it looked to be even more expensive than the one Saoirse had given me as a gift.

I had one last idea that I dreaded.

That this guy had somehow been mind controlling me for sometime, forcing me to join up with the Mountain, and that all of this stuff, my new face, were all bought with immoral means.

But it was the exact same time as it had been in the real world, down to the date.

And that’s the conclusion I’ve landed on for now, that none of this is real, it’s some sort of psycho manifestation brainreality-thing. I don’t know.

Whether it is entirely made from my psyche, or is being messed with by his intentions somehow, I don’t know, but I am certain that all of this is incredibly screwed.

Especially these abs.

That brings us full circle. I can still log into this account.

Hours have passed, and the sun is rising, I think that might be a good time to explore just beyond that door.

I can’t forget that everything in here is an attack, not just on my life, but my very identity.

Once I get out of here, I intend to hit him just as hard.