===================================================================== One man feels the burden, one man must turn his back on the battle between right and wrong, and one man must protect the world from paranormal, and supernatural, forces. This Lost Son must do what he can to ensure that the world will not be scared by the type of forces that has caused him the greatest injustice. . .his very birth. His name is Salem. ===================================================================== THE 2099 UNDERGROUND PRESENTS. . . Salem 2099 UG Volume # 1, Issue # 2 - "If You Want the Job Done Right. . ." Words and plot by Jason Smith, "grenville@kymtnnet.org" Edited by JFive Editor In Chief, Chris Partin *Salem and related characters created by Jason Smith (1995) ===================================================================== ------Prologue - London, England, 1888------ The streets of London, England are empty again, thanks to the hysteria of the most recent murder in the bizarre killings by the serial killer known only as "Jack the Ripper." However, tonight the only death at the hands of Jack the Ripper is, oddly enough, his own. The voices have plagued the poor unknown host for quite sometime. He had no intention of killing anyone, or ever becoming the living house for some unwanted, demonic guest. He stood on the edge of the London Bridge, overlooking the Thames River with a sense of peace. The voice of the demonic parasite in his body was finally leaving him alone. He had managed enough power over the force to make his way here, and he was exhausted. Finally, he let himself fall, and was swept up into the cold currents of England's famed river. This incantation of the demonic Lot had finally been silenced. ===================================================================== LaCastre Manor, New Haven ===================================================================== Radü LaCastre sat before a long table which was made of ancient oak. . .one of New England's finest trees, well before most developments had caused the forests that once spread out all over America to be burnt and collected in botanical zoos. There were precious few forests left untouched, but one such thicket did exist just outside of New Haven. It was due to the LaCastre family that it still stood. Instead of expanding out, or taking Nueva York's lead and expanding upward, the city of New Haven did just the opposite. It expanded downward, driving those who couldn't afford life above ground to adjust to underground life, on the Lower Side. Radü LaCastre had never actually traveled there before, but he knew from reports and other documents that it was a horrible place to live, and survival was a tough reward to acquire. Of course, if he did go into the depths of the Lower Side. . .very little would win this prize. The members that littered every side of the table were members of the LaCastre family, which had controlled New Haven for almost an entire century. No one knew what it was that kept the family line so strong, or what made them so powerful and influential. Many supposed that it was somehow connected to the Outer Circle. This crime syndicate operated over the Eastern Seaboard, and was one of the most powerful non-corporate forces in existence. And although these rumors were actually true, it was only the beginning. LaCastre began to speak, and when he did, all ears listened. He turned to a screen, which pulsated with life. . .the same biotech that Salem had witnessed before Tamerlane's destruction. The circuits were constructed from authentic human veins, and had become a technological hybrid. The holoprojector constructed a picture of a single building off toward the outskirts of New Haven. It was Tamerlane, Inc. "It appears that our base of operations was destroyed last night. As of this moment I am still unsure of how exactly Tamerlane was destroyed, but some footage was taken from the destruction, which caused minimal damage to surrounding buildings due to location and precaution," he said sternly. "What do you mean ‘precaution', Dear Brother," asked a muscular figure to LaCastre's right. Radü LaCastre looked at the man with a sneer. They both shared the same strong jaw bone, and elevated shoulders that gave them their graceful and menacing appearance. His name was Bartholomew LaCastre, and he was Radü's brother. "You say that as if I had directly been involved with the family's recent loss, Bartholomew. Would you care to explain your slight preoccupation?" "Well, I mean no disrespect, Brother, but it seems to me that you are awfully calm about this. Who could have done this? Certainly it wasn't Alchem--" "Don't be bothersome, Bart," Radü bellowed. "Alchemax and those fools at S/F have their own problems to contend with. I saw this offender with my own eyes, and I believe that he is working under his own intentions." With this Bartholomew stood up almost knocking his chair over. Radü looked upon his younger brother with an amused smile, and a raised eyebrow. The others in the room gasped and began to mumble, but ceased when the elder LaCastre held out his hand. He bowed to his brother allowing him the floor to speak his mind. He stood back with his arms folded. "Well, I cannot see how our corporation. . .YOUR corporation, Radü, was taken down by one man. I know how you rely on this blasted technology, and you seem so calm. How do we know that you didn't plan this? It seems awfully convenient that no other structures were damaged in the explosion." Radü slightly laughed. . .and it chilled the room. "Don't portray me as ignorant, Dear Bart. Trust me, this was no plan of mine, but the doing of another. . .one I plan on disposing of before he can cause anymore little problems." One of the meeker LaCastres raised his hand slightly before finally speaking up. "And what of all the information, Sire? What of all our advances? Such as the warewolf. . ." Radü LaCastre sat down, and his chair hovered over to a wall. "Lynx, please open up file no. 42 dated 12/8/99. As you will see, everything was destroyed, including our first prototype of the warewolf. However, all of the information that was "stolen" is still here, including our most valuable documents from the Hitler era. Everything else was destroyed, although I feel that the figure present in this picture did escape." All squinted and could barely make out the figure of Salem, standing on the roof of Tamerlane prior to his entrance, with his cloak flapping in the wind. He held the Staff tightly in his hand, and the still shot provided quite a gothic scene. Only Radü LaCastre stared at it without shuddering. "That is your man, Bart." "And I take it you sent your mechanical watchdog after him. . .and it didn't work, right? So you decided to blow up all of your hard work," Bartholomew said disgusted. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated," Radü snapped. "Yes, the warewolf was not efficient enough in his functions, but I can trace this mysterious figure, and when I do. . ." "You'll sick more technological absurdities at him, eh, Brother? You waste your time on this ridiculous technology. Father would roll over in his grave if he could see the way you refuse to get your hands dirty." "Have a care, Bart. Remember who put him there." The room grew silent, and Radü turned to the monitor with a satisfied expression. "Lynx, upload file no. 79 dated 12/9/99." With this the computer showed a picture of a computer virus. . .tracing it's path through the Tamerlane computer systems, and encountering a stryke-counter virus. The room began to mumble again as they saw the Radü's face turn into a growl. "This his how I will track our mystery man. He used a chaos virus, which was enhanced by nanoids. . .not something easy to come by. There's only one man who could have possibly given this character this kind of technology. . .and that's the Shopkeeper." "And what do you intend to do with him once you find him, Dear Brother? Send some more mummies after him? Or do you intend to actually get your hands dirty." Radü looked at him, slightly angered now. He took a deep breath, and his broad shoulders looked even more menacing. His short black hair matched his pupils, and he grimaced at his brother, and the others shrunk back. "If you're so intent on muscling this mystery man around, Bart, then I'm sure you will be more than happy to make sure he is disposed of." Bartholomew looked at the monitor. He gulped back his fear as he looked at the image of the man in purple and black. . .his cloak flapping in the wind. ===================================================================== The Lower Side, New Haven ===================================================================== The dusty streets of the Lower Side raised in a storm as the feet of the strange men shuffled toward a tall, sturdy building. It's display window was barely lit with a small lamp, and it was obviously closed. Provided that many of the people that resided in the Lower Side had never seen the sun, time was heavily relied on. One of the men looked at their watch, and nodded his head, signaling one of the others. It would be night topside, so they knew that all in the establishment would be still. They had come to one of the most sought out men in the Lower Side. Without bothering to knock on the door, they burst in, with laser cannons blazing. The shop was small in scale, as were most buildings in the Lower Side. They looked out of place, for they were lucky enough to live topside. Their clothes were clean, unlike the normal dirty look of everyone else's clothes in the Lower Side. They had faced no opposition marching through the downtrodden streets, for minding your own business was an important facet of living in this section of New Haven. They found the shop empty of anyone's presence. It was filled with various technological goodies, mostly junk parts. But, they knew that something more was taking place in this humble little shop, for the mystery man could only have found the virus used here. . .unless he had made it himself, of course. But, that had been analyzed by LaCastre's tech-slaves. As they began to shuffle through the towering piles of equipment, an older man peeked through an old door. He had to try and escape from these people, for he didn't know what they wanted, or what they may try and do to him. He slowly closed the door, and sighed when he heard the noise in the other room stop. "Did you hear that," asked a muffled voice through the door. "Yeah, I think so," said another. He heard the men coming around the counter, and he began to hurriedly place objects in front of the door. They began to try and open the door, for they heard him scrambling about in the back room. Finally, a fire of laser energy, burst through the door, decimating most of the material in front of the door. The tall, slender figure of the old man stood in his place, ready to face his would-be attackers. He folded his arms and waited for them to kick their way through the door. He was lucky enough to have lived as long as he had in the Lower Side, and that was bizarre. Now, it was time for him to move on. However, the attack never came. The smouldering door stood in it's place, a following blast never occurred, and he was still alive. He went over, moving the materials out of the way, which were slightly aflame. He managed to make his way through the door, and the shop was empty. The front door was open, and he trembled as he made his way over to the big display, looking out to the street. What played out before his eyes amazed him, but it also terrified him. A young woman wearing rags stood before the group of men. They all had laser cannons, but she was also armed. Her firearm was a bit larger than the others, and the elderly shopkeeper wondered where she had found such hardware in the Lower Side. She was outnumbered four to one, but she showed little fear. She stood tall and gracious, like a queen in the filthy surroundings of New Haven's underground. Apparently she had wounded one of the men while they were in the shop, and that was what had caused them to leave. His arm was covered in red from the wound, and part of his arm was missing. They all had their weapons trained on her, and they were anything but happy. "You have no idea who you're messing with," growled the apparent leader of the bunch. "You're right, but I should say the same for you," she snapped. "But, I have a feeling you're about to take care of someone who's help I need." The old man gulped at this. . .he didn't know who he feared most! "You're fooling with th--" But, before the man could say another word, she fired. A huge hole was now in his chest, and the others stood still watching as he fell to the ground. She had killed their leader, with one single shot! They couldn't believe it. Finally, one of the others opened fire on their attacker. She leaped out of the way, but was caught in the arm, by a blast from one of the other men. She fell to the ground hard. She was gripping her arm, and the men began to circle her. She was chocking back the sobs of pain, and trying to control herself. She could feel the swelling within her, begging to be released. However, this time she may need her heritage, although she didn't want the attention that it would bring. "You should have listened, deadware. You don't mess with the Outer Circle." She moaned as she heard the name of the organization. The man inside the shop gasped in shock and terror. What had the largest crime syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard needed with him? Both were quite fearful now, and the young woman, frightened and wounded, knew what she had to do. As the men raised their guns to aim, her cries of pain turned into a growl, like that of a wild animal. Her skin turned the color of ash, mixed with a band of red. Her muscles swelled as well, and her hair began to glow with a fiery light, before finally bursting into flame. She looked up at them, with a wild, bestial expression. "Shock," whispered the men and the shopkeeper in unison. ===================================================================== Somewhere. . .Definitely NOT New Haven ===================================================================== A sharp light burst into the infinite darkness with an unmistakable sense of odor. It was brimstone, but yet it was hardly noticed in the depths of the Earth. The unholy odor of brimstone and sulfur was common place for the realm of Hades. Salem stepped out from the piercing rip in the fabric of time and space. . .he felt anything but at home. He ignored the heat as if it wasn't there. That was something for men to respond to. That type of stimulus was for intimidation before, but it held little affect on his empty heart. He was above such intimidation. What did he have to loose? He had made this trip before, and he would most likely make it again. His destiny was his own, and the realm of Hades could hardly detect him at all. If his presence was to be known it was by his own choice. The only clue they would have of his presence is if he were to storm the Gates of Hell itself. . .which was not on his agenda. He quickly made his way over to the familiar cavern, grabbing his cloak and wrapping it around him as he stormed through the steam and gas of the pits. He stooped to miss the low ceiling of the demon s abode, but once entering the main hall, he stood, and withdrew the hood from his shadowy mask. He spoke one word, and it hung in the air. "Obe," he murmured. The demon known as Obe drew away with horror. He had known that Salem would come to him sooner or later. . .but, he never could get over the silence and stealth of his mysterious visiter. He jumped up and ran over to Salem, and tugged on his cloak. "Well, hello there, Gloomy!!! You know I don t like it when you sneak up on me that way. Say, would you like some water?" Salem sighed and replied, "You know you don t have any, so why bother yourself? I swear, Obe, for someone living in eternal damnation you're uncannily cheerful." "Well, I can see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Or have you given yourself that luxury yet? Sleep that is. . ." Salem couldn't help but overlook the sarcasm creeping from within Obe's voice. He looked down at the short, robust demonic entity. Obe was perhaps his closest. . .ally? He didn't know if he could call him a friend, for that was a commodity that he had to do without. That took time. . .and his time was priceless. The truth was he admired Obe. This hyper-active demon actually overlooked the darkness in his life and made the best out of it. This was a quality that Salem lusted for, but one that he also couldn't afford. Obe was his only link to the past. His mother was dead, his Master lost, and his demonic brethren shunned. He was alone. . .except for Obe, and perhaps that was reasoning behind his visits. Of course, he would never admit that. "So your spandex exploits fare well, hero?" "I am hardly a hero, Obe. But, yes, I have many leads. . .things in which others ignore, but only I am aware of. It is up to me to put an end to such nonsense, but that hardly brands me as a hero. And yourself? I trust you are well?" Obe looked around, and grinned sadistically. "Well, I m doing pretty good for someone who resides in the pits of hell. Of course, from what I understand, New Haven isn't much better." Salem nodded, "No, perhaps it isn't." "So, what's on your mind. I know this isn't some joy visit. You aren't the type to waste your time with a plump little stud, such as myself, now are you, Salem by boy. I may not be the smartest of the damned, but eternity hasn't made me ignorant either." "That's the truth," Salem smiled. "I've been troubled as of late. My quests are starting to become more public, although I desire no such exploits. It's growing harder and harder to work in the shadows, without the whole of New Haven aware of my presence. There has already been one segment in the news of my presence, although it was short and empty in informational content. The Herald was eager to grasp the story though, and that's something I don't need." "Well, perhaps being a public image will help aid you in your quest," Obe asked. "No. That would make me one of two things. . .a hero or villain in the eyes of the public, and both would make me a target. I have no need for either." With this Salem stood, and bowed. "I have places to be, Obe. Farewell, we shall talk again soon." "No talk of your father? You MUST be in a hurry," said Obe. "Well, consider this a social visit," Salem whispered as he disappeared from the cave. Obe shrugged his shoulders and sat down. "Getting more and more like his father everyday," he laughed. ===================================================================== New Haven ===================================================================== Salem stood in the shadows of the towering structures of New Haven. He and the darkness were as one as his body took the form of the shadows that surrounded him. It was an ancient trick that he had learnt from his years in Tibet. It was one such feat in which he knew he could perform easily enough, and that he could place his faith in. He ran over the ledges of stone and various constructive materials, leaping from building to building as if it were nothing. The harsh wind of the New England night barely phased him, even though he could feel it's bitterness through the unstable molecules, and the coldness crept into his bones. He stooped over the infamous Town Common of New Haven. And what caught his weary eyes surprised him. He had been out watching over the city to ensure that no other monstrosities had escaped Tamerlane, Inc., and he had found something even more amazing. The Town Common had erupted in chaos, as a large figure was destroying everything in his path. It was of little concern of Salem's to protect this damned city, but he did owe it to his search to ensure that it wasn't related to the bizarre technology of Tamerlane. He leaped from the shadows, falling through the air, his cloak circling about him. His eyes shifted toward the large character tearing his way through the streets of New Haven. He had no intention of being seen, and as soon as his strong legs hit the pavement, he rolled toward the shadows, blending in once again. Everyone had cleared out and the larger man stood there looking around. Salem began to observe the strange character. He wasn't extremely muscle bound, but Salem sensed that he was more than a normal man, for even the Justice Department in New Haven hadn't attempted to stop him. He was tall and muscular. His was wearing black pants with a long overcoat. His hair was a dark black and hung down upon his shoulders. He quickly ran and leaped onto the base of a stone statue. The base of the statue was dedicated to Marx LaCastre, and Salem noticed that the two's resemblance was uncanny. The man had apparently scared off the majority of the citizens in the area, for he was looking about savagely. Salem went closer, counting on his shadow bending spell to cover him. As he looked closer to the man, he saw that he was not needed. Then, something grabbed a hold of Salem's senses and shook them. His eyes darted to the cane that the man was carrying. At the head of the staff was a bizarre looking stone, which seemed to glow with a blue light. It was some sort of ancient artifact and Salem had to have it. He didn't know what sort of characteristics it might possess, but he intended on getting it. He crept ever closer to the figure. However, he never had the chance to swipe the cane. The man's eyes caught the swift movements of Salem, which was unusual. Apparently, the man was much more than he appeared. The tall figure acted as if he hadn't noticed the moving shadows around him, and just as Salem reached out to grab the cane, he backhanded him, sending Salem flying to the ground as the shadows that covered him erupted and exposed him. The large man with the specter of gold and blue stood over Salem, casting a new shadow over him. Salem's hand touched his head and jerked back in pain. The man had hit him hard. Salem's eyes worked his way over the man, attempting to evaluate the situation. He was still tired from his exposure to Tamerlane, and he had no need for another, public confrontation. His hand reached down for the Staff of Asgard. . .but, he found nothing. He looked and saw that the Staff had fallen from his belt. The man's eyes darted toward the Staff as well. Salem lashed out quickly attempting to grab his weapon, but the man was faster. He kicked the Staff away from Salem, and stood back, awaiting his foe to stand. Salem stood up, and drew his cloak back as he did so. For once in his short career as a collector, he was going to have to fight for his prize. . .something which was becoming common place. Salem leaped at the man, not allowing him any room to strike. The man had expected his opponent to square off and assess the situation. Salem was amazingly unpredictable. He grabbed the man's throat with one hand, and the arm holding the specter with his other. He attempted to wrestle the weapon away by twisting his wrist as he cut off his oxygen. The man grinned at him with teeth that looked like. . .fangs. Salem gasped under his mask. "What the shoc--" The large man grabbed Salem by the front of his cloak and slung him into the stone statue of Marx LaCastre. He threw a punch at his foe, but Salem was scrambling away, and he caught nothing but air. Salem leaped past his next attack, and punched him in the back with all of his might. The man stood and turned to look at Salem. . .it had not phased him. The man approached Salem, thinking that the smaller man would run, and was surprised once again. The Lost One caught his attacker in the gut with a sharp kick, and hauled off with a right to the face. . .but, the blow never reached it's destination. The man had caught Salem's fist in his large grasp, and began to squeeze. . .unleashing much pain throughout Salem's arm. He lifted Salem above the ground, staring into his shadowed face. "Who are you," he asked. Salem's voice answered in a low whisper, "Perhaps I should ask you the same." The man laughed at this and announced, "The name's LaCastre. Bartholomew LaCastre, and you have something I want. . .now hand it over." Salem's mind raced back to the information that he had downloaded. He wasn't prepared to give anything to this creature. As the man began to shake him, Salem kicked out with both feet, forcing them into the man's stomach with all of his might. It was enough to make LaCastre drop him. Bart lashed out, attempting to grab Salem, and found a hard right to the face instead. The sheer magnitude of his own attack and Salem's strength sent him flying back. Salem pounced upon him, and was quickly knocked off. Bart caught Salem by the cloak and smashed him in the face with his specter. Salem stepped back, unable to focus as he was punched in the face once again by his foe. He was getting dizzy as he was caught once again. . .taking blow after blow. Finally, he was down upon one knee. As Bartholomew LaCastre attempted to bring down his specter on Salem's head, the Lost One held his hand out, and the Staff of Asgard flew to his grasp. He brought it up above him and stopped the blow. Salem forced himself up off the ground using the Staff of Asgard to force Bartholomew LaCastre back. He quickly removed the Staff and ducked as LaCastre fell forward, and smashed the Staff into his foe's knee. LaCastre buckled and fell forward. . .with Salem behind him, pounding him in the head with his Staff. The larger of the two, LaCastre, grabbed Salem by the foot and jerked him to the ground. He was upon him in an instance, prepared to take a chunk out of the Lost One's neck with his vicious fangs. He neared the jugular vein of Salem and he could taste his victory. However, Salem was not to be defeated so easily. He brought his fist up with all of his might, punching LaCastre in the mouth. He rolled off of Salem, and held his mouth. He looked at his hands and found that they were covered in blood. His eyes stared with anger at his crimson colored digits. "You made me bit off my tongue, you ratbiter," he said. Salem could barely make out what he had said. His shocked opponent stood there in shock as Salem leaped forward, prepared to finish his work. He drove his shoulder into Bart, forcing him into the statue. He held the bulk of his foe's body up as he delivered another powerful uppercut to the man's jaw. He slumped a little and dropped his specter. Salem jabbed him in the chest hard with the Staff of Asgard, and brought his fist down hard into the back of his head. Bart crawled away gasping for air. Salem might have been exhausted, but now he was angry, and the combination didn't provide much luck for poor Bartholomew. Salem scooped down and picked up the specter. He snapped it in two over his knee, and shoved the glowing gem into the dark confines of his cloak, placing it in one of the various compartments on his belt. He walked over holding the jagged cane in his hand as Bart stood up. He turned in time to see Salem backhand him with the pointed cane, cutting his face. Then, Salem took the jagged specter and shoved it into LaCastre's stomach. The muscular form of LaCastre fell to the floor in a slump. He was far from dead. . .but, close enough. Salem grabbed him by his long black hair and looked him in the eye. "You wanted to know so bad. . .the name is Salem." And with that he dropped his foe, allowing his head to slam into the cold concrete of the New Haven street. The last thing Bartholomew LaCastre saw before passing out was the piercing light of Salem's Staff whisking him away to another destination. ===================================================================== Somewhere In New Haven. . . ===================================================================== A burning light erupted from within the confines of the dark apartment, as a portal appeared out of the thin air that had once been still and now rippled with energy and the odor of brimstone. Out of the large, glowing hole fell a figure wrapped in a ripped and burned purple cloak. He feel to his knees and began to breath heavily as the portal above him withered away into the nothingness from which it had appeared. The Lost Son was home, and he wasn't pleased. He sat up against the wall, and with one solid, swift stroke he ripped the purple mask that gripped his face and hid it from sight and threw it to the ground. He laid his head back and breathed deeply. He was exhausted due to the fighting of the past few hours. . .and the lack of sleep. He had actually managed to defeat that madman who was out to retrieve the information he had stolen from Tamerlane. He was even a member of the house of LaCastre. . .how many cookie jars did they have their hands in, he wondered. He stood and removed the cloak and hood, also stripping his gloves and top away. He let them fall to the floor as he sat down at his desk. He pulled the disc out of his belt and felt something else there as well. . .it was Tamerlane's fang. That had came to use, hadn't it, he thought. He would definitely have to see what other uses such an instrument might have. Salem picked up the disk and carried it to the corner, and sat down with his legs crossed. He flicked a switch and a monitor in the wall came to life as he entered the disc into the small mini-driver. He began reading through the texts, picking up small things, particularly the dates. They were from the twencen, but were prior even to the Herioc Era of that time. . .with the exception of a few adventurers. It was from the WWII period, and most of it was in Ancient German. He could decipher it, but it would take time, he thought. He stood and stretched. Now, was time for that sleep he had put off a couple of hours ago. He curled up on the mattress in the corner and feel into a deep sleep. ===================================================================== LaCastre Manor, New Haven ===================================================================== The dawn was beginning to rise in the town of New Haven, and the shadow that was crossing the roof of LaCastre Manor was an eerie addition sign. The source of the shadow was a large gleaming cross which stood at the top of the Manor. And attached to the cross was the figure of Bartholomew LaCastre. He was still bleeding and his face and body was covered with bruises. He had been lead out here a few hours prior and had been waiting for someone to come let him down. . .he knew it had to be some cruel joke. Perhaps his brother was merely trying to humiliate him. However, as the sun began to rise, he knew the truth. This was no joke, and he was facing the end. Just as Radü LaCastre had taken care of their father, Marx LaCastre, he was now ensuring that his brother was out of the way. Bartholomew LaCastre had learned not to disappoint the youngest member of the LaCastre family, but alas, it was a lesson learned to late. As the sun began to creep up the cross, he laid his head back and waited. The sun moved over his naked feet, and his flesh began to burn and blister. He screamed in pain, but none of the House of LaCastre could come to his aid. The sun was their enemy, and poor Bart was at it's mercy. He continued to scream in complete agony as the sun inched up toward his chest and face. Radü LaCastre laid in his dark chamber and smiled to himself. He was drifting off to sleep, listening to the sounds of his brother upon the Manor's roof. At least his brother had managed to do one thing right. . .he had found out the mystery man's name. "Salem," he whispered as he closed his eyes. And as his eyes slowly shut, the sun slowly moved up the figure of his beaten brother. And Radü slept as his older brother, Bart, died in unimaginable pain. ===================================================================== Next Issue: Meet the bizarre young woman tracking the services of the one known as the Shopkeeper. Also, more on this mysterious figure and New Haven's Lower Side. And what happens when you cross the Outer Circle!? Be here when Salem finds out...SOON! Send those letters to "grenville@kymtnnet.org" with the Subject: New Haven Herald ===================================================================== And now with comments from Salem 2099 UG # 1 -- --The New Haven Herald-- By Jason Smith ===================================================================== Jason, I must say I am very impressed with Salem! Very detailed and paints a VERY good picture in my mind. All that I can say is that I am hooked upon this title, sure to be a rival to Doom 2099UG. (Watch out DS!) I like the dark image you have given the book, so gothic. I have rate this book on a scale of 1 to 10 a 100. Ok there is my two cents! JS ===================================================================== Thanks for the kind comments, JS! I hope to hear from you soon, and as for Doom. . .I can only hope to achieve a piece of the amazing work being put into THAT title! ===================================================================== How many ways can I say AWESOME!!!!!!! I have always been a fan of your style of writing Jason, but if you keep improving like this then no one will read any of OUR titles. But the reason of this letter is Salem #1. First... I am glad to see J5 is editing your book. I don't know why but he seems to fit there. Great Job J5! ( from one MSH guy to another) Here is what I liked ( with my patented numbering system) 1. I LOVED seeing New Haven... it is creepy. 2. Every issue I read including Salem I am given another piece to the mystery of how great this character can be... I loved the realism of the autopsy of the techno zombie. 3. Tamerlane Inc. (AWESOME) Now spill the beans... where are they finding this technology? I won't tell anybody. Will I guys? HEHE. 4. LaCastre! They and Tamerlane Inc. REALLY fit the feel of this book and make believable and correct plot foils for our Hero... well, our kinda hero. I can't wait to meet the rest of the family. 5. The Hellhound... I liked the Hellhound. Warewolf, and Technozombie. 6. The writing style is the best I have seen in a Salem appearance since Lost Tales of the UG! (shameless plug) Things I hated. 1. I don't get the credit for this great book. 2. Issue 2 isn't out so I can read the rest of the story. 3. I have a rash. 4. My fear that you are gonna destroy a perfectly COOL corp like Tamerlane in the first story arch!!!! Don't do it!!!! Well enough of my ramblings... keep it coming. The Other Chris (Arch-Chris) Khrisbab@aol.com ===================================================================== Well, Chris, I'm glad to hear from you!!! Everyone check out Archangel 2099 UG, for a certain Lost One, might be meeting a particular Blessed One soon!!!! As for your comments, I'm really glad that you enjoyed the city of New Haven. . .it's not going anywhere, and more of it is being explored every issue! I spilled the beans and you meet the rest of the family this issue. How did you like Big Brother Bart? *grin* As for Tamerlane. . .I had no intention of keeping it around, but who says it can't? Now, I don't know!!! If enough of you demand it!!!! See ya soon, guys! ===================================================================== Salem & related characters created by Jason Smith (1995)