Femme Fatale

I bring you a respite from the serious briefs you've come to expect of me. But this is still a mission ordinance and as such you are tasked with at least one objective. Listen to these five reports and decide which one holds important intelligence information and which four are cover stories. Continue.

Bathed in white silk, she couldn't sit still. It's not that she was anxious or distressed, but more so unable to sit down. The silk, so smooth in its tapestry, would caress her ass. Her cape would fold beneath her thighs like satin sheets. Touching her skin so softly, it would remind her of his touch. His breath on her skin. His fingers tracing sparks on her lower back. His warmth melting her frosty well-put-together exterior with the simplest glances and touches. She didn't want to remember him. It might be his pure irresistibility or his power over her or her instinctual love for him that changed her mind, but she couldn't stop remembering him. Or wanting to remember him. Her legs start to bend and she starts to sit down. Gravity takes her as a smile grows at her lips. She remembers him and she remembers why she's in love with him. Bargaining with herself, she says this is the last time she'll do this. One last time. But she knows it won't be the last time she remembers him. She doesn't want it to be the final time. A tear breaks ground at her eyes and steps over her cheek. She hopes and wishes and dreams he'll come back and warm her cold heart.

On the other side of the world, a man hears a woman's love for him and reciprocates in kind. He has no premeditated thought of doing so. He only knows that right now he needs to think of her. He hopes she knows how in love with her he is and wants her to know he'll be back soon. It won't take forever for him to.

[Picture by Paolo Rivera]

The stairs she's standing on go nowhere. In less clothes than she originally had on, she continues to look out onto the warscape. A sword in her right hand and a shield in her left. An unstoppable force and an immovable object. Attack and defense. She ponders what this battle would be about. Ponders what power would suit this hostile environment best. Her field scans bring her mental wealth. She sets down her arms knowing it's for the best. She would need no offense nor defense to win this battle. The wonderful woman she is would only need to trust in herself to succeed. Stepping down and moving forward, her muscles flex when she catapults into the fight. She's ready for this battle and this war.

[Picture by Frank Quitely]

The redhead, enjoying the wild ride in the passenger seat, slid into the turn. The blonde, driving mad with excitement and energy, turned sharply down an alley. This alley would be Assassin Street. Not known for its sympathy towards pedestrians, Assassin St. claimed over 123 lives monthly. The highest mortality rate in all of jolly ol' London. Death laced the asphalt here. It fed into the very air and cradled in every soul living here-- if you could call it living. From assault rifle traps to zebra themed missiles, if you're looking for a way to die, Assassin St. would have it. But this particular dame duo wasn't ready to die. They were looking for a challenge, a scare, some adrenaline inducing race, and this would be it.

They made the Assassin Street track in under four minutes leaving with fulfilled minds and beating hearts. They weren't racing from anything. They weren't going anywhere. They simply wanted to see what Death looked like, so that they learn not to fear it.

[Picture by Frank Quitely]

Shiranui wasn't in the mood for any lip. Or eyerolling. But that hippo in front of her was looking for a fight. It walked in here parading its place in line, mouth wide with glee, ass shaking as it waddled into place. And Shiranui had to stare at that obese jiggle-butt everyday, from 10 to 10. Everyday the animosity and hatred for that oblivious lard piece would grow and grow till it seeped from Shiranui's porcelain skin.

But today wasn't any other day. Today a girl got on Shiranui. A girl with a sword. A very big sword. Quickly, ideas popped into Shiranui's mind. Ideas about how to kill that hippopotamus. Plots to mete out her animosity using the girl as a puppet. Revenge fantasies. But how could Shiranui communicate with her rider. If only there was a way to tell the girl with the blade to hurt the hippo. The ride was almost over and Shiranui was pressed. She could see her revenge on the other side of a fast-closing window and could almost taste it. Its sweetness was almost palpable.

Shiranui didn't know what to do but wasn't giving up. Her hatred was too hungry, but there was simply no way to feed it. Then, with slow calculated movements, the girl held her blade fast. She was readying to draw it. But what would it sketch with its sharp steel? Shiranui couldn't wait any longer. The girl wasn't moving fast enough. Her body language not being clear enough. The ride ended. The girl held her sword to her, got off the horse, and whispered into its ear, "I know how you feel but we must understand our place in life and live with it."

[Picture by Little Thunder]

Skinny, tall, blonde, pretty: the makings of an amazing woman. For all the characteristics she had, the striped girl never felt fully completed. She felt like one half of a two part puzzle, like a lock to a key. I know what you're thinking. That this could be you, that she represents a realization everyone will face in their lifetime, that she is intricate symbolism for our hearts. Well, it's not and she isn't. She's a drawing. A nice drawing, but still just lines on a page and color in-between. She has a story to tell visually, but no text to communicate it. The striped girl is one half a comic. The art half. And this paragraph is her writing half. This caption is the other side of her puzzle piece, the key to her lock. This is simply a comic.

[Picture by Rob Laro]

P3P0)3P = decoded

Below are four images of our most wanted and one image of their last get-together. Study them well. This assignment is above the above-top-level level. We only have X amount of agents trained for this and you're one of them. Steel your resolve. If you have none, then consider your mission a failure before starting it. If you believe your resolve true, then reaffirm your confidence before taking this one on. The job won't be easy. Rate of survival is 0.00008%. Good luck and goodnight.

Mister Skin: The ringleader of the Compass Rose. He represents the West. Agent Gold underestimated him and, as you can see here, Skin is wearing Gold's dermis like a track suit. A sociopathic freak, Skin is a ghost to us. There's no photographic record or first hand account of what he looks like underneath his new faces. His history is a complete blank. We imagine he found solace in murdering people and wearing their skin. Our researchers believe Skin has mastered an alchemic art that allows him to utilize the skin's special abilities. Proceed to hunt him with extreme caution or prepare to lose your skin. [photo by Bill Otomo]

Selene: she was previously under our employ. One of our top twenty-five. After the fiasco in Martinique, she made her true alliance known. Selene represents the South for Compass Rose. Being an Atlantean sorceress, she was of great use in any tactical situation. But facing her, we are in for an uphill battle. Selene had access to all our databanks, manuals, profiles, technology-- all of it. Matahari has nothing on this modern marvel. Her only weakness: sex. Selene made her way through our organization with her Atlantean seduction magic, but her hunger for bodily lust will be her downfall. Make it so and stay protected.

Do Svidaniya: the Compass Rose powerhouse. Representing the North, this agent was singlehandedly responsible for the incident in Elista last Christmas. Seen here is her Korean trained ultrapolar bear, the White Russian. The White Russian is strong and bulletproof. This woman is an unstoppable force. The upper limits of her strength are unknown, but just because she's all power doesn't mean she isn't crafty. Once in Lyon, we tracked her down with a team of twelve. She baited them out of hiding, tore them to pieces, and left their entrails hang where they rested. Her one true weakness isn't a weakness at all. She's stronger without the White Russian by her side. Her weakest is when she's with her bear. Fighting both is the only logical strategy. [Image by Chamonkee]

The Crayon Eater: representing the East, this is the Compass Rose's secret ultimate weapon. This is a god in human form. When this kid eats crayons, he warps reality into his particular mold. He doesn't even need to eat a crayon to activate his power. Our field agents say he only ate one crayon during his 37-hour megadeath spree in Mozambique, so our guess is all he needs is the taste or a memory of crayon taste. Our only hope lies in the fact that he is still a kid. His imagination is innocent, pure, raw, unadulterated creativity of which he can pour into our reality's fabric. All X of you agents will have to find a way to constrain the Crayon Eater yourselves. [By James Jean]

The Compass Rose Coronation: a ceremony held by a fifth party in celebration of the new Cardinal Directions. The first and last coronation we saw was the inauguration of the latest Compass Rose. We don't know how far their power reaches, how deep their roots have grown, or who the fifth party hosting the coronations is. All we know is they know everything, could possibly have the power of the world, and are looking out for their best interests no matter the consequences humanity must suffer as effect. [news clipping from TORIKO]

Take time to fully comprehend this mission. If you choose not to accept it, then we are doomed. If you do choose, then fill out a last will and testament before being briefed on the particulars.

Encryptions Decrypted VI

kzzzzzt

and so he says to the guy, "Pokemon isn't like real life, real life is like Pokemon!"

bzzzzzt

Sorry about that. The transmission was interrupted by the tail end of a joke. Again, dearest apologies for the inconvenience. Commit information to mind and then delete from all hardware memory banks. Press start to begin.

Pictured here is infamous luchador/lothario, Muerto Gigante. He's a trained cat master. His feline sidekick, Monsieur Moustache is pictured beside him. The cat can elongate his body, disguise himself as other feline species, and levitate. Be warned! His claws are deathly poisonous. A single prick would cause paralysis in 10 and death in 45...seconds. Gigante himself is 777-time Rose Eye championship winner and prides himself for it. He and the cat are completely white in color. It may look like an uncolored copy but it isn't. He just dresses like that. All. The. Time.

Here's what seems to be photographic proof of Ryan Reynolds portraying Han Solo in a Star Wars remake. What it really is is a wanted poster for the real Han Solo who just happens to look like Ryan Reynolds. IF YOU SEE HIM OR THINK YOU SEE HIM OR FEEL LIKE YOU MIGHT SEE HIM, LET US KNOW. HE IS TO BE CAUGHT ALIVE ONLY. And if by chance you catch the real Ryan Reynolds, tell him you're sorry, and you loved him in Waiting.

Japanese pop sensation Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo with backup artists Don Patch and the Jelly Jiggler are racing up the charts. How is this teen to mature heartthrob stealing the hearts of the Japanese people? You're mission is to find out. It may have to deal with his golden afro. Inspect carefully. We have reason to believe there may be weapons of marimo destruction within.

This is the Straw Hat crew. They're a notorious pirate gang currently searching for something called One Piece. HQ doesn't know what One Piece is. You don't know what One Piece is. They don't know what One Piece is. So, basically, your mission is to know before they know so that we know what One Piece is. From left to right, top of bottom: Tony Tony Chopper, MD. Talking midget reindeer doctor with a penchant for malpractice. Nami. Hottie McHotpants Hothot/navigator. Dead Bones Brooke. Rockstar, pile of bones, afro enthusiast. Roronoa Zoro. Samurai death. Monkey D. Luffy. Captain, fatass, human disposal. Sanji. The cook. Franky. Automated mechanic toy gone sentient with one goal...to kill. Nico Robin. The only Swiss Army knife to be manufactured by Victoria's Secret. Not pictured: Usopp. Looks like Pinocchio, acts like Pinocchio, might be Pinocchio.

Your final assignment: THE LOVERS. The world's two greatest thieves are working hand in hand. We know they're names, know what they look like, but that's it. No database in the world has information on them besides what's detailed here. Considered THE MOST DANGEROUS DANGER COULD EVER GET. So unless you're ready to bend over, rub some lube in there, and get ready for the burn, you might want to skip this one. For top agents only with clearance from all seven supreme commanders.

End.

SPECIAL REPORT pt II

Here's the logo for S-Kill I designed. I think it looks cute but it definitely needs more work. Something to be discussed in-comic.

This is my facial worksheet based on the staff's photos. I also included me where it says ME.

SPECIAL REPORT pt I

Dear She and He Spies,

It is with great accord that I announce my new project for a website called Spawn Kill [http://spawnkill.com/]. I'll be doing an ongoing joke, nerd and game referencing, and staff casted comic called Life like a Game. It involves S-Kill, a team of highly trained videogame hunters who take on missions to hunt down videogames and make reviews based on their love/hate for the damn game. Should be fun considering I get creative freedom to joke about videogames. Neener neener neener.

So, here are my character designs for the staff of S-Kill [save K-Tuck and I].

Stephanie: she had the most input on her own design and asked for a chest cannon, so she has a dimension bending railgun implanted in her chest. Steph also asked for tiger themed ears and tail.

Eric: having been told by him that he isn't a typical gamer but is obsessed with sports games, I went with the interdimensional baseball player uniform. He'll technically be out of place in this place, but still retain his quiet love of videogame sports. Apparently, baseball is an adored past time in other dimensions as well.

Dave: Dave only requested four swords. Two in his hands, two waved around using his mind. He looks like a hack/slash character because we didn't have one on the team. He also has a Hello Kitty katana because I gave him one.

Rebecca: Becca had more input on her four chihuahuas of death, then on her actual character. Here she's represented as a typical James Bondesque villain that has four very cute very DEADLY chihuahuas. Raul is the Che beret wearing gay one [also very tiny]. Grendel is the sweetheart with the facade of a beast [his shrill roar will annoy you to death, literally]. Beowulf is the coward wearing the cape with the facade of a hero. Finally, Senor Diego el Grande is the big black dude front and center who is secretly pulling everyone's strings.

Dana: meet Dana. Dana secretly loves trolls. Or trolls love Dana. I don't know. But since this is a fantastical world, Dana has a deus-ex-machina-like Banhammer capable of rendering entire trolls unable to communicate with her thereby nulling their power [it also makes them cry for their mothers while posting on 4chan about the endeavor].

Encryptions Decrypted V

ATTN: Spies 000-999

SUMMARY: The following report was taken from a Saudi Arabian embassy in Western Europe. It was delivered to our HQ by a team of no more than 10 and no less than 8 elite trained class VII agents. The incidents recorded in these documents are for class XIII agents only. Destroy this evidence after committing it to memory.

BEGIN DOCUMENTATION:

Dubai. The After-Rebirth building. 28th floor. A head of purple locks in skin-tight street clothes squeezes through an airshaft like an obese man through a water plunge. The woman is tiny. The shaft tinier. Peacock eyes with violet pupils bubble on the surface on the shaft's walls. She recognizes this as a telepathic invasion of her person. Someone knows she's here and beams a thought to her. This is the one. Her hands find purchase on an exit grate and she slips out. Falling into a room with a single light source, she fires a cry of peril at finding what she came to find. The live-fast-die-young corpse of her friend, frozen in a flamenco dancer's pose. The black of her dress is all but overtaken by the rose red of blood. Upon further inspection one can note that the blood is not hers, but petrified she stands.

Elsewhere on the 28th floor, a man we know solely as Nazar, is standing still, but seems to be in motion, as if he could jet anywhere he would want if only he knew where to go. The air around him blurs with a tinge of blue. He's using the power of his special glass-blue eye. He can see layers upon layers. The layers of everything. Nazar spies the room with the stone cold dancer. He notices the violet hair has stopped moving. A sheet of absolute zero has covered the room. They're lost to him. Smart idea would be to leave. That's just what he does. The glass-blue eye cries if only it could.

Looking into our cases studies, we find our data on Nazar and his known affiliates. The Hand of Fatima, a gambler from the Indies, seems to be his main contact. We have footage of the two together quite often, barking at each other like a pack of belligerent drunks looking for a fight. Nazar has been affiliated with Bahamut [the temple monk famous for his sonic mantra disruption at the Incident of the Borders], Ifrit [a Gypsy mammoth of a man who has several illegal black bazaars situated in the Fertile Crescent], and Djinn [female, unknown, besides the fact she has a jailed genie in her oil lamp]. The one associate that worries us is that of the Sandwalker. Terrorist. Serial killer. Madman. Genius. Presumed dead 47 different times, the Sandwalker still plagues our agency. His catacomb of terror stretches to the farthest reaches of our imagination with no limit to his control and power.

Djinn on a dark lit street in London using her genie oil lamp to light the way. Bahamut in his mantrajet above the clouds in Kuala Lumpur. The transformation of Ghoul, our most terrifying and experienced operative in dealing with this organization of killer and thieves. He is seen to violently exhale smoke which allows him to form a body of gas armor over his person. He's your superior in the field but if he crosses our moral laws even once do NOT hesitate to execute him.

Your only other superior is an agent from another universe with videogame-like weaponry. Her name is Isabel. She's as nice as a lion cub, as deadly as a PMSing lioness. Meet with her in dreamstate and she'll give you your precise mission specs.

END DOCUMENTATION.

DELETE.

Encryptions Decrypted IV

Hello again. Welcome to another installment of Encryptions Decrypted. I'm your host, Mr. Spywithadecoderring. Let's jump right into my sketches, shall we?

Ok, so, you can't exactly jump into these sketches because they're superimposed on your computer screen, but you can gaze upon them. Let their jewels of detail cascade upon your opticals like that fashion model you just so happen to notice is wearing a NORML pin on her lapel. This is Velvet from Odin Sphere. Have I ever played the game and therefore love it? No. Have I even seen someone play the game? No. Did I find interesting concept art of Odin Sphere and feel compelled to draw her? Exactly. Isn't it great when you ask the RIGHT questions? Write that down.

Shay Maria. She's as sexy as a pair of handcuffs and a leather whip sitting on your nightstand. Artists, take note, real life models most people can't readily identify make for GREAT photo reference. I have a narration for this one:

"The sound of her clothes falling to my floor. The shine of her bottom lip in the moonlight. The clinking of her car keys she rests on my desk. Her shadow frame, stark and supple black against the soft night of my room. All ephemeral in this moment. The only detail I'll never forget is that needing look in her eye and that feeling, that knowing that I'd have her tonight. Thrice."

On the left in this exhibit is Stefan Dragonmir from Turf. If you haven't read Turf, then maybe consider finding a copy of it for your personal collection. Here's the premise in disconnected one word phrases: Prohibition. Vampires. Aliens. Mafia. TommyLeeEdwards. The last one doesn't necessarily count, but it makes all the difference. TLE's thick ink, heavy noir existence on paper is an advancement in storytelling. No lie. And on the right, you'll see a noiry shot of my favorite creator-owned character, Niki Fury. Her positioning isn't as fluid or natural as I'd've liked it to be, but her facial expression is one for the records. It's the type of face that combines sinister and sexy so much so that you have nothing left in you but to stare were she real.

The blue girl is a friend of mine that fit a character I wanted to draw at the time perfectly. The name, Lady la Vis, is actually the name of a character I asked my sister to create for me. La Vis means "the screw" in French, for those of you non-French spies reading this. I'll always credit my sister with Lady la Vis [though I've taken heavy design liberties with her]. Also? The blue copic outline really does the work.

Here's Lady la Vis in all her bed-lazing glory. Lady la Vis is a pirate queen that sails a jungle river with her hallucinogen mist-immune crew. She has impeccable sword skill, her ethnicity is that of a local blue Indian tribe of women only, and her hopes and dreams are that of her crew. Below is an excerpt from her personal journal:

"It's one of those days again. I think about him and her and I want to cry. I closed off my quarters telling my personal watch I needed some privacy. They inquired as to the reason for my privacy and I cut them off for questioning my decisions. But in reality, instead of some devious ploy for treasure I'd purloined off a rotting Seaman's corpse, I just wanted to curl into a ball of bedsheets and cry. And that's what I did. I wasn't the only one crying, thank heavens. The sky closed like a fist and punched a click-clack of heavy drops onto my window. The deluge, like a snowball, increased and increased and increased. As did my tears."