Title: 'When the Game Ends' / 'Remember the Death'
Summary:
In life, unlike Shogi, the game continues after checkmate.
- Sasori in his low, velvety voice and smooth tone of manipulation commanded: "Tell me about Soul Society."
Warnings: No pairings, Violence, Gore.
Disclaimer: We do not own Naruto or Bleach...as much as we would like too..
A/N: This is a collaboration fic. If you see another story exactly like this one called 'Remember the Death' by Revolus, it is not stolen or copied. It is the same text.
A recommendation - this is much easier to read when the settings are changed to 'Dark' and '1/2'
Thoughts (apply to context of character)
"Talking"
CHAPTER ONE.
Not once in his thirty-five years of existence, twenty of which was spent as an almost perfect creation of deadly art, an S-ranked criminal of Akatsuki; did Sasori ever, feel so useless.
Parts of his once grand army lay splayed around him, weak, exposed, open for speculation. The wooden bodies scattered, like the broken pieces of a jigsaw. Their protruding arms stuck out from the ground, broken and fragmented.
In turn, they looked lifelessly upon their master's downfall, empty eyes seeing everything but nothing at the same time.
The twin swords stuck deep in his chest didn't make dying any more painful than what a fleshless body should feel, but knowing that his helpless state was left bare for just one last moment of self-loathing hurt almost as much.
Sasori lay, motionless, waiting for death to just hurry up and take him. Watching the light around him fade, a last struggle for life was inevitable, there was no way to escape the ingrained human desire to survive - even in acceptance of death. He was disgusted with himself.
Sasori hoped that Deidara was far, far away, at least far enough to never see this humiliating defeat.
Was death supposed to be this slow?
- There was also, apparently, no escape from his impatient nature - even in deaths throes.
The scenes of his treasured - although sadly broken - puppets faded slowly from his vision. He closed his eyes and felt a pang of grief, of anguish, and shame rolled into one.
The choking tug of heartache struck him like a ton of bricks. His living core started to constrict with the sense of disappointment that constantly shadowed almost every part his life.
Disappointment at his parents
Disappointment at grandma Chiyo
At his village...at the world -
- at himself.
And suddenly, a part of him didn't want to die. The disappointment settled into dread in the depths of his artificial stomach.
Like poison, which had, in many occasions; devoured the lives of his victims, slowly ate away at his will, and his conviction.
He wasn't finished here, there were still things yet to be accomplished. He had yet to turn himself into the perfect human puppet - yet to take away the abominable human emotion.
Ironically, Sasori realized that, if he had succeeded, he wouldn't be dying in the first place. He wouldn't have cared.
I don't want to die.
He struggled to gather even the tiniest string of chakra, it flared weakly but dispersed as quickly as it was formed. Sasori felt his hope rise and dissipate along with it.
Death gave Sasori no choice, it was ready to take him.
An unfamiliar pain traveled up his supposedly wooden body, the blinding, incapacitating agony ripped from one part of him to another, he couldn't tell which. Sasori's eyes snapped open, the pain was such that he would have definitely screamed, but instead, it came out like a choked groan, there was nothing but anguish filling his skull and blinding him, red, hot pain; like a scream.
If he was humiliated before - as emotional as that - Sasori was feeling a whole new level of shame now. He was a fucking S-ranked criminal, not some genin fresh out of the academy. He would take pain like how a ninja of his rank should...Wait -
...Why was he feeling pain in the first place?
It hadn't really occurred to him that, because he was on the verge of death, earthly reputation really didn't matter anyway. But the notion of the almost foreign, yet definitely unwelcome sensation was just too much of a mystery for Sasori to comprehend anything else at the moment. He tried to come up with a reason to this unusual phenomenon, none came. And Sasori being the prideful, skilled, feared Akatsuki that he is, the unlikely, but nonetheless favourable, idea of his ninja career being all a child's dream and when he woke up, his parents would be standing there; healthy, alive- never even crossed his half glazed mind.
A moment later he took into account the abnormal circumstances.
There was no floor beneath his feet, no sky above his head, and there was a searing pain shooting up his side. Blackness stretched in all directions - but Sasori already presumed he was going to hell, so the lack of light was not unexpected.
He floated in a peaceful moment of...well - Nothingness.
Though, really, nothing seemed to last very long.
Suddenly it is like he was being stabbed all over again. His heart felt as if it were on fire. Burning and searing him in two. Attempting to stop the incessant flow of screams he bit down on his lips.
Hard.
A particularly painful shock had him blacking out for a moment. It came in sudden pulses, each stronger than the previous.
Then, suddenly; without any indication, a part of his mind wavered like a weakening barrier and tore itself away, such as rotten flesh would from a healthy body. Sasori couldn't hold the scream any longer, it echoed around him, joined suddenly by an animalistic roar as the pain dulled to a numb throbbing.
Startled, he snapped around to be faced by a hideous monster half formed and writhing desperately. A white cement like substance poured from its mouth, with a life of its own, wrapping around the creature's head and solidifying in a matter of seconds. The substance hardened into a ferocious mask, its gaping jaw and blood red eyes stared back at Sasori.
A beat of silence passed between them before the beast let out another deafening roar and launched itself at the paralyzed puppeteer.
The ground split between them without warning. From the darkness under the paths, twisted, gnarled hands reached up and grabbed at the monster who ignored them in favour of clawing at Sasori. Sasori stumbled back, eyes wide as he watched; struggling to get as far from the beast as he could. The creature was being forcefully dragged down into the inky darkness. A thunderous roar rang out in all directions just as the deranged beast was pulled beneath the surface.
The ground sewed itself shut again, leaving Sasori in the strange swirling darkness; empty but pressurized. Still clutching his head he looked around and saw no way out except to follow the path which appeared surreptitiously ahead of him, so he did.
In the mono colour figuration of a limitless white desert and ominous black sky. The monster regurgitated more thick, grayish-white fluids from it's gaping mouth, frothing and flowing. Shuddering, it slowly seemed to be taking form as the white substance solidified around it's entire body, creating something that resembled the arachnid features of a hardened exoskeleton.
As the substance gurgled around it, the creature was beset by an onslaught of memories. Memories, of people, of places - of puppets. They accompanied him, comforted him - but it wasn't enough. A part of him didn't feel right, didn't feel complete. There was something missing that was just out of reach.
Long, blood red claws curved elegantly from six thin white legs. Sharp spines lined it's back, replaced lower down by a long thrashing tail, like the segments of a large mammal's skeleton it was attached to an equally deadly, gleaming stinger, with lines of thick black fluid running along the end. A mask glared at the black sky, crimson patterns flowed like blood along the right side. An eerie black hole went straight through where it's heart should have been, but there was no heart, it had been lost somewhere along the way.
His title was Akasuna and his name was Sasori - whether it was himself or the other, it didn't matter, because parts of a whole always come back together.
Sooner or later.
Just like puppets.
Scarlet eyes flashed as the newly formed hollow lashed out with it's tail and pierced the four smaller ones that had been it's initial predators. Expertly shifting with six legs, the heartless beast set upon the dead creatures. After eating his fill he stood, ignoring the green fluid sticking to his mask and wandered deeper into the barren expanse of Hueco Mundo.
He cried out, his mouth was free, his tongue whole. He lay on a hard floor, the pain was now only a ghost of the plenum it had once been. An after-image of it seemed to fill everything with a murky red haze.
But it was still there, waiting in the depths.
Bright sunlight splashed across Sasori's face, making the incessant pounding in his head louder. He opened his eyes and closed them immediately as the pain was intensified by the light. His mind was a mess, but the feeling of grassset off warning bells. He could feel. This was disconcerting.
He moved to lift a hand to his face, but a delay in the movement worried him. Eventually the hand moved, and he noticed with shock that it wasn't wooden. It was flesh. Dropping his hand to his side like a hot iron, he took a step forward, but his leg, not used to this movement immediately collapsed beneath him.
The S-ranked criminal sat with a vacant expression, feeling so alive and so vulnerable for the first time in many, manyyears. He shook his head as he moved his legs, taking care not to do so suddenly.
Stretching his legs, Sasori felt equally comforted and disturbed by the strain of muscle. At least it's not damaged. He wasn't quite sure how to make of the dramatic turn of events. Ask someone? Hesitantly standing up, the puppeteer took a few steps forwards and, sensing no more discomfort, he broke into a brisk jog which soon quickened into a run. Finally satisfied with the state of his legs, Sasori slowed to a stop.
Bit by bit Sasori ran an experienced eye over his body, looking for any signs of wounds, or injuries.
Flexing his fingers he watched the skin stretch and fold over his knuckles, the sensation of once again having flesh covering his body was a most uncomfortable piece of knowledge. It was one of the reasons why he found the idea of a puppet's body so appealing.
Flesh rotted over time, it was the representation of humanity, of life and thus the impending death that was to come. Flesh is a hindrance that he didn't find necessary.
After a leisurely once over he was satisfied at the lack of major problems, and decided to forge ahead. He was still swimming in a lake of confusion, disturbia and pain but standing in the middle of no where, in plain sight was never a good idea.
Moving forward without awareness of his surroundings, he stumbled straight into a particularly large, solid body. Looking up into the glaring sunlight he managed to make out the lines of a rough, pissed off face. Followed by the black silhouette of one particular large, pissed off man.
"Well, well, look what we have here boys!" An obnoxiously loud voice boomed from above him.
"A little Shinigami who's lost his way."
Closing his eyes and blaming the lack of awareness on his searing headache. Sasori moved to step past the obstacle in his way before a beefy hand slapped itself down on his shoulder. "Nuh uh, you ain't gettin' away that easily, Shinigami." the man snarled.
Sasori rubbed his temples in a show of annoyance, his headache wasn't getting any better and these buffoons weren't exactly helping - and this thing Was.Touching.Him...
"Are you sure that's a Shinigami Tembaka-sama?" called a second voice, not as loud, but the irritating rasping accent made up for its lack of volume.
"It's wearing black innit?" the larger man grumbled, settling one hand on his chin and studying the boy more carefully.
"Yeah, but are you sure boss?" Sasori paused, wearing black? He looked down and saw that he was indeed wearing a tattered, old black Yukata with the texture of soft sand paper. Sasori felt slightly perturbed by his sudden change of clothing. He clearly remembered taking his Akastuki cloak off for the battle that landed him in hell (it couldn't possibly be anything but hell). A whole new set of questions sprang up. Did someone bring him here and change him? Who was it? And most importantly, what did they do to his body?
"Yes, I'm sure!" Snapped the big man "He reeks of Shinigami arrogance." the monstrously large man, introduced as Tembaka gave a instructive glance to the group of raggedly dressed males standing behind him.
From the corner of his eye Sasori saw two henchmen nod at each other before charging toward him with outstretched hands, no doubt one of their initial diversion strategies. Without so much as a glance Sasori bent his knees and let the two men swing right over him. Keeping his eyes trained on Tembaka, the puppeteer raised his arms backwards with firm control. The two attacking man turned around, in shock from being avoided so easily, just in time to see a thin elbow smashing into their unprotected jaw with enough power to break and dislocate, and extra to send them falling onto their back. Unconscious.
"Don't leave your back open to enemies"
Tembaka narrowed his eyes for a second as if contemplating whether to...but he suddenly broke out into a self-satisfied smirk. "They are only newbies, and that, was a just a littletest."
Sasori spared him an uninterested glance, as if he didn't care for the explanation.
"Don't get arrogant with me, Shinigami!" Tembaka growled and signalled for another three men, older, probably stronger, to circle the seemingly weak youth, two facing his sides and one behind. The group of ragged lackeys cheered for who were apparently - their 'high commanders' - or something. As ifthey were anywhere near a properly trained military unit.
Too obvious, thought Sasori as one of them charged for his back with a battle cry. And slow. He spun one eighty degrees, but a sudden wave of pain drummed around his mind. Sasori stilled, distracted for a second by it's return. The man saw a lucky opening and clenched his fist harder, aiming for the mop of red hair; hoping to knock Sasori out.
Unlucky for him, just as the hit was about to connect, Sasori tilted his head to the right. Narrowly avoiding the strike and sending his own fist into the other males stomach. The puppeteer watched him staggered backwards a few meters and groaned from the pain but was otherwise unaffected. Sasori noted that the strength of his arms had decreased alarmingly since his last attack. The man shouldn't be moving - but he was. And that was worrying.
My body. He realised. I'm losing control of it.
Before Sasori could dwell on the full extent of his weakness, two almost forgotten men beside him charged in a sudden burst of adrenaline. They were wasting no time in trying to land a hit on his lower or upper body, or both. The former akatsuki presumed that - if he could feel pain, it meant he could be fatally wound too. The preferable method would be to avoid being hit. Play them like a puppet. He decided.
The red haired boy, having an advantage of being light weight, jumped up and employed the forearm of the larger man as a pivot to flip himself over the other rapidly approaching appendage, thus sending the two crushing into each other with a swift tug. Successfully maneuvering around their attack.
Whilst in mid air he spotted the man from the initial attack lunge at him again, having regained his bearings, how stupid. Sasori mused as he brought one leg down harshly onto the head of his attacker.
Following from the heavy impact was a hollow thud as the muscular individual smashed into the ground - head first. Most probably with a concussion.
The newly unconscious man found, without much warning, that; a skinny, weak looking teenager was still 122 pounds worth of skinny, weak looking teenager.
With the three 'high commanders' lying like rag dolls on the ground besides him, the apparently not so weak red head turned and faced the boss again. This time, mockery was clearly written in the slight smirk and the casual raise of a fine brow.
"Was that a test too?" Sasori inquired politely while smoothing out his ruffled yukata.
Furious, Tembaka grabbed him roughly by the collar and lifted him up.
"Do. Not. Mess. With. Me. Boy!" The beefy man snarled threateningly, leaning closer to the passive looking youth. His next words came out as a harsh whisper. "I can destroy you." as if in testament to his threat, a wave of a nauseating odour escaped from the man's mouth.
Sasori almost gagged with his newly acquired sense of smell - Funny, because I was planning to do the same. He thought absentmindedly, trying not to breathe.
His headache hadn't left and the larger man was only making it worse.
Again, The S-ranked criminal was forced to note that he was being touched, being held up, being controlled by someone obviously much weaker than him. How degrading.
Seeing the Katana hanging loosely off the leader's obi, the puppeteer contemplated whether to chop off the offending arm first, or just finish him in one go. The large man smirked, mistaking his silence for fear.
That was the last straw.
Sasori grabbed the sword, paying no mind to the poorly crafted weapon as he quickly made his pick and effortlessly pushed it through Tembaka's neck.
With the sickening crack of sword breaking into bone, the leader, with shocked eyes, gurgled a pulse of blood before slumping lifelessly to the ground.
Having been freed from Tembaka's grasp, Sasori quickly established the positions of the remaining twenty man; three still lying on the ground, unconscious. Two from the initial 'test' were struggling to close their broken jaws. Hefting the cheap, over-weighted sword in his hand, Sasori worked out the quickest method of disarming and dispatching the rest of the men.
Deciding against the shoddy weapon that was likely to only hinder his movements; Sasori pivoted on his foot before letting the katana slip from his hand. It bounced with a dull clang as the puppeteer made his move.
Slipping between two closest man he snapped his arms out bringing their heads smashing into each other. They rebounded from the force and remained lying - out cold.
The remaining thirteen was still in a state of shock. A few charged, purely for the sake of charging.
Spinning on his heel Sasori slammed his foot into the stomach of the brute that had tried to get him from behind. Grabbing the hair of man he just kicked; Sasori shoved him into another goon charging recklessly at him. The weight of the big male blasted them into a nearby tree, the smaller man took the brunt of the blow, his back contorted against it's cracked surface.
Running toward three more to the side, The former Akatsuki ducked beneath a sloppy punch before raising his knee to crash into a unshielded stomach, thick, clear, saliva and gastric acid came spilling out.
As the other two ran at him from either side - desperate and untimely - Sasori merely slipped out from in-between and let their momentum carry them crashing into each other. Sasori looked around himself, the others seemed to have finally figured out what was happening and were grouping together around him. but the formation was unplanned and easily penetrable. In fact, they were so disorganized and cramped together that it seemed they would be fine knocking themselves out.
Rolling his eyes, Sasori ducked down and swept his leg out, knocking all five as they try to get over each other. A few managed to survive the initial assault and were slowly clambering to their feet, Sasori smirked, kicking a couple of heads in, just to make sure they stayed down.
Before Sasori could properly react, two of the men had grabbed his arms; as another rushed at him, arm extended. Twisting out of their grip, Sasori pulled them together and watched the punch that was meant for him bury itself into one of his captor's face. He knew it was a hard punch - a few teeth came flying out.
Satisfied at the man wriggling on the floor, clutching his face, Sasori delivered a swift kick to the young, well muscled man that had rushed at them, ramming his foot into his chest.
After he was safely knocked out on the ground, the puppeteer took hold on the head of the man still holding him and slammed his knee into his face repeatedly, enjoying the sickening breaking of bone beneath his hands. Sasori dropped the heavily beaten body unceremoniously when the face was almost unrecognisable as human.
It was unlike him to be so physically violent - he weaved a pale hand through his bright red hair and let out a content sigh - but control of any shape or form, always made foreign environments feel more like home.
Two minutes and twenty seven seconds later, the rest of the weaker, more cowardly minions were taken care. Each of them, with their other brave companions lay arrayed around him. Sweating, regurgitating, groaning - like pigs, like useless lumps of flesh, all piled around him.
Sasori felt almost disgusted at the blatant display of humanity at it's worst. The scene bringing back the regrettable memories of his destroyed puppet army but it was disgraceful to compare them. Most of these dirtbags were alive and were just as useless as they were human.
He wasn't ashamed to admit that he felt slightly sentimental about those puppets, Sasori had spent two decades after leaving Suna, collecting the most fearsome variety of specimens, refining his techniques - his collection without pause, over and over. Each was constructed from countless years of experimentation, battle experiences and many nights of excruciatingly precise engineering.
Each a timeless manifestations of his art. Everlasting art, how many people can do that?
To know that they were no more than broken pieces of wood and metal...such a waste.
Looking up, he leveled a cold gaze at the final gang member in a tree, the only one smart enough, or just too cowardly, to stay out of the fray.
"Where am I?" Sasori questioned, more monotonous than his usual haughty attitude. The man looked startled at the abrupt question, "Hmm? The 54th district." He replied, hesitantly jumping down to land in front of the shorter male.
"Where exactly?" if the ratty looking man had been startled at the former question he was outright confused at the second. Must be a new soul.He thought
"Soul society." there was no recognition of that name in Sasori's memories.
"It's where most souls go when they die." The man explained further. Sasori stared. Ah. So he was dead, makes sense.
He considered this for a second; with his new flesh..spiritual body and his wavering control over it, best to stay on the safe side and avoid civilisation until he was ready. If the lifetime of living as a ninja taught him anything, it would be to never rush into any situation unprepared - no matter how deceptively safe it was. He suppose that death was no different.
The first thing would be to find a secure place and analyze his current situation, regain his strength and control. Then...
Then he would proceed from there, although there wasn't really much he could do before some light was shed about this 'death business', it was still a rough plan, very unlike Sasori in its complete negligence of new complications and lack of long term planning, but it would have to do for now.
Hopefully the agonizing headache would subdue soon, the dead Akatsuki wasn't used to any physical discomfort.
Not for many years anyway.
Having made his decision, Sasori gave the surrounding a once over and started to walk with no general location in mind.
Until the other man called out to him
"It's dangerous to wonder on your own, you know. I'm Jiro Fukatsu by the way." he smiled good naturedly, holding out a hand toward the shorter male as a sign of peace.
Sasori paused in his tracks. The greeting had not been what he was expecting, not that he expected anything from a bunch of beat up civilians - maybe a few curses, some desperate stray attacks at best and perhaps, miraculously; a hidden dark horse (that would have been interesting at least) but this is was definitely new.
"I see." he stated flatly without a second glance backwards. Jiro's outstretched hand hung awkwardly in mid air.
Spying no reaction from the other, Jiro quickly withdrew his hand and coughed to hide his embarrassment at being so obviously ignored.
"You see, thing is - you just killed our leader, but we don't blame you. It's only natural, Soul Society isn't an easy place to survive - but why dwell on the dead. Hm?" the young man chuckled lightly at his own joke. "You can join us." he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
The twenty or so males who were slowly waking from their various states of comatose blinked at the exchange taking place before them.
Before long, a few began protesting vehemently against the idea of welcoming an outsider - who was possibly dangerous and just outright suspicious looking - into their ranks. The rest soon followed suit, voicing their disdain at the idea, rather loudly.
"Your men don't seem to agree, they want revenge." Sasori stated nonchalantly. His face serene, without any indication of malice or anger as if the animosity was barely worth noting.
Jiro gave a off-handed wave and the men quietened slowly, thinking that it was a joke. Jiro motioned a young man with maroon brown hair towards him. The man stalked over slowly with squared shoulders and a hard frown; obviously not too happy at being ordered around. Sasori heard snippets of disagreement as they debated animatedly a few feet away.
"No, we are NOT letting a Shinigami join!"
"He's not a shinigami."
"How would you know that?" the youth shouted irately. Jiro gave him a annoyed look, as if he was talking to a impudent child.
"Now now, Takiya." Jiro started, bringing young man's head closer to his own. Lowering his voice just a bit more. "We could use a extra fighter of his caliber. Hm? Or have you already forgotten how easily we were bested?"
"It was not easy!" Takiya avoided the skeptical look from the older man and returned to interrogating him. "Ya sure he's not a shinigami?"
"He's not," Jiro reassured him again. "He didn't know about Soul Society until I told him."
Takiya still looked unconvinced, "He killed Tembaka."
"All the better then, you are much more suited as our leader." The freckled young male tried to hide his pleased smile with a stoic frown - but his eyes betrayed his satisfaction.
After another few moments of discussion Takiya nodded, albeit sourly, he seemed to have acquiesced to Jiro's request. Much to Jiro's satisfaction.
The maroon-headed man moved back to the group, talking with all of them as he made his way through the crowd. Clapping a few on the back and ruffled the younger ones' hair affectionately. Just as Sasori was contemplating just leaving, the men seemed to come to an agreement. The coppery red-head went up to Jiro and Sasori and stated coldly "We will accept him." without taking a second glance, the man turned and stalked back to the group.
There had to be some point behind Jiro's actions, some purpose that was beneficial for him. Welcoming a dangerous unknown who had, just moments ago, taken out their entire group and mercilessly dispatched their leader, was as foolish as one could get, not to mention there were around twenty of them.
Sasori decided not to bother, hoping his silence might be clear in it's meaning. He was wrong.
"It's really best to group together." Jiro shrugged
Sasori stared searchingly at the twitching Jiro whose round, saggy eyes darted from side to side nervously under the puppeteer's gaze, like a rat caught in the act of stealing. "We can offer you information...Security...Food! even food." Sasori kept his passive face intact. "You're hungry, aren't you? You must be..I can feel your reiryoku." Jiro questioned eagerly, eyeing the red head with pursed lips.
Reiryoku? Was it the spiritual equivalent of Chakra? Sasori wondered. Regarding the group silently for a moment - juggling his options - Sasori smiled in a harmless looking fashion with unreadable half lidded eyes.
"Sasori." upon hearing the puppeteer, the group of ragtags stared at him. Confused.
Jiro pondered for a bit - "That's his name, you stupid buffoons!" - and snapped at the confused men, his little show of power over the group didn't go unnoticed by the red head.
It seems he has quite a bit of influence of these man, but following a rogue blindly? What is he playing at - a scheme to avenge the leader?...or something more ambitious.
Taking in the group of variously aged men, most seem to be in their forties, but a few were still young, with wide eyed curiosity. The puppeteer wondered how many would be making up the basis of his new collection. His penetrating gaze moved from one male to the next.
Analysing each of their body structures, reading their mental capabilities and sensing any possible potential as human puppets. So far, only one was even considerable; the young man with reddish brown hair copper perhapshad the body of a fighter, lean and sturdy. Takiya might have made for an acceptable human substitution puppet - one with chakra networks able to withhold Sasori's own living core - if he wasn't so tan and freckled.
A taijutsu puppet perhaps...
No, Sasori reminded himself that a human puppet without any special power is about just as fundamental as a wooden one. With his capabilities, a wooden puppet could surpass a normal human in strength and agility by a ratio of 1 to 40 (40 humans to one puppet). No need to waste time cleaning out blood and organs when there's a whole forest available.
It doesn't matter, really, they can be dealt with after I finished taking every little useful bit they have to offer. Something is better than nothing.
Sasori in his low, velvety voice and smooth tone of manipulation commanded:
"Tell me about Soul Society."
A/N:
HELLO, fellow fanfic-ers...NyxX here - just a note, this won't be updated too often, because, whilst we both love working on this...we both have lives...and exams, for that matter. So please, bear with us as we try and slog our way through this - and not fail school.
Oh, and R&R please~ your reviews make us write faster...or well, make me write faster..not so sure about Revolus... ;D