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Valve announced the beta launch of "Steam Trading Cards" today.
No it's about real life and how the markets fit in. It's not about "the magic system", it's not about how to design the perfect system. This new edition of Trading Chaos is refreshing.
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For Stella, Nick, and Alex I hope you never stop believing. Leave a trail of sunflower seeds for the rest of us to follow. We work in the dark.
We do what we can to battle the evil that would otherwise destroy us. But if a man's character is his fate, this fight is not a choice but a calling. Yet sometimes the weight of this burden causes us to falter, breaching the fragile fortress of our mind, allowing the monsters without to turn within.
We are left alone staring into the abyss, into the laughing face of madness.
Packs of teenagers, pumped for the official start of spring break, rushed past the black sedan parked across from the high school, unaware they were being watched from behind the car's tinted windows. Jocks wearing Wilson High jerseys carried pretty cheerleaders on their shoulders, enjoying the chance to finally touch some thigh. Other guys horsed around in the road, showing off for girls in tight jeans who pretended not to notice them.
Most of the teens didn't give the car a second glance. The man in the passenger seat scanned the face of every boy jaywalking across the road, searching for one in particular.
He sounded like somebody's grandfather, and next to Reggie, he looked like one. Reggie's dark brown skin was as smooth as a newborn baby's, and the short Afro tucked under his tweed newsboy cap only added to his boyish good looks.
His bushy black mustache and sophisticated style-like the fitted white shirt, tan suede blazer, and flared black slacks he had on today-kept him from being mistaken for a college kid.
Even if the boss ditched the starched shirt, wide tie, and conservative side part, he couldn't hide the lines etched into his pale skin like scars, or the worn look behind his cold eyes.
Reggie turned his attention back to the teens. They were still running on adrenaline and the illusion of freedom that youth offered. He watched them with a pang of envy.
Remember how that felt? I was never an idiot.
The cloud of smoke made Reggie's eyes water, but he ignored it and focused on the funnel of ash, waiting for it to break off. Fox Mulder was a handsome kid-lean like a swimmer, with a look that was the perfect balance between clean-cut and I-don't-give-a-crap. His dark brown hair hit just past the collar of his striped shirt, and the front was long enough to cover his eyes a little. Girls ate up that kind of thing.
Fox stared into space as he shuffled along, holding a crumpled piece of paper. The other boy was a different story. He was shorter than Fox by a foot, and the kid's straight blond hair hung in his face, as if he was growing out a bad bowl haircut.
His dirt-brown T-shirt featured a faded image of a scene from Star Wars, and his jeans were so long that the frayed bottoms dragged on the sidewalk. The kid was talking nonstop, gesturing wildly and buzzing around Fox like a housefly. From the look of it, he could use a strip of duct tape to cover his mouth.
Reggie wasn't a fan of talkers. They were a liability. He crushed the butt and focused his watery-blue eyes on Reggie. It's a practice professionals use to obtain information so we don't have to rely on assumptions.
The organization they worked for was built on the backs of men and women with ice running through their veins-individuals willing to do whatever needed to be done, regardless of the cost-and the smoking man next to him was one of them.
But it would break Bill if we took his son, too, and right now we need him. The Project is at a critical stage that requires people with specific skills, and Bill Mulder is one of them. Follow the boy around and let me know if he does anything interesting. We're also assessing Fox for potential recruitment. Instead he asked, "Who the hell names their kid Fox?
His parents must hate him. They were barely speaking when Bill moved out of the house in the fall. Fox came with him. I don't. The boss snapped his fingers and pointed at the glass.
He refused to appear weak in front of a man who had once referred to weakness as a disease during a debriefing.