The Man of Nightstone

CHAPTER ONE

My name is Althadis. I'm a bounty hunter. And I am searching for the Whisper.

The bartender had not even noticed the man until the words were spoken. He looked up from the glass in his hands—which he almost dropped—and he found himself staring into a pair of eyes as solid as steel and the gaze they carried was sharper than any blade.

Well, you're out of your damn mind. This was the only response Mal, the bartender, could verbalize as he faced this man so brazenly determined to hunt the most notorious killer in the world. The killer known only as the Whisper.

This man, Althadis, was covered in a dark cloak which would have been pure black were it not coated with a beige layer of road dust. His hair was as dark as his dusty cloak. And his beard, streaked with white strands at its edges, hung from his chin with no matching mustache. He wore mostly gray clothes beneath the cloak, along with a leather vest, belt, and well-worn leather gloves and boots. Everything about this bounty hunter bore the marks of a man who all but lived on the road.

How very astute of you to notice, Althadis smiled with only one side of his face. For no sane man would seek the Whisper, much less declare it openly.

The hell you doing here? Mal gave a half-hearted smile as he set the glass down and reached under the bar. What makes you think the Whisper is here, of all places?

Your place looked like enough of a rat hole that if someone wanted to hire an assassin, they'd look here. Althadis took his eyes off the wrinkled, balding bartender to scan his immediate surroundings.

The Stormwind Tavern had no windows, and the cheap orb lighting was kept dim, with most of it centered on the bar. None of the chairs or bar stools were cushioned. Althadis counted six other men in the whole place: five of them seated at three different tables, and one at the bar with his head resting in his arms and an almost-empty glass in front of him.

What do you know about the Whisper?

Let me think. Mal smirked sarcastically while his hand grasped something under the bar. I know as much as any other honest business man knows. He's the world's deadliest assassin. Never misses his mark. No one's ever escaped him. No one's ever seen his face or heard his real voice because he always talks in a whisper. Mal rattled off the most prevalent rumors about the Whisper like a shopping list. Hey, maybe that's why they call him the Whisper. What do you think, nutcase?

I think I haven't met a bartender who didn't have a small fire rod within reach for customers who didn't leave when they're told. And I think that if the weapon isn't in your hand by now, it will be soon. Althadis now smiled with his whole face. Nothing else about him moved. I also think that, if you use it, you're going to be very surprised and very disappointed. So I'll ask again: what do you know about the Whisper?

Mal gave a quick snort at the bounty hunter's assumption. I don't know a damn thing about the Whisper, and I plan on keeping it that way. Now get out of my bar.

Wait a minute, Mal. Wait a minute. The man at the end of the bar mumbled drunkenly. You a bounty hunter? You sayin' someone put a bounty on the Whisper's head? How you gonna collect when no one knows who he is?

Althadis acknowledged the question without taking his eyes off the bartender. The Whisper leaves a certain calling card unique to the talisman he uses. I bring back his talisman and his head, and I collect the biggest payday of my life: ten-thousand rubies.

The Stormwind came alive with the sound of shifting chairs and cutthroat men snapping to attention the moment they heard the amount.

Come on. Mal groaned at his patrons like he was repeating an old complaint. He's full of shit. Nobody's got that many rubies.

True. No one person has that much money. Althadis threw his cloak behind his shoulders, projecting his voice and playing the room like a masterful musician. But the Continental Treasury has even more than that since it is the depository of all taxes.

A bounty paid in tax money? The drunk suddenly became more awake on hearing this news. That means the royals . . .

It's a royal bounty, Althadis continued addressing the whole room, the first of its kind in decades. No jurisdiction. Under continental law, anyone can deliver on a royal mark. And anyone who does will receive their own independent fortress as well as the money. His eyes became like steel again as he turned his attention back to Mal. So, I'll ask you one last time: what do you know about the Whisper?

You're outta your fuckin' mind. Mal shouted. What makes you think I know anything about the Whisper?

As if on cue, a young man emerged out of the back room through a curtain with his head down and a keg of mead in his arms.

Because your son hired him. Althadis announced.

The young man dropped the keg, and a thick, wet crack shot through the room. The keg began leaking. Mal's son stood frozen in a growing puddle that may as well have been his own urine. His hands trembled as he held them up in surrender.

I-I-I didn't. I didn't.

Mal had heard enough. He yanked the talrod out from under the bar and pointed it at the center of Althadis's chest.

Like most talrods, the actual rod part that channeled the energy was about twenty centimeters in length, made of brass, and tipped with an array of sharpened crystals. Its design based on the pistols of Old Earth, the talrod was small enough to be held in one hand with a vertical grip attached at a right angle beneath the non-firing end of the rod just behind the trigger. Because talrods could be fired easily with one hand, many people honed their quick draw skills more than their accuracy.

Mal lined up the sights that were carved along the top of the talrod directly at his target.

Althadis did not flinch.

Looks like the Klavokk Model Four. A good hand-cannon. Light and accurate at close range. Only holds six charges, right? Beaming an arrogant smile at the weapon, Althadis shook his head. Don't bother wasting a charge, old man. It'd be a minor inconvenience to have my clothes burned. I'm telling you, a flame stick won't hurt me.

You're right. Mal waved his free hand at his son with a backward motion, wishing he could shove his son out of the room. Flame rods aren't worth a damn against my customers. Most tough guys in this end of town got a thing or two up their sleeve that can deal with fire. Mal yanked back on the charge loader. This action loaded two charges into the firing chamber that combined the stored energy, a feature designed for inflicting twice the damage. And they also know not to threaten my son.

Althadis heard the talrod humming.

Comprehension flashed across his eyes.

That's right, asshole. I spent a little extra and got a screamer. Mal pulled the trigger, and a booming scream shredded through all the sound waves of all other noises throughout the tavern.

Althadis shifted to his right just as Mal opened fire.

A blast of concentrated, condensed sound waves slammed into his left shoulder. After easily ripping through his clothing and cloak, the blast continued across the tavern, splintering a hole in the front door the size of a fist. The midday sun poured in.

The screamer, a sonic-based talrod, was considered military-grade weaponry since only a master of the arcane arts could equal such a fierce output of energy without the aid of a talisman.

Therefore, it stood to reason that only a master sorcerer could withstand a blast from a screamer at such close range and not be moved or bleed a single drop.

Living hell, Mal gasped.

Althadis had been moved less than half a step, though his shirt sleeve looked like it was hanging on by less than half a thread. The unimpressed arcane master regarded the damage to his clothing with a glance. He drew the leather glove off his left hand and tucked it into his belt. With one yank, he removed his shredded sleeve and stuffed it into a pocket inside his vest.

Althadis displayed his bare, undamaged arm for all to see. He smirked as he asked politely, So tell me, Mal, was it worth the extra money?

Mal's hand trembled as he attempted to cycle the charge-loader for another shot. Only four charges were left.

Before he could reach the charge loader, a terrifying sound shocked the tavern—a sound that pierced eardrums and rattled skulls as it shriveled the veins and froze the blood of everyone in the establishment.

It was the sound of a woman screaming. And it was coming from outside.

Althadis moved so fast, no one could discern the look on his face or the thoughts it may have betrayed. An instant later he was across the room and throwing open the door.

* * *

Outside the Stormwind, the sky was cloudless and the sun was shining bright.

Althadis hurried onto the cobblestone streets and easily located where the scream was coming from. He shoved through dozens of people stopping to stare until he found her.

One woman stood alone in the middle of the street completely naked. She was tensing every muscle in her body, gripping her fingers into her face. Though her nude body was terribly emaciated, she was obviously a sight no one could ignore.

The woman clawed at her throat violently, breaking skin. Fingers and throat deformed by strangling tension. Her eyes were bulging and staring skyward. Her whole face stretched wide open, her mouth holding at the maximum possible expansion. Her fingernails tore down her breasts and across her ribs, drawing lines of blood everywhere her twisted hands clawed.

For a moment it appeared there was nothing but pain and madness pouring out of her. Then Althadis realized something, there was pleasure too. There was pleasure like no other, equaling the kind of intense pain that might torture a person to death.

Could this be any stranger? Althadis thought. Pleasuring to death and torturing to death. Somehow this woman is experiencing both?

Her claw-like hands flailed out to her sides with no appearance of any conscious control. Just as suddenly, her hands attacked the back of her head, grabbed clumps of her dusty hair, and ripped them out, tearing bloody strips of her scalp with them.

Steeling himself, he took a quick peek inside her mind.

All her thoughts were drowned in screaming madness. Every nerve in her body randomly sang between burning agony and warming ecstasy. For a half-second at a time, with no pattern or warning, random parts of her body bathed in one or the other.

Madness, orgasms, torture . . . all at once. Althadis was dumbfounded. Who would do this? Who would think of this?

Her rapture now thoroughly replaced by the unbearable, the woman continued her self-mutilation. She wrenched one hand of broken fingernails up her abdomen and dug through the flesh at the underside of her sternum. Her other hand began the same wrenching and gouging of her wide-open eyes.

Up to this point, the gathering crowds had been mesmerized, stunned into silence by the odd spectacle. At the sight of this woman beginning to tear herself apart with her own hands, the onlookers erupted with aimless terror.

Panicked, the people scattered in every direction. Chaos ensued as the screaming woman continued tearing herself to pieces.

This is bad. And it's getting worse. Althadis now saw the woman with both eyes and mind. With all his senses focused on the woman, Althadis both saw and knew the inner workings of the sorcery destroying her. It's not just killing her; it's twisting all that is her life into unlife. In seconds she'll become undead.

Knowing he had to act fast, Althadis shouted at the scrambling crowds, Get out of my way. Move. Give me a clear shot.

People ran in every direction, hindering his ability to see his target.

The city guard will never get here in time to end her transformation. And he knew there was only one way it could be ended or the true horror would begin.

Althadis centered his mind, focused wordless thoughts and energized his voice.

MOVE AWAY! The entire district heard him this time.

Everyone within sight of Althadis cowered into shadows, alleyways, buildings or behind any cover they could find until only the screaming woman remained in the center of his vision. And she was still screaming even as the fluid from her perforated eyeballs dripped from her finger tips.

Poor creature, I deliver you from a fate worse than death. Subtle vibrations caressed across his bare hand. Please forgive me.

Just before releasing his spell, Althadis was thankful he had removed his glove earlier, because the energy he was about to channel would have incinerated it.

Blinding, white-hot energy arced and bent through the air, making no sound until it connected with its target. A flash of burning later and the woman's head was nothing more than a blackened skull, the hand before her eyes just a crumbling collection of ashen bones.

The screaming ended. One could almost hear the dust settling in the sunlight.

Althadis's precision and efficiency struck the air with an omnipotent silence.

* * *

Everyone stay back. Althadis gestured to keep the crowds at a distance, concerned that the blasted remains might still jump up and attack. In the back of his mind, he knew it was extremely rare but still possible.

The collapsed corpse lay before him with its jaw hanging open and skull rolled to one side. Sensing no vibrations or energies in the air nearby or emanating from the dead body, he had to conclude she was truly dead.

I saved her from a fate worse than death. He consoled himself unsuccessfully. I did what had to be done. With her body and mind being wracked by such a ruthless spell there was no alternative.

Replacing the leather glove onto his left hand, Althadis began examining the body. He was unsure what exactly he was looking for, only hoping to find any clue available. There has to be something. A spell that sadistic is carefully crafted in advance. It should have a mark somewhere.

The front of the woman's torso was blank, pale skin save for the many claw wounds and bloodstains. In places, her skin was thinned and turning translucent. Her legs were the same. There was a noticeable loss in fat and muscle throughout her body. Her toenails and fingernails had turned a sickly yellow. All signs pointed to malnutrition combined with supernatural decomposition from within. But not a mark to be found.

Carefully sliding his hands beneath her, he lifted and gently rolled the body onto its side.

Althadis froze as he beheld the dead woman's back for the first time and his eyes widened with a terrible memory.

A pitch-black circle, ten centimeters in diameter and surrounded by an array of scarlet flames marked the skin directly between her shoulder blades. Draping down either side of the circle, from the tops of her shoulder blades to the bottom of her ribcage, were two more tattoos resembling folded wings of black feathers.

Althadis had studied a variety of markings and tattoos of both the paranormal and ordinary kind. The design on this woman, however, was unique. The inks were burned into her skin. And Althadis knew no tool in the world could burn such artistic designs into flesh other than the personal touch of an arcane expert.

But the terrible memory blooming in his mind was sparked by the specific designs. He could not suppress the piercing realization. The dark wind and the eclipsed sun. The sky of black. Black Sky.

Impossible, Althadis whispered to himself.

To what are you referring, sir? A voice asked.

Althadis craned his neck to see a tall man standing behind him to his right and immediately took catalog of his appearance. Middle-aged. Clean shaven. Dark, curly hair. Leather armor with matching bracers and a deep blue half-cloak over the left shoulder. Althadis recognized the uniform of the city guard. The man behind him was also adorned with a golden starburst amulet Althadis had not seen before.

This mark on her back, of course, Althadis lied as fast as he could, drawing on an extraordinary amount of practice. Obviously burned into her skin through sorcery and rather precisely at that. But I've never seen anything like it in my life.

That makes two of us, the tall man frowned, thoughtfully. Captain Torol, Pallos Guard. And you are? Althadis took the opportunity during the introduction to gently lay the body back to rest, his thoughts imparting a final apology. He then stole a quick glance at his surroundings and counted four other guardsmen at the scene restoring the peace, making sure no one else was hurt and taking statements from witnesses.

Damn. He thought. The guardsmen are quick in this city. Better talk fast. Not going to fight my way out of this. Two more guardsmen arrived. I could. But I shouldn't.

Althadis, he stood to face the man he knew would become his adversary. I'm the one that killed her when I realized what was happening.

You prevented her complete transformation. Torol corrected as he pointed to the oozing wound where the woman had almost torn out her own heart.

You've seen this spell before? Althadis hid his shock.

Similar spells, yes, among necromancers I have fought. This is the kind of spell they cast. And, more often than not, there's no way of reversing it once a victim is that far gone. He pointed again at her self-inflicted wounds. She was already dead. You saved her from unlife. You must understand this.

I never learned the art of sorcery for the purpose of killing people. Althadis lowered his head, shaking it as he lied. And I've never met a necromancer.

Oh? Torol's voice carried a hint of disbelief. You're from what school? Who trained you?

Olraasa University, Althadis answered, lying again. My primary's name was Sebr. She granted me my master's rank, just before she passed away.

An academic master. The words sounded like a euphamism for amateur coming from Torol. This was exactly the reaction Althadis was hoping for. "The real world is nothing like a classroom, Master Althadis, especially not in this region. People need those of us who are counted as masters to be at our most vigilant at all times. Everyone knows about sorcery because it's everywhere. They know about danger because the best way to fight fear is with knowledge. You and I have to fight real danger, and with sorcery the likes of which few people ever know."

Althadis's eyes fell back to the dead woman as part of his performance. You speak like a war-hardened veteran for one so young.

True. You and I are not that far apart in age, the captain smiled. But my years in the guard have hardened me a great deal. And recent times have us all on alert.

Why is that?

Less than three weeks ago, a horde of ravenous was spotted in the deep forest to the south. Not a large horde, mind you, or we'd have found them by now. But this is the fourth time in the past three months that the ravenous have been spotted. Now there are wild theories and wilder rumors that they were all just pieces of a much larger horde numbering in the thousands and that they've cut off the city from all trade.

Theories and rumors, eh? Althadis smiled along, knowing it might be true.

Wild enough to assume that the ravenous could somehow cut off our trade routes despite the fact that they're blind and have no mind for strategy. Torol agreed with Althadis's fake skepticism.

Yes. Highly unlikely. Althadis remembered his geography. And the terrain to the south is all forest-covered mountains. Anything could be hiding there. Are the rumors at least saying which mountain?

Mount Krych, usually.

You're not short on firepower, are you?

Not in the least. Torol waved off the notion and continued speaking as his attention was drawn away. I've no less than ten guardsmen stationed on the city walls at all times. All of who are trained in sorcery and armed with talrods. And I'm not talking about those cheap flame sticks that anyone with twenty diamonds and half a brain can buy off the street. I'm talking about the Merlin Mark Nine.

Althadis gave a slow nod, showing his approval of the weapon. Energy versatile. Triple-charge loader. Eighteen charge capacity. Adjustable for a wide and close spread or a singular, distant target.

And yet, there are still those who believe we need to be better prepared.

Althadis followed Torol's gaze to a woman approaching through the crowds with a commanding stride. Her half-cloak was embroidered with a silver insignia, different from Torol's uniform. A wide-brimmed leather hat both concealed and contained most of her chestnut-colored hair. The opaque crystal lens affixed to her face and covering her left eye was hard to ignore as well.

With a fast flourish, she detached her half-cloak and threw it over the corpse lying at their feet.

Don't anyone bother giving this poor woman some dignity now, she shouted, apparently addressing the rest of the guardsmen at the scene with a biting annoyance in her voice. No. Of course not. Leave her corpse bare-ass naked for all the world to leer at. Her job done, she deliberately shot her gaze past Torol and into Althadis, looking him up and down. Tell me you're a man of some sense and not a rutting jackass like most of the men I have to deal with.

Althadis silently smiled in the face of her fury. She's beautiful when she's angry.

Do you mind terribly if I introduce you first, Nola? Torol held back a sigh.

"Introduce him first," she asserted, cocking her head to one side as she looked him up and down again.

This is Master Althadis of Olraasa University. Torol presented Althadis, his tone of voice suggesting that she calm down. He's the one that dealt with the situation before it got out of hand.

What kind of spell did you cast? She snapped the question like a whip.

And this is Lieutenant Nola, my sister. Torol barely got the words in.

Very pleased to meet you. Althadis cautiously tilted his head forward, extended the index and forefinger on the right hand and placed the fingertips just below the left eye. He had given Nola the sign of recognition known among all sorcerers.

Nola cocked her head to one side, and then proceeded to return the sign precisely and quickly.

You honor me, Master Althadis. Receiving a sign of recognition from a master is unexpected to say the least. Nola's tone floated between sarcastic and amused. Is this to avoid my question?

I used a conjuration of lightning, he answered evenly.

Good aim. Nola regarded the burned corpse. And you held back the energy concentration enough that her head didn't explode. That kind of accuracy standard teaching at Olraasa?

Althadis closed his eyes and answered, It is if you're an omnimancer.

Torol and Nola blinked at him with the same question plastered across their faces.

Althadis held his eyes closed, knowing their reaction without looking. They're both thinking, Did I hear him correctly?

Yes. You heard me correctly. I'm not just a master, but an omnimancer. Like most that have attained the title, I don't brag about it.

Nola wiped the shock from her face and quickly resumed her skepticism. Please forgive me if I don't believe you, Master Althadis. But I dare say you must be the youngest omnimancer ever to walk among us mortals.

I know. Althadis played it up like a complaint he had heard more times than he could count. "Sebr always said I was gifted. She believed in my ability. Everyone else at the university thought I was cheating my way through exams. But, he shot a glare at both of them, I am an omnimancer. I earned it."

After a moment, Torol spoke. Well, I'm convinced enough not to argue the point further.

Nola agreed. You're either a talented master or an amazing liar.

I could be both. Althadis gave a clever smile, taking advantage of the chance to tell the truth while making a joke of it. But right now, if you don't mind, I would really like to be on my way.

And what way is that? Nola studied him.

I'm in town looking for someone. It's a private matter, so I prefer to say no more. He answered, thinking: Please let this be enough lying to get you off my back.

We might have questions for you later, young master, Torol held up a hand to keep Nola from interrupting. But you are free to go, for now. On behalf of the Pallos Guard, we thank you for your assistance.

Torol made the sign of recognition. Althadis returned it, immediately turned around and walked away.

We're going to keep an eye on him, right? Nola spoke under her breath through tightened lips.

Obviously, we should. Torol faced his sister, matching her lowered tone. But first we need to identify this woman. See if she has any connection to him.

So you agree he's our prime suspect. Nola glanced past her brother, but she had already lost track of Althadis in the crowd.

Right now, he's our only suspect. Torol conceded to her logic. But if he's as good as he says, I hope we can find another.

CHAPTER TWO

Althadis began shifting and veiling his appearance after a few steps, as soon as any line of sight to him was blocked by other people. His illusion skills harmonized with his instinct in such a way that made all of this virtually effortless.

He knew, as a matter of basic principle, that he had become the city guard's prime suspect. He also knew they would never catch him unless he allowed it. Eventually, though, he would have to let them or be cornered and forced to fight.

However long I can manage it, he thought, I can't let them know I'm after the Whisper. Once they know the Whisper is here they'll activate the wards, lock down the city and force him to kill his way out. And I've no doubt the Whisper could do just that and worse. Best to only let the criminal element of Pallos know what I'm after.

A smile touched his lips at his scheming thoughts, but it was quickly erased by the memory of the woman he just killed.

The mark on her back was undoubtedly Black Sky. Still, that's impossible. He's dead. You don't get more dead than that. But who else could possibly know about Black Sky? The nightmares of a madman could scarce conceive of it.

The decision to withhold all information regarding Black Sky from the authorities was an easy one. For that matter, he had already decided to withhold such knowledge from anyone he spoke to. Black Sky was far too dangerous. And it represented the kind of knowledge part of him wished he could forget. Albeit a small part.

He reflected on less perilous things.

Torol said that less than three weeks ago, a small horde of the ravenous was spotted to the south. Mount Krych. It's the fourth time this season that the ravenous have appeared.

He thought of Mal's son standing behind the bar, scared into stillness.

Perfect.

* * *

The scream of the woman outside the tavern was the kind of sonic phenomenon that echoed in one's mind for several minutes afterward, similar to an explosion leaving a ringing in a person's ears for hours later.

The patrons of the Stormwind, all of whom had earned a reputation of one kind or another in the underworld of crime, would have never admitted to being so traumatized by the scream. Not in words . . . but actions speak louder than words.

Althadis kicked open the Stormwind's door, and the lot of them jumped like rabbits scattering from a predator.

You, Althadis pointed an accusing finger at Mal's son. The young man now sat at a table close to the bar, clutching the table's edge with both hands. Tell me your name.

The familiar clicking of the charge loader emanated from behind Althadis's head.

Don't you say a word to him. Mal commanded his son from less than a meter behind Althadis. Now you listen to me, bounty hunter. Get out of my bar or I swear on all the dragons I'll unload every talrod I have into your fuckin' head.

By waiting for Mal to finish his threat, Althadis acquired a good fix on Mal's exact position. He kept his eyes on the boy as he replied.

I'm sorry. Could you repeat that please?

I said, get out of my— Mal unconsciously took a small step forward, right into the trap.

No one in the whole bar saw Althadis attack Mal. Not even Mal.

They saw a blur of Althadis's dusty cloak, a flash of his eyes, and heard the rapid thuds of flesh being pounded by fists.

After that, Mal hit the floor. And Althadis was standing over him, casually tossing Mal's screamer into the farthest corner of the room.

You can stop repeating yourself, Althadis smirked, I heard you the first time. Deciding to do a little more damage, Althadis turned to the gawking crowd of patrons and pointed at the door with an audible thrust of his arm. Get out.

The six patrons hurried toward the exit and went their separate ways out into the streets. To a casual observer glancing at the sudden evacuation, one might have thought the Stormwind was on fire.

Now, Althadis returned his accusing finger back to the bartender's son. You. Tell me your name.

Don't tell him anything. Mal coughed out the words.

And what if I threaten your father's life? Althadis's look turned colder than ice.

Leave him alone!

I'm searching for the Whisper and your son knows where he is.

He's just a scared boy. He doesn't know anything.

If that's true, boy, then you may leave. For a moment, only Mal's wheezing breath was heard. I am true to my word. Either my quarrel is with you, or it's with your father. Leave now, and I will believe you're innocent. I'll settle the rest of my business with your father. Stay, and you admit your guilt.

The young man swallowed hard, slowly releasing his grip from the table while struggling to stand on wobbling knees.

Go. Mal ordered his son. This bounty hunter is serious. Get out of here.

It's your decision, young man. I'm waiting. And as he waited, Althadis studied the young man's watering eyes.

Dad . . . The word was squeaked out. The young man could barely breathe.

Son. Get. Out. Mal finally regained his feet using the nearest chair.

Mal watched his son take a small step, then another, then tremble in place as though he could not move his feet any further.

Dad, I can't. His young eyes poured tears. I know things.

A victorious smile spread across Althadis's face.

Mal became suddenly invigorated with rage. His face and his vision turned red.

"You what? Ignoring his injuries, Mal roared past Althadis and grabbed his son's collar in both hand. You know? What do you know? Tell me! Are you that stupid? Are you really that fuckin' stupid? I know young people do stupid things. But tell me you're not that fuckin' stupid. Getting mixed up with the Whisper? Living hell, what is wrong with you?"

The rant continued until the boy began responding by talking over his father, albeit with an uncontrolled spill of pleading and babble.

"Dad, I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I really didn't. Dad, I'm not that stupid. I'm not mixed up with the Whisper.