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Mr. Roberts was born, raised, and to date has lived a very model of the upper class life. His father, James, was a wealthy British Senator in London who always provided the best for Wesley and his sister, Jessica. From an early age, they attended a high-end private school that was, in many ways, the Ritz. Amongst the many class room sessions there were fencing and riding lessons, and when the students got skilled enough, even a rare foxhunt or two. For Wesley, though, his world was in the written word. He would, plain and simply, read everything he could get his hands on, regardless of content. Fiction, non-fiction, histories, textbooks, operational manuals, what have you.

Through all of this, Wesley learned to articulate himself to a high degree. His father, noticing this, gave him his first employment as a personal assistant and secretary. By the time Wesley was twenty, he had found ways to become an important aid in the offices of seven different senators, and settled for three years. In these years he started writing a journal, and also took up pipe smoking, with as good quality of “cleaner ingredients” as he could. James, watchful as he was, perceived this stagnation. Wesley had plateaued; he had grown complacent and comfortable, and a result, he wasn’t developing his skills further. There was no room for progress.

Pulling some favours, James was able to offer Wesley the role of diplomatic attaché to the ambassador in the United States. Wesley, in a form of unspoken subjugation to his father, solemnly agreed.

Right after the first month, Wesley regretted his decision. Life in Washington D.C. was so far removed from what he was used to back in Britain. He continued getting imported tobacco, but the food – ugh! It was always too greasy or sugary, or doused in assorted varieties of yellow or red sauces. A decent cup of tea could not be found outside those few trips back home during the holidays. And what pomp! There was always too much of an ostentatious display of Americanism going on. Walking down a street, some of the houses had dozens of flags hanging from a single patio. Every news bulletin was crested with one, and if there was ever an outdoor gathering of any sort you could be guaranteed to see some, whether or not the events had anything to do with the nation.

Then, of course, was the Iraq war. What with the shaky American-Britain alliance looking for weapons of mass destruction, Wesley was always swamped, or on occasion swarmed with microphones and cameras like piranhas. The whole thing was amuck to begin with, and having to explain the actions of the higher-ups without making himself look foolish was slowly giving him a permanent headache.

Through all this, Wesley had many conversations with the ambassador, a friend of his father. They discussed things such as economic reform, war, world hunger, the energy crisis, and so forth. The ambassador, after many conversations, came to a distinctive conclusion: Wesley had no understanding have the lower echelons of society! He made very interesting and effective points, but letting a community go without power for a month, or expecting everyone to buy a new car for efficiency reasons. This happened with almost every discussion. There just wasn’t that connection!

The ambassador, of course, conveyed as much to James Roberts. And once again, in true “father knows best” form, James went through his connections for his heir. He wanted a placement that brought Wesley into contact with everyday people, even in harsh conditions. He came through, in an unlikely place – India. Wesley went through two stages hearing the news – “Out of the States!” and “India??” Needless to say, Wesley didn’t know what to think. It was like going to another world – in fact it was: the Third World. Wesley was his father’s son, though, so he agreed.

Having his last serving of bangers and mash, and praising the Indians for having decent tea, one morning Mr. Roberts found himself boarding a ship – not any ship, though. His father had pre-selected an Indian oil tanker that ran between San Francisco, Kolkata and the Middle East. Bringing along a small library of books on India for the journey, as well as his trusty pipe and satchel, he settled in for a long - and hopefully not seasick – voyage.

It turned out the voyage wasn’t that bad. While things were slightly rusted, and there was never any beef in sight, Mr. Roberts had some most fascinating discussions with the crew about the history of India. Everything was going well – until the fog rolled in.

The fog was unlike anything Wesley had ever seen. You couldn’t make out anything beyond five meters. Most of the crew were fine with this; for them it was just another day on the job. One thing that sent chills down a man’s spine had been the rumour being spread that the radar had stopped working in this soup. They had no sense of direction. Fog doesn’t last that long, though, so they waited. And waited. A day, two days, three, they all started blending into one another. Nothing seemed to work. While the boat was moving and the lights were on, the rest of it seemed dead in the water. Food and fuel started getting low, and then desperately low. The captain ordered to abandon ship and use the speedboats. There were six fairly large ones, each having the same mechanical problems as the main ship.
They all sped away in a circular pattern, hoping to get out of the fog and getting help for the others and to save the tanker. Wesley was with two other men. They had a few provisions, but that would only last them a day or two.

A few hours into their journey, though, a looming sound came over the waves and all went dark.

Physical Attributes:
Electric eels are not eels at all - they're fish! They are closely related to the ghost fish and knife fish.
Dimensions: 6-9 feet long, 5-7 inches diameter.
Fins: No dorsal or pelvic fins, but one long a**l fin extending the length of the body.
"Setup": The entire organ structure of the EE constitutes just 15% of the body; found directly behind the head. That leaves 85% for the tail - used for movement and electrical generation.
Other facts: No teeth, poor eyesight, breathe air through the mouth every ~15 minutes,

Habitat and Behaviour:
Habitat: Fresh water regions of South America, usually in slow moving rivers. These areas are usually very low in oxygen, hence the air-breathing nature of the EE.
Procreation and life: Both parents work together to raise the young. Once the spawn is large enough to handle itself, the 'family' separates.
Diet: Really, any fish smaller than it is. It uses the electrical power of its tail to kill the fish and then eat it slowly.

Electricity: The electrical capacity of an EE works like a really big set of a battery and alligator clamps. 85% of the body is the tail, and throught the whole tail are things called electrocytes. each of these are like a min-battery in themself. Each can hold about 0.15v. That really isn't much, but add into this that there are over 4000 of these throughout the body. Doing the math, that leads to an excess of 600 volts, with 1-2 amps. That could knock out, harm, or possibly kill a human. Its two ends, the tail and head, act as the positive and negative ends of the alligator clamps.

Reserved.

Reserved.

Blink
Blue. Bright Blue. There was a bird floating lazily overhead.
Blink
“You’re tired of Washington, aren’t you?”
Blink
“F-f-Father?”
Blink
The soft clink of glass on glass was followed by the quiet flow of liquid. His father poured the brandy into the pair of glasses before him on the side table, passing one to Wesley as he leaned himself back into the opposite chair, his red hair and beard fading to white. Cluttered around James Robert’s wide office were dozens of mementos and objects which, in themselves, gave an unspoken history of James’ long, vibrant career. The decidedly brown and yellow trend in the room aided with the feeling of age.
Blink
The smell of salt was overpowering, giving a fresh spray with each new wave.
Blink
Wesley had a feeling what this was going to be about. Benjamin Ashford, the U.S. Ambassador that Wesley worked for, had been back to Britain less than a month before Wesley was, now. Wesley knew that Ben was in his father’s pocket in terms of confidentiality. It seemed that every time that Ben went back home, he gave a report on his assistant. Obviously something had tipped him off to some recent frustrations he’d had. “Well, what with the Iraq war, and the recent Czar problems -”
“I’ve been told you’ve had quite a few arguments with Mr. Ashford.”
Blink
There was a storm brewing. Overhead, the clouds were writhing in a quickly darkening sky. There was a constant loop of rumbles in the distance.
Blink
“India? Why India of all places? Aside from a little history, I know nothing of the place!”
“Precisely!” James fingered his beard. “You have no idea how the people live there, what conditions they live in, or what they think. In fact, that’s been one of the major points Benjamin brought to my attention over the years- you’ve really been sheltered from how most of the world works.” He took off his glasses and rubbed them.
“Son, your mother and I have spent our lives trying to improve yours, and give you the best that we could. While you’ve flourished, Ben got the distinct impression you’ve become a little jaded when it comes to living conditions. You’ve really never had to make do, and that really hurts your ability to come up with compromises. I’m hoping this will help you with that, and make a transformation. About your transportation…”
Blink
The storm was getting violent. The wind howled, and light danced between the clouds.
Blink
“What is this ‘Karma’ that everyone keeps talking about?” Wesley asked, stirring his soup as it cooled.”
The curly-haired-chinned man across from him chuckled through a mouthful of chicken. “You and the other Westerners’ ways of self-importance and irresponsibility are so futile!” The man cackled in a thick Indian accent. Slowly calming down, and with a condescending smile, he explained. “Karma is the sum of the good and wrong you have done in this world, in this life and those past, which you do not remember. Evil always begets evil, and doing good remedies it. You cause your future, remember that.” Still smiling, he got up from the table and started heading to the kitchen with his dishes, clapping a hand on Robert’s shoulder.
Blink
The storm screamed all around him. There was no rain, but the clouds were all. There was no land, no water, no buildings… just the hurricane.
From what seemed to be thousands of points at once, lightning struck him, and he was blinded.

WESLEY!

“YAH!”
Wesley sat bolt upright, breathing hard. The storm was gone. His eyes seared with pain, and he rubbed the back of his hand across his face. Sea water? What?

Looking forward, Wesley saw his legs sprawled ahead of him, encapsulated by the small motorboat around him. The boat… but where is the fog? Where am I? There was nothing but water ahead of him, though it became lighter as it drew closer, as if it were getting shallo- Wesley spun around. A Beach! Trees! The boat was on shore! They’d survived! But where were William and Taen? They had been in the cramped boat with him, after all, and they shouldn’t have gone far. Standing up, wobbling, Roberts put one foot over the side and put his foot down – and fell into the water with a sharp pain.
Gargling for breath in the knee deep water, he clutched his ankle. It seemed to be broken or sprained, and strangely, from before he had stepped out of the boat. “WILL! TAEN! Are you blokes even going to help me here?”

Silence. There was no sound but of the crashing of the waves and the breeze through the palm trees lining the beach.

“I need help here! Come on, you two, I know you’re here!” Wesley started panicking. They couldn’t have gotten far, and from what he knew of them, they wouldn’t leave him behind. Dragging himself on shore, he looked for the footprints leading from the boat. There weren’t any as far as he could tell. “Come on, you blokes! Where’d you -” The swell. The swell had appeared right in front of the boat and… Wesley couldn’t remember anything after that. What if they fell in the water?

Grabbing hold of the boat rim, he pulled himself upright. Scanning as far as he could see, there was no sign of civilization. There was also nothing in the boat that he could use. From his vantage point, he could see the motor’s fuel gauge in the red.

Crying out in frustration, he yanked on the boat – and the rail gave way. He found himself in the water once again, this time with an eight foot pole across his chest. Surfacing, he slowly got up once again, this time supported on one side with the pole.

Deciding smartly to get away from the water, he limped up the beach with this newfound cane. The grey metal seemed to be slightly hollow, though he couldn’t even knick it.

“TAEN! WILLIAM!”

Nothing. When Wesley looked back, he had caused footprints. There were none, anywhere else that he could see.

He was completely, and utterly alone.
Blink