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Profile of DanielRumanos
Fiction from *The Weird Adventures of Daniel Rumanos* -- http://weirdadventures.danielrumanos.com

The stars shone down eerily over Baltimore City on this dark, moonless night. Suki was walking home after a brief get-together with her new sorority sisters. She was glad to have made some friends so quickly after coming here from Japan to attend the Johns Hopkins University. Her friends had told her that Charles Village, where the university was located, was a safe neighborhood -- at least as Baltimore neighborhoods go -- so pretty Suki didn't feel too much trepidation about walking the few short blocks to her apartment.

Suki was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged into a narrow side-street. Her assailant, a large, ugly street-thug with horrible body-odor, roughly pushed the helpless young woman up against the brick wall face-first. "Don't say nothin', b****" he hissed, "I kill you if you do."

She trembled in hideous fear as her attacker ripped down her skirt and began to undo his own loose-fitting trousers. "This gotta happen, girl," he said with a slight, horrible laugh, "It gonna be good."

The would-be rapist then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A tall, shadowy figure was now standing at the entrance to the side street. He turned to face it: a man with long dark hair, wearing all black clothing. The man's ankle-length leather trench-coat blew slightly in the late-night breeze.

That man was me, Dr. Daniel Rumanos, also known as *Demon Star*. The criminal looked me up and down as if he were trying to decide whether to confront me or just try to escape. He quickly decided upon the latter and began to run down to the other end of the side-street.

Before the miscreant could reach the end of the street he stopped short. Just a few yards in front of him was another figure, this one a beautiful young girl with red hair, clad in red and black tights and a short cape. She was Katrina LeVay-Rumanos, AKA *Heaven's Hell*. Yes, that's my wife.

Katrina tilted he head slightly and looked at the criminal with a mixture of disdain and amusement on her lovely face. Then she raised her hand and shot forth a blast of vermillion flame, engulfing the rapist and totally obliterating him. Not even dust or ashes were left. No remains, no mess. Just justice.

Young Suki would be alright -- or at least as alright as an innocent girl could be after such an experience. So Heaven's Hell and I flew upward and away into the night.

A short time later we were seated at an all-night diner in south-east Baltimore. A guy by the name of Bill Hartman was supposed to be meeting us there. He was one of those self-proclaimed "ghost hunters" and the founder of the ridiculously named "Paranormal Society of Greater Maryland", self-described on their badly-done website as "one of the most respected paranormal groups in the whole world", don't you know. In reality just yet another one of those clusters of silly as-seen-on-TV hobbyists who think they are "professional scientific paranormal investigators" because they have some worthless little pseudo-scientific gadgets they bought from an internet auction site. They then like to go stumbling around in the dark of people’s houses looking for ghosties.

So a few minutes pass and then Bill Hartman waddles into the restaurant. Not surprisingly, he was a hideously plebeian type weighing well over 350 lbs. He wore a T-shirt and baseball cap both with the name of his group written on them, blue jeans, and white sneakers. He came over, sweating profusely and gasping for air just from having to walk in from the parking lot, and flopped down to sit in the booth across the table from us. Katrina excused herself and went to the ladies room so Hartman wouldn’t hear her laughing at him. She's very sweet, isn't she?

So there I was with Bill Hartman who was regaling me with stories about the "late-night investigation" of a local cemetery he and his "crew' had just been on. He assured me that they had "captured some real evidence" this time, both "EVPs" and photos.

I had no intention of wasting my time listening to his ridiculous recordings of white noise while he pretended to hear voices in it, nor to look at photos of dust on his camera lens that he fantasizes are "spirits". I had agreed to a meeting with this idiot only for the purpose of getting him out of the way, as a warning to others who would risk stirring up spiritual chaos as a balm to their boring lives.

I looked Hartman straight in his dull, stupid eyes and flicked one of my fingers slightly in his direction. He made a slight gurgling sound in his fat throat and fell face-first to the table -- dead. Mission accomplished, eh?

The diner called an ambulance and Bill Hartman's flabby corpse was soon removed from the establishment. The coroner’s report said natural causes, most likely a stroke brought on by his repugnant obesity. The "paranormal community", however, referred to the event, without any sense of the humor in it, as "Hartman’s heart-attack".

My darling Katrina returned from the lavatory and we left the diner. We had one more little duty to perform that evening. It involved a place named "St. Hedvig's Independent Catholic Church" in Baltimore's Brookland Crossing neighborhood -- yet another bloody redneck area, so I was glad we would only be flying over it. The founder of this fake church was a certain "Archbishop" Vincent Ceneco, a rather wealthy individual who had started his supposedly-holy calling in order to stroke his ego. He also enjoyed stroking the numerous low-income young men who sell themselves to older chaps in that particular area.

Some clouds were gathering as we soared high over the city, Heaven’s Hell by using her projection of Infernal Flame and me with my own Algolitish levitation powers. I concentrated on the cloud directly over the so-called St. Hedvig's Church, willing it to send forth a bolt of lightning directly at the building's roof. The bolt struck with a totally fulfilling bang. "Archbishop" Ceneco could afford repairs, of course, but it would serve as a forewarning to him. Hopefully he would not make it necessary to go further.

As we were passing over the very center of downtown Baltimore, my wonderful Heaven's Hell traced in the air a gigantic red Pentagram with her flame -- a symbol which would glow for several hours over the metropolitan area as a glorious emblem of our ascendancy. We shall become a growing culture of supernatural terror in the occult underground, a force of warning to all those who would begrudge our existence.

We returned to the Roland Park area, to the luxurious Carlyng Apartment Building where we reside. We landed on the roof there from whence the entire city can be seen. The first glow of morning was just breaking in the east as I held the gorgeous Katrina in my arms.

"Did you enjoy our night on the town, my beautiful one?" I asked her.

"I loved it, Daniel!" she replied charmingly. "What are we going to do tomorrow night?"
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