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Volume - Symposium 6D — Innovative production and application of structural and functional ceramic- and metal-matrix composites. Archive content. Volume - Symposium P — Nanogenerators and Piezotronics. Volume - Symposium O — Oxide Semiconductors. Volume - Symposium A — Organic Bioelectronics. Volume - Symposium U — Soft Nanomaterials. Volume - Symposium R — Oxide Semiconductors. Volume - Symposium R — Photocatalysis. In this state of the game, it appears the really convoluted puzzle has been solved.

In this state of the game, you have finally finished falling. The column extends easily into the ample space provided by the window. You hit your head against the rear of the cabinet, spilling all the medicine. The hogs are enamored of your rowdy, no-nonsense brand of ruffianism.

You blindly accept, and begin gathering melons into your parachute. You consider how to phrase the diplomatic request, but you come up empty. You return to the control room, but first you stop in your office and grab your window.

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You are quite sure there are no Fancy Santas to be found in your room, but just to be absolutely certain, you look around. You head for the window and notice an enticing skull along the way. In spite of your tremendous stomach capacity, you pass out from over-eating.

Ace Dick's imagination is too crude to have a female alter ego! The table contains smutty material which makes you highly uncomfortable. The mural seems to be a single tile in one of those really cool but somewhat dated photo mosaics. Whoever was occupying this office has likely been trapped in here for some time. Your imagination is like an untamed stallion bucking through the cavity in your imaginary skull. Once inside, you quickly set about turning its various organs into delcious candy.

You take up the head of the negotiating table with high ranking officials from the four kingdoms. Well, ok you don't have a lazer, but you pump the beast full of hot sugar. The aging machine noisily performs tens if not hundreds of mind boggling computations per second. You fade from the imaginary reality, leaving your final duplicate behind. Not taking any chances, you toss the horn in before going for a dip. You are surprised to find yourself as a giant Hysterical Dame. You appear in the past and enter the window to find Ace Dick struggling to solve a difficult puzzle. In a little while, you solve the rest of the puzzle, blowing yourself up in the process.

There is still only one Problem Sleuth , who is off in some enchanted land sifting through a political crisis. Problem Sleuth has penned an accord among the four kingdoms. You subject the skittish prohibition-era flapper to your vulgar overtures, making a number of unseemly references to her swell set of glad rags and swanky pair of gams. Enraged by the chilly reception, you give the gal a good shiner and remind her that there's still plenty of room on Whore Island.

The mecha lands hard on the street, causing major damage to surrounding buildings. You're here for two things: to fucking ruin someone's shit, and to play a friendly game of make-believe. You are predicably detected almost immediately, and are socked right in the kisser in a very much non-undetected way. You just go with Sleuth Diplomacy instead. Problem Sleuth reaches level 2. Ace Dick absorbs the brunt of an outrageous honking, floppy-shoed assault. It's a little overwhelming in there and all the commotion was starting to make you feel a bit disconcerted.

You chuck some thug corpses into level 3 before making your entrance. The thugs regretably discover what it's like being on the wrong side of some good hard muscle. That idea is so silly, even you can't take it very seriously. Problem Sleuth seems irked by this conduct, as it was not part of the implied operating agreement in his view. Despite his blunt tactics, you think the Muscle could have long term value to the team.

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Morthol Dryax shoots a lot of little skulls out of his skull. The mount's savage hooves flick at Problem Sleuth's unlucky mug. PS: LV. Hurricane force winds drag debris indiscriminately into your mighty marine beast-like orifice. A tubby customer himself, Morthol is in awe of your synchronized jiggling bravado! You are so pissed at Death you throw your tea in disgust but you catch a whiff of it and it smells way too good to throw what is that darjeeling god it's delicious.

The Professor is irate with your harebrained lack of discretion. Startled, you drop the window into itself, knocking the bee out. The window appears to be stuck in itself, knotted into a strange multi-dimensional wreath. You throw it down hard cause that's just how Team Sleuth rolls. Well, ok, level 5 is sort of an odd number but I guess this can be the last level. The beasts and the Zombie Muscle have all been slain by the rampaging Kentucky senator. You become a torso flailing machine and start whipping monster chum like it's going out of style.

The tickling tendrils probe curiously for every nook and cranny they can find. Shamed, Ace Dick leaves the battlefield and goes back downstairs. You slide past the gruesome foe, utilizing a maneuver made famous by an early 90s rap star. The wall behind you is infested with ethnic diversity and good cheer. The trecherous mob emerges from the artwork with a spring in their undead shuffle. You're normally an advocate of diversity and strong sense of community but this is one cultural rainbow you wish would just go fuck off.

The netherworldly town committee teaches you the hard way that racial harmony is everyone's business. Not one for violence, you opt for the diplomatic route and motion for a laying down of arms. You do declare you must do something about this case of the vapors.

Death is there to greet you, although he does seem preoccupied at the moment.

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Since Death is distracted, you surreptitiously tiptoe out of the afterlife. You invoke the ruddy, churlish spirit of your great patron spirit, Wilford Brimley. A savvy mug like you is sure to stash his hard earned cabbage in gin mills and rumrunning. You cannot descend into the sky because the universe is not upside-down!!! You put your normal hat back on because you think this silly ethnic shit is probably going to get really old really fast.

Your Sleuth comrades instinctively dive for the treats. You're enraged to find a Wilson bust blocking your path this time. Oh great, here comes MK descending his ass asc off like a motherfucker.

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It does not have the intended effect, but the consequence is roughly the same. Admiral Sleuth decides to call this the "Ace Deck" because he thinks it sounds clever. You would nervously land already, but Future Pickle Inspector appears and intercepts you. You briefly pose as a team because shit seriously just got real again. You decide to reunite the fair dame with her allies, but suddenly reconsider at the sight of the foul demon.

Part of your awareness detatches itself from the imaginary universe and returns to reality. You are now free to move about in reality while your demonic self remains in the realm of imagination. There is suddenly a lot of traffic being conducted through those lights. Zombie and Fiesta Ace Dick don't get to have cool armor though because they're a couple of weirdos. While you're all goofing around, DMK turns his defense into offense! It's time to quit the harebrained antics and rally your troops around an actual battle plan.

It's no wonder Admiral Sleuth entrusted you with this critical operation. The big portal is active again, rendering the manhole useless. The mysterious divine forces continue to inform your addled impulses. Considering there's not much traffic, the lights above seem awfully busy. The magnetism you feel towards your trusty fan is as powerful as it is inexplicable.

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You're not sure why you're doing this, but it feels important. Below, the candy mecha's legs scramble around like a chicken whose head decapitated itself and flew into the sky to fight a demonic mob boss. You make your swiss cheese-brained self useful and turn your ordinary lead-footed zombie shuffle into a zombie truffle shuffle. Alright, well you missed with the candy thus making him still impervious to attacks, but I guess you didn't notice that. Targeting Corsair Dick, DMK's spiky barbs molest every pocket of his portly carriage in a humiliating manner.

DMK smarts from the voracious nibbling, leaving his mouths vulnerable to a sugar salvo. You're not sure if there's an enormous outlet around here, and anyway, you can't even lift the enormous plug. Curiosity gets the best of you as you decide you must sleuth this contraption. You order Team Sleuth to stop mincing around with bees and wine and shit and get busy aggressing his thorny ass!

Before you have a chance to do anything, DMK uncorks another doozy of an attack. The man has levied good money to watch you strip, and you're not one to disappoint. This seems like the only feasible exit, all dimensional parameters considered. The Madame doesn't seem to have noticed you, so you climb the ladder. DMK is powering up for yet another devastating attack, ostensibly his finishing move. You're happy you're not on fire and all, but you wonder why the hell Future Pickle Inspector is suddenly blue. You're through letting the ornery mob boss have his way with you. Not content messing around with this gizmo just yet, you make one more adjustment.

Though you're a little stouter, you're still not strong enough to lift it. But it looks like DMK has gradual health-regenerative capabilities too.

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Given your proportions, it now seems appropriate to go through the short, wide door. The Toff is irked by the class of talent his spondulicks have paid for.


In this state you are not even close to being strong enough to support the plug. Fiesta Ace stomps tender flagella while you hurl the potent orb. Growing impatient, the Swain levies a few copper spondulicks to pay for a better show. In fact, they collected so much nectar from the previous attack, they've managed to complete the next two combs as well! The combs are fitted in the appropriate slots and the honey begins to flow. Meanwhile, the Mannerly Highbrow is somewhat disconcerted by the view through his expired window. The Highbrow bobs his head politely and asks, where to, miss? The huge candy-scope takes DMK by surprise, directly in the mouth. Chapter - Demoness. Chapter - Huge Disaster.

Chapter - Explosion of Murderous Desire. Chapter - Busybody Chapter - Little Jasmine!? Chapter - Grievous News from the Sky 2. Chapter - Star Annihilation. Chapter - Hope Chapter - Choice? Chapter - Something Went Wrong. Chapter - Hope Chapter - Did She Change? Wedding Dates! Chapter - A Mark. Chapter - Stepping Stone. Chapter - The Situation at the Nether Ruins. Against the Gods - kicking off a new sponsored tier today!

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