WRITE Your Own Story: The Sun Also Rises for Writers

Why did you delete it? It was good.

Yeah I know that it wasn't connected to anything but eh who cares.

NinjaCow64 said:

Why did you delete it? It was good.

Yeah I know that it wasn't connected to anything but eh who cares.

Click to expand...

Thank you. I found a more appropriate thread.

Last night I wrestled with Kindle, and have come to realize how much time and effort Amazon spent making it fantastically difficult to copy an annotated personal file from a reader to a PC.

At this point I'd feel bad if I succeeded.

After I (slightly laboriously) revise the story I'll post it in that other thread.


Ooo... that was my chance for a rant, against Amazon. I should have posted again last night.

I'll post something when I'm taking a break from my current project (which can be found at fiction press once I put it up).

“As you have probably already worked out, we are the Wordsmiths.” said Joan. “The group started in…Babylonia, I think?”

“Near Babylonia,” corrected Rene “It was actually closer to the Mesopotamian…”

“That’s not really important,” interrupted Joan “What is important is that we’ve been around a long time, pretty much since the beginning of writing. In the past we were larger than this, but we never really recovered from when the Nazis destroyed the Eighth Order in the forties. When I discovered them in France, there was pretty much nothing left.”

“You went to France!?” said John in disbelief.

“Hey,” said Joan “This was before the ******** crisis. Urgh, I hate what those connards did to that country.”

“I don’t understand those people.” said Edward, whilst sipping on his wine. “Why would they set up their provisional government in Vichy if they didn’t want to be compared to the Nazis? It’s like they want all of that baggage.”

“Nazis are bad.” said Rene, adding pretty much nothing to the conversation.

“What do you guys do anyway?” asked John, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I mean there must some reason that you basically kidnaped me. Well bribed me, but still.”

“It’s because,” said Joan, in a terrible deep Scottish accent “You’re a wizard John!”

“What.” said John.

”Well not really,” said Joan “But yes, you do use magic. All of us can use magic, word based magic specifically. We’re call the Wordsmiths for a reason.”

“Wait,” said John “Was that what caused the Duck?”

“Duck?” said Joan. “I’m sorry, we don’t know what exactly happened in your apartment, all we know is that you caused some magic of some sort.”

“Well there was this website that told me to write from my subconscious,” said John “And I was writing about this demonic duck and suddenly it was trashing my house!”

“Hmm,” said Rene “From your description that sounds like you are a Seer with a high tendency of Discord, but I’d have to run further tests to be sure.”

“A what?” said John.

“If you want the ‘Cliff Notes Version’,” said Rene, with mild resentment in his voice, “It means that you can influence the future with your subconscious thoughts, but they must be put to paper. However, the future does not like to be manipulated like that, which causes strange and unpredictable results.”

“Like the Duck.” said John.

“Indeed.” said Rene

“I’m sorry,” said John, getting up out of his chair “But I’m not buying this. Sure that Duck was weird but I mean word magic? I’m sorry this isn’t some comic book or something. I’m just going to take my cheque and…”

“Ah,” said Joan “But what if we could prove it? Rene, lift your hood.” Rene lifted his hood and revealed his face to John for the first time. It was horrible, it was like someone had taken a badly constructed paper mache face and given it life. Where there should be eyes there were two black pools of ink and where a mouth should be there was just a moving hole. Words, or at least they looked like words, crossed his…its face, they shifted before John could read them, turning into other words. John was as astonished as he was terrified, he silently sat down.

“Rene here is a Golem.” explained Joan “He’s kind of like a combination of a robot and a talking book. Heck, he’s even made out of books.”

“I am much more than that!” said Rene angrily “I contain the entire history and traditions of all Eight Majorus Orders and many of the known Minorus orders as well! All of this the Grand Mistress has pissed against the wall!”

“Rene’s just annoyed that he isn’t the leader,” said Joan “Due to the fact that I was the only person on hand who wasn’t crazy and had powers, I became the leader by default. You see according to his traditions, he cannot become leader of the Order, even though he is more experienced than me.” Joan laughed. “Talking of which, I think that ink is starting to look a little faded.” Joan picked up a fountain pen and gave it a shake.

“My power is to maintain Golems you see,” said Joan, as she held up the pen to Rene’s face. Ink slowly seeped out of the pen and onto his face, where it dispersed across his face into little squirls of ink, slowly turning into words.

“She is a Golemsmith.” said Rene, as he put his hood back on, once again covering his face.

“Yep, damn right I am.” said Joan proudly. “Not everyone can do what I did just then, if someone who didn’t have my power tried that or any of the other maintenance rituals then they’d just get ink all over the floor. One day I will be able to build my own Golems apparently, maybe I’ll build one that is a bit less of a stick in the mud! Ha!” John looked at the two Wordsmiths in astonishment.

“I’m…I’m not sure how I feel about this.” said John honestly.

“Yeah, I felt the same way bro.” said Joan while sighing. “You get used to it. Eventually.”

“So…” said John “What am I meant to do with this? I mean are you guys going to help me thorough this? Is there a way I can control this so I don’t trash my house up again?”

“Actually,” said Joan “We were hoping you could help us actually.” Joan sighed. “Follow me please.” Everyone followed Joan, going further into the room through a maze of bookcases. Eventually, they came to a small room, on the wall it had various maps, one of them was a map of the city. On one of the maps there was a map with a pencil that had been thrown at the wall like a dart exactly at the point of John’s house. Under that was John’s full name, written in blood. By the table, was a hooded man tapping rhythmically on the table and quietly babbling incomprehensibly.

“What the-” said John

“John, meet Simon.” said Joan. “Simon was the other person who I found in the room where I found Rene. Before the Nazis invaded, Simon got a guy to magic himself into a book. Like seriously, when I was there Rene got me to read this book and then Simon materialized. But it seems like being stuck in a book for almost fifty years sent the poor guy insane.”

“He really should be in a hospital,” said John sadly “Not here. Why is he here?”

“I completely agree with you John,” said Joan “But, well, you try. Go on, try ringing 911 and telling them about him.” John raised a single eyebrow and pulled out his phone. He typed in a nine and a one, but when he tried putting that second one in his finger would respond. He wanted to call 911, but at the same time he didn’t want to press that button. He tried pushing his finger down for the good part of a minute before he angrily tapped the “cancel” button and put his phone away.

“Yeah,” said Joan unhappily “That’s what happened when we tried as well. Rene’s never seen anything like it, but it’s happening. Maybe someone with a different kind of magic is doing something but I dunno.” Joan shrugged.

“Wait,” said John “There are other kinds of magic?”

“Yeah,” said Joan, “But that really isn’t important. What is important is that we think you might be able to help him.”

“Me?” said John. “But I don’t have any medical experience! Well except for that one time, but that really doesn’t count.”

“Well you’re important anyway,” said Joan “Otherwise your name wouldn’t be on the wall. You see, before he was a…what did you call it Rene?”

“Seeing-Smith.” replied Rene.

“Yeah,” said Joan “Basically he can see if someone has magic potential or not. Now at that time he was still able to answer basic questions, although he spend most of the time staring at his feet and pulling at his hair. We couldn’t make him leave the chair, so we brought him people to test a bunch of people for magic. We tested everyone in Edward’s employ and Edward himself, but nobody had magic.”

“It is a shame, I would have enjoyed magic powers.” said Edward to nobody in particular.

“So then for a while nothing really happened,” said Joan.

“Except the gross neglect of your duties as the Grand Mistress of the Wordsmiths.” said Rene.

“We couldn’t do jack Rene.” said Joan bitterly. “We couldn’t exactly pull random people off the street! Anyway, then something happened.”

“I assume that you are referring to the massive magical pulse,” said Rene “It effected our magical system severely and possibly activated your pow-”

“They rise.” said Simon as he suddenly sat up and stopped tapping. “They rise. The lightning is born. The sky falls. He makes our desntiny, he can stop them but still they rise.” Simon starts sobbing. “They rise.” Simon stops sobbing and speaking and violently bangs his head against the table. Then he started tapping again.

“Yeah he does that every-now-and-again as well.” said Joan “Rene doesn’t have a clue what it means though. The first time he did it he threw the pencil at the wall and wrote your name up there. We would have stopped him, but that damned thing happened again. That’s why we went there to get you, there must be some reason that we he told us about you.”

“It was probably just the pulse strengthening his magic detection powers,” said Rene “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Oh come on!” said Joan passionately “There HAS to be a more important reason that-”

“Guys,” said John “Shut up. I recognize that tapping.” Everybody promptly shut up and listened to the tapping.

“Oooh, it’s Istanbul,” John started to sing “Not Constantinople, it’s Istanbul not Constantinople! That’s what the tapping is.”

“Oh of course!” said Joan “Why didn’t I think of that? Although, wait, wasn’t Simon in a book for the last half-century? Rene, how could he know about-” Simon violently got out of the chair and gripped John manically.

“Yes, it’s Istanbul!” said Simon. “You have to go there, you have to go to the Library before they, before they…they.” Simon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and then he fell over onto the concrete and passed out.

“You have to…go…” said Simon faintly as he drifted off to sleep. He then started snoring.

“Well,” said Joan, breaking an awkward silence. “I think that settles it. We’re going to Istanbul, wherever that is! Woo! Road trip!”

“Actually,” said Edward “Plane trip, Istanbul is in Turkey. I won’t be able to go sadly, I cannot enter Turkey for…personal reasons. But you may take my personal plane.”

“Planes,” muttered Joan under her breath. “Great.”

“But you will need a pilot.” said Edward. “And a bodyguard as well, who knows what dangers you will face over there.” Edward pulled out his phone and rang someone. “Hello Jeeves. Yes, yes, could you bring her down please?” A few minutes later, Edward’s bodyguard came down the stairs and Joan gasped in surprise.

“Wait,” said Joan, “She’s your bodyguard?”

That was quite unexpected but it was very good. Also I think I recognized the Shark from the one of two ACs I attempted to play.

With apologies to Omega, Thor and Rebecca Cohen.


Julia sat in the cockpit, looking straight out the window. In all her years in service to the family, she never thought she would be doing this, flying three lunatics around at Edward’s request. But everything had changed after the incident. It wasn’t her fault the cargo was lost, she was just following orders. That’s probably why they just put me in his employ rather than just kill me, she thought to herself bitterly. Still this babysitting job, like everything she did under Edward’s employ, was a complete and utter waste of her many talents. She complied to his ridiculous tasks with no protest, but thought them ridiculous all the same.

Julia’s thoughts were interrupted by Joan violently opening the cockpit door, holding empty bottles and stinking of alcohol.

“You think my French is rusty?” shouted Joan drunkenly “Well your face is rusty you arse!” Joan slammed the door shut and staggered over to the co-pilot’s chair.

“Hi there girl,” said Joan, slurring her words “I’m sorry about the stench but I really hate flying. I usually take boats, but time is important so this time I’ll take one for the team.” Joan did a parody of a salute to the air and continued “Rene wanted to initiate John properly so he’s doing a bunch of chants and they’re giving me a headache, so I came in here. Hope ya don’t mind.” Julia didn’t respond.

“So I was wondering,” said Joan after a few minutes of awkward silence “What does Chung do anyway? I figure you and he are part of some gang or something, no offense, but I can’t figure out what they would with some eccentric millionaire.”

“He, uh,” said Julia as she tried to find the appropriate words in English, “Cleans money.” Julia had performed background checks on all of the so-called “Wordsmiths”, none of them had any ties to the police or rival gangs, so it was safe for some truth to be told. She was a harmless kook, nothing more.

“But surely you could find a less extravagant money launderer!” exclaimed Joan.

“He’s good at his job.” said Julia “Very good.” Edward knew ways of pushing money around in ways that even the best and brightest law enforcement couldn’t touch at half the price of anyone else. It was for that reason that the family accepted his eccentricities. But they liked to keep an eye on him, his entire staff owed their allegiance to the family first and Edward second.

“I know you don’t believe.” said Joan in a moment of clarity unbecoming of a drunk person. “I didn’t at first either. But you’ll see.” Religious belief was not allowed in the family. Her father always said belief in the family was all you need, anything else would just get in the way of performing her duties. He wasn’t actually her genetic father, her father had abandoned her in some Macau ally way when she was just a baby. The family wasn’t her “true” family either, but they were the ones who raised her. She served them faithfully and they smiled upon her. This was why she felt so hurt after the incident, so rejected. Julia tried to stop this line of thought, this was the way things had to be. Then Joan started to snore. Luckily, she had prepared for this possibility. Julia pulled out her music player and put her headphones in. She started playing her favourite string compositions from her home country and relaxed for the rest of the long voyage.


“Dammit,” complained Joan as the group walked through Istanbul airport car park “Next flight I am going sober, nothing is worse than this headache.” Joan was very hung over from her binge last night, to alleviate this she was wearing large sunglasses and drinking from a rather large bottle of water.

“I’ve never been overseas before.” said John happily to no one in particular. “It’s actually quite exciting.”

“We must focus on the mission.” said Rene, who had his hood over his head like usual.

“What bloody mission?” asked Joan. “We’ve got to find a bloody library, but none of us have been to this bloody city before so we don’t know where it is! And there’s probably like a billion libraries anyway so it’s going to take bloody forever!” Joan shouted an obscenity loudly across the car park which prompted multiple parents to hurry their small children to their cars.

“I am not sure,” said Rene “But it will probably have something to do with Constantinople. I recommend we scour the historical sections of the-”

“Oooh!” exclaimed John “Apparently a major historical library just bought some books off an archaeologist, apparently they are diaries of Byzantine nobles during the fall of Constantinople. Surely that can’t be a coincidence.”

“How the bleeding heck did you know about that?” asked Joan. John held up his smart phone. Julia cleared her throat to grab everyone’s attention.

“Where are we going?” asked Julia. “I’m driving.”

“I programmed the location into my smartphone.” said John as he handed Julia the phone. “Don’t forget to give it back! Hehe.” The joke went down about as well as a lead balloon.


The library was a busy place, for a library at least. Hundreds of students were sitting at their desks, revising as if their lives depended on it. John remembered when he was in their situation with a strange sort of nostalgia, although they were frightening they were quite possibly some of the best days of his life.

A nervous, blading, middle-aged librarian came up to the group and quietly muttered something in Turkish.

“He is asking us if we have come here for the book.” said Rene “He has obviously got us confused with someone else.”

“Wait,” said Joan “Don’t tell him that. Tell him that we are looking for the book.” Rene and the librarian exchanged a few words and then the librarian scurried off.

“Why are we lying to this innocent librarian?” asked Rene. “We are just wasting time!”

“Because,” said Joan “This can’t be a coincidence. I mean seriously, this has to have something to do with Simon’s vision.” The librarian came back holding an old book, it was surprisingly small for such an old book, John thought that most of those books were giant tomes with equally giant words. The librarian muttered another thing in Turkish to Rene.

“He is asking about payment.” replied Rene.

“Uh…” replied Joan “Tell him…tell him that we’ll inspect the goods to see if it is genuine. Then we’ll give him the previously agreed upon price?” Rene relayed this to the librarian, he nodded and guided the group to a small room, presumably a break room for the librarians. It was behind the checkout counter, there was no one in it except for the group. There was a window that allowed the people sitting in the break room to see what was going on outside of the break room. The librarian left to attend to a new group of people who had just walked in.

“So…” asked John, “What is it?” Rene quickly read through the book, as in within less than a minute.

“Hmm…” said Rene, “That was quite interesting.”

“You read it that fast!” said John in disbelief.

“It’s what he is designed for,” said Joan, “And I mean it isn’t exactly the weirdest thing that you have seen today” John was about to agree, but then there was screaming coming from the library.

“Get down!” hissed Julia as she pulled out a pistol, everyone got down to the floor, but John peaked out by the window. He saw a group of five men with guns surrounding a sixth man, who was holding the librarian in some sort of grip, shouting in Turkish. John’s eyes widened, the librarian’s blood was boiling. Literally, he could see it coming out of his skin. The man who was shouting was literally boiling another man alive! John quickly jumped back under the table, barely resisting the urge to throw up.

“He is asking the librarian why he gave the book to the infidels,” said Rene “I believe it is a rhetorical question.”

“Oh no oh no he means us!” said John quietly to himself, in terror. His eyes darted across the room. Joan looked worried. Julia looked calm and prepared like this was a usual state of affairs. John couldn’t see through the darkness of Rene’s hood that was covering his grotesque face but he seemed calm.

“Now he is demanding that the entire library be burned,” said Rene, translating the boiler man’s shouting “He says that it displeases ‘They Who Have Risen’ and he is ordering his men to take pleasure in it. The Islamic god has never been referred to that way, unless something has changed in Islamic theology when I was away.”

“I don’t think so.” said Joan, in a shell shocked tone.

“Strange,” said Rene “He was using rhetoric that reminded me of Saladin’s men back in the day.” While everyone else was hiding underneath the window, Julia was trying to figure out a way out. Five of the enemy were using handmade flamethrowers to burn every book in sight and using their guns to shoot any civilians. The sixth man (presumably the leader) was doing that unspeakable thing to whoever was unlucky enough to come near him. Julia would have thought more about that unnatural event, but right now she was focused on the mission, getting these fools out alive.

They could wait for the police to come and rescue them, but by that time the whole library could be burnt down. And it was probably a good idea to avoid the police in this situation. They could make a run for it, but some of the group would probably die due to combat inexperience and that was unacceptable. Julia needed to think of a plan and she needed to think of one fast.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Joan said to Julia. “I can tell by the look on your face, you aren’t as stoic as you think you are you know.” Julia scowled at this comment. “Well luckily for everyone, I bought a backup plan.” Julia pulled out a small notepad and a pencil out of her bag.

“Catch!” said Julia as she threw the pen and paper at John, who caught it clumsily. “If your power can smash up your apartment like that then I can’t wait to see what it does to those terrorists.”

“My Lady,” said Rene “I strongly advise against this course of action. John’s power is highly unpredictable, it could end up making things worse!”

“I can’t see how anything could be worse really,” said Joan “So I’m going to ignore you like usual. John, start writing, that’s an order.”

“Well,” said John as he started writing “I guess you are my boss now.” John concentrated on his subconscious and then eyes turned pure white. He started writing at a feverish pace, while Joan and Rene watched over his shoulder.

“This grand library is an old and sacred place. It was a home for the books, a shelter. And now these men are burning it down. They will not stand for this. The books, in their last cry, pleaded for justice, for revenge. And their pleas were heard. Laying in dormancy for thousands of years, the dreaded Thesaurus Rex, the combination of the soul of every book that has been burned has risen and he seeks the blood of those who have sullied this sacred place. Also accompanying him is-” Joan knocked the pencil out of John’s hand.

“Probably a good idea to let you stop there.” said Joan. The room started to rumble and a gigantic roar was heard. The terrorists stopped for a minute, looking around the library to see where it had come from. Suddenly, one of the terrorists was grabbed by a large claw that was made up of books and crushed.

“Die,” growled a low menacing voice “Synonyms: expire, perish, succumb!” The beast let out another horrifying roar as its arm rose out of the ground. The terrorists started panicking and shooting madly at the arm, but it had no effect. When the second arm came up out of the ground and sent a second terrorist flying, they started running.

“Move!” shouted Julia as she kicked down the library door down, with her pistol drawn. The group hurried through the library towards a fire exit. A terrorist was desperately trying pull it open, when he saw the group come towards it he attempted to shoot them, but Julia was a much quicker draw than him and shot him cleanly in the head.

“Cowards!” said the leader of the terrorists “They Who Have Risen will have your heads!” Suddenly, behind him, the head of the Thesaurus Rex burst through the ground a roared. It was a horrifying, but majestic, life-size Tyrannosaurus Rex head that was made up of books of all different sizes and colours. The beast roared at the terrorist, knocking of his hat.

“I die in the embrace of They Who Have Risen!” shouted the leader, as he activated his bomb vest.

The Wordsmiths had barely gotten out of the flaming building as it exploded.

“Wow.” said John as the Wordsmiths looked on in awe of the fireball.

“We must leave.” said Julia calmly. “We should not be here when the police arrive.” The group sifted through the horde of dumbfounded people recording the event on their phones, towards their car and towards safety at last.


Ex-******** Revolutionary Marie Cohen (no relation to the disgusting gender-traitor or the mandog musician) walked through the base. It used to be an Islamist terrorist base and many still believed it was. However, the Islamists in this region had seen the truth of They Who Have Risen, just as she and her squad had. It pained Rebecca to work alongside these chauvinistic pigs, but both she and the rest of those who had seen the light had learned to put such petty prejudices behind them. However, Rebecca still believed that she and her squad were much better than any of these mandog ex-Islamists. Like all men, they were violent one-dimensional beings who could not control their emotions. However, if pointed in the right direction they could be useful. They Who Have Risen had given her the tools and authority necessary to control the direction they moved in. Today some of them had gone off course, she was here to correct that.

“They Who Have Risen are displeased,” said Rebecca in Turkish as she entered the interrogation room. “And by extension I am displeased. Your group was tasked with the quiet destruction of the book. Not only have you caused a major incident which has sent the whole of Turkey into a blind panic, you have reported that you failed the mission and that the book was not destroyed!” Marie slammed her hands into the table. “What happened? How did you screw up, Omar?” Omar was the Middle Eastern equivalent of John. Marie hated John, both the name and anyone who shared it.

“The infidels were using sorcery!” cried Omar. “They had stolen the book and had summoned a beast out of the depths of hell!”

“What infidels?” asked Marie menacingly.

“There were four of them!” said Omar “I saw them, they were running away with the book!”

“And why,” asked Marie, while gritting her teeth “Didn’t you chase them?”

“I…I…I…” stammered Omar as he tried to make a response that would spare him her wrath.

“Bad dog.” replied Marie, as she grabbed Omar’s finger and used the talents They had granted her. Omar’s nail exploded into fine dust as he screamed in terror. His skin peeled back halfway down his finger, causing glorious torment that Marie revelled in. It tasted all the sweeter now that she was doing it in the name of Them.

“Stop screaming you baby,” said Marie “It will grow back. Be thankful that it is the only finger that I touched today, if you get my meaning.” As she walked out of the room she felt a wave of psychic energy come over her. At the same time she felt her phone vibrate.

“Hello.” said Marie, knowing exactly who it was.

“Hello.” said the Intermediary. “I trust you have seen it?”

“Yes,” said Marie “But I don’t understand…what would that have to do with anything?”

“Do not question Their orders.” said the Intermediary.

“I was not questioning,” said Marie “I was merely trying to understand.”

“No mere mortal can try and understand the will of They Who Have Risen,” said the Intermediary “The Prophet expects status reports. Send them to me regularly.” The line went dead. With a bitter taste in her mouth, Marie called out to the medical staff.

“Get Omar patched up, he’s coming with me. Let us hope you can redeem yourself, dog.”

(Oh look. A new story. Sorry if you see it elsewhere on the forum, I'm basically writing a story based off the backstory for a character in an AC.)

The night sky cast a dark shadow over the vibrantly lit city of Houston, the moon nowhere to be seen behind the clouds. Despite all the light in the city, no one could notice the three people standing outside a door in an alleyway. Obscured by the darkness of night- the perfect cover for her actions. Katherine Davidson was a problem solver, and her usual solutions were hot lead and cold steel. She stood in front of the door, and pulled a small metal cylinder from her belt. She looked to both of her "assistants" standing on either side of the door, and they both nodded. "Remember," Kat whispered coldly, "Crew expendable, but the Boss wants their leader alive. If either of you ******* put a bullet in him, you'll be going for a swimming trip for the rest of your short life."

The man on the right snorted softly. "You got it, ma'am."

Kat smirked, and raised her left hand, three fingers in the air. As she lowered each one, the two men tightened their hands on their silenced pistols, and prepared to breach. She counted down out loud, "Three...two...one..."

All hell broke loose.

Katherine gave a sharp kick to the door as she pulled the pin on the concussion grenade, the door swinging in with a wide arc. Inside sat six men, dividing the profits of an illegal drug smuggling ring around a card table. They all had shocked expressions as the grenade bounced onto the table, and went off mid-air. The last thing five of them saw was a blinding light accompanied by a deafening explosion, followed by the barely audible sound of a silenced pistol. Two to the head, one to the chest. The sign of a professional.

Kat strode into the room, slamming a fresh clip into her sidearm before holstering it, and pulling her preferred weapon of choice off of her back. When the leader of the smuggling ring came back to his senses, his eyes followed the barrel of the intricately-painted combat shotgun up to the silver eyes of the woman who had her foot planted on his chest. Kat smirked, unsettling the man even more. "Game's over, bud. You're coming with us."

The man looked around, trying to find some way to escape. He managed to stutter out, "W-wh-who the **** sent you?!"

"A certain powerful man in the city sent me, honey," Kat stated menacingly, her silver eyes glaring at him, still smirking. "I call him Marcus. You know him as 'The Boss.'"

The leader's eyes widened as the two assistants pulled him to his feet, handcuffing him and making sure he couldn't escape. "Y-you can't do this to me! I have a wife and kids! I don't have the money, but I'll pay off the debt, I swear!"

Kat would have felt guilty if any of that was true. She leaned close to him, the barrel of the shotgun pointed straight at his throat. She lowered her voice, and met his eyes with as much coldness as she could muster. "You said that last time. And you're lucky the last person the Boss sent was gullible. But I'm far from that. If you want to get her involved in this, then we can easily bring your darling girl Amanda to you if you want her to have the same fate as you. Or you could stop lying for once."

She pulled away from the man as his mouth hung open, unable to believe what he heard. Kat started to search the room for any valuable information as she said almost casually, "James, Bill, gag him before he says anything stupid again. I can't stand this pathetic little man."

James and Bill did exactly as she ordered, and carried the man out to the car outside, throwing him in the back seat. Katherine gathered up all of the documents, cash, and valuables sitting around, throwing them into a backpack as James came back with a tank of gasoline.

Kat lit a cigarette, and tossed James the lighter. "Have fun," she said calmly as she walked outside, her shotgun slung over one shoulder and the backpack over the other. Another job done, she sighed to herself as she walked out. And another day alive.
Within an hour, the fire department had arrived to put out the fire, the five bodies were disposed of, and Kat & her two companions were nowhere to be found, driving away through the shadows of a dark Texas night.

Another problem solved.


The old, faded pickup truck rolled along the quiet country road under the cover of the moonless night, its tires kicking up dust. No one would give a second glance to such a common sight, so Kat left the windows down and the music blasting as she drove. James was asleep in the seat next to her, and Bill kept a careful watch on their blindfolded prisoner in the back, his pistol pressed up against an artery on the man’s leg in case he tried anything. Up ahead, an old, run-down farmhouse came into view. The perfect hiding place in the middle of nowhere.

The truck slowly rolled up to the porch of the house, and Kat threw the truck into park as she stepped out. She knocked at the door three times as Bill started to drag their prisoner out. Kat took off his blindfold and ungagged him, slapping his cheek gently a few times to bring him back to consciousness. “Good morning, sunshine,” she smiled menacingly. “We have someone who wants to see you.”

The sound of spurs on wood came from inside, emphasizing each loud footstep as they came closer. A tall, well-built man stepped out, the spurs on his black leather cowboy boots clinking against the floorboards, his solid black suit blending in with the night sky. “Hello, Ricardo,” the man smiled “I see you brought him here without a scratch, Kat?”

“Just a bad headache and a bit of hearing loss, Marcus,” Kat smirked. “Same as always.”

“They never learn,” Marcus shook his head. He tossed the white sack in his hand to Kat as he walked over to the prisoner. “$10,000 as promised. More if our friend here plays nicely with us. And you will, won’t you, Ricardo?”

Ricardo tried to pull away from the imposing man who now stood over him, but ended up rolling backwards onto Bill’s feet. Bill glared and kicked him off, causing him to let out a cry as he fell onto his face. “Please don’t hurt me, Boss,” he whimpered in Marcus’s direction. “I’ll pay off that debt tomorrow! You’ll have all the money and more back, I swear!”

Marcus ignored the man, and turned to Bill. “Throw him inside, Bill. I need to discuss business with Kat for a few minutes.”

Bill silently nodded as usual, and dragged Ricardo behind him as he walked inside. Kat watched for a second, then turned to Marcus. “Who you want dragged to your doorstep this time?”

Marcus sighed, pulling a sheet of paper out from his pocket. “I’m sure that you’re aware of the feud between my operation and the cartel leaders you keep dragging back by now. What I haven’t told you is that we’re losing our couriers to them just as fast as you can bring in their head dealers. Ricardo here’s certainly a big blow, but…”

“But you want to hit them where it hurts…” Kat thought out loud. “You want to take them down from the top.”

“Not quite,” Marcus handed the piece of paper over. “I want to watch them suffer. They’ve killed off some of my good friends. And I know just how to do it.”

The sheet of paper barely had anything on it. A sketch of a beautiful woman, her black hair wrapped around her neck and coming to rest on her chest as her brown eyes seemed to stare straight out at you. A security camera picture of the same woman in body armor with a mask covering her face, with a pistol pointed at the back of the head of a former operative of Marcus’s. A few details written out neatly. And a certain word that stood out clearly from the rest of the page. “Hope?” Kat asked, confused.

“That’s all we know her as,” Marcus began to pace back and forth on the dusty ground. “We have no evidence of her even existing beyond that picture. But she’s out there, and leaves a distinctive calling card on each of my associates.” He pulled out another sheet of paper, this one showing the foreheads of six dead men, each one with that word intricately painted onto them in black ink. Marcus looked straight at Kat, his eyes full of determination. “I want her dead. I can understand if you decline this one. It’s dangerous, and you’re a mercenary, not even officially contracted...but I want to put an end to this, and the only way is to take her off the map officially. And I will pay a very large amount of money if you do this.”

Kat raised an eyebrow at that last comment. “How much.”

“At least six zeros on it,” Marcus smiled.

Kat raised her other eyebrow, surprised. Damn, she thought. That could clean up my record, pay off a few debts, maybe even let me lay low for a while. She stood there for a while, contemplating the risks. Marcus stood there, staring curiously at her, waiting for her answer.

“Will I have full access to your equipment?” Kat asked.

“Anything you need for the task will be paid for legally and out of my own pocket,” Marcus nodded.

Kat hesitated for a second. Then, slowly, she stuck out her hand towards Marcus.

Marcus quickly grasped it, smiling. “Thank you, Kat. You won’t regret your choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some...business to attend to. You can spend the night here, set up a spare bedroom for you. Up the stairs on the right.”

Marcus tossed her the key to the room, then quickly strode inside. Kat grabbed her bag from the truck and walked inside. Her job had changed dramatically. This wasn’t a small target. The risks were larger, the payoff bigger.

And she loved the thrill.

The sun started to dip below the horizon line as Kat leaned on the low wall atop the warehouse, looking out over the dusty, abandoned parking lot. She double checked the high-caliber rifle that she set up on the ledge as she waited. A few grand to make sure these idiots don’t kill each other for five minutes, she thought with a smirk. Not a bad deal. Kat lit a cigarette and looked out into the distance, admiring the beautiful sunset. Suddenly she felt a brush of wind on her back, and she immediately whirled around.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, drawing a wicked-looking knife from her belt. Her silver eyes darted across the roof, looking at the shadows cast by every crate, trying to find whatever caused the disturbance.

A seductive female voice called out from the dark arena behind the crates, “Poor little Katty, did I frighten you?”

Kat slid the knife back into its sheath. Instead, she immediately grabbed the shotgun off her back, and aimed it in that direction, slowly creeping forward. “How do you know my name?” she demanded, eyes sweeping the room methodically.

The figure of a sexy woman emerged from the shadows, a smirk across her face, wearing a heavy leather jacket and heavy boots. Not at all deterred by the shotgun, the woman kept walking forward. “I know a lot of things,” her smirk grew larger.

Kat knew the woman’s face from somewhere. “You look familiar…” she thought out loud, then realized that the woman wasn’t stopping. She swung the shotgun level with the woman’s legs, clicking off the safety. “Sorry, honey, not one more step if you want to keep those legs,” Kat threatened menacingly.

“Woah, scary, eh Kitty?” the woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm, walking closer. “You do realize you’d already be dead if I wanted you to be, right?”

Kat let out a short, harsh laugh as she looked over the woman, trying to remember her. “How’s that, honey? Don’t see a single weapon on you…”

The woman’s hazel eyes, powerful yet seductive, met Kat’s, and she stared directly into Kat. “Oh ****,” Kat muttered as she moved the shotgun level with the woman’s chest. “You’re Hope.”

The woman spread her arms as she kept slowly striding forward, her smile full of evil. “The one and only.”

Kat’s grip tightened on the shotgun. “You’ve got five seconds to tell my why I shouldn’t blow a crater through your chest with this bad boy”, she spat, patting the side of her shotgun for emphasis. “Five.”

Hope kept striding forward, her eyes still staring straight at Kat, her hand touching the barrel of the shotgun. “What, only five seconds?” Hope pretended to be scared. “Oh, sweetheart...if you’re gonna kill me, use something more respectable than this piece of ****.”

Kat laughed again. “Better than this shotgun? The hell do you want, an artillery shell up your ass? ...Four.” She made the mistake of looking into Hope’s eyes, and was mesmerized for a second too long. Hope yanked the shotgun out of Kat’s hands, seamlessly pulling it away and throwing it behind her, continuing to then completely disarm Kat in a matter of seconds. Hope calmly leaned against a nearby crate, lighting a cigarette with Kat’s lighter before tossing it back to her at her feet.

“Gotta be better than that, sweetie,” Hope smiled as she puffed out a ring of smoke.

Kat stood there for a second, stunned, with her eyes wide and staring at Hope. “Damn,” she muttered.

Hope chuckled. “Easy, chick... I’m done...”

“Well, what do you want with me?” Kat inquired, leaning against the wall, her hands slightly trembling.

“This time?” Hope smirked, slowly getting up. “Nothing at all. I just wanted to introduce myself to you… show ya what I looked like to help you out, your big ol’ bossy wants me dead huh?”

Kat raised an eyebrow in suspicion as Hope started to walk away from her. “H-how did you know…?” She trembled. “...And what about next time?”

Hope turned her head towards Kat and smiled sweetly. “Like I said before… I know a lot of things…” She winked and turned the other direction. “And next time. Why, Katty, that will be the day you die.” Hope kept walking, ignoring the staircase. Instead, she headed straight for the ledge of the building.

“...ar-are you insane?” Kat’s eyes widened as Hope turned back towards Kat, right on the edge of the warehouse. Hope blew a kiss and waved, before stepping right off the ledge.

Kat stood there dazed for a moment before rushing over to the ledge. She looked down, but saw nothing. No body, no blood, just a dusty cloud and the thunder of hooves slowly fading into the distance.


Next morning, Kat woke up with a start, breathing heavily and feeling nauseous, sweat beading on her forehead. That whole night she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched constantly, and that Hope would somehow find her and kill her before she got the chance to raise a finger. She wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead, and slowly got up, hearing the phone ringing. Still breathing heavily, Kat tried to calm herself as she read who was calling.

“Morning, Marcus,” she faked a yawn to hide her nervousness, answering the call. “What’s up?”

“You didn’t stop by to collect your payment…” Marcus sounded concerned over the phone. “What happened yesterday?”

“Nothing, Marcus, don’t worry about it,” Kat reassured him, walking over to to where she kept her prized combat shotgun, and looked at the barrel, making sure last night was more than a dream. The barrel was still scratched down its side from when Hope tossed it. “Damn,” she mouthed, tracing the scratches with her finger.

Marcus’s voice still sounded cautious over the phone. “Alright. Payment under the deck, usual spot. The real reason I called you is that we have a new lead on Hope.”

That name made Kat jump slightly, her heart beating faster as the memories flooded over her. “Tell me.”

“Unsecured line,” Marcus reminded her. “Meet me at Safe House Alpha, I’ll fill you in there. One hour.”

The line went dead. Kat let out a long sigh. “This job’s gonna kill me someday,” she muttered as she hopped in the shower, getting ready for whatever the day held in surprise for her.

An hour later, she arrived at a small apartment in the outskirts of Houston, a cool sea breeze blowing over everything. She knocked on the door, and a voice called from within, “Come in, Kat! Coffee’s on the table.”

Kat slowly opened the door and stepped inside. As with every safehouse, the appearance hid what was truly inside. After stepping inside, she stood in front of a retinal and facial recognition scanner until it beeped and the second door let out an audible click, letting her in. She calmly entered, by now unfazed by the huge racks of military-grade weapons and the row of computers constantly running some software or another. The couch and coffee table seemed misplaced, but Marcus sitting there holding an unmarked manila folder helped it to fit in.

“Another courier dead,” Marcus’s face was grim as Kat walked over, sitting down next to him and sipping the coffee he had made for her. He continued, “This time Hope didn’t care about witnesses.”

Kat opened the file and looked at the pictures. She never knew the man, but winced when she saw the wound. His skull had practically collapsed from the executioner-style shot to the back of his head, and the effect was gruesome. The odd thing about all of these pictures was the bright lights in the background.

“A public kill,” Marcus stated with heavy emphasis, reading her mind. “And we have security camera footage…” He pulled a remote out from his pocket and clicked a button, pointing towards the computers. On the largest monitor, the scene played out in slow motion. The courier was walking down the street when Hope appeared behind him from an alley. She pulled a high-caliber revolver from her belt, pointed it at the back of his skull, and pulled the trigger. She never looked back, and kept walking calmly as the few people on the street began to panic.

“She’s trying to send a message,” Kat stated, her mind flashing between memories of last night and the murder she had just learned about. “Hope wants to scare us away, show that she isn’t fearless.”

Marcus chuckled. “You sound like you know more than you’re hinting at.”

Kat smiled, and dismissed the comment with a shake of her head. “Adding 2 and 2 together ain’t hard, boss.”

Marcus looked at her for a second with a sideways glance before looking back to the screen, frozen on the frame where Hope pulled the trigger. “Well, Kat, I think it’s time we send a message back to these ********,” he smirked, tossing Kat a separate folder.

Inside was the layout of a house located in one of the Mexican barrios in Houston. Stapled to that was a list of ten names with a red “X” written next to each. Kat read over the names. Every single one was a notorious drug kingpin, and each one was wanted dead. “Is this…” she breathed, rereading the address.

“One of their largest safehouses this side of the border,” Marcus’s smile was cold as ice. “And all these men decided that this week would be the right time to meet and discuss business, according to one of my informants. If this...'woman' named Hope wants to send us a message, then we’ll send one right back.”

Kat shook her head. “These have just been skirmishes so far, Marcus… This would spark a war across the Southwest if you do this.”

Marcus nodded, his face set in stone except for that fake, cold smile that swept across his face like a maniac’s. “And the payment for Hope’s death will be tripled if you do this. These Hispanic sons of ******* want a war? I’m dropping one right on their ing doorstep.”

Kat hesitated. “But...this goes beyond your organization’s feud with the cartels, Marcus. This will-”

Marcus raised a finger. “Kat, I know what you’re thinking, and I have considered it myself. But I swear to ****ing God, if you don’t do this, I’ll do it myself. I’m tired of these ing games.”

Kat saw the pure rage that began to form behind his eyes. He’s serious, she thought to herself in shock. He doesn’t care if a war is started. “Fine,” Kat sighed. “I’ll do it.”
Marcus’s rage faded, and that fake smile of his reappeared. “Good. I knew I could count on you, Kat. Take Bill and James with you. I want it done before sunrise.”
Without saying another word, Marcus got up and strode out of the safehouse. Kat swore to herself, and grabbed some explosives from the weapons racks as she called Bill. She would need all the help she could get.

(Hey, none of y'all posted anything. I keep writing. Gonna keep posting every 2000 words or so.)

(Come on, guys.)

Kat and James stood atop a ten-story hotel, the wind gusting around them as they surveyed their target. Marcus said this was a house, Kat frowned slightly. Not a ******’ mansion. Built on the waterfront, the beautifully designed house seemed to shine in the sun, its white paint glowing in the fading sun. The vast lawn spread for almost 500 feet from the shore to the wrought iron gate, and a cobblestone wall separated the house from the rest of the neighborhood. “How the hell are the cartels getting away with owning this mansion, anyway?” Kat asked incredulously.

“Some millionaire in Silicon Valley owns the place,” James stated, his voice flat as he made notes, scoping out the few guards he could see dotted along the terraces of the house. “They give him cocaine, he lets them use the place as long as the drugs don’t actually touch it.”
Kat shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. “How many guards can you see?”

James’s head moved side to side as he looked through the binoculars, double checking his notes every few seconds. “I see at least ten guards, a few coming and going around the door, two on each side of the house on the terrace around the top. Can’t see any faces…”

Kat took the binoculars from him, and looked out at the house. Just as James had said, two men stood on both sides of the terrace on the sides of the house, and a few very clearly armed guards stood at the door, chatting with someone inside. “Damn,” she muttered. “This won’t be easy.”

“Thank you, Miss Obvious,” James’s smile was sarcastic. “I didn't realize.”

Kat laughed slightly. “Well, since you’re such a genius, got any ideas?”

James’s normally stoic expression almost frowned. “I don’t like our chances, to be honest. We either approach by sea and risk getting caught in the water, or go running up their front lawn, eating lead all the way.”

“We could have Bill sit up here with a sniper rifle- no, that would give the targets time to prepare and escape too easily...” Kat offered, thinking of any better options. Her eyes drifted across the small bay out to the Gulf of Mexico, weighing the chances.

James finally spoke up after a minute with a sigh. “I guess we don’t have a choice, then.”
Kat looked out at the Gulf of Mexico, thinking. “Walk right up to their back door. Better than the other options...” She walked a few steps away, turning on her phone. A few seconds later, she heard Marcus’s voice over the line.

“What you need, Kat?” His voice sounded hurried and a bit stressed.

“We’re going to need a small boat tonight,” she replied. “Looks like it will be the best way to do this. Can you hook us up?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you need,” Marcus barely paused while speaking, rushing every word as if his life depended on him finishing the call. “Check the docks, ask someone, pay with my cash, whatever. I’m a bit busy, Kat, you know how to handle it.”

“Is everything alright, Marcus?” Kat asked, disconcerted by Marcus’s tone. He sounds almost...afraid of something.

“Perfectly fine. Now do the damn task,” Marcus finished decisively. He didn't even hesitate a second before ending the call.

Kat turned to James, a worried look across her face. “Tell Bill to go down to the docks, Marcus told me he’d cover the cost. Is everything alright with him?”

“With Marcus?” James nodded, looking away from her as he called Bill. “As far as I know, he’s doing some sort of business today. You probably called him in the middle of it.”

“I guess.” Kat lit a cigarette, and sat down, looking at the layout of the mansion. At least it’s not a maze, she thought, looking at the very few rooms on both floors. “I wish this place wasn't a shooting gallery,” she said out loud.

“We gotta shoot first, ask questions later,” James said simply. “Nothing new.”

“I know, James…” Kat trailed off. “But something doesn't seem right. Why would Marcus suddenly decide to declare war on the cartels?”

James didn't answer for a long time. Kat almost repeated the question before he said softly, “Some things shouldn't be answered, Kat. It keeps people safer that way.”

“The **** does that mean?” Kat demanded, rising to her feet. She started to walk towards James, but he put out his hand to stop her.

James’s ice cold blue eyes looked straight at her, his face growing colder with each word. “Kat. You can ask me about anything in the world regarding our organization, but if I say that it shouldn't be answered, then don’t. ****ing. ask. again.”

Kat was surprised by his sudden outburst, and took a step back. She stared at him, but didn't take another step. The tension was broken by James’s phone ringing, and Kat breathed a small sigh of relief when he started talking to Bill about the plan. She puffed a ring of smoke and watched the men at the door, running over the basic plan in her head and realizing that none of those men would live to see another day.

(The following section is done, but needs major revision in certain spots. I'll post it within 48 hours hopefully, since it directly continues this.)

THORVALD used COMBO BREAKER!
It's super effective!


Language is important. The words we use are revelations unto our society's beliefs and values, our hopes and dreams, indeed, the very foundations of our philosophy. For instance, there is no clearer demonstration of continued Patriarchal discursive hegemony than the categorization of laughter. Talk of a man, and you'll use any one of a wide array of context-specific descriptors: 'wheezed', 'chortled', 'guffawed', 'chuckled'. But to describe a woman's laugh, you have the broad-as-the-Amazon 'laughed', or the much more popular (and patronizing) 'giggled', which is almost a feminine exclusive since it is traditionally bound to connotations of air-headedness and frailty. (Indeed, let us not forget that a woman caught 'chortling' would hardly be regarded as ladylike!)

The manpig's ignorance means that the English lexicon cannot even begin to comprehend the myriad inflections and nuances in that unique form of communication that is the woman's laugh, and thus a proper account cannot be provided of the spirited exclamations that occurred between the President of France and her Foreign Minister. Rectifying this egregious affront was one of the many cultural projects preoccupying the nation, and Delacroix had established an entire commission to pursue the subject.

"...But why aren't we moving to aid Québec?" Laforêt began after finding her voice. "After all, as a member of the francophonie..."

"Gender trumps nationalism," she replied matter-of-factly. "Where were they in the World Wars? They fought tooth and nail against conscription when France was at her third- and second-darkest hours; de Gaulle's little stunt in '67 was as pathetic as it was empty."

"But surely they should be commended for enforcing the freedom of women in the face of that infernal Patriarchal notwithstanding clause of cultural relativism?"

"Oh, Nadine," the President's smile was somewhere between rueful and condescending as she stroked the Foreign Minister's shoulder, "I'm as eager as you, but the fact of the matter is even if it's the most progressive country on that continent, it is still, proverbially, a barbarian among the savages. Besides," her tone shifted back to business, or as business-like as the present setting permitted, "President Christian is a pompous ass that has gambled his entire career on the delusion that his technocracy is both omnipotent and infallible. Even without PATO, les canadiens should bring his house of cards crashing down in short order. We don't need to get involved... not until the opportune moment."

The women shared a conspiratorial grin and a low chuckle, leaning in and rubbing noses. The moment was broken by the sharp twitter of the telephone and the President pulled back with an apologetic sigh. She flung her arm behind her and snagged the receiver on the third pass. "What?" Annoyance turned to incredulity. "When?! ... Well can't you delay it?" She gritted her teeth, rolling her head from side to side. "Alright, fine, gimme ten minutes. Merde," she muttered, slamming down the receiver before turning back to Nadine. "There's a Basque delegation in the lobby," she explained, "Here about the nonsense over those Irishmen."

"Can't you put it off?" she suggested.

"Apparently I did that three days ago. This is the make-up." She groaned vexatedly, then hoisted herself out of the hot tub. "Get dressed," she called, grabbing a towel, "They'll probably start harping on about embargoes and such."


Twenty minutes later in the bureau présidentiel, two women stood off against three suited men. As dress went, the Basques were fairly nondescript, save for the man on the right flank who stood 5'3 and wore heavy sunglasses despite being indoors. Much more noteworthy were Delacroix and Laforêt, not because they were "better-dressed" or "showy", but precisely the opposite; for a nation that flouted women's lib on the streets to such a degree that its chauvinistic neighbours couldn't tell if it was a joke, when it came to foreign intercourse they swung all the way around to the opposite side: both were dressed in formless, mute-coloured pantsuits with flat shoes and long-sleeved shirts whose collars reached all the way up to their jawline. The only way they could make it clearer that "you ain't gettin' any" was if they bundled up their hair and strapped veils across their faces. But not, of course, like those poor women trodden on by the towel-headed menpigs; French veils would be an inherently and unarguably liberating instrument.

"Minister Mendiluze," grimaced the Président, nodding curtly and refusing to extend her hand, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" One could hear her choke on the word.

The representative took a moment to size her up before speaking. "Presidente Delacroix," he began as disinterestedly as he could manage, "I am here on behalf of my government to discuss the issue of the two Irishmen arrested at the beginning of this month—"

"There is nothing to discuss," she cut him off sharply, "They violated the law and will be delivered due punishment; the Irish embassy has already spoken with my office, so frankly I see no reason for you to waste your time on third-party trivialities."

All three men blinked in shock. Mendiluze took a breath. "Presidente Delacroix," he restarted, with just a hint more force, "Those men were arrested for disorderly conduct in which no physical injuries occurred, and they are facing forced castration. As deplorable as your domestic laws are it is not my government's business to tell you how to manage your own citizens, but when you begin running roughshod on the dignity of foreign nationals—"

"Minister Mendiluze," she interjected again with that same saccharine condescension, "My government has made it very clear what our local laws are and how they apply to international visitors. Ignorance of the law is no excuse; when those punks entered our country they accepted to abide by our regulations. They have failed to do so, hence they will now bear the consequences. Would I be right to make a fuss if I was detained for smashing up a bar in Bilbao?"

"That'd be oppressing women," muttered the attaché to Mendiluze's left. Delacroix zeroed in on the man, her eyes aflame; she made to speak, but the minister spoke first.

"And what of the locals involved in that same riot? Initial police reports said it consisted of a crowd of at least twenty, most of whom were French citizens. Unless you can honestly tell me that these two strangers managed to 'corrupt' all the women in their presence within a paltry fifteen minutes of meeting them, if indeed they were even active participants, I would say that they have been scapegoated because of their sex while the real perpetrators have been excused with a slap on the wrist."

The Président's face twisted into a sneer. "With the greatest respect, Minister," she said, tone suggesting anything but, "I will not be lectured on police procedure by a country whose chief export until recently was improvised bombs."

Mendiluze's jaw slid from side to side and his left aide cast nervous glances from him to the Président. "Given your rigid adherence to the letter of the law, please explain to me—and without relying on tired gender-based sophistry—why the French government seems to have gone out of its way to obstruct requests for extradition both by the Irish government and the men themselves." She drew a breath, made to reply, and faltered for just one second too long. "Presidente Delacroix," he spoke lowly and quickly, his patience finally exhausted, "I was sent here in an attempt to secure assurance that the blatant misandry of the French government would not pose an immediate threat to individual well-being beyond its home borders. I have since determined that not only does your government hold standing international conventions in contempt, it has no interest in negotiation and you are correct that I have wasted my time. I will advise my government as appropriate. Good day." He gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and swiftly walked out, the attachés scurrying after him.

Delacroix shot daggers at their backs until they turned out of sight before sighing wearily. She turned to her Foreign Minister; Laforêt had remained silent and stock-still during the whole encounter, but now with her guard down she was trembling like a leaf. Geneviève pulled her close, consolingly. "Don't worry about them," she murmured, running a hand through Nadine's golden strands, "The Basques are bit-players anyway. Their snivelling slander won't stand up in public." After a minute Nadine had calmed down. "Come," she said, taking the Foreign Minister's hand, "I know just the thing to get our minds off those men-pigs. . ."

Downstairs the delegation was exiting the east wing out into the parking lot, Mendiluze rubbing his neck to relieve the pent-up stress. "So what now?" asked his left aide, now flanking the right.

"Don't know," he muttered. "We'll probably cancel the recent deals, withdraw the ambassador in protest, might even instigate a full embargo if this keeps up."

"I tell you what," said the short man, "Nothing turns you off lesbians faster than a midnight in Paris."

It's baaaaaaaack!

Sorry about the wait everyone, but this part was really hard to write and I had to rewrite a large chunk of it for me to feel comfortable with posting it. Hopefully this will breath some life into this awesome initiative.


Imagine that you are major shareholder in a corporation. You have been doing things a certain way for a very long time and they are good. You have based your beliefs and values around these traditions. And then suddenly, out of the blue, a new hot shot CEO takes over and takes the traditions, sets fire to them and jumps on them for good measure. And you have to watch and you can do nothing, in fact you have to follow his orders as well, even if that means joining in with the jumping. If you can imagine this, then you would have some idea what Rene feels on a daily basis.

“I require a sword” said Rene for the third time, as he crouched in the back seat of the car.

“Damn it Rene,” said Joan out of frustration. “We almost got killed back there! Can you please shut up about your sword?”

“It is important.” said Rene calmly. Joan growled.

“Can you please stop fighting?” said John quietly, so quietly that no one could hear him. This obviously did not stop Joan and Rene’s pointless bickering. What did stop the bickering was Julia suddenly slamming the breaks down.

“What is happening?” asked Julia, although with the her tone it sounded more like a command. Julia was having a crisis of the faith, or possibly the lack of faith. One of the key tenets of her Family was that there was no gods, nothing beyond the laws of nature and the actions of men. Yet what other explanation was there for what that man could do, or the creature that came out of the Earth? If the Family, the group she had devoted her life to, was wrong on this what else were they wrong on. Julia needed answers to her questions, but she did not know what questions were.

“I believe that this book explains some of this.” said Rene. “But before I can divulge its secrets, I require a sword.”

“Gah!” said Joan “I hate when he gets like this! He won’t give up until we get him a bloody sword. Where are we going to…wait.” Joan looked out the window and a grin appeared on her face. “Does it matter what the sword is made out of?”

“No,” said Rene.

“Okay, be right back.” said Joan as she jumped out of the car and ran into a nearby store. The rest of the group got out of the car and moments later, Joan came out of the shop holding a foam sword.

“This is the most impractical sword design I have ever seen.” said Rene. “I fail to see why anyone would make even a practice sword out of this material. But it will suffice. Miss Julia, will you please kneel?” Julia looked towards Joan, who nodded. Julia kneeled and Rene placed the foam sword on her shoulders.

“You have spilt blood in the defence of the Wordsmiths,” said Rene whilst performing the ceremony “You have fought alongside our men and women in righteous combat. You have performed your duties with bravery and valour. As is my right as a High Councillor of the Wordsmiths, I offer the position of the Supreme Knight of the Librarian Templars, the defenders of the Wordsmiths.”

“Wait,” said Joan, “Don’t I make staffing decisions around here?”

“You may veto my offer if you wish.” said Rene. Everyone was silent for a moment, then Joan sighed.

“Just get this over with.” continued Joan.

“Do you accept this offer?” asked Rene. From the outside, this whole encounter would seem like some ridiculous farce. But to Julia, this hit her on a deep emotional level. All her life she had tried to impress her superiors in the Family, yet she had gravely failed. But these people accepted her after such a minor position. To Julia, Rene was asking her to join his family. Were they fools to accept her after next to no trials? Or did they see something in her?

“Y-yes.” breathed Julia softer than a whisper.

“Then rise,” said Rene “Lady Julia, Supreme Knight of the Librarian Templars.”

John was not paying attention to this ceremony. He was too busy staring at his shaking hands.

“They were going to kill all those people…” said John “I killed them. These hands, my words, they killed people.”

“They were bad people John,” said Joan “Real nasty sons of whores. Don’t let it get to you, try not to think about it.” Joan slapped him on the back a few times. She knew, deep down, that her advice was pretty terrible, she hadn’t stopped thinking about what had happened either, she was just better at hiding it.

“Hey,” said Joan, trying to distract them both, “Why don’t we go to that kebab place over there? I’m hungry, we can talk about that book and we can eat kebabs in a real kebab making country. Did I mention that it is lunch time and I’m hungry? Let’s go!”


“So, what’s in the book?” said Joan, midway through eating a subpar chicken gyro.

“It is an unusual book,” said Rene “It appears to be an edited diary of a Byzantine Princess in the last days of the Empire, although it does not match any known historical records. I do not doubt its authenticity however…I think it would be a better idea if I just read it to you.” Rene cleared his throat.

“This is the story of Anastasia Palaiologos, Princess of the Byzantine Empire. She had to face something that no creature should ever have to face and she did with bravery that I have rarely seen. I have combined the relevant diary entries of her short but important journey as a hero, as well as my account of her demise. I have preserved this tale not only as a testament to her bravery, but as a warning to those who can act. To prepare for what is coming.”

“It is interesting,” said Rene, “That page had been burned into the paper with such precision that I do not think would be probable during the fall of the Byzantine Empire. I will continue now.”

27th of May, 1453

To my eternal shame, I have never truly believed in God. I wanted to believe, but I have never felt anything. Besides, how could a truly benevolent God allow all this suffering in the world? How could he subject the poor people of this fine city to the vile Turks? Why would he deny my fair brother Constantine the right to rule over the vile Manuel the Third? How could he deny us the salvation of Venice or the Catholics? I can never air my doubts, as a bastard you must be perfect to survive as I have written many times over, but still they remain.

Constantine cried when he heard the news. He did not weep for himself, he wept for the people of this city. The barbaric Turks would pillage this city, butcher the families of those who opposed them. Manuel felt no such grief, he only was worried for himself.

I would write more but I am tired and cannot, I must rest as I must be strong for tomorrow’s mass. I will pray for this city, although I doubt it will do any good.

“Wait, wait, wait.” said John. “There was no Manuel the Third, the last Emperor was Constantine the Eleventh! This reads like bad historical fiction.”

“How the heck do you know about that?” asked Joan.

“I play at lot of EUIV.” said John. “Historical strategy game.”

“They make those?” asked Joan.

“You are correct John,” said Rene “There is no mention in history of this bastard princess either. However, I believed there is an explanation for this, let me continue.”

28th of May, 1453,

I do not know if there is a God or not. But I do know that there is a Devil, there is a force that wishes to drive our minds and souls into darkness. I have seen its effects with my own eyes.

We were in the Hagia Sophia, the whole city was praying for salvation right alongside us, praying to our God. I even made a feeble attempt, but I could not feel my lord’s presence, has he abandoned our Empire? We all were praying to God, all except Manuel. Manuel stood up and proudly told the congregation that our God would not save us because he did not exist. The crowd gasped and I was fearful. Manuel is a cruel man and he had a very tenuous grasp on reality. He enjoyed the suffering of others and he was quick to anger. I thought he was going to do something, but I did not expect this horror which has been permanently burned into my skull.

Constantine walked toward my brother, he was trying to make Manuel recant his brash statement. Manuel just laughed and pointed at him. Light came out of Manuel’s hand, but it wasn’t light, it was made of the darkest thing I had ever seen. It touched Constantine and he screamed. Blood seeped out of his skin, although he was only up there for moments, I could tell that he was in an eternity of pain. What was left of my brother fell to the ground as Manuel laughed. Manuel killed his brother, my brother, in the holiest of all places. He was no longer my brother, nor a man. He was merely a puppet for the Devil and his evil game.

He addressed the crowd, saying he was now a servant of Those Who Will Rise. He said that they would help him re-forge Rome anew and that he would conquer the whole word in their terrible name. He said that those who had heard their voice should rise, and they did. He demanded that they burn the church to the ground and butcher all the clergy. The crowd went into a riot, peasant against peasant, soldier against solider and brother against brother. Manuel laughed manically and used his power against whomever he pleased. It was a massacre, I am lucky that my bodyguard managed to take me out of there before my brother or his minions touched me.

I am locked in my room. I can see the smoke of the temple from here, it has been reduced to ruins. I am tired, but I cannot sleep. I would pray, but they would ring empty and hollow. Besides, if there is truly a benevolent God then this place must surely be beyond his grasp now.

“So those cultists are actually as old as our group?” exclaimed Joan. “Why didn’t you know about them?!”

“No,” replied Rene “I believe that they are older. Much older. But I will get to that, it is explained in here.”

29th of May (I think), 1453

This day has been like a strange nightmare. If you told me that I was integral to the fate of this world…no, that’s not right, the fate of the entirety of God’s creation, then I would have thought you mad.

I was in my room, watching the destruction that Manuel had brought upon this city, when Mad Ivan broke through the door, in full guard’s uniform covered in blood. Ivan was one of the Empire’s bravest soldiers, until he had fallen off a horse. He started talking in gibberish and would jump at his own shadow, he was a broken man. Manuel thought it hilarious, he locked him in the dungeon and would throw things at him whenever he grew bored.

To my utter surprise he spoke to me clearly and calmly, telling me that he was here to save me from my brother. He had a rope that he threw down my window and instructed me to climb down on it. For some silly reason I brought this book and a pen, I do not know why I did that but now I am glad.

Somehow we escaped the city, Ivan found underground tunnels that even I did not know of and we found ourselves a short distance outside the city walls. Ivan walked with such conviction that I had to follow him, he knew where he was going and that it was the right thing to do, although I’m not sure he knew why exactly.

Suddenly Ivan fell over in exhaustion. I lifted up his shirt and found that he had been stabbed many times, I have no idea how he could have maintained himself for so long. With his dying breath, he told me to put my trust in the Man from the Heavens. I thought he was talking of God, but then I saw him. Not two feet from me a man fell out of the sky!

He was covered in amour, although it was like nothing I had ever seen at court. Every inch of his body was covered by in this strange metal, rather than being bulky and rigid like our soldiers it appeared to be almost skin tight.

He “spoke” to me, although it was not speaking. It is hard to describe, it was as if he could speak to me through my own thoughts. But it wasn’t speaking, speaking was inelegant compared to what he did. He showed me why he was here, it was like I was living his memories and the memories of his ancestors. I’ll try my best to explain what he showed me but it was very confusing.

Many years ago, before our world was filled with life, there lived an evil being made of coloured air. It ruled over everything, even the stars themselves, from it's throne in the second planet from our sun. The gas covered so much of everything and fed upon all life in a way that is equally indescribable as it is horrific. If anything was created that was intelligence it fed upon it and then the abomination would grow stronger.

But the man’s people came. He wasn’t human, they had heads like those Bats that that merchant tried to sell to my father so many years ago. The creature was displeased and fought with his people, both physically and mentally. Eventually his people were victorious and they imprisoned the beast in their home, a place much like Earth but ruined from the war. They have watched over it for many years, but now a man who claims to be the Emperor of all things has claimed their planet and has accidentally set a part of it free. It is the thing that has taken over Manuel!

The man has said that they would usually send more than just him to stop Manuel, but with the war that they are fighting they were reluctant to send even just him. But after seeing my thoughts and memories, he showed me a plan. I will not write it here so I will not curse it, we cannot fail. Besides, I am sure that if this plan is successful that it, and my name, will be remembered forever in history.

Rene paused.

“Don’t tell me it’s stopped!” said Joan emotionally “There has to be more! Don’t pull a Peaks on me dammit!”

“There is more in the diary,” said Rene “But it is not by this Princess. It is in the same writing that was on the front page, I believe it is written by the man the Princess talks of.”

Although I cannot write the end of her tale with justice, it is on my honour that I must. She did not understand what she was getting into, yet she did it with a bravery that I have not seen in my comrades for many a year, right up until the very end.

It was the night of the attack by the Ottoman forces. Manuel stood outside the gates of the city, as if he was ready to talk of surrender. The leader of the Ottomans walked up to him to negotiate and for his trouble Manuel shot him with his dark power. The men touched by the abomination went into a fury, slaughtering Christian and Muslim alike. It was a bloodbath, no one could stand against the power of the abomination’s minions.

It was then Anastasia Palaiologos, dressed in her companions armour and armed with my pistol, shot a laser at her brother’s second-in-command and disintegrated him. I spread her message to both sides, she told them that she was chosen by God to defeat her brother and that he was possessed by a great evil. She told them that only together they could defeat him.

Manuel went into a rage and chased after his sister. Without the support of their leader, the touched were no match for the combined forces of the two opposing faiths. Anastasia ran to where I told her and her brother followed. They both ran into the Darkness that I could smell. It consumed both Manuel and Anastasia and their entire history. In the minds of everyone on this planet, this day had never happened and those two people never existed. But I remember them, I remember her sacrifice.

I read through her book and if I had tear ducts like you I would have cried. She was so bright, so pure. And I had tricked her into giving up not only her life, but her entire existence. I could not let this happen.

My people are dying, I can hear their screams across the cosmos. There is no place left for me anywhere, although the Darkness wishes to consume this book as well I know a way of stopping it. I have a ritual that can redirect its hunger towards me and ignore the book. I have left it in the care of a bookmaker in the city, he will not remember its importance but hopefully one day someone will.

This book is not just a testament to her bravery however. It is also a warning. The so-called Emperor of the Universe’s folly will cause the release of the beast, I know it. It will come to haunt this planet again, but I will not be there to stop it next time. Whoever is reading this book, you must stop them. To help you in this effort, I will preserve my helmet. It will be disguised as the helmet of this city and it will have the fair princess’ name engraved upon it. Only one who has read this book and who will wear the helmet will find it’s true power.

May your Gods protect you in all things.

The three humans sat shell-shocked.

“That was a great story,” said Joan “But unless we have proof otherwise then it’s just that: a story. Sorry to be a Debbie Downer, but aliens and magic? Get real. I mean if there WAS a helmet then there might be-”

“There is a helmet.” said John, looking down at his phone.

“Well we better get to it then!” said Joan.

“Yeah,” said John “That’s going to be a bit of a problem. It’s been recently transferred to the Smithsonian Museum’s high security area in D.C. It’s worth millions due to a priceless artefact, they’re not interested in selling it and they aren’t going to let us waltz on in and take it either.”

“I will call Edward.” said Julia. “He will know people who can help.”

“Oh yeah, Mafia connections.” said Joan. “So, looks like we’re going to become cat-burglars!” Joan clapped her hands together loudly and everyone looked at her. Now it was her turn to feel akward.


“Bloody Atlantians” muttered Captain Gnod of the IFS Kat’cha’kak. The Atlantians were a member species of the International Federation of Systems, scared of joining it after numerous border clashes with the so-called Empire of Universe. They probably wouldn’t have been accepted if they weren’t going to get gobbled up on one of the Emperor’s mad crusades, as they had earned their reputation as pirates. Not that their anti-Piracy fleets were much better, they were Federation approved but most of them didn’t understand the definition of collateral damage. And it was Gnod’s job to clean up after their mess.

“What was that, sir?” asked Aphrodite, Gnod’s Atlantian first officer, with visible discomfort.

“Has the Heracles’ Strength they responded to our hails yet?” asked Gnod.

“Not yet sir.” replied Aphrodite. Heracles’ Strength was one of the anti-piracy ships. It had been patrolling near some barren rock that was obtained during the Imperial border wars and then it stopped sending status updates. It was on a rampage, it had already destroyed multiple Aiin civilian ships. Gnod was sent out with a group of three Brigade ships to find out if this was simply a case of insanity of the part of the crew, a new Imperial incursion or something else. Knowing Captain Hall, it was probably the first scenario. He had to deal with his “policing” on multiple occasions, he wouldn’t be surprised if Hall had finally snapped.

“We’re coming into visual range.” said one of the crewmen.

“On screen” said Gnod. Heracles’ Strength came on screen and the bridge stood up in fear.

“By the lost colony…” said Aphrodite. The ship was falling apart, yet it was still flying. There was some strange gaseous substance coming out of the ship. Gnod found it usually unsettling.

“This can’t be the Imperium’s doing,” said Gnod “Way too subtle.” Which only left one possibility. “Computer, hail the ship on all frequencies. This is the Federation Brigade Ship Kat’cha’kak hailing the unknown entity. Please cease movement and respond.”

“We’re getting a response.” said Aphrodite, as she patched it through to the speakers.

“We rise.” came the response. It was said in cacophony of voices, Gnod could swore that he could recognize some of them.

“By the stars, is that Hall?” asked Gnod. The cacophony continued, echoing the same phrase again and again. “We rise.”

“Shut it off!” shouted Gnod.

“The controls aren’t responding!” said Aphrodite. “Wait, we’re getting another transmission. It’s a text file. It’s just one word, over and over again. ‘Run’”. The bridge crew looked at the screen as one of their allies’ ships were engulfed by a strand of the gaseous energy which dismantled the ship violently.

“Get us out of here!” shouted Gnod.

“The engines aren’t responding!” shouted Aphrodite back at him “The energy is…oh gods…I can hear them. Olympus save us!” Aphrodite started screaming and then huddled in the corner. The rest of the crew started panicking, praying to their gods and screaming. Even with Gnod’s species’ resilience to psychic energy, he couldn’t resist the effects of the entity. As the second ship got consumed by the entity, Gnod looked at the entity and it looked back. It had no eyes, but it stared directly into his soul. It touched him, it knew him and he knew it.

As the tendrils of gas engulfed the bridge, Gnod drew his sidearm out aimed it at his head to avoid what was coming, but a tendril of energy reached out and destroyed it before he had a chance.

“No!” screamed Gnod as he himself was consumed by the entity “They’re going home! They’re going to take us all!” They were his last words before his body withered and his mind joined the endless choir.

Omega stared down the barrel of the Green Beret's pistol. Pointed directly at his head, in the next few seconds his brain was going to be splattered against the wall as a deafening gunshot echoed across the hallway. This was it; right after discovering he was the chosen one in some stupid prophecy he never heard of, Omega found himself about to die thanks to trusting his life to some idiots who are way over their heads.

Unbeknownst to all, the chosen one's hands were cackling in static. However, despite this phenomenon starting literally a minute ago, the electricity bouncing on Omega's hand felt as natural as the air touching his skin. Instinct overtook Omega; time seemed to slow down as he raised his hand to his face.

As the unmistakable roar of a gun marked a bullet charging straight at Omega. Only a few milliseconds later, a thunderbolt raced from Omega's outstretched hand, charging straight at the bullet. The beam of energy quickly reached and overpowered the slug, disintegrating the projectile into ashes. Unfazed, the lighting galloped full speed at the Spec Ops soldier, and struck true. The Green Beret screamed as he fell on the floor, twitching at being shocked by an unimaginable amount of volts.

Suddenly, Omega found himself on a golden chariot, parading in the skies. Moving the carriage were six horses, made of pure electricity, creating thunder wherever they galloped. Omega peered downwards, and on the surface was a great human city, spanning as far as the eye can see. Or "great", as he would put it; they worship false gods and live a decadent lifestyle. Suddenly, Omega realized he has javelins made of lighting bolts in his spare hand, just begging to be lobbed at the stupid mortals down below. Suddenly, his face was covered with a devilish grin.

One javelin thrown below, and a raging storm brewed, ready to wash away those who dare defiled him. While their misery and woe was music to Omega's ears, the puny ants were not ravished enough to his liking. He lobbed another javelin onto the city, and an entire block was lightened in an inferno. The wails of dying mortals was directly audible, but this did not satisfy Omega. A third crashed into the city below him; once great buildings were torn asunder as everything was burned and washed away. Omega could hear the humans begging him to stop, but his heart was hardened. A fourth javelin struck the clock tower, instantly leveling it and replacing the once proud centerpiece with a smoldering crater. Even the stench of death could reach Omega's nose as the grieving mortals continued to beg for mercy. He reached for a fifth javelin-

Marie quickly grabbed Omega's arm, and forcefully pulled it down before he could do any more damage. "Stop," the Québecois pleaded, "He's already dead!"

Omega paused to take a gander of his craftsmanship. The charred remains of the soldier would had been unrecognizable to even his mother. The entire body was covered in third degree burns, and his head was almost completely blown off. Looking at the ruins of this former human, Omega couldn't help but feel a sense of glee of how resoundingly he destroyed him. He started to laugh, each gasp as strong and loud as a clap of thunder.

He turned to Marie, her face frozen in fear and disbelief. "Let go of me, mortal," Omega demanded.

The ravenette complied, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the Green Beret before him. She attempted to say something, but was too awestruck by the whole situation to verbalize anything.

Omega's body had physically changed. The static electricity, once confined to his hands, now covered his entire body. They also sparked faster and in greater frequency than ever before. His skin glowed a pale yellow, and Omega's eyes were pure white, with no discerning features whatsoever. His voiced echoed, "Which way is to the exit?"

"Uh," Steven's voice nervously trailed off, "Quickest way is to go left-"

"Follow me, then," Omega demanded as he nodded in respect. Choosing the left corridor, Omega strutted down the hallway as if there wasn't a hostile takeover of the facility, and everything was completely normal. The two FEAR agents nervously trailed Omega, clinging their pistols for security against Omega as much as the Green Berets.

After a few minutes of walking, the group encountered a small rec lobby, littered with blood-stained carcasses of murdered FEAR agents. Standing on top of them were eight Spec Op Soldiers, all armed with M4s. Omega motioned his two friends to stay back as he approached the eight soldiers, creating a sword of pure lightning in the process.

Despite the oddity of an lightning covered teen wielding a sword was to the Green Berets, they were professional men and women, and barely hesitated to point and fire their assault rifles at Omega. Unloading magazines worth of ammunition on the thundermancer, he countered simply by conjuring a shield of thunder in front of him, letting the soldiers fire as much as they desired.

A few seconds later, seeing as Omega was unscathed, the Spec Ops stopped wasting their ammunition. Omega smirked at their foolishness. "Pathetic," he sneered, "Not even a scratch. Now, let me you show how a real warrior fights"

Omega levitated his thunder shield, and threw it at the nearest Green Beret. At once, every single bullet all eight fired collided with her, and her entire body was gibbed into a bloody mess. The soldiers once again attempted to fire at the black haired sword wielder, but he teleported out of sight before he could be hit. A second later, one of the remaining soldiers was cleaved right in half, with Omega striking a finishing pose a distance away. Once again, Omega blinked away before the Green Berets were able to hurt him, and would almost instantly cleave another infiltrator into two.

The process was repeated six more times, until there were no Spec Ops to oppose Omega. He threw his lightning sword into nothingness as he laughed at the mangled remains of his foes. "Foolish mortals, you know not who you tread with! I have wiped entire civilizations off the face of their planet before you even could build stone tools! I will make your existence shorter than a lifespan of one lightning bolt! Do you hear me? I AM-"

Without warning, Omega collapsed on the ground. Steven and Marie ran towards their chosen one, still unsure what to make out of his beserker fury. Marie laid her palm on Omega's chest, hoping that he had not reached an early demise.

"Heart's still beating," Marie sighed in relief.

"So," Steven bewilderingly asked, "was there a part of the prophecy I missed where the chosen one was possessed?"

Marie shook her head, "None of the legends spoke of something like this. Whatever just happened, should not have happened, and we need to find out what it is before it tries to kill us" She turned to a hallway to their left before adding, "There's no way anyone still alive in this building hasn't heard Mr. Thunder God. That's the way out, and we need to move"

Steven nodded in agreement. "You're the better fighter of the two of us. I'll carry Omega, you shoot the bad guys."

The brown-haired pyromancer picked up Omega's body, and slung it across his shoulder. While Steven struggled to carry Omega with only one hand, it allowed him to have access to at least his gun, and the last thing he wanted was to be a dead weight on their escape.

As Marie predicted, they did not get far down the hallway when the pair was ambushed by a trio of Green Berets, ready to open fire at the FEAR agents. Instinctively, the Québecois shoved a wave of water straight at the soldiers, knocking them down like bowling pins suffering a strike. Not wasting any time, the two lovers started filling the downed spec ops with bulletholes. Not as flashy as Omega's previous executions, but they got the job done.

A minute later, the two approached a door with a labelled EXIT sign on top. Through a window, they could see a Green Beret stationed in front of the door on the outside, her back to Marie and Steven. A distance away, was a van identical to the one Steven brought Omega to this facility. However, since this van was in a back alley, there was no way this was Steven's own van. Behind the duo themselves, the two could hear footsteps of approaching spec op troops.

Marie whispered, "That's my van. I'll hand you the key." As she took her key out of her pocket, she continued, "When I open the door, I'm going to make a diversion, and you two go to the van. I'll follow and, once I'm in, go southeast, and don't stop until we get to DC. You understand?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine," Stephen agreed.

The two quietly approached the front door, and paused to see if the soldier had any sort of back up. There were two corpses on the ground, which were clearly FEAR agents, but no one alive besides the Green Beret directly in front of them. She was blissfully unaware of the duo's presence; her blonde hair was gently resting on the window and she was bobbing her head as if she was listening to a song in her head. After a quick nod, Marie forcefully slammed the door at the soldier's back.

The Green Beret gasped as she dropped her rifle on the ground, which Marie instinctively kicked away. The ravenette then quickly grabbed the blonde soldier's pistol out of her holster and tossed it at Steven, while simultaneously pointing her own pistol at her head. Meanwhile, Steven successfully reached Marie's van, and started the engine of the car.

"Don't make any sudden movements," the Québecois demanded as she used her free hand to cover the soldier's mouth.

Marie barely heard a soft, audible, "OK" from her prisioner. She spun around, facing the door, and started to walk backwards to the van. That exact moment, the door they came from opened again, revealing five angry Green Berets pointing M4s, all at the ravenette.

Marie glared at the newcomers. "If I die, she dies," she callously threatened. Having a shred of humanity for their fellow soldier, the squad did not open fire, giving ample time for her to reach and open the back door of the van. She jumped aboard the van, but to the surprise of everyone, including Steven, she quickly grabbed her prisoner and forced her to get on the van. Despite her verbal protests and attempt to escape Marie's grasp, the captured Green beret was unwillingly dragged along.

At that point, the squad opened fire, but a quick shield of water stalled enough time for Marie to close the doors as Steven sped away. With Omega snugly buckled up in the passenger seat, the three successfully escaped the maw of President Christian.

"And why," Steven asked, with a hint of protest, "did you take her with us?"

"Because I want revenge," Marie coldy responded as she pointed her pistol at the Green Beret's forehead.

"Ohgodpleasedon'tkillme," the blonde soldier screamed, realizing the danger she was in.

Marie snarled. "You're a murderer. You murdered my colleagues, my co-workers... my friends. Why shouldn't I get my revenge off of you?"

"BecauseI'msorryIkilledtwoofyourfriends," the blonde soldier pleaded, "IjustdidwhatIhadtodopleasedon'tkillme"

"...you admitted to it," the ravenette stated in surprise, "that's... a first. Most people try to pretend they didn't or just claim I am one too. And don't get me wrong: I am. I'm just the one with the gun and magic and you're not.

Maybe there is hope for you after all. What's your name, grunt?"

"Sophia," she meekly admitted, "Sophia Reynolds"

"OK, Sophia, if you are nice and don't do anything stupid, I'll let you go when we're all done with this kerfuffle. Try anything, and we're back to me shooting you. OK?"

Sophia beamed with Marie's show of mercy. With a large grin, she practically glomped the FEAR agent while constantly thanking her.

Steven sighed as he continued on the wheel. "I wonder when the Stockholm will wear off..."

"So...you're not going to stick a probe up my butt, right?" Tracy asked cautiously.

"Not unless you want us to," the masked figure in the red and white coat remarked. "A sample of your genetic material will do just fine."

Tracy ran her fingers through her crimson mane, catching a few loose hairs between her fingers. "Would these work?"

"Perfect, hold these up for my assistant," the doctor said, running his three-fingered hand across her other arm. The other doctor, a robot-like creature with a mechanical eyeball the size of a basketball for a head, leaned forward as she held out the hairs. A thin purple light passed over her hand like a bar code scanner, followed by a series of mechanical blips from the robot.

"You read my DNA that fast?" Tracy said in astonishment.

"My assistant just made a recording of it," the doctor said, still looking closely at her arm. "It makes a concise but incoherent recording of the genetic material, which can be developed and examined at will on a later date."

"Like a camera developing a photo," Tracy mused.

"Something like that," the doctor said, pausing over a spot on Tracy's wrist. "Now, if you'll just hold still..."

The mechanical eye creature made a whirring noise in response. Its hand retracted into its sleeve, and a sharp-looking three inch long needle replaced it.

"T-that's a big one," Tracy stammered.

"Just hold still, it's virtually painless," the doctor reassured her. Tracy averted her eyes as the needle approached her arm, bracing for the pain. After a moment, she looked back to see what was taking them so long, only to see the robot detaching the needle and placing it in a small container.

"Did you even jab me with that thing?" Tracy said incredulously.

"Of course," the masked doctor said with mild surprise as the robot left to examine the sample. "Seems humans are more resistant to pain then I thought you were. Nearly half of my patients whine like a Saurian with a tummy ache when I even bring it up."

"Matt probably won't," Tracy said, jabbing a thumb at the unconscious lump in the bed next to her. Roughly turning over, he made a funny noise that sounded like 'lucina'.

"Is he as accepting of culture shock as you seem to be?" the Doctor mused. "Security had to chase your friend half way across the station before she calmed down."

"Probably not. He plays hockey though, so you might want to strap him down when he wakes up."

The doctor began to inquire on the nature of the puck-based contact sport when the door to the medical bay slid open. Two cat-like aliens walked into the medical bay, one female wearing a blue uniform and buckled boots, the other wearing a blue armored suit that looked like it had fallen out of the sky and impacted in someone's back yard. They were followed closely by...

"Cass!"

Tracy nearly knocked the doctor off of his feet as she jumped up to tackle-hug her friend.

"Nice to see you're up and running again," Cassandra said, barely stifling a laugh.

"Hey, from what I heard, you were the one up and running. Halfway across the station too! Did you meet any adorable awkward security officers? " Tracy asked with a sly wink. The cat-alien in the armor raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Not just yet," Cassandra said, a little color entering her cheeks . "But I did meet a few new friends as you can tell."

"Captain Sondi Sirko of the Brigade," the cat-alien with the uniform interjected with a salute. "On behalf of the-"

"I already did the first contact formals, Captain," the doctor said.

"Oh thank the Red Fleet," Sirko said with a gasp of relief. "Sorry, but after the twentieth time reciting that you get a little tired of it. Welcome to the station." She offered a gloved hand, which Tracey tentatively shook.

"And this is Gerran," Cassandra said, pointing out the armored cat-alien, before giving a painfully forced smile. "He's the Brigade member that we saved, remember?"

"Ah, yes," Tracy said, catching on in a heartbeat. "I'm quite glad we managed to save him after that horrific, uh, fall from space." The two cat-aliens seemed satisfied with the exchange, though the doctor did give a suspicious sounding cough that might have been hiding a slight chuckle.

"I'll get to work on analyzing the genetic material, then," the doctor said with a bemused tone.

"Good work," Sirko said admirably. "If nothing turns up then maybe we can just ignore the signal."

"What signal?" Tracy asked.

"Our chief of security said that there was a signal coming from you that may have been from a branch of our organization known as the Legion," Gerran said. "Pretty shady bunch, they're focused on top secret espionage stuff. The kind of missions no one ever hears about."

"They would seem like the type to place transmitters on humans without their knowledge, though," Sirko reassured her. "They don't have any extensive operations on your planet, so it probably isn't anything to be concerned about. Aroden might keep you around for a while but the law says we have to let you go if nothing else turns up."

"We don't have to leave yet, do we?" Tracy asked eagerly.

"Not at all," Sirko said with a smile. "You're free to stay as long as you would like, and you are welcome to all of the public facilities located on the Molcreul station."

"Including the food court!" Cassandra said excitedly. "And all the alien-made French fries you can eat!"

The door opened again, and the doctor reentered, followed by an alien that looked like a slimy human-shaped blob in a uniform. The pair of them were oddly silent as they approached Tracy. "You might want to take a seat," echoed a firm voice in Tracy's head. Everyone else seemed to have heard it, so she readily complied.

"Did the DNA test turn out okay?" Cassandra asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

"Technically, yes," the doctor explained, taking a pause between each word. "The problem is...hard to explain..."

Cassandra and Tracy were confused by this statement, but Gerran's eyes widened at the doctor's comment.

"Doctor, are you suggesting..." he started, but the doctor held up his hand to cue silence.

"Preliminary testing seems to have indicated that...Tracy's genetic material is Masked."

Sirko looked as though she had been struck in the chest with a heavy weight, and Gerran simply shook his head in disbelief. Cassandra and Tracy, however, were just confused. "What do you mean, 'my DNA is masked'?" Tracy demanded.

"Masking is a genetic engineering term," the Doctor explained. "It's been illegal for some time, but that hasn't stopped some unscrupulous individuals from utilizing it for-"

"Basically," the echoing voice, which Tracy assumed came from the slime alien, interrupted. "Masking is when your genetic material gets overwritten."

Tracy felt an icy chill run down her spine at the explanation.

"Aroden, what the hell does that even mean?" Cassandra nearly shouted.

"Let me explain," Gerran suggested. "Let's say I wanted to look like Sisko here for whatever reason. I would have a lot of ways to do that. Clever makeup job, holograms, hacking adaptive camouflage, the whole works. However, while I can look like her, I don't share the same genetic material, or DNA as you call it. If I was committing a crime and got my hand cut, I would leave my own blood behind, making the ruse ineffective."

"Masking is a highly elaborate and painful process that changes a subject's DNA in addition to their outside appearance," Sisko said in a deadpan. "Thus if Gerran was Masked using my DNA, he would pass as my doppelganger on a visual and a genetic level. It's also theoretically possible to create your own DNA for the purposes of Masking rather than taking it from someone else."

Tracy was turning paler by the second. "But does that mean..."

"It means that you are...not Tracy. Perhaps not even human," the doctor concluded. "Judging by the natural aging of the masked DNA, I would guess that you have been 'Tracy' for approximately two years."

Cassandra's mind was working furiously. She tried to grasp her friend's hand to comfort her, but she roughly shook it away.

"Tracy..."

"You're wrong," she said, all the bubbly energy drained from her voice. "You're dead wrong. I know what the hell I am."

"It's possible that it could be an implanted-"

"NO!"

Tracy jumped to her feet, crossing her arms in front of her. "I know who the hell I am! I'm Tracy, Tracy Matthews! I moved out of my parent's home two years ago to go to college! I write to them every weekend! I still remember my first kiss in high school, the first time I rode a bike, the first time I fell out of a tree and broke my goddamned arm! I remember every single..."

"Tracy..." Cassandra said meekly.

"What?" Tracy shouted, rounding on her best friend.

"Tracy...I met you on the first day of college," Cassandra realized. "Two years ago. What if-"

"I AM NOT AN ALIEN!" she screamed into her face. Cassandra recoiled and tried to dry her watering eyes before realizing that Tracy already had tears streaming down her face.

"I'm Tracy..." she said softly, collapsing onto the bed, arms still crossed across her chest. "I know I'm Tracy..."

"I think I'd better handle this on my own," the doctor said. "I'll run some tests to figure out who she was masked as and do my best to make her comfortable."

"Is it normal for Masked individuals to be unaware of their state?" Gerran asked.

"No, but it's not impossible," the doctor suggested. "Either way, I think it's best if you let me handle it for now."

"We can still try to figure out where this signal device came from," Aroden said, holding up a small white container. "Gerran, run this down to Hawken and see if he can figure it out."
Aroden turned to look at Cassandra, his emotions masked by his unmarked form. "Take the human with you."

Cassandra did not feel like arguing. Following Gerran out of the medical bay, she could just make out Tracy softly crying before the door slammed shut.

The gaunt man in the pinstripe suit stood stock-still as he awaited the response from the figure on the opposite face of the high-backed chair. It was mid-afternoon, and the cloudless sky meant the sun shone in full force through the towering plate-glass window, forcing his eyes to adjust for contrast whenever he changed his focus. Minutes of deafening silence were at last broken by a weary sigh. "These disruptions are becoming inconvenient, Montague," rumbled a gravelly tenor behind the leather. "I am beginning to question whether you are capable of keeping the situation under control."

The man addressed ran a hand through his jet-black hair, greased back against his scalp as he drew a steadying breath. "Director-General," he began, "I assure you we are doing everything we can to put a lid on these tangents as efficiently as possible."

"But you're not, are you?" The chair slowly swivelled around, revealing a senior man with a round face and beady eyes, white hair similarly combed back. He grinned mirthlessly, head tilted to the left, fingertips steepled. "Were this under control, the anomalous subjects would not have escaped; indeed, they would not even be anomalous. Need I remind you of the consequences that should follow a Category E breach?"

"PR is isolating the flashpoints as we speak. Anyone that survived the Istanbul incident will be co-opted as per usual protocol."

The Director-General leaned forward over his desk, expression snapping from condescension to threatening in an instant. "Not good enough," he growled. "The public may be stupid, but even Murdoch can't keep it blind forever. It's human nature to look for patterns. Geography's been on our side for now but sooner or later people will start connecting the dots, and when they do..." he gave Montague an appraising look-over, "It'll take a hell of a lot more than a media campaign to hush it up."

After a moment of nervous fidgeting, the oily man cautiously stepped forward, spreading his hands as a trader presenting his wares. "Why not stamp them out ourselves?" he suggested, "Their mortal enemies clearly can't do the job; we're much better poised..."

"Can't," he stated, casting a frustrated glance to no particular spot to his right, "We may need use of their talents come this Reckoning. We might even get lucky and they'll take care of it for us, off-world." He picked up a pen and began absently tapping it against the desktop. "Still no lead on the abduction?"

"None, sir." He started, hesitated, made to start again, but his boss cut him off.

"Not involved with them." It was a statement, not a question.

"It could be completely unrelated."

The Director-General returned his attention to his deputy, smearing him with a gaze of scornful disappointment. "At this stage, everything is related, Montague. And it is imperative that we know how. Redouble your efforts into ascertaining what happened to the abductees; second resources from the other subjects if need be but make sure a fiasco like Istanbul doesn't happen again." He returned to face the window, and Montague took his cue to exit. "Oh, and..." the Director-General called, and the deputy pivoted; "See to it that our friend Marcus gets a healthy stimulus package this month. We need to keep him afloat for a little while longer."

Montague bowed curtly and continued out as the Director-General turned back toward the open sky. By all means, let them Rise... He wouldn't be much of an audience without actors to entertain.


Man, conspiracies make me thirsty.

Stowing the sheet safely away lest wandering eyes lead idle fingers to inject unwarranted artistic adaptations, I strode down to the canteen for a top-up. I ran into my colleague in the hall on the way back. "How's the book coming?"

"How'd you know I'm writing right now? I could be doing anything; I could even be working!"

"No, you couldn't."

"No, I couldn't."

"Plus you're holding a mug of cocoa, presumably procured from the mess, whereas when you bring a thermos you use the included cup and make it last throughout the day, suggesting both that you need a stimulant and that it's only intended to last a short while. Given your current hobby, I thus conclude you're writing."

"Well aren't you just the keen police dog," I grinned, leaning back against the wall. "I dunno," I sighed, gently stirring the drink with the included spoon, "I think I might be stretching myself too far. I'm trying to fit everything together and it's starting to get a bit unwieldy."

"Didn't you ask your team for help?"

"Eh, they were good for one or two sessions, now it's 'hey-Sarge-you-should-totally-add-this-idea!' I've already got my hands full trying to piece together the other contributors', and now I feel like the stakes are ramping up too fast. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not expecting an actual novel out of this, but the plot's bouncing around from one crisis to the next like a pinball."

Frowning, he asked: "Have you ever considered forgetting about doing everyone else's work and writing a story about what interests you?"

"Sure, but then I'm right back to when I started this." We stood in silence for a while, I gently sipping from the mug, still too hot to manage more than a few minute laps. I stared out the window, spreading the chocolatey ecstasy across my gums. "I've been thinking," I began.

"Always an ominous three words."

"About werewolves."

"And there goes my sleep tonight."

"No, seriously." I shrugged myself back onto my feet. "Y'know how in 'contemporary' stories lycanthropy is transmitted through bodily fluids, usually blood? Guy gets bitten, receives the wrong transfusion, doesn't wash his hands before ordering KFC... I think we're overlooking a very important, and very common transmission vector." His face was stone as I grinned conspiratorially; I struck a pose like a carnival barker, declaring: "Mosquitoes."

He blinked, expression returning to wary befuddlement.

"Think about it! Vampire bugs carry a bajillion different diseases and go after just about anything that pumps red blood. Plus they can carry it for like a week, outside the traditional parameters of the lunar cycle. College girl is out at a barbeque with friends, it's early evening, gets a few bug bites... A month later she's feeling, like, totally uncool, grows fur out of her armpits, and before she knows it—BAM!" my arms flew so fast I nearly spilled my drink; "She's head cheerleader for Big Wolf on Campus."

My comrade stared at me with gaping-mouthed incredulity, no doubt astounded I'd managed to carry a single train of thought through such a convoluted tunnel—I MEAN HE WAS IN AWE OF MY GENIUS.

"And the best part?" I whispered, making my best Peter Lorre face, "No-one would ever know how they'd got it. I dunno about you, but from now on I'm not leaving the barracks without five layers of bug repellant."

"You're not throwing werewolves into this," he said at last, more a command than a request.

"But they're the only way to stop the space cats!" I grinned, perhaps too enthusiastically given my previous arguments with the men over certain fandoms. "Everyone else has a mortal enemy! Well I mean sure, technically you could say everyone's against the Risen, but in the intermediary—"

"Oh, so now they're the villains?" he interjected with an accusatory smirk.

"Nnnnot necessarily," I backpedalled, "It could always be the usual cosmopolitical power-plays and they reconcile their misunderstandings in time to confront the real villain. I mean, if you're worried I might butcher the mythos, I'm always happy to take on a research consultant..." I struck as innocent a pose as my reputation allowed, batting my eyelashes.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline the offer. Some of us actually work here."

"Besides," I said, a hint more seriously, "You know how those social justice warriors operate. Either my plot arsenal swings both dog and cat or I get landed with charges of fantastic racism. And remember, I have ♬ pre-ce-deeent! ♪"

He shuddered, visibly vexed. "I never thought I'd say this," he muttered after a moment as he began to press on down the hall, "But for now, stick to France."

I'm confused about the rules of this thread- do we make one continuous story, a kind of collaboration with the other authors, or this is a one person writes their own story independent of everyone else?

We're all writing our own stories, which are set within the same universe. Think of it like a comic book universe, a la Marvel or DC.

Le sub post of DOOM!

In all seriousness, I'll probably submit something to this soon. I can just post it without doing anything special, if I understand correctly?

That's how I understand it. Just post it and add it to the chaotic mess we already have.

I decided it was about time I got in on this, so here's my contribution...

********************************************

"Ow....."

The person started to get up and rubbed the part of his forehead that had hit the ground when he tripped. It felt sore and it looked like it had bled a bit, but it didn't seem too bad- it did hurt quite a bit, though. He checked his pockets to make sure nothing had fallen out of them. Satisfied that nothing had, he then looked down at the small box he was carrying, and that he'd dropped when he tripped- it seemed he'd squished it a bit. He decided to open up the box and check on the contents, hoping they were alright, but he was doubting it.

"Aw, man...."

Sure enough, the sandwich that was in the box had been squished as a result of his fall, and a fair amount of the things between the bread had been squished out onto the insides of the box.

*sigh* "Well, at least it's still edible..."

Feeling a bit hungry, he decided to grab some of the bits of the sandwich and attempt to fill it back together a bit- and then, after that was only about 47% successful, just ate some of the former inside of the sandwich. It seemed to calm his stomach down a bit, and his head wasn't spinning to the same extent as it was.

Truth be told, though, he wasn't sure how much he actually wanted the sandwich or just wanted a break/distraction from studying for his final tomorrow on... what was it again? Francosphere ********sm's Forces of Food or something?

"Wait, what? That doesn't make any sense... Why the hell would I take a class like that? Did ANY of my classes contain even one of those words or is my head still hurting from hitting the ground so hardly?

And why am I suddenly thinking in alliterations?"

He decided to put his sandwich back in the box and continue walking back to his dorm- hopefully, his head would calm down a bit and he'd be able to get back to doing... whatever it was he was doing.

As he stood up, something on the ground caught his eye, so he decided to pick it up and take a look at it.

It was... kind of hard to describe. It was pretty shiny, and seemed to have a weird assortment of colors moving around on it like a holograph- but he could almost swear he didn't have to move the object around to see the colors moving. It also seemed like it was hard to see the edges of the... well, it looked like a key.

"Eh, probably is a key that somehow has holographic colors and my head is just messing with me. Must have hurt it more than I thought..."

He decided to put it in his pocket, and take it to the university's Lost and Found tomorrow, or something.

A few minutes later, he reached the entrance to his dorm, not encountering anyone else on the way- unsurprising, considering it was fairly late at night. The dorm's lobby also seemed deserted, other than a girl who looked like she was waiting for an elevator. He went over to also wait for an elevator.

"So, what floor are you heading to? I'm heading to the 10th," she said."

"Same here."

"Cool, I-" she suddenly stopped talking and made a grimace as she faced the guy beside her.

"Dude, what happened to your forehead? It's, like, covered in blood!"

"...Is it really that bad? I tripped and hit it on the ground a few minutes ago, but it didn't feel like there was that much blood..."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

They heard a "ding" signifying the arrival of the elevator... about damn time... and got on, and hit the "10" button.

"Here," she said, pulling a mirror out of the bag she was carrying, "Take a look."

The girl's description of his forehead being "covered in blood" was fairly accurate- the cut on his forehead itself didn't appear that big, but it looked like a fair amount of blood had come from it, although it wasn't bleeding at the moment. Looked like it had been doing it for a while, too- his forehead had a lot of mostly dry blood on it.

"Damn... it sure didn't feel that bloody when I touched it. It couldn't have bled and then dried that much that quickly, could it? I was only down for... for... well, it only felt like a few seconds..."

"Maybe it knocked you out for a little while, or something?"

"Could have happened... Can you tell me what time it is right now? I forgot my phone in my room when I went to go get this sandwich. And, uh, just so I know nothing really freaky has happened, it IS Thursday, December 4, 2014, right?"

She pulled out her phone while saying, "Yeah, you've got the date right... oh wait," she said, after getting a look at the clock on her phone, "Looks like it's the 5th now. Clock just hit midnight."

He thought for a second, then said "I know it was around 11:30 when I left the sandwich place, and it couldn't have taken me more than 15 minutes to walk back here... 20, at the very most... Wow, I was out for at least 10 minutes, probably more, then. And for some reason I can't remember it..."

"Dude, you probably have, like, a concussion or something. You should seriously get that checked out, like, as soon as possible."

"Yeah, probably. With my noted lack of money, though, I'm not sure if I can really afford an emergency room trip right now, and I'm pretty sure I have a stupid final stupid early tomorrow, so I'll probably just wait and see how I'm feeling..."

"If you're not completely sure when you have your stupid finals, your head might be a bit screwed up from that fall... do you think you can safely fall asleep? Can't, like, sleeping right after a head injury put you in a coma or something?"

"I think it kind of depends on the injury, I don't think I'm at risk for that, but I'm not really sure how serious this one is yet..."

"Well, if you're not going to see a doctor before going to sleep, you can at least get someone to watch you for a bit and make sure you can still get back up, can't you?"

"Probably not, pretty much everyone else is done with their finals for this semester and left for break already, both of my roommates included. Lucky bastards..."

"I'm still here..."

"Oh... uh... well... if you want to make sure my head's okay enough to not fall into a coma or something..."

The elevator dinged again, signalling that it had reached the 10th floor, after what seemed like an amount of time that was way longer than what it should have taken to reach the 10th floor.

"Well, yeah," she said, "I think it would really suck if you couldn't wake up tomorrow."

"Uh, thanks, I guess, uh... what's your name?"

"I'm Melanie. And you?"

"There are those who call me... Timmy."

"Really? Monty Python and the Holy Grail references are waaaaaaaaay overdone, dude."

Timmy thought about coming up with a fourth-wall-breaking-line blaming the writer writing tired dialogue, but ultimately decided that this story wasn't one that needed fourth wall breaks. Wait, but wasn't this a fourth wall break? What story are we thinking about? Stupid head injury...

Timmy and Melanie headed to the nearest bathroom and washed the blood off Timmy's head in the sink. It was dry enough to make that a bit hard to do, but they got it all off after a few minutes. Timmy decided to take a look at the cut again in the mirror over the sink.

"Well, at least the cut isn't that bad... smaller than I thought actually, although there's a bit of discoloration and bruising around it. I could probably cover at least the cut part of it with one band-aid," said Timmy.

They left the bathroom and headed over to Timmy's room.

"Yeah, well, still, with your prolonged unconsciousness and memory issues, I should probably stay with you for a bit and make sure you don't like, die or fall into a coma or something," said Melanie.

"Fine by me..." Timmy said, while thinking something along the lines of 'I should hurt my head more often if it means a girl will spend a night with me...' He then started to unlock the door.

"Dude, that's a seriously cool-looking key!" said Melanie, "How did you get it to do that... holograph color thingy?"

"Huh?" Timmy didn't think his key did anything particularly interesting, but upon looking at it, he noticed that, in either absent-mindedness or head-injury-cloudiness, he hadn't pulled out his key- he'd pulled out the thing he'd found on the ground.

"This... This isn't my key, I just found it on the ground right after I fell. I don't think it belongs to either of my roommates, either... why the hell does it fit in my door?"

"Maybe it's like... a master key, or something, and it unlocks some of doors in this building?"

"Yeah... I guess that must be it... Why would a key that opens a bunch of dorm rooms look so... weird, though? I didn't even know you could make a holographic key, and it's not really a holograph like I've ever seen...

...Oh, whatever, I'll worry about it some other time."

He turned the key until he heard a click signifying the door had unlocked, and pushed it open.

Then he stood back a bit, a shocked expression on his face.

Melanie had a similar reaction to what was on the other side of the door, and after a second of seeing it, they simultaneously uttered the same thing.

"Holy sh-"