Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.


February 2018

Silent Dreams

In my silent dreams,

I’m still waiting for you there,

But you don’t know me.


I reached out for you,

Already it’s far too late,

I should be there now.


I know I failed you,

It’s dark when I close my eyes,

You’re not there now.


TOTCB Chapter 15 ‘Half a Person’

Ok back again for that stuff, I do.

So on the plus side being banned on facebook for another thirty days does do away with a lot of the distractions I suffer which coupled with the intense tiredness associated with getting back into weightlifting is nothing too dissimilar from a literal handicap haha. Just half awake scrolling and scrolling forever haha.

It’s better that I do something vaguely productive despite feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck everyday. I went pretty heavy when I started up again, went straight to the eighty pound bar bell for the chest press which I don’t regret, if anyone hasn’t tried weight lifting or any good excercise, it really is like a drug. My drugs of choice are chocolate, coffee and excercise and I’m trying to cut back on the coffee.

Updates, updates, get down to business, get things right in my head. Still don’t have the finished edited copy of this which is infuriating and I’ve emailed and emailed and emailed and it’s getting me absolutely nowhere.

Also I realised I fucked up with the editing of Diana after Dark, because I did some story tweaks changing one of the characters so they’d be more integral to the story in later manifestations but I sent the old version so I had a minor freakout about that but hopefully it’s all fixed, Chrissy, my new editor seemed to take it in stride and it really put my mind at ease. But really what a fucking rookie mistake, changing it and forgetting to label it correctly, fuck me I feel dumb.

Anyway it’s going forward and recently it’s been a slog with all the weightlifting death feelings but I’ve working my way through the plans for the sequel to Diana after Dark and it’s going really well. I’m really liking the direction it’s taking. Also I decided to change Diana’s name to ‘Deedee’ for the title, so her name will still be Diana Harrison, Deedee will like be a nickname. I just think it’s cuter, its less heavy and librarianish and I think it makes for a snappier sound. Also the references to Dexter’s lab amuse me haha.

That’s about all. Just gonna spend the rest of the day editing.

See you…



On the drive home the ‘kid’ was relatively quiet, just staring out the window. Something in him seemed lighter, the weight was gone. Porter followed the highway back towards Selma and into Valhalla. As they reached the entrance he started to talk again.


“So you’re a detective?”


“Most of the time”.


“How do you get that work?”


“I got my license in a cereal box.”


He smiled and said “Cereal stopped giving away prizes long ago, I think”. Nulidad went back to staring out the window, or maybe just looking at his own reflection in the glass.


There was some activity in the sky, a black helicopter flew overhead. “I’ve got to let you out here, you know the way?”


“I know the way”


Porter stopped outside the childs play area in Valhalla park and the kid started walking. Porter did a u-turn and watched the kid disappear around the corner.



The next day he was all over the news, videos of his arrest outside of his home. The boy now a man was bundled out of a white car, held with his wrists cuffed behind his back by FBI in brown suits. He smiled at the camera, his hair turning an orange colour due to the bleaching and lights of the cameras.


The story was ‘master imposter fools his way into america, pretending to be a missing child. Fooling the fbi and even the boys parents’. They described him as a predator preying on the most vulnerable. Feeding off their hopes and fears to gain their confidence.


“It’s almost unheard of, a foreigner pretending to be a missing child fooling the boys own mother. It’s hard to even imagine it.” The news anchor said, ruffling his neat grey hair and deeply creased face. His voice ringing with faux concern and moral outrage.


Angela refused to be on camera. A tearful Peggy on her way to the sheriff’s office was stopped by reporters and cried “Where’s the real Johnny?”


Porter was sitting at the bar eating beer nuts and watching it all fall apart on the flatscreen above the bar. Patrick craned his neck with his hands on hips and every mouth was open watching. Patrick looked at Porter and Porter said nothing.


The phone rang in the back and Patrick slapped his bar clothe down and went to go get it. Only to come back a few seconds later. “Its for you, some FBI woman wants to talk to you about ears or some such nonsense.”


Porter went around the back feeling a little smug but keeping it off his face and out of his voice. “Hello”


“Porter Carraway, this is Special Agent-“


“-Nancy Jaeger, yeah I remember, can we get to the point?”


“Which is what?”


“Say it”


“What, you were right?”


“Not in so many words”


“We have him, but it’s not over and I think you know that better than anyone.”


“…” Porter started counting his teeth with his tongue.


“He’s been talking, a lot, about the real Johnny. What he thinks happened to him, he’s implicated the kids parents and someone named ‘Jack’. We’re having trouble tracking him down for an interview”


“Did you question his mother?”


“We did, she passed a polygraph twice?”


“And the third time?”


Nancy exhaled into the receiver and smiled “She failed, on every question. The needle almost jumped off the table.”


“Uh huh, what happened after that?”


“She didn’t take it well, the poligrapher confronted her and she stormed out the room screaming.”


“So you’ve got nothing.”


“Less than nothing. Poligraphs are a cheap parlor trick to convince juries but they’re not solid evidence.”


“Ok, now get to the part where I do you a favour”


“He’s saying a lot, too much. He’s claiming to have information on several missing person’s cases. And he’s already been caught using his phone calls to impersonate other missing children. He’s a compulsive liar and fraud, there’s not a jury on earth that would take anything he said seriously”.


“But you believe him? About the boy.”


“I have my suspicions, but I’m too caught up in all this to shift focus on finding the real Johnny to do anything about it. If I try to shift focus onto the parents now without any evidence they’ll give the case to someone else. I have to be nailing Nulidad to the wall or the case falls apart.”


Porter breathed in deep and thought about it.


“Do you understand?”


“Yeah” Porter said as he hung up the phone and then picked it up again and started dialing.



Porter parked outside their old house on Swallow street. It was a bright Texas morning. He set off after breakfast and sat for a moment thinking and getting hot in the cab with the air conditioner off. The house looked the same as last time, the only difference was there was a black Jeep pickup outside.


After a moment of hesitation he opened the door and stepped out shutting the door hard. He walked up the driveway to that small white garage door. Crossing the round the stone footpath onto the porch and he rang the doorbell like last time.


Like last time the drapes were pulled and he couldn’t see inside.


He waited, there was some rummaging happening behind the door. Before long a figure appeared through the white lattice window in the door.


“What d’ya want?”


“We spoke on the phone.”


“Oh yeah.” He said letting the sound of the door unbolting be a full stop. Then the clinking of the chain being taken off. A large man around six feet, well built with a gut of a long distance truck driver sood in the doorway. He had a rough short beard and a shaved head but otherwise a friendly face and an affable demeanor. “Hey hows it going?” He put his hand out to shake and Porter took it. “Sorry about that, we get a lot of salesmen around here, you know what I mean, please come in.” The large man let go of Porter’s hand stepped to the side to invite him in. He was wearing a generic white tee and sweat pants.


“Darrol was it?”


Porter entered a small living room from the front door. A black coach pushed up against the wall. Through an alcove in the same wall he saw the dining room with a ceiling fan spinning. A screen doors lead onto the back yard.


The large man then sped up past him and lead him into the dining room furnished in a sandy wood. There was a table and some cabinets with books and dvds and a small tv poking out of one of the gaps in the dresser.


“Darren” The man corrected. “how did you get my number again?”


“Your realtor was real chatty, I just had some questions to ask you”.


“About that case right? I saw it on the news about the missing boy. He used to live here? Had reporters buzzing around here wanting to look around but I really don’t know anything, how could I?”


“You said something about a black tarp on the phone”


Darren opened the screen door and walked out into his yard and Porter followed him. The yard was relatively small slightly overgrown but otherwise well kept. Bushes and trees lining the outer edges and a fence running all the way around.


“When we first got my dog Bernie, he would always dig in the back corner”. Darren pointed off to the right back corner of his yard. Where the back fence met an overgrown bush that leaned over into his yard was choking a small maple tree. “over by that tree there, and one day I was mowing, and I sort of went under the bush a little. And I started picking up some of this plastic like tarp, got all clogged in the blades of the mower.”


He looked over at Porter to make sure he was hanging on his every word and he was.


“And I stop the mower and I find where it’s coming from and it’s this black plastic coming out of the ground.” Darren gestured with his hands like the dead were reaching out of the ground. He turned to Porter and he was nodding. “So I tried to pull it out from under the bush” Darren mimed the action of pulling the plastic out of the ground. “But as I kept trying to pull it, it just kept coming off in my hands, I couldn’t get a grip on it.” He sucked his gums and put his hands on his hips. “So I got fed up of that and I just covered it up and never paid it any mind until last night when we were talking on the phone.”


Porter inhaled some fresh cool air and rocked his head back and forth looking at the overgrown bush. “That bush has been there a while, you didn’t plant that?”


“No sir, that was here when we moved in.”


“Your wife home?”


“No she’s at work, she works at the hospital, she’s a nurse practitioner, she wont be back til about six maybe later.”






“You got a shovel?”



They migrated to the bottom of the yard. Darren did in fact have a shovel but he didn’t want some stranger digging up his lawn so the compromise was a trowl. Instead of clipping back the hedges. Darren would hold it up while Porter probed the ground with the trowel.


“Yeah it was right about there, I think, it was a good couple years ago when I found it.”


Porter knelt down, he’d tossed his jacket over the side of the fence and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He started gently prodding the earth with the trowl kneading it like dry dough. Only after a minute of this did he feel any resistance and he could hear a crinkling sound. He started to pry and dust the dirt off just enough not to irritate Darren too much.


He managed to get a good chuck levered out with the trowl. From what he could see under the bush, there was something taking in some light. A dull plastic tarp nevertheless caught some of the light and was throwing it back.


Darren watched with a morbid curiosity. He struggled the keep the bush out of the way like wrestling an octopus. Porter looked up at him, on his knees in the dirt. He made a sucking sound and looked to Darren for some tacit permission.


Darren was getting tired and he nodded furiously out of his own sudden desire to know more. Porter started to dig a little more. Gently removing a few more layers of dirt until more of the tarp was exposed and he could see a seam and more.


It seemed cliché and dreamlike, predictable, so predictable it was almost laughably. It was stupid really, like an episode of murder she wrote, but there it was lying on the ground.


A bone.


“What is that? A bone? Is it like a dog bone?” Darren said nervously praying that he was right.


Porter pryed the tarp open revealing more of the bone, it was long and white and discoloured. “I’m no expert”.


“But can you make a guess? I mean come on man, did my dog put that there or what?”


“I can make a lot of guesses, none of them any good. But I can be sure your dog didn’t wrap it up in a tarp before he buried it.”


He moved it with the trowl to get a better look at it, catch more light.


“It’s human aint it?”


“Seems that way” Porter sighed “Ah I dunno” he said as he rolled back onto his heels and dusted himself off.


“So what does it mean? Is that the kid, was he here all along? Oh jesus help me!”


Porter sighed, something prickly crawling up his back and was breathing down his neck.


“No, I don’t think so”


“Wait what d’ya mean, who else could it be? You don’t think it’s the kid’s?”


“It looks like a femur, a leg bone.”


“Yeah so?”


“It’s too long to be a kid’s”.


“Oh jesus, then who?”


Porter sighed and gritted his teeth with his lips tightly pursed.


“I have no idea.”


“Well what the hell do I do with it? I should go to the police?” He said like he didn’t really want to.


“Sit on it for now, you don’t want the cops digging up your lawn with a back hoe over what could just be a dead dog”.



Porter stopped at a gas station the first chance he got to use the phone.


He lit a cigarette leaning out of the booth listening to it ring.


It clicked on, a tense woman’s voice answered.




“Jaeger, it’s Porter. I had a visit with the guy who moved into their old house.”


“And? Did you find anything?”


“There was nothing in the house but we found something in the garden, buried under a black tarp.”


“Oh jesus you found him?”


“Not so sure, can’t guarantee it’s even human, just bones but from what I can tell it looks too developed to be a kid”


“I told you, my hands are tied right now. I can’t touch whatever it is you’re doing and I can’t send forensics to some guys house on your say so.”


“So what can you do?” There was a challenge in his voice.


“He called me, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day but your friend said you were out and you don’t carry a cellphone.”






“And what did Mr ‘Long-chain-on’ have to say for himself?”


“I asked if he’d come in for questioning and he refused. Apparently he didn’t believe from the start that Nulidad was his brother. But didn’t want to say anything to upset his mother.”




“And then nothing”.


“Do you know where?” Porter sighed.


Nancy sighed and there was a sound like someone rubbing their temples. The clicking of plastic as the phone was moved between hands.


“I looked into his records and there’s an address of a rehab clinic he spent some time at. It’s possible they might know where he stays, it’s on Calebra, West San Antonio.”


Porter paused and took a breath.


“So I go there and I find out where this guy hangs out and then what?”


“If you find him. Call it in as an anonymous tip related to drug offenses and we’ll have him picked up and questioned, that’s all”.


“First, tell me”


“Tell you what?”


“What you think”


“You wanna know what I think? I think they know where their son is”. She paused and put her hand over the receiver for a second. She came back on with a rustling sound as she took her hand away. “I don’t believe a mother could not know her only son for a stranger, not in a million years.”


Porter let out a breath and then sucked on his gums before saying “I’ll let you know” and hanging up.

DDD Chapter 8 ‘Love in High Places’

Hows it going bros?

Felt like copying pewdiepie since I’ve taken up a new hobby of watching people play walking simulator games, saving me time and money haha. People who pay for that shit are retarded, Outlast is basically condemned without any gameplay or worthwhile story at all. You just run around and hide and look for maguffins until something kills you and rinse and repeat. So I’ll happily watch someone else do that while I play something worth my time like Kingdom Come which I plan to review and Elite Dangerous which I plan to play into my eighties, if I live that long.

Feeling a little low energy this morning because I started lifting weights again and it feels like my body is trying to eat itself. I ate my body weight in meat and eggs this morning and I still feel lethargic as fuck. Gonna invest in some whey protein powder see if I can perk myself up a little and chase dem gains bruh.

On top of that I got banned on facebook again this time for a spongebob gas chamber meme haha. Pictured below.


I don’t even remember what it was in response to, some poz shit I saw on facebook, I mean it’s so full of poz shit. You can’t turn your head on fb without seeing a little boy wearing make up or becoming a drag queen or some heartfelt appeal to let migrants crawl inside your body and take your guns haha.

I really just hope facebook crashes and burns I mean I know I was trying to be offensive with the meme but seriously, this is just ridiculous. Eventually facebook is just gonna go full 1984 and ban any words even remotely connoting negativity and people will end up saying “minus good, ungood, double plus good”. All they do is shrink the ways we can express ourselves about gas chambers until we can’t even think about gas chambers and then we find all we want to think about is gas chambers and then we’re in the gas chambers haha!

Makes perfect sense haha.

Censorship is fucking bullshit, unless it’s to keep like poz away from kids, kids should not know what drag queens or know anything about gay stuff until they’re old enough to understand it. It’s just messed up man, I didn’t even know what drag queens were when I was a kid. How can a kid be something he doesn’t even know exists? There’s a reason we don’t tell kids about this stuff, because they’re impressionable and they don’t know what’s best for them.

That’s why it’s so subversive to have these shows that are about low level degeneracy like that drag race show, because you’ve got like these weird liberal parents letting their kids watch it. And kids just wanna emulate everything their parents like. We really need to have some standard of decency when it comes to kids and adults.

Kinda just rambling because my brain feels like pancake batter right now.

A little bummed out because it seems to be really over for me and my babymama, I guess we just turned a corner in our loathing for eachother, and in a way I don’t feel sad because if it can break so easily, without even trying is it really worth having? Is something so fragile really worth being so broken up about?

I dunno, I just miss the little one, really badly.

Maybe I should kill myself haha.

See you…

Diana After Dark


I did as I was told. What else could I do? I don’t seem to remember a montage of ninja training in my backstory, no secret swat teams backing me up, rappelling down the roof as we speak. My one and only knight in shining armour was probably on the other side of town with a hangover. And here I was making little jokes to myself when my head was probably going to be decorating my own mantle in a matter of minutes. Goodbye cruel world, we were going to have so much fun together.


I walked gingerly into the living room with the air of someone who’s hand was permanently glued into the cookie jar. The proverbial curious cat about to meet a sticky end.


It was dark, because of course it was, how else to set a mood. I couldn’t see a thing, completely pitch. But I felt a wave come over me, a sibilant ring from the dark back seat driver. A cold feeling at the back of my neck I assumed wasn’t the kiss of a channel number five lipstick but the barrel of a gun.


A hushed voice with a slight Latin twang told me to walk closer and as my eye adjusted I saw my aunt. Silent and solemn on her knees in front of the couch in our living room. She wasn’t making a noise. Her head hung like she was Marie Antoinette awaiting the headman’s axe with a cloistered dignity as if she were about to let her captures eat cake. I hope they choke on it.




Then it struck me, the gun at my neck was still there and there was another, a knife, a knife at my aunts neck. There were two of them, two killers. That made it a lot easier to lug all those parts I imagined.


“What now Cuz?” The gun at my neck croaked with a boyish whisper.


“We do them here, no witnesses, the older bitch is yours, I’m gonna take my time with this one”. The voice I recognised said.


Hi Antoine, great party last night.


He dropped my aunt, the knife coming away from her neck, something deep inside told me that was good. She was still and stoic, taking on the doer nature of a good martyr, no tears just a distant and tacit acceptance. A cold detachment to the earthly realm.


The gun at my neck came around my side and Ruez got close enough so I could smell his breathe.


“I bet you thought that was pretty funny, me all tied up like that, naked. I bet it made you feel really –  powerful.” He smiled in the dark but I could see the odd white tooth and feel the knife twist under my chin but I wasn’t afraid, there was something else. A shiver of cool excitement rising up from the darkness. The black gently shifting building silently beneath the waves trying to tell me what? ‘I told you so’. “How do you feel now uh?”


“I-“ I was rudely interrupted by a crash of glass. The room almost turned red with their fear, their shock. Their perfect bubble burst by some idle cat burglar or maybe my neighbour Gary got carried away showing someone his backswing.


“Go check it out” Ruez whispered.


“Why me?” The younger boy croaked.


“Because I said so” Ruez hissed. Turning his head to spit on our nice carpet, yuck.


“Fuck me man” The younger voice said as he tiptoed out of the room.


He got close again, his breathing rising and falling on my face. “I bet you’re wondering how I found you. It wasn’t the phone-“ He stopped, breathing heavily as if he wanted me to ask. Wanted me to play some guessing game. I just looked at my aunt. There was something strange about her, something unsettling. She said nothing, looked at nothing, like she expected this, like she was already dead. Like she’d been waiting for this the whole time. “My cousin Emillio, he goes to your school, aint that a trip? I described you and he knew right away who you were, I think he must have some kind of crush on you.” He laughed. “Maybe I should let him drill you when he comes back, maybe we’ll take turns before we mount your head like you did my boys.”


School, it didn’t even cross my mind. All the faces in the crowd, blending together. So hard to pick one out, one looking at me, seeing me, waiting, watching. That was the last place I should have let my guard down but I did. Probably sat behind me for years and we wouldn’t have exchanged a Qué pasa? I guess my Spanish is getting better.


I was surprised, no silent alarm from the dark watcher, no ring on the black bat phone? A distant sibilant chuckle fading in and out. An unintelligible whisper, a game of hide and seek. Oh you were playing possum. I’m being punished, for what? What did I do? Dreadfully dim Diana didn’t do anything wrong. That was exactly the point. I was being punished for being a goodie two shoes.


What now?


“I know you didn’t do all that alone, little girl like you had help.” He was breathing heavily now, looking around, feeling darkness coming soaking into his flesh, getting closer. He got close, putting the knife against my throat “Who you working for huh? The Diaz brothers? They closing in on my turf? Tell and I’ll only cut off on ear and leave your pretty face alone, how bout that?”


Another crashing noise coming from the kitchen, the sound of a muffled breath and a deeply disconcerting thud.


“Hey Emillio, hurry your ass up!” He whispered harshly into the dark empty hallway.


“Maybe he tripped, it’s pretty dark”


“Shut up!”


“You should go check on it, maybe he grazed his knee”


“I said shut up” He hit me with the base of the knife and the room shook, a pulse of pain radiating down through my neck and shoulders. I felt my knees buckle and I started to feel nauseous almost instantly.


My vision fading in and out and I see something, I feel something, I can see right through him, the animal roar. The shrill cry of whatever it is inside him, that’s like me but not like me. Sending vicious feral war cries out in answer.


Two shadows stretch and cross but then another, deeper darkness swallows them both. Eclipses them, blots them out, fills the room with a deep impenetrably darkness thicker than ink and tar and I feel my knees wobble and he feels it too.


“Emillio, what took you so long man?”


Emillio stands in the door way, doing the strong silent type thing as I feel the room shaking around me, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. The eye of the hurricane tossing my little world up into the stars as I try to hold on for dear life. I’m falling pulling at Ruez, trying to stop the room spinning, just keep still, can he feel it?


“Talk to me man – get off me, crazy bitch” He throws me to the ground.


I spread my fingers out on the carpet praying for this feeling to stop, the pressure inside building. The cry of the dark thing inside growing louder and louder, telling me to watch.


“What the fuck, say something, you’re freakin’ me out, man”


He strides to the door and then he feels it, the pressure, the animal fear, the dagger intent, the murder dripping from the walls, but it’s too late. I hear the rustling of dark wings unfurling, spreading across the walls casting a shadow darker than pitch. The thing inside Ruez, I see spark for a moment, turning its ears up like a mouse just before the owl swoops.


I can see it in the corner of my eye but moreover I feel it, I have sonar, echo location. I can see the whole room like it was a water colour, every pixel laid out in front of me in stark detail. The darkness like a piece of pin art, it’s solid, I can touch it.


I’m crawling, I see the knife. The figure at the door is slow, like he’s moving in water, but I can’t seem to get out of the way, Ruez is frozen, the knife in his hand at the end of a long tunnel. It takes forever for the signal in his brain to cross the lake of circling sharks and tell him that’s exactly what he needs. His movements slow and shambolic. He lifts the knife as if he were conducting an orchestra raising the point not knowing where exactly he wants to put it or if there is even a place for it. The shadows surround the man at the door, bind him, make an armour, a shield. He’s riding them, flowing on them, I want to cover my eyes and ears, if I could, if I thought it would keep the screaming out. The dark fires lapping at me, the blinding black light.


The man at the door was a dark god cutting through the air. His movements slow and powerful, uncaring, unfeeling, unwavering. He passes Ruez like he was made of spider webs. Passes through him like he wasn’t even there, like he was a memory, a ghost, a far gone conclusion, a sentence waiting for a full stop. Cutting him once across the neck with an effortless flourish, an afterthought someone else’s mess cleaned up, my mess.


His head drops to the floor and rolls towards me and I see nothing in his eyes. A voided emptiness, a perfect mirror of my own.


I look up, I try to look at him but his face is blank, a mask or something else. I feel it rising, the part of me deep down, screaming and laughing, I can’t tell if this is the end or the beginning. A triumphant cavalry cry or the last gasp of a dying lizard about to have its head crushed under a desert rock.


I can’t take it anymore, the crushing pressure, the blackness folding over me, getting heavier and heavier. I feel myself letting go, a giddiness and a drowsiness, I can’t keep my eyes open. The rattling thing inside tells me it’s ok that I can sleep.


I hear a muffled scratching noise and a voice too close to my ear say “You see it now?”


A sharp scratching sensation and then at my neck, and then nothing but sweet black nothingness.


-A sound like dripping water, things coming into focus.


“Wake up wake up”. A little boys voice says.


A little girls voice says “Look what you did”.


“It wasn’t my fault, he made me do it,”


“Made you do what?” A low hushed voice said.


I felt a swimming heady feeling and my eyes roll back in my skull, I felt groggy, my head full of silt and naughty pictures of what could and what had been. The light was on and it peaked through the crack in my eye. It was bright and burned.


“Diana?” The voice said again. Then I felt it on my skin, that cold implement pressed unfeeling, clamped on my wrist. Completely alien, unaware entirely of its own weight and the pressure it applied, or the shock it delivered. Every trip to the gynaecologist thrust back into my mind.


I hissed away from the shock of the cold and the static and the fear of familiarity. Freddy Krueger leaping out of my dream about to give me a shiatsu with a happy ending.


I crawled into a corner of the couch I’d been laid on and looked around like a cornered animal. Hiding my eyes from the harsh light, trying to catch glimpses of the person talking. Of course I knew who it was but my brain seems to like surprises.


“What are you doing here? Where’s my aunt?” I croaked out.


“Your aunt is in the kitchen- she’s alright” The man said with the cool brisk calm of an EMT. As if holding the good news hostage for greater effect. A scary feeling a pause can make, the power it can hold.


It was the man from the Starbucks, in what I could only assume was my living room bleached almost white from the morning OC sun and every light in the house. I couldn’t see his face, the light was too bright but who else could it be?


The wheelchair and the cold metal grip.


“Are you alright?” He spoke softly this time, like he was talking to a child. His whiskey scarred throat made his words sound like they passed through a dirty coffee filter to get to my nice clean ears.


Good question, am I alright? I looked about myself, everything seemed to be attached. I wasn’t looking at the inside of a burlap sack, I got the crap stung out of me by mosquitos though, California man.


But other than feeling like an inside out gym sock I was ok, a little muggy, a little fragile but I was all there. As all there as an amateur teen psycho can get.


There was something else though, something missing.


I looked about my living room slowly moving my head with a deliberate painful tossing of heavy wet sand in my skull. Like some kid on Christmas morning with an eggnog hangover.


“What are you looking for?”


Why the ‘parts’ of course. “Err nothing, I dropped my phone, I guess.” Some blood, some sign that it wasn’t all some euphoric fever dream. The hand of god come down to swat me on the butt and then tiptoe off back into the clouds.


Anything would have been good, a toe, a blood trail, a bloody handprint on the wall. Some Poe maybe written in brains on the mirror above the TV.


But there was nothing, not a trace, not a fingernail, not a hair, not even a pillow out of place. The living room was how it always looked, unlived in and boxy in the same sandy colours as the outside of the house. A dark old TV in the corner reflected the room at an odd bevelled angle in black. Only a feint smell of cleaning products remained.


Was it all a dream? A twisted fantasy of a twisted fantasist? I wanted so badly to be in the middle of this, did I just dreamed it into existence. Created my own boogieman to toy with myself?


So then what was all this, why was he here? “Can I see my aunt?” Posed as a question it sounded strange like I was a prisoner. But I knew she would hold some shred of it if it was real. Some shard of it would be in her eyes even if she lied. There was something there I could hold onto, but maybe I wanted to believe enough that I would just see it regardless.


“Not just yet, I wanted to talk to you.” He really did sound like a councillor now. His voice was softer and his face hidden by the light made him look far less like some Halloween mask come to life on a broken scarecrow.


“Shoot” I said, probably a poor choice of words.


“Tell me what you remember about your parents” He asked like he could cross his legs and he had a clipboard.


But the question seemed to linger and suddenly I could hear a tingle of bells ringing on a line. An intruder stepping over the dark divide from the happy preppy sunshine world of Diana the day dreamer into Diana the dweller of the dark. I could hear myself swallowing, the unknowing of things suddenly a weight across my shoulders.


“They died in a car crash” Something said using my lips.


“Who told you that? Your aunt?” He asked, now intently listening behind the light. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were even open, it was just one bright blank canvas, shadow pooling in the crags and scars on his face. “Do you want to know how they really died?”


“Do I want to know?” I asked myself out loud. A sudden bobbing sinking feeling gripping me like headlights in the bright deep darkness lunging at me.


“Your father was a very- neat, man, but he got involved with a lot of – messy people” He stopped to take in a wheezing breath through his scarred nose.




“Needless to say it ended badly”




“Yes, as in your mother got her skull caved in with a baseball bat and your father drowned somewhere off the coast of Biscayne Bay, his body was never found.” I didn’t say anything but I could hear my breathing like I was in a dark tunnel alone and my pupils must have shrank. Everything thereafter sounded like I was a in a deep long empty hall. “But that’s not what made you the way you are, no that came later”


“The way I am?” My voice echoed down that long white hall.


“Don’t fuck with me, the time to fuck with me is over” He said softly like he meant it.


“Why are you telling me this? How do I know you’re-?”


“That I’m telling the truth? You don’t, you won’t ever know, not for sure but I came to you.” He was smooth and diplomatic now.


“Was it him?” There I was being dumb again.


“Wouldn’t that be nice and simple? A neat little ball” He cleared his throat and jangled around in his chair, moving the bulk of his large torso around. “No, this is a lot more –complicated.”


“Complicated” I felt like a child now, small, cradling my knees like he was some old relative about to tell me about the birds and the bees. Very very awkward.


“He was- different, neat, clean, sharp but he got careless, too caught up in himself. I helped him with a few of his ‘messes’ and he helped get me out of a few of mine – he was a good guy, when you stripped him down.” He said making a croaking noise in his throat as if unsure himself.


“I. Err”


“All said and done he would have been a good father- but it just wasn’t meant to be.” He made a sucking sound in his mouth and got lost somewhere and came back.


“My aunt, I-” I was sounder dumber by the minute, starting sentences I couldn’t finish.


“She’s not your aunt, you can stop calling her that”


“She’s not?”


“No, she’s not, it was very fuzzy after what happened, a lot of courts, a lot of foster homes a great big chuckle clusterfuck-

Your aunt, your real aunt” His face suddenly got more lines, shadow forming in the cracks, he touched his face as something like pain from an old wound danced like a devil in the cold moonlight in his mind “She’s dead.”

“When my parents died?”


“No, this came later, like I said.” He made a noise in his throat like he was getting tired of explaining something so obvious and flat to a complete dullard, Diana the dullard. He sighed “Look, I’m not doing this well, explaining it. I guess she wanted to be the ‘cool aunt’ instead of the dead eyed older sister” He said with a little mirthless chuckle. “She wanted to protect you.”


“Sister” I have a sister. What came later? “Protect me from what?”


“Half-sister on your mother’s side.” He cleared his throat and worked the ants out of his ancient pants. “After what happened I managed to pull a few strings and I buried the both of you six feet under a mountain of paperwork. No one could find you, you could be whoever you wanted to be, make a fresh start in a new town. Get away from all this mess and have a chance at something close to normal. I felt like I owed it to your father, but there was one thing I didn’t account for.”


I knew exactly what he was going to say, the little lithe fingers at the back of my neck told me, the whispering thing, the dark dancer snickered.


“You” He said pointing a shiny claw at me. “I’m not a tech savvy guy as you might expect. Not my generation. I prefer the kind of tech that needs to be oiled and cleaned every day, all this computer crap just goes over my head but not over his.” He cleared his rattle snake throat. You didn’t know it, you couldn’t know it but every blog, every post, every tweet was a red flag to someone who was looking, a bread crumb leading him closer to you.”


“Does he want to kill me?” I asked.


“If only it were that simple.” He sighed.


The next day after school instead of taking me home Paul and I had planned a little trip up into the chino hills, about a half hour drive from school. A spur of the moment kind of thing for me but something he’d apparently been eagerly awaiting to do that didn’t involve putting anything in my butt. We had everything we needed packed up into the back of his dad’s hummer.


The sun was still where it ought to be, just hanging in there, tired but ready to give us enough rope to hang ourselves with this warm afternoon.


We took the state highway through Anaheim, the traffic was delightfully manic, no one took a shot at us but no one dared. Paul’s dad’s mobile fortress of solitude could part the waves with ease. Only a semi had the chance to come out of a head on collision with anything less than a broken axle. It rocked like a boat as he over took the angry Orange county drivers on their way home from a busy day of working in paradise or just surfing. His driving was precise but with a necessary measured violence, each turn, each gear change was a tactical strike. It was really the only way to survive California traffic, squash or be squashed, of course it helped to be the biggest dog on the road.


But all the carnage outside the bottled aggression pent up from hours of staring at computer monitors. Or talking about air conditioning parts released on the commute home from the good people of Orange County wasn’t enough of a distraction for me. My head resting on one side looking out the window but not really looking at anyone. Maybe idly flipping people off as we passed which was a custom, a learned response, like an ok sign.


My mind drifting to the couch and the words of the strange old man in the wheelchair. Stored and kept and remixed a little in my head, distilling it, boiling it down to its most sweet base elements. My eyes opening and closing as the scenery drifted by through carbon canyon. The dry dusty hill covered in anaemic greenery drying out in the noonday sun.


“Your blog, or whatever it is, why did you make it?” The old man asked me.


“I don’t know, it’s just something- I needed a way-.” I stumbled, it started to feel like I was describing rubbing up against a washer dryer.


“To talk about it?” His voice was harsh and scratchy and getting scratchier. This wasn’t how I pictured telling anyone about this, had I thought about telling anyone at all. I think everyone does, everyone wants to tell eventually, they want people to see them, the real them, one way or the other.




“Why serial killers?” He asked, as if it wasn’t obvious




“I almost didn’t want it to be true, you’re the same as him.” He got uncomfortable for a second, I almost felt like I should blush. “Something inside you” He pointed the claw at his chest and said “It talks to you?”




“What does it say?”


“I doesn’t say anything”


“Well then what does it do?”


“He, it, it just makes it seem like a good idea.”






“Have you ever?”


“No” I said incredulously.


“Not even an animal”




We were rounding the dune-like sandy hills, the grass was a desert khaki colour, we had to drive around the whole park to get to the entrance on Elinvar drive.


We parked up at the end of the street and hopped out into the muggy mid-afternoon. Paul got out jangling keys without saying a word circled back around the car and opened the trunk.


 “Here grab this”. Innuendos aside, He took out a small black case and handed it to me, I took it, it was a little heavy but I ate my Wheaties this morning.


I was feeling a little giddy, maybe it was the slight elevation. The air was a little thinner and smelled different, less like people and more like dirt.


He pulled out something long and thin and hard wrapped in a piece of shamy leather and set off quickly up the trail at a medium paced stride.


“You coming” he yelled back at me, he was feeling it now for sure, all those juices flowing. Must have felt like he was straddling a camel in Baghdad with an m60 strapped to his back.


I kept up pace as we hiked further and further away from the road, getting a lot quieter as we did, only my minds wanderings to keep me entertained.


“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask her, my ‘aunt’.


“I don’t know, I just- it just seemed right.” There was something contemplative in her words. I was being shielded even now from something darker than even my imaginings and it made my heart skip thinking about what it could be. Dancing just outside my peripheral vision, gliding along the edge of a wine glass, ready to crack it and slip off. “I wanted to give you a chance. A chance to be whole”.


My aunt looked at me, her eyes welling with a cocktail of emotions all of which I couldn’t begin to understand. She was looking into my eyes knowing, and knowing that I knew she knew. That there was nothing behind them. I was empty and she’d known all along. She’d hoped and prayed but her worst fear had come true, I was a monster, a shadow, a poor reflection of a human. No different from the ones she was running from.


She burst into tears on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. All I could do was stretch out a puppet like hand and pat her head saying “There there.” Dropping my hand on her head like it was made of wood.


I couldn’t feel anything but my heart pounding and my legs chaffing lugging the case around. There was a little bit of wind coming off the coast and reaching the high-ish peaks. The empty hilly landscape stretching out now on all sides. I regretted the jean shorts this time. The brittle dry grass slashing and scratching my legs as I walked passed. The sun was slowly losing its grip on the sky, starting its shambolic descent into a watery grave. Only to rise from the dead the next day with a cock crow and a “Hey what’d I miss, no gruesome murders I hope” expression on its face.


It was warm but the breeze and the coming night gave you all the heady air you needed to feel a slight buzz. Maybe I was sharing a high.


I could feel the smile in the back of his head. Beaming like a Boy Scout heading to a magical Indian pow wow. Somewhere between that and hunting bin laden in Orange County.


When it was quiet enough, secluded enough. Far away from the road and civilisation we stopped and he set the thing in the wrappings down and unfolded it.


“You can put the case down on that rock” He said as he stood the rifle up looking it up and down. It was a regular hunting rifle, probably one of his. Just a regular wooden hand cocked hunting rifle. I guess he thought a tactical black semi-auto AR would have been too scary and most likely illegal in this super liberal state. Anything black and scary and pointy was usually banned in California, all the good it did.


I watched as he patted it fondly, cocking and shouldering it, looking down the iron sights.


I set the case down on the rock and opened it. Inside was a four pistols of varying calibre, don’t ask me what they were, I’m a girl. One was a revolver, I knew that much. There were two like that one out of the matrix and then another. And a little one that looked like the one James bond uses but a little more boxy.


“Pick one and we’ll start.” He was walking over by another rock about fifteen feet away from the spot he put out the mat that had wrapped the rifle. Now spread out like a picnic blanket. And I forgot to make sandwiches.


He set up a can of diet coke on a rock, I hasten to think where he found it, only fat girls drink diet coke. I like water, of the mineral variety, the mineral being steel from the faucet. But what about the fluoride in the water turning the ‘friggin’ frogs gay Diana’? I’m not that type of crazy. Sadly.

Wonderwoman (Kinda, not really savage)

So I watched this movie recently, no I don’t pay to watch comic book movies unless I have to, I mean they’re all the same, they’re garbage, they’re nice looking dolled up garbage and no and then you get a good one like Logan and at a stretch Deadpool (totally over rated imo, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it). But these movies are always the exception to the rule. The bulk of comic movies have become this stale mass marketed pile of shit and you disagree with me meet me behind the bike sheds after school and I’ll make you eat that fucking flash t-shirt.

I thought it would be kind of funny to review this because I watched Justice League over christmas and I was just like ‘eh’ and then all this hype around black panther being this fucking amazing movie no one is allowed to criticise because ‘muh racism’.

So I watched Wonderwoman recently and it was ok.
Thanks for checking in folks, same time next week.

No so seriously, I thought it was passable, it had everything you need from a comic book movie, bit of action, bit of story, bit of romance, a bit of drama. It felt like a solid movie with decent villains, Diana is kind of boring but I mean you can’t have everything. It felt a little like the first captain america movie I guess.

What I’m saying was it was enjoyable but unremarkable, it shines only as much as penny can in a pile of horseshit that is comic book movies. It’s the best modern dc comic book movie meaning it didn’t piss and shit itself and start crying as soon as it got out on stage.

It held together, it had a cogent plot, with decent actors and decent heroes and decent villains. It wasn’t a total tonal, narrative mess like the others. It wasn’t boring and over morouse and dark a la Schneider, it was sort of fun and light without being too cheesey.

It worked and I think Chris Pine did a great job distracting from the fact that Wonderwoman is probably the most boring Dc hero. She literally has no personality but ‘Kill aries’ or ‘I’m a fish out of water’ the whole movie. But I liked the fish out of water stuff, the romance was nice and didn’t feel horse shoed in, it felt very natural and not too cringey.

The setting was really good also, I don’t know who thought about using world war one but that was a great idea in terms of pulling it out of the generic sludge of comic book movie doldrums.

But as I said, all in all it was just an ok movie, if you would compare it to the Nolan Batman movies, it’s luke warm at best but compared to the Schneider stuff it’s really the only thing going for DC right now.

Still my advice to Marvel and DC and Disney would just be to PLS STAHP!
Just stop making movies, it’s like someone shitting in a blocked train toilet, just adding to a pile of shit. Just stop, but I know they can’t because they’re like the mcdonalds of movies right now, just garbage chemically designed to get the most money for the least work and effort and expenditure, saying that I ate mcdonalds yesterday so I guess that makes me the idiot.

So yeah the only successful DC film warner bros have come out with is based on the character designed by a weird sex fetishist cuck, so there’s that haha.

Now I was just thinking I bought the game Kingdom come deliver and I should have reviewed that because it’s fucking excellent, oh well.

See you…


Gage Chapter 2 ‘Porterville

Back to blogging I guess sorta, hey wassup it’s your boi, that guy.

I’ve not really had anything attrocious to review yet, I haven’t got my hands on a decent pirate copy of last jedi yet but I feel like I’ve seen it as this point I’ve seen so many vids on youtube trashing it haha. I could probably relay it scene by scene I’ve watched so many.

Been keeping busy, working on a plan for the next Diana book, I’m really stupidly psyched about that, just rereading Dexter books getting into that headspace again. But I just got Kingdom Come Deliverance and I’m probably going to be addicted to that for months now, it’s like a historically accurate rpg about medieval Czechoslovakia. So I started reading the witcher book series too, I’m hoping to stir up inspiration for my own gritty fantasy novel based loosely on my favourite character from the Highlander, the Kurgan. That should be fun as fuck, I can’t wait to play it and get all those creative storytelling juices flowing.

As far as Gage is concerned, still working through it, more proofread chapters will go up soon. 

I emailed my old editor about The One That Came Back about how long it would take her to finish and she gave me some bullshit answer like she was so enthralled by it she read it and forgot to put notes on huge swaths of it. Yeah sure. Why do people feel the need to blow smoke up your ass like that.

Just say you couldn’t be bothered and give my damn money back or say you were too busy with hebrew school or whatever the fuck she’s doing haha. I’m not even mad, she didn’t charge me for the last section but it’s literally been months and I promised non-existent people I would give out free e-copies haha.

Those imaginery people are literally chomping at the imaginary bit to read it.

So that’s happening and also Diana After Dark is going to be getting an edit soon so hopefully I can reach my dream of fame and fortune and someone to love me for me and a golden talking pony made of gumdrops with that.

See you…


Now for the sake of brevity and accuracy, I don’t want to put words into his mouth. So I’ll try to relay his story the best I can, it was twenty years ago I heard it after all. Thus trying to repeat his exact words would be impossible. But I’ll do my best to tell the story as I and my comrades remember it, athough their accounts like chinese whispers may differ. I’ll try to tell it as straight as possible sticking as best I can to the bare facts keeping flowery description and interpretation to a minimum.


Gage’s story was ordinary enough. He was the firstborn of five to Jesse Eaton Gage and Hannah Trussell Swetland Gage of Grafton County, New Hampshire July 9th in 1823. At the age twenty five he was a strapping healthy young lad who worked construction on the Hudson River Railroad near Cortlandt Town, New York.


He was a blasting foreman, a whip cracker, ‘cracker’ for short. Although it was a term that was ceremonial as he did not actually have a whip, nor would he use it if he did. He organized the men to work in tandem with the lugs and of course pitched in as he could. A man who lived a life of hard labor was not afraid to pick up a shovel or a pick and muck in with his men. In fact he relished the chance to roll up his sleeves as that was the look that fit him best.


He was overseeing a bunch of luggers cutting through the rocky ridges so they could lay tracks. At the time he was known to be quite capable, efficient and shrewd, never losing his temper, never striking his workers or saying a foul word to anyone. He was a stalwart worker, a man of focused purpose and when he set his mind to a job it would be done come hell.


Regardless of these traits he was still a slave, although his chains were not physical but mental. He was subject just as the luggers were to the Cyclon powers of suggestions as we all were I came to learn later, be it at varying degrees.


At present he was working on construction of a railroad running through Porterville California through the san Juaqim valley. As he tells it was a damnable place, as empty and wide as the barren floor of an dead ocean. And as hot and arrid as he imagined hell itself without the flames and demons with hot pokers.


The construction was looked over by a general foreman named Lydia Souchang. She was the child of a rich Cyclon house in the north and the railway project was the first trusted to her by her family. An inconsequential task compared to what she had hoped for but this was the task she was given. She was sure to see it through and make sure even this mere duty was fulfilled above and beyond what was expected. Thus she encouraged Gage to push the luggers to a point he found distasteful. He pointed out that it would do no good to lose workers due to exhaustion and privation in the middle of construction. Only to have to send for more at greater expense and time. They had something of a cordial relationship but had butted heads frequently over little things where she felt they swapped position. Where in he knew better than her. This frustrated her greatly and strained their relationship as she would have to concede to his greater experience and the loyalty the men felt for him.


The luggers aside were just labourers only really good for lifting and carrying. They felt no loyalty but to the hand that fed and housed them, doing such tasks as you could train an animal to do. The real work was done by skilled foreman and craftsman like Gage and his second Dram Johansson, a stocky swede with boyish features and light coloured waify hair.


He worked closely with Gage and they forged something of a friendship. Although Johansson was of a more soft disposition but also very shrewd if sometime a little wooly headed. He made a good partner for the few conversations that Gage was willing to engage in that didn’t involve work. Needless to say Lugs aren’t much good in that department. Not having much of a grasp of English nor the intellect to engage in a conversation at the level of a human.


Many a time Lydia had relented to Gage’s advice. As although she may have been a Cyclon, she was still a woman and felt some twinge of regret and fear of using a control rod to gain the upper hand. Something her male counter parts would not hesitate for a second to do.


*Note to the reader, we believe a ‘control rod’ was an alien device used for direct suggestive prompts. It allowed the user to control the directed humanoid with simple verbal prompts.


She was better than most in that regard, that she had some misplaced motherly instinct towards the worker. Not having children herself she felt some manner of empathy for them. Despite as I was later to learn her kind commonly look down on humans and deride them as lower beings or such as cattle no different from the luggers.


And apparently as Gage described her she wasn’t too bad to look at. Now at the time of hearing this story I didn’t think I’d ever seen a Cyclon as they mostly kept to the cities where they felt most at home melting into a crowd of busy faces. In a place as rural as this they would stand out, they prefer pushing papers to mopping floors or farming so the city is where they belong.


I knew they had businesses in town but they were all run by humans so I never saw their hand. I must have seen and heard them on the tubescope but they did a good job to hide their features. Which wasn’t very hard, they looked mostly human, only having slight Asiatic features and names to give them away but also commonly used pseudonyms. They were also notably incapable of growing any facial hair so had long waged a campaign against it trying to link it both with a brutish aspect or the inverse homosexual behaviour. Then also promoting a clean shaven appearance with that of respectability and modernity citing such civilisations as the greeks and romans. Needless to say their love of pederasty was not mentioned. So then men who clung to such practices of facial hair were an oddity or spectacle of a bygone age to be viewed with suspicion into his manhood and his intentions.


Cyclon were ususally much smaller than humans and with pale skin that they hid with makeup or tanning or some aspect of racial mixing which was frowned upon in the higher families. As such you could tell a high born by the hue of their skin and if they had the shadow of a beard. In Lydia’s case her face was as white as porcelain and she went to great lengths to protect it with ointments and parasols, athough she wasn’t ashamed of it, why should she be? Her people dominated all aspects of finance and media and the super structure of the government. She hid it purely for the fact it was of course sensitive to harsh sun of the desert. Although Cyclon power was inherently hidden, never being the one in front of the curtain but behind it pulling the strings of everything. The hidden blade is the one that cuts the deepest as they say.


Lydia had very delicate features and a pert upturned nose which could have been a product or surgeries of which the Cyclon were somewhat addicted to. To a cyclon having any kind of surgery was as routine as a trip to the dentist. Some vicious anti-cyc propaganda had illustrated their true features as almost rat or beaver like. Picturing them as some kind of rodent offspring, perhaps this was why they were so obsessed with beauty and perfection or the tearing down of it.


She looked almost like a doll complete with black motionless eyes and a parasol whenever she was in the sun. Her dresses of the finest quality silk, but usually altered with a whale bone corset that had the sleeves cut away with a shorter dress length. So as not to pick up dust, finished with a high silk collar and a broach with her family crest on it which was a picture of coffee beans and a sword as that was how their family made their fortune. She was very pretty so I’ve heard but it was a caged malicious beauty and her face was always tainted with such scorn and derision that might make a sweet face sour over the years. She undoubtedly resented her position, feeling out of place in the working world. She was prone to rages and as I’ve heard it she was the product of a classical education that involved horse riding and swordsmanship and she was known to carry a duelling small sword at her side. Although it was mainly for decoration and ceremonial purposes but it worked to make the Lugs fear her and maybe Johansson too.

But Gage had never known fear, his parents having never played Peekaboo with him. He was the oldest and was responsible for the others therefore his work was cut out for him. Although he never went into great detail about his family, not at this juncture anyway. Needless to say going into his entire life story would get us lost in the weeds. And as I tell this story to whomever may discover it I don’t intend to outline the ongoings of Gage’s average work day, or picking corn out of his teeth.


So I will cut to the chase as he did himself, although his actual wording escapes me. For the story centred around an uncommon day.


September 13, 1848. Lydia was surprised by a visit from her brother who was some kind of official from the city come to inspect her progress. Gage by her side as he had all the technical progress data and a good feel for the men.


Her brother Count Marcus Souchang was a taller thinner almost perfect copy of his sister. With hauntingly similar features differing only in the pencil thin mustache and hair so lacquered it looked painted on topped off with a pair of large spectacles that made him look like a stick insect. Or this was how he appeared in the papers, his real life appearance was somewhat different.


His arrival had noticeably shaken Lydia. For there was some form of rivalry there for certain. She had necessarily taken this visit as a some kind of inposition she had to grit her teeth and bare through. He was the second born but had nevertheless secured his place in the family business operating out of new york in the high rise offices. A positon his sister no doubt coveted above all else. He and he alone was set to take the reigns from his father; Duke Aldridge Souchang. Lydia was destined to always be his second and it struck her as a curse to be born first but as a woman. Unfit to take power from her father and having still to work twice as hard to only achieve half the prestige as her brother. He coming after and getting all served to him on a plate as a necessity of his birth.


This had lead her to revile her brother and sort to outdo and shame him at every facet, be it swordmanship or horse riding or in business. But also an unhealthy relationship was formed in which she was taught to respect him as her father and so too a sick need to impress him also developed.


The day in question he’d arrived with an escort in a carriage drawn by mechanical motors that had been elegantly decorated to resemble horses. In the city horses were being phased out for more advanced and economic forms of travel but they still liked to herald the old age. In these parts we still used horses as fuel is hard to come by despite the fact this is where it’s farmed from the earth. But it’s taken many a mile and processed somewhere else.


Now I thought of just laying this out straight as Gage did but for a long time hearing this story I had it pictured in my head a certain way. Almost like the way he told it made me think of a play like on the tubescope and I couldn’t help playing it out in my head like some little girl pretending her dolls are having a tea party. Although I think if I were to read it out it might make a fool of me I really have no better way of depicting it that makes any sense unless I make a play out of it. So here goes, if someone finds this long after I’m dead, please don’t laugh.


The day was as hot and as dry as any in that god forsaken desert of California. The carriage appeared on the horizon as if it was a mirage riding the crest of a wave of heat distortion, coming out of a dream or nightmare on that bright cloudless day. The carriage was crafted in gold and ivory and was large and opulent which contrasted the divine nothingness of it’s surrounding and the small ramshackle coach house it was pulling up at.


The carriage stopped and was immediately descended upon by it’s escort. A division of men riding motorized carts that hovered a foot off the ground pulling behind them large trailers.


They stopped and descended the small vehicles known as Penny farthings because of the large steam wheel in front and a smaller one in back for direction and breaking. Although it emmitedd a lot of steam, the power source was actually something entirely alien and not seen in any human technology to date. The Cyclon were very covetous of their technology and only shared it with humans who were directly in their employ.


The men who were humans, it must be noted that Cyclon were not fighters. They were thinkers and talkers but rarely did they do their own fighting due in part to their size and relative frail physicality but also in part to their numbers. They were small in number and counted their worth as ten times a human, so humans were of course expendable, luggers even more so.


This detachement was a particular unit known as Lugtroopers, specialised to work in tandem with lugs. Combining the combat capabilities of a lug and the intelligence and strategic capabilities of a human. Connected as they were by a neural link bored into their skulls. They were permanently linked and if either were to die the other would be of no further use and would most likely die themselves. One of the questions in screening candidates for the program was whether or not they liked dogs as a child because the relationship was not too dissimilar from that. A bond of an emotional and mental nature, trained and engineered to work in tandem.


As the penny farthings idled and turned their engines off the crates they were carrying landed with a thud. It opened quickly and a larger much larger than average lugger lurched out and stood to attention like a trained daschund.


Not only was it much larger than average no doubt through some kind of genetic manipulation or selective eugenics but it had a number of biomechanical enhancements namely on it’s head centring around the eyes and ears and mouth. It’s teeth seemed to glint as covered in some kind of metal and it’s limbs were actuated with some kind of metal framework.


The humans too were wearing some kind of loosely fitting metallic frame around their bodies, going all the way along their arms and legs and heads and they carried advanced weaponry. Some kind of side arm that Gage had never seen before and who knows what else.


At present there was only one visible. A lean well built man of average height with a shock of white grey hair although he looked to be no older than in his mid thirties. His face was scarred with what looked like claw marks and he was smoking an electronic cigarrette which were very popular in cities these days. It cut down on the overall air pollution that had reached critical levels in the lower wards. It was so bad that the more wealthy dwellers in the cities had taken to living in helium airships literally living above the smog that engulfed the cities. And if they ever had to go below it they would wear breathing apparatus or filtration systems.


Marcus descended the carriage a few moments after it stopped allowing the dust to settle bowing his skeletal frame. He then looked down at the human who was putting out clouds of the vile steam from the little smoking box and he said “Ryan, put that out” He hissed. “It’s obnoxious, you look like an idiot.” He cursed him with an odd gesture and the man slid the box in his pocket, saluted and then whistled. His whistle rallied the other lugtroopers who shambled around the carriage. Although the others were relatively indistinct mostly wearing helmets and ballistic face shields. Their lugs too were uniform in most respects, although it seemed that their outfitting might have been different. Marcus turned away looking unimpressed.


Marcus was uncommonly tall for one of his race and there had been rumours of leg lengthening surgeries or stilts or high shoes being worn throughout his childhood. But his form of dressing being long thick coats hid him from all common scrutiny in this matter and gave him an almost comic appearance like a large hunched scarecrow. His movements, rigid and almost mechanical, giving off a distinct whirring which he attributed to a pacemaker he had implanted recently. He would mention it off hand as surgeries were as common for this race as getting a tooth pulled for his people.


“Lydia, darling sister” His voice was light and slightly feminine.


“Marcus, it’s good to see you brother” She said through a tight jaw.


“Yes it is quite isn’t it” He chuckled to himself.


Lydia said nothing but propped up a mechanical smile her hands daintily clasped at the folds in her dress. Her dress which was silken deep greens with a floral pattern with a tight reserved bodice with lace on her shoulders.


After an uncomfortable silence Marcus for a moment as he neither looked at Gage or acknowledged his presence at Lydia’s side. He just put out his boney hand which was covered in a dark glove and said “Well shall we take a look?”


“Ah, yes of course, if you’d be so kind as to follow me”


“Naturally” He smiled.


Gage awkwardly cut across them to introduce himself nervously “Phineas Gage, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you sir” He said as he outstretched his hand which was covered in a thick work glove encrusted with filth.


Marcus looked at the hand and a moment passed when they said nothing.


“Oh forgive me” Gage laughed and took the glove off and tucked it under his arm before outstretching his now bare hand again.


Again Marcus looked at the hand down his nose and said nothing, a moment passing and then turning to his sister.


“Lydia, is there something this creature wants, food perhaps?”


Ryan and his men stifled sniggering behind them.


She swallowed and almost coughed and said “Erm no, he’s uh, he wants to shake your hand brother”.


“Really? Whatever for?” He said looking at Gage like he was an exhibit in a museum of some long dead archaic tribe out of new guinea.


“To make your acquantaince”.


Marcus had obviously lived a very sheltered life in the city only being around his own kind. Or humans that wouldn’t dare to attempt to touch him or even greet him on the same level above bowing and scraping.


“I see” He said narrowing his eyes with an almost mechanical glare at Gage.


Lydia cleared her throat and directed him on. “If you’d be so kind brother”.


“Yes of course” He sneered, his eyes following Gage as he passed.


Gage followed them silently, feeling no great sting to his ego. The lugtroopers pushed passed Gage rudely shoving him out of the way to keep pace with their charge, leaving the lugs to guard the carriage. Gage was a little burnt by this and stayed rigid not letting one pass and the man who was much smaller bounced off Gage’s much larger frame and landed in pile of dust and lug shit. The other lugtroopers laughed as the younger smaller trooper got up and started to dust himself off all his gear clanking as he did so.


He stood and pulled off his helmet and threw it down revealing the red face of an angry youth with a shaved head and a tribal tattoo around his right eye. “You wanna go farmboy?” The kid yelled.


Gage said nothing looking down at the lad.


Ryan was watching a grin in the corner of his mouth. He whistled “Gable, stop rolling around in the dirt with your boyfriend and get over here!” The young lad not taking his eyes off Gage put his helmet back on and fell back in with his regiment.


Lydia lead them to where the work was being carried out. Twenty or thirty luggers moving and placing posts and lying the iron tracks while handful of human workers went over and bolted them in place with nmeumatic guns that layed superheated rivets bolting and fusing the metal tracks to the wooden posts set into the ground. The work was fast and tiring and back breaking but it had to be done to for it was essential they said ‘to enter the modern age’.


I didn’t know what they meant then but I think I do now. I think I know all too well what that meant.


“Would you care for a spot of tea brother?”


“I would enjoy that but unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule and I’m here on important business from the capital.”


“Oh, what kind of business?” Lydia asked nervously her jaw tightening as she looked at the lugtroopers standing idly just out of ear shot.


“It is in regard to your current progress.” There was a sudden change in his demeanor as if he’d been eagerly awaiting his chance to pounce. He took out some sort of device with a screen and cogs moving with wooden keys and looked at it adjusting his glasses with a dial on the side which seemed to move the lenses into place. “By our current calculations you’re over budget and by our current time frame it won’t reach completion until the end of the financial year”


Lydia quickly chimed in “But we had to wait on the iron import from England and it’s the best quality. It’ll allow the trains to run much faster and more efficiently.”


He moved closer to her, the odd sounds under his coat increasing and getting faster, almost like a chugging or a pumping of pistons. “You were not asked to procure the iron from England” He said raising a long gloved finger in front of her face. “You were supposed to source ore locally from the United states, the quality is not our prerequisite, the budget and time frame are.” He dropped his hand and turned away from her to walk a little. He placed his hands clasped behind his back awkwardly under the large hard looking hunch that made his back and sighed. “You’ll never get ahead in business if you don’t understand that following orders is key.” His voice was low and shrill and condescending.


“I’m sorry, I was just trying to, father would-?”


“This is why Father sent me here. He’s very disappointed in you and he expects you to complete the project within the next quarter. Or all your funding will be cut and I will be forced to take over construction do you understand?” He’d turned now and was looking down at her with a shielded sort of smile, hiding his glee at her failure behind a mask of businesslike indifference. He was undoubtedly enjoying this. Lydia on the other hand had almost shrunk entirely into her own footfalls, her shoulders knotted and her head hung.


“It’s my fault” Gage said awkwardly bounding into the conversation.


“Excuse me? I don’t believe I was addressing you” Marcus said coldly looking at him with a sideways glance as if staring at a bug crawling into a picnic basket.


Gage cleared his throat and approached Lydia’s side putting his hand gently on her back and said “It was my idea to import the iron from England. I’d heard about a new formula that they were using that was much stronger than any we could produce here, it’ll prove a great investment, I assure you.”


“Oh you assure me?” Marcus nodded and turned his head to look at Lydia. “Is this true?”




“Is it true that this ‘man’ was responsible for ordering the iron?”


“Yes but”


“Yes but what?”


“Yes but I validated it”


“So whom is responsible is it you or this ‘man’” he looked at Gage and there was something in voice in the way he said ‘Man’ as if he was trying to say ‘dung beetle’. His men stood at the side on a dusty outcropping next to a bank of grass and dry weeds watching silently.


Lydia bit her lip and her dark doll eyes got glassy and she couldn’t speak her voice choked in her throat.


“I see” Marcus tutted.


“I accept full responsibility sir, I promise you we will complete the project, we just ask for an extension of one month.” Gage sputtered,


“Do you always allow this creature to do the talking for you Sister?” He looked her up and down. “Perhaps I need to tell father a great many other things that may have been going on here.” His voice got sly and cool and he said “I think there might be a great deal he’d like to hear about”.


“No please, you can’t!” “Oh I can’t why can’t I?”


“Please, I beg mercy.”


“You have no control over your men and I sense some fraternisation is going on, this creature is running the endeavour and I suspect has been in your bed.” Lydia let out a shocked gasp and there was a harsh chuckle given by Marcus’s men. “You’ve allowed it to go above the orders of the ceo of this company our father and it cannot stand.” He turned to walk back to his carriage, his hands clasped in front of him as a whirring noise could be heard under his coat. The sound of a chain moving and then a tiny metallic claw came out from under his collar and poked out a small pencil. He took as if he was about to jot something down immediately “I’ll have to send him a telegraph directly and-“




“Yes?” He said turning with a smile that had sharp corners as he held the pencil out.


Lydia breathed in harshly, her face halfway between tears and bitter shouting rage, she fought them back. “I can control them”


“Show me.” He said his eyes staying hard and unmoving.


She swallowed hard.


“Lydia, I’m sor-“ Gage sighed.


“Silence!” She screeched.


Gage stopped talking almost instantly, as if it was an autonomic reaction, he was frozen.


She breathed heavily the control rod twisting in her hand, she raised it to her mouth and just breathed.


“Is that it?” Marcus said. “You’re not going to punish him?”


“Punish him?” She asked.


Ryan and his men watched on snickering.


“Yes, it was him that made that order wasn’t it?”


She closed her eyes and tightened her jaw as if a tear might come out but nothing did and she spoke with the device pressed to her throat.


“Phineas” She said, her voice laden with a strange buzzing tone.

 He stood up to attention his eyes dull and hollow and empty looking, his mouth slack and wordless.


“Yes mistress” He said in a dull harmonic tone as if reading it from a card.


“Pick up the rivet gun”


“Yes mistress” He said again, moving over to the construction bowing almost without looking as he picked up a large rivet gun with one muscular veined and hairy hand.


She swallowed again.


“Well” Marcus said. “I don’t have all day”.


She gritted her teeth almost hissing as she said “Place the hot end under your chin.”


“Yes mistress” Without hesitation with both hands he lumbered the hot end of the device under his chin. The sweat from his brow hitting the precipice, hissing as the droplets hit the steaming barrel.


Lydia sucked her lip, her eyes glazed not looking at anything, a far away voice that sounded like her own said “Now fire the device.”


“Yes mis-“ His voice was cut off by the hissing mneumatic pumping noise and then a vile hot searing gargling noise as the hot rivet was driven into his skull. The smell of his flesh burning and his brains boiling was instant.


Marcus walked over to look over Lydia’s shoulder and said “I would have thought a good hiding or a strong talking to would have done it, but that seems quite effective.” He sighed looking at Gage’s lifeless body on the ground and almost winced at the damage it had done to his face. “You could have just had him shoot his hand.” There was a brief moment of silence and then he let out a brief tinny laugh and said “Well you were always one to jump to extremes, I’ll see you have your extra month.”


He turned and patted her on her head with his large skeletal gloved black hand and said. “It was good seeing you again sister, I wish you good day.” He left her there as she stood staring off into the distance with her mouth agape.


His men trailing after him smiling like jackals as they returned to accompany the carriage.

GS2 Chapter 11 ‘Dangerous Girl’

Bonjour mes amis,

Or however that’s spelled, err no blog last week cos reasons, er no it’s because this fucking site wouldn’t load for some reason haha.

Fuck it, well I’m back with another chapter of the sequel to GS, more of that fun wacky shit a tiny minority of people have come to enjoy.

But I’m not posting a link to the inkitt page because I just made an inkitt page for Gage, celebrating it’s completion, it took longer than I would have liked just because of laziness and procrastination and life getting in the way but it’s done and I’m just working through the proof reading so I have four chapters up now, more to follow. So check that out with the link below.


I decided to go back to inkitt because it’s a good repository, it makes it easy to just go and read my stories in order, chapter by chapter and it’s also a good digital back up just in case something happens to the copies of my work on my hard drive.

Otherwise things were going well, as usual, love life is a fucking joke, just going from bad to worse, probably gonna end up alone and the male equivalent of a cat lady. A video game basement dweller in his forties.

Worked out the editing deal for Diana After Dark and I’m gonna start brainstorming the next book now, I feel like it, had some fun ideas bumping around my head in the shower now I can think straight and that would be a lot of fun to get back into. It’d be even more fun if it made some fucking money but, ya know.

See you…


“But I’m cold Curtis, and it’s getting late, we should head home.” Maryanne whined as she clenched her coat together in the passenger seat of Curtis’s old red Datsun. They were both wearing big goose down body warmers, hers pink his red. She was pretty with pigtail and freckles, pussy probably tasted like homemade lemonade.


“Come on baby, we’re like in shouting distance from the sheriff’s station, what are you afraid of?” Curtis was a blonde jock with a thin almost invisible mustache.


“I’m not afraid I’m freezing my butt off, there’s like a draft or something, did you hear that noise a minute ago”.


“Probably kids messing around with fireworks.” He said as he looked off into the murky darkness.


“Curtis, you better take me home and stop touching me or I’ll tell my dad and-“


“What are you talking about, I’m not touching you, yet” He smirked.


“Yes you are and I don’t like your hairy hands touching me like that”.


“Seriously I’m not touching you and my hands aren’t hairy.”


“Well someone is, turn on the light”


Curtis shifted in the drivers seat and pressed the ceiling light. A furry red hand was coming through a gap in the window in the car door. Stroking Maryanne’s milky white leg poking out the bottom of her cheerleader skirt like two white lollipop sticks.


“Oh my god!” Maryanne screamed as she began to frantically roll the window up on the arm of the strange creature. “Get it Curtis!”


“Goddamn pervert freak!” Curtis yelled as he bounced out of the car with loose and vibrant righteous anger.


He rounded the car furrowing his brow as he gazed upon a mansized plush fox. A goofy expression and huge anime eyes just standing there at the side of the car. “What the fuck?” Curtis said under his breathe. He bounded up to the strange creature and was right up in it’s face within a matter of brief seconds. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here ya freak, get the fuck out of here before I beat your degenerate ass!” He said as he shoved the furry, its co-ordination wasn’t so good and it toppled backward onto its tail into a puddle of slushy black ice. “You better get the fuck outta here now!


“Curtis, just take me home.” Inside the car Maryanne was rubbing her hands together trying to get warm, impatient and totally not in the mood.


“What the fuck?” She heard Curtis saying from the back of the car, she swivelled her head but she couldn’t move much because her jacket was too thick to turn her around. “Get offa me you goddamn degenerate freaks” His voice was muffled around the back of the car.


“Curtis?” she called out as she tried to see the back of the car, she was getting nervous. She swivelled the rearview mirror around and her eyes widened in abstract horror at what she saw. A group furries behind the car gyrating and humping eachother in a pile. Her boyfriend’s arm twitching and flailing sticking out of the pile of mascots yiffing him to death. “Oh my god!” She screamed.


A giant furry porpus landed on the windscreen making a weird noise dry humping the windshield “Get offa that!” She cried.


A furry pirate otter hit the side window with his body. She gasped and jumped to the drivers seat and locked the doors. Swallowing she swivelled her head around, dark furry figures shifting clumsily in the cold murk. She turned on the lights and she could see them, thousands of them thick, shifting with no gaps, a see of fur. She looked in the rearview mirror and a bloodsmeared ninja goat glared back at her. She screamed and fidgeted her frantic fingers on the ignition.


“Keys, keys, keys!” She jumped around the cab of the car, looking in the side wells and the under sun visor and in the glovebox; a small calibre revolver starter pistol. “Shit Curtis” He had the keys. “Shit shit shit!” She spat as the nervous terror tears ran down her cheeks as they closed in. Surrounding the car, the horde of furries humping the small red metal box making it jossle and feel smaller and tighter.


She rocked back and forth making herself small tucking her legs into her chest as the thin glass of the car started to crack under the pressure. The swarm pilling on higher and higher, there were so many now she couldn’t even see the sky. From the outside the car could was blotted out. It looked like an anthill covered in multi-coloured furry ants, actually I think there were ant-furries, that’s a thing right? Then a brief flash of light and small popping sound, a climax to the crescendo.



A slim hand flicked on a light switch and a series of rectangular halogen bulbs burst into life, giving of a dingey greenish glow in the evidence locker. The room was just loose packed shelves of various doodads in semi-see-through bags.


Guns of all sorts, knives and swords locked in plastic cases.


“Looks like we hit the motherload.” Sunday smiled as she propped herself up with metal doorframe.


“Sweet” Jimmy said as he pushed passed and grabbed a wrapped m-16 and tried to unwrap it. “Any of you got a knife or something?”


Sunday shook her head and he went at it with his teeth. She turned to TJ and said “Your new friend needs to learn some fucking manners.”


Jimmy bit open the bag and pulled out the gun. Lifting and shouldering it, aiming it at Sunday “What you say?”


“I said you need to learn some fucking manners!” She said again.


“Is that right? And what’s to stop me blowing your pretty ass head off right now?” He smirked.


“Ammo” She said.


He looked at the gun, the clip was missing.


“You think they keep ammo right next to it in an evidence locker? That would be in the armory which will be locked and guarded.” She walked up to Jimmy and she plucked the gun out of his hands without even looking at him. She looked it up and down and said “This just a fancy club now.” She took it by the barrel and wrapped it around his head knocking him flat out on the floor. His eyes rolled in his head for a moment.


She looked down at him disdainfully and broke the gun over her knee throwing the pieces beside him. “Point a gun at me again and I’ll make you eat it.”


She walked down the aisle looking up and down, he followed her with his eyes scowling and rubbing his head. TJ helped him up. “What’s her problem man?”


“We’re her problem, just play nice” TJ whispered.


“Ah here we go” She said.


“You found your bat?” TJ said.


“Even better” She grinned wide as she took the wrapping off it like it was new, like she bought it off ebay. It was nothing less than a medieval fork headed mace.


TJ laughed and said “Wow you look just like Sauron”


“Who?” She said as she rested it on her shoulder.




She smiled and pointed her eyes over by the corner of a set of lockers with number combinations on them.


TJ squinted and could see what she was directing him to. Resting like an old umbrella in the corner was some kind of Japanese sword wrapped tight. He could still see it was lacquered and the handle was a bright green shark skin.


He scrambled over to it, picking it up, feeling the weight and the balance. He slid the ties off each end and the elastic holding the wrap in place.


“Cool?” Sunday asked


TJ was speechless. Looking it up and down, it was real lacquer covered in some kind of hard wearing coating. It looked old but well kept a military tan colour. He cracked the sword open and the blade was remarkable, clay tempered, still sharp. “I’ve never seen anything like it, except online.” He squinted.


“What is it a thousand years old” She scoffed. “The highlander use it?”


He laughed “First of all you’ve seen the Highlander and that’s cool. Second, it’s old but not that old. I think this is a second world war officer sword. These things are rare if it’s real, expensive, looking at a couple thousand dollars right here. Even ten thousand to the right buyer.”


“What is this shit, storage wars?” BJ said as he came barrelling in, his eyes locking on the first large black package he set his eyes on. “Ah here we go.” He said as he went about unwrapping something large about sixteen inches, black. He unwrapped it like a kid on Christmas. Revealing a huge black dildo. Everyone turned to glance at him and looked away.


“What?” He stuttered. “It’s not mine. I just err, I just think it’ll be good at killing zombies, is all.” He took it wobbling in his two hands by the shaft and said “Like a billy club you know.” He said as he wacked the hard plastic balls against the linoleum floor of the evidence locker making a loud heavy slapping noise.


Jimmy got up and moved away and said “I aint saying anything.” He looked around a little bit knowing now he couldn’t make use of the guns. Failing to meet either TJ nor Sunday’s glance he found a big decorative hunting knife in large plastic case with the nylon sheathe under it. He jimmied the case and took the knife and said “Now that’s a knife.” It was a twelve inch bowie with saw teeth on the back, a big shiney wall hanger but could prove effective. He went about putting the sheathe on his belt as TJ fained laughter at his terrible joke and Sunday pretended not to have heard him.


“What now?” TJ asked Sunday.


“Need some wheels if we’re gonna get out of this. Find a phone and make contact with the guy.” She sat on a bench, her head hung like it was heavy and she lifted it to look around. Propping up her head in her hands on the handle of the mace and said “That is if we’ve given up on this whole zombie gameshow thing.” She smirked.


“I think I heard them saying there was an underground garage or something, I’ve never been there but this place is pretty good for signs.” BJ paused because he noticed people weren’t looking at him. Instead at the giant flopping black cock stuck under his belt like it was journeyman’s sword. He scratched the back of his neck and carried on “So if we just go down we could find it.”



“Ok here goes, you can attach the car battery now.” Jaclyn said as Kat attached the grips to nodes either side of Garylyn’s reattached head. The shock sent violent silent tremors throughout the thing’s body. “I reattached the mechanical parts, organic parts are patched up and they should regenerate. That’s what Mac said, cutting edge regenerative abilities are one of it’s key selling points.”


Roch was over by a booth on her own taking obnoxious selfies with her tongue out, Jaclyn asked her “Where’s Nita going?”


“Stuff her fat face with chirros again I’m guessing.” She replied.


“Hey don’t body shame her, big is beautiful” Kat said bobbing her head.


“I’m not shaming her, she does a good enough job of that herself.” Roch said without looking up.


“Fucking dyke bitch” Kat said under her breathe.


“The fuck dyou say?” Roch said jumping up from her seat like she sat on a pin covered in the shit of a straight white male.


They were up and in eachother’s faces faster than a heartbeat. The tense silence broken by the sound of a call coming through on Jaclyn’s laptop.


“Guys cool it, we’ve got a call from Mac coming in, it must be important.”


She opened up the chat screen and the hipster was there in standing in front of his monitor. But at an ironic angle like he was in some secret underground base or on a space shuttle.


“Hey guise, what’s going on, where’s Juanita?”


“Oh she’s-“ Jaclyn was cut off.


“Right here Maccy, what’s up?” Juanita came in not making any bones about taking bites out a of frozen half baked chirro still in the wrapper.


Roch and Kat looked at her as she was taking big crunching bites out of it.




“Aren’t you supposed to cook that?” Kat asked.


“No it’s like a chirropop”.


She waddled her way in front of the laptop screen pushing past Roch and Kat squeezing through the tight gap they made. Unbalancing the pair as she plonked herself smiling like a camgirl in front of the camera.


“I hope you’re having some luck bringing the prototype back online, we’ve got sometime until she’s really necessary.” He paused and did his tick. “but in the mean time my guy on the inside leaked the drop points for the day three operation.”


“Drop points?” Juanita asked, taking slurping cold bites out of her chirropop.


“Yeah we’ve been over this, didn’t you read the debweb site, it has a blog and everything. The first day is zombies, that’s coming next, then it’s pvp.




“‘Player versus player’. You should be good holing up here with any weapons you got from that army navy store”


“Erm yeah well, the thing is” She said scrunching up her cheek fat.


“What is it now?” He said lisping.


“We kinda got sidetracked by this fucking shitlord who was harassing me and we kinda forgot to buy any guns or weapons or anything like that.”


“Omfg” Mac said to himself. “Ok well just sit tight til day three, day three is when they start the drops. It’s supposed to be random but it’s not” He smiled. “Guns, prototypes monsters, some are duds. I’ve sent you a complete list of the drops and their contents to your map. All you need to do is find the one with the high-tech weapons and if you get; what did you call it ‘Garylynn’. If you get her operational and the weapons, you should be untouchable and then the second part of the plan should be a breeze.”



Gunshots, gunshots, gunshots, a pitter patter of small arms punctuated by loud full stops blowing holes in all conversation. Blood covered monitors, brains and balls and guts seeping into cheap mass produced carpeting.


A flash behind a door and then silence and the door creaked open slowly.


The fat Frenchman entered the lock up cautiously checking the corners with the Uzi. It was dark but he could make out the body of the cop bobby, very much dead. He bent down by the corpse never taking his eyes off the corners, the gun raised high as he patted the body. He was tired, there was blood all over him, some of it his. Sweat, heavy breath, a load of lead weighing on his vest.


He yanked the torch off the cops belt and stood poking the beam of light into the gnoxious dank dark of the cells. He got to Carpenter’s cell, the door was open a jar, it was empty and it smelled bad.


He cursed under his breath in french throwing the torch down angrily, it hit the floor and rolled by the windows, flashing on and off.


He put the uzi down on the desk bobby cracked his skull on and tossed his jacket on the chair. He started to awkwardly pulled off the bulletproof vest over his head. It was tight and hot and it hurt and it didn’t want to come off but he pulled it. It came off off like an ill fitting sweater knocking his beanie off and leaving his hair looking like he just woke up.


He breathed in and out, his face red, he wiped it and sat down on one of the chairs next to the desk and said “Merde”.


He sighed, then a noise, a scratching padding noise. He picked up the gun with a clattering sound and walked down the hall. Down towards the torch on the floor and the small ground level window.


He squinted, not understanding what he was seeing, as he perched on his tippy toes his hands on the windowsill so he could peer out. It just looked like a cartoon. A big purple dinosaur was walking in front of the window and then a giant wasp with a huge ass wearing a giant baby diaper and huge dummy around it’s neck. And then after that more and more of these huge mascots filling the parking lot, some covered in blood. Then out of the corner of his eye something caught the light. A man that looked like he was melting, like he was microwaved covered in forks. He was leading a horde of these strange creatures, pointing at the police station. For a moment he thought he was looking and pointing directly at him.


He turned from the small window and thought for a moment, bemused beyond belief and said.


“Time to go I think”.

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