Mike Sutton's Blog: For prose apply within., page 3

Games and Diversions

The games were played in the shadows that at the very edge of civilization. They were bloody fantasy, a moaning ghost to the rest of the city. They were a plague that the Seers wished to eradicate. Something that didn't exist in the real world, so those outside rules didn't seem to readily apply. Here a First Ringer might flirt with a denizen from furthest out, and sit in his lap and whisper sweet nothings.

Here the games lived and breathed and the anonymous spectators were a single writhing mass of cheering men and women.

All of it would shatter and fade with the final bell. Life would return to normal.

The guard frowned at the plastic cards in his hand before waving the duo through to join the crowds who had already gathered in anticipation of the masquerade. Lights flickered in the damp tunnel, and she could just hear a drip of water over the bursts of merrymaking that were erupting from the far end.

Under the masks, most of the guests were wearing their finest garb, as was expected at any sort of formal gathering. The poorer denizens had arrived their church clothes, while the inhabitants of the inner rings were wrapped in glittering evening attire that would have done well for a wedding or ball. Angela had attended both weddings and balls in the center rings. She would have laid her bets that many of the top crust present spectators had saved what they were wearing this night for this purpose alone.

The Games were that important.

Even Rex had donned a jumpsuit that was both clean and new. Angela herself was one of the few who had remained informal.

Angela and Rex took a seat in the back row of the benches nearest the door. Chamber music was being piped in as the rest of the guests milled around and collected into small groups and chatted. Some were friends, others strangers. Even here the differences between the classes were obvious, but ignored in that uncanny fashion that seemed only to occur amongst devotees, and only during these rare occasions when they were all thrown together.

Rex pitched his voice to slip past the din.

“I've lost my sense of direction. Where do you think we are?”

“Not sure.” Angela responded as she slowly scanned the room for potential trouble. The waters seemed calm for the moment. “I would guess somewhere beneath the outer ring.”

“I've been studying the setup here, it doesn't look permanent. With a good crew, I bet it could be stripped down and loaded into a lorry in a couple hours. Everything would be gone except for the stains and memories.”

“I wonder how good their security is.” Angela stood up on the bench and looked around the room. There were three other exits. One at each cardinal point. She would have bet her next job's pay that they were in what had once been a trolley station. The last time she had seen the Games had been a few years back while hanging on the arm of a client who wanted a body guard who looked good in a slinky dress, just in case. The dank basement had all but ruined that gown. A good thing she hadn't paid for it.

“What sorts of events do you think we'll see tonight? I'm partial to the Maze Races. Aside from that main event of course.”

“I don't know. Beyond the Champions are appearing at the end of the contests.”

“Yeah, the Champions!” A dreamy grin spread across the hound's face. “That should be quite a spectacle. Two top contenders, and so different in their style. If I ever have any children, I will be telling them about this night. Hopefully they give a good account of themselves.” Rex flipped a small red disk and caught it. He checked which face came up and smiled again. “I wouldn't want it to be over too quickly.”

There was little reason to wish to see the events stretched out. “They will last as long as they do.” She responded, sending the conversation into a lull. She thought back again on her last visit to the Games. Her client had expected services beyond those that she had contracted for. He went home with a broken arm while she ditched her business and began anew.

Those had been lean months.

“Where did you come across a pair of invitations?” Rex asked as he shifted on the hard bench. “Nobody who lives past the Third Ring could afford to dream about this. I've heard of powerful cogs in the Second who would kill for just one of these seats.”

“I think that these seats are good enough. We can see everything.” Angel responded, without answering the question. She checked over her shoulder again. The guard was standing still and looking bored and sleepy. He was probably right, the make-up of the crowd was almost proof against a raid. “I like sitting near the exit. It makes getting out easier.”

She added, returning her attention to the pit. Well over a hundred spectators had already gathered. Most were wearing masks that concealed the upper portions of their faces. It was a tradition with spectators of the games.

The masks were elaborate and extravagant affairs that grew in magnificence the closer to Center the wearer dwelt. For the inner ring they were dazzling studded with jewels and crests of feathers. The denizens of the outer rings imitated their betters to the best of their ability. Many chose glass beads and Angela saw one mask with glued mirror shards. Rex offered the barest minimum to tradition by wearing what looked to have once been a shirt with two eye holes cut into it.

Angela's mask was slightly worn, but of high quality. She had borrowed it from a friend's hockshop for the evening. An evening at the games wasn't her chosen way to spend her down time. There seemed to be something unnecessary in all the brutality, and she had enough blood.

Men and women were chattering while they waited. Servants weaved paths through the crowd, offering them culinary delights from large trays – gratis on behalf of the game's proprietor. But only for those holding a level four betting chit, or higher.

Angela's hands were empty.

Rex took an entire tray and sent the servant off. “I have been saving whatever I could stash away for a month for this match.” Rex declared around the three or four small sandwiches he had stuffed in his mouth. “Ah, calories! How I've missed you little guys!” Angela, for her part, let him eat in peace. “Tonight's the night. Say good bye to Rex the Hound. I've backed the right man here, then I'm going to retire to Ring Three.”

“Only Ring Three? Why not shoot for the stars?” Rex always took the long shots.

“I'm not greedy. Or stupid. Living any closer to Center and I'd be a splash on the radar of the Police. I ain't as good as you at spinning illusions. Even visiting makes me feel uncomfortable, I become real aware of how much I don't belong with them kind. You know what I' talking about? Ring Three is posh and comfortable enough. Besides, I'll have more money to spend on the finer things like food. I dream about eating real roasted beef once a month, like one of the big wigs. I always wanted to know what real red meat tastes like. Any meat.”

“That's a grandiose dream. How do you plan to make it come true?” From Angela's perspective, that was nearly impossible. She had been one of the domes where one of the actual herds was corralled. Her first impression was that animals were filthy creatures that smelled terrible. Second, there wasn't enough of them to go around. No loss, she preferred the vat grown medallions.

“Don't you worry about that Athena, I'll have money. Money, it can get you anything. With the right contacts of course. And I know people who know how to lay their hands on the finery luxuries that our society has to offer. Perhaps I'll start a family too. Wouldn't that be grand? I bet I'll be able to afford a wife AND a couple kids!”

“Oh?” Angela asked, only half listening. “Do you have a dame already picked out?”

“Not yet...” He trailed off as he thought for a moment. “Maybe I could marry in to one of the respectable families. Don't know. Laying my hands on the paperwork to prove my certification would be tricky. Or better, a pretty, lively lass from Ring Seven. I like that. A girl who won't be too snooty and instead quite grateful and appreciative of a man in my position.”

“If you move to Ring Three, what will you do with your zoo?”

“Wha'da'ya mean? Take them with me?”

“You won't be able to find a building manager up there who'll let you in with all the contraband you have.”

“Hey, I'm smart. Probably smarter than even the craftiest building manager. I'll get around any idiotic rules that a lowly squat throws at me. No problem. Guess I should start thinking up some deviltry, I have a feeling that I'm going to need it soon.”

“How do you plan to transport the animals?” Rex just winked. Angela shrugged. She ran over a list of other possible dogs that she would be willing to work with. Who she could afford to partner with. It was a lightweight undertaking as the list was very short indeed.

Up front, near the pit, large screens began to unroll. Conversations ceased abruptly as the spectators rushed to their seats. The house lights began to dim and the screens flickered to life.

The announcer spoke, the speakers screamed and the noise cut off with a sputter. A couple moments later a man's voice returned. “Testing. Testing. Alright! Here we go! Greetings gentle patrons of the humanities. We have worked diligently these many months to bring you the finest contest between the most fearsome outcasts that Indy has ever seen. Our proprietor bids you all welcome and enjoyment for the coming night of celebration of all the vibrancy that is life!”

The crowd cheered.

“We have a full night of excitement for you all! And the excitement will cumulate with the fight of a life time. Remember that we are vidding this for all the poor folks who could not afford to be here tonight in the city of Chi, so show your enthusiasm and the superiority of out city for all of the citizens of Indy!” The announcer ran through a list of the thrills that were in store for them that night. By the end the crowd was cheering at the tops of their lungs.

In a brief lull Rex leaned over and said. “Good. No Rat Baiting.” There was a touch of relief as he glanced over at Angela. It seemed that she wasn't alone in her distaste for that most wasteful and bloody sport. Sadly, Ratcatchers were paid well to bring in prey for Baiting events. The public loved them. A good hunt that brought in a dozen extraordinarily fine specimens could net the mercenary more credits than entire Manufacturing families made in two years.

The first game of the evening was a Gauntlet.

A group of Mice were released in a specially built labyrinth, usually in an old building that was sealed off from the rest of the city. When they were released Cats were set on them. The Mice often outnumbered the Cats two to one, and most often the Mice were the fastest and most nimble minors that could be rounded up. They made for better sport, but were easier for the Cats to stun and then haul back to the cage. The Cats were expected to go easy on their prey. Skilled Mice were a valuable commodity and difficult to replace.

The game was over when all the Mice were returned to the cage. The Cat with the most captures won the game. Points were deducted if the Mice were excessively battered, and a death would almost certainly cost the match.

The music mounted and the lights flashed as the cameras cycled through, touring the arena. The gates opened and the Mice bolted. A good pack. Mostly outcasts. Strong and fast. They scattered through the abandoned building, and the cameras followed.

“Have you ever considered participating in some of these? You have the right skills and we've taken on harder targets than a bunch of unarmed kids.” Rex asked. “I really wanted to get onto a team for a long time. But you need some good connections. But think of the fame and glory you could win. Not to mention the wealth and women. Some of the better Cats take home quite a living. What do you think the best strategy for the Mice is?”

“Unless the mice find an unassailable hiding place, moving around is usually the best bet.”

“Yeah, but if you're out and about, you might run into one of the hunters. And that means being stunned and caught.”

“If they catch you hiding, then they have you in a corner. And eventually they will find you. Then you have nowhere to run.”

“Ah yeah, I guess you're right. Sometimes I wonder how the Cats find their prey so easily.”

“I think that they have helpers watching the feeds, at least in some events. They keep their Cats informed by radio.”

“Really?” Rex was scandalized by the suggestion. The games were as sacred as they were proscribed. The warriors who battled in the arenas were heroes. To cheat... Nobody wanted to believe that. “Who do you have on this one? And by what spread?” Rex asked.

“McClean by two, maybe three if he's lucky.”

“Really? You don't think Owens' strength and speed gives him an edge?”

“He's strong and fast. But he blows out easily and ends up dragging if the match goes for more than a couple hours. McClean is smart and paces herself better.”

“Owens has those long and gangly arms and legs. He can reach places where McClean could never go and he has that excellent reach. That is a huge. Especially when one of the Mice lodges itself behind a barrier or gets stuck in a vent.”

“Maybe.”

“Want to lay a wager?”

“I thought you spent your money.”

“I did.”

“Then what were you planning to bet with?”

“Favors.” Rex had a gleam in his eye and Angela suspected she knew what he'd be after. She nodded and they shook hands.

Spectators ohhed and awed as the Cats stalked their prey. Cheered with each pounce. And applauded with each capture or especially daring escape. The outcome was always inevitable, the mice would be caught. But buy who and how? These questions fed the adrenaline so devoid in their daily lives.

The match ran for three hours. McClean pulled it by three. “Damn it. Now who am I going to find to smuggle the zoo?”

There were other diversions during the Gauntlet. Fights between opponents using their fists. Races. Juggling and plays. All as the furor built, rose and amassed for the long awaited main event.

There was a whining noise that signaled that the screens were being rolled up. Cameras were being swiveled into position and with a sudden, blinding flash the arena was flooded with light. The main event had begun. Hundreds of people stood at one and cheered. Angela covered her ears against the tumult.

She looked over her shoulder again. The guard was no longer bored. He was at full attention and watching the ring as intently as the rest of the crowd. Rex was standing and cheering, pumping his fists as he danced. “Now it's time for the big pay off!”

“Please welcome respectfully our guest, the beloved Champion of Dome Chi! Here to spill blood for your delight and fight for the honor and pride of his adopted city, Eirick Who Jams the Gates of the Underworld!” A man in a chrome mask and leather loin cloth was pushed out of the gate. His skin hairless and tanned. His body was hard and lean. Very lean. His corded muscles were wrapped tightly in a shirt of scars. Several long knives dangled from the leather straps that were slung across his powerful chest. “Vultures follow Eirick, a man bereft of fear. In his hundred battles he has been impaled three times and survived, while all of his foes have gone to feed the worms.”

Eirick drew one of his knives and stalked the perimeter scratching a line on the wall.

He paced the pit warily like a caged, wild animal, his head swinging back and forth and glaring death at the audience. They lapped it up and cheered loudly. Angela thought that they wouldn't be so eager without the five centimeters of plexiglass dome that protected the spectators from the pit.

“Please welcome, good citizens, our current champion. Grellnock Skullsplitter. A warrior who's gaze freezes his foes.” Grellnock pushed the gate aside and stepped in. Taller than Eirick by half a meter, the champion of Indy was a wall of muscle and fat that would have blotted out the sun if he had run free. If the Champion of Chi had two like brothers, all three could have crawled inside the giant's skin with room to spare. His massive fists and forearms were clad in gloves of articulated steel plates. Shards and bristles of sharpened metal points bristled from the steel plates. He looked like an enormous bear walking on hind legs.

“Where do you think they found that giant?” Rex asked. “I hope closer to Chi than Indy. I don't like the idea of a horde of brutes stalking around our perimeter. Damn, but the Rangers would have their hands drenched in blood.”

“The ones who survived. We'd be forced to recycle a good number of soldiers. I think that happening on a band of them would make the start of a terrible day.”

“Assuming that they didn't jump you first. Word came from a friend of mine who went on a deep patrol, he said that some of the tribes have become warlike and wily. His team was out in the bush for a week and barely caught a scent of a one of them. Then one night a hundred bloodthirsty maniacs jumped out of the bushes. My friend's platoon lost half of their count. He said that they killed dozens of the animals, and then the Brass sent them out a month later to find the village and raze it.”

Eirick had crouched down as the gate opened. His full attention and fury focused on the door and the lumbering monster that emerged. He hissed. The wiry man's face was burned with rage as he coiled like a spring and launched himself at the lumbering giant, a knife appearing in his other hand.

Grellnock stepped aside with alarming speed and grace and swung his claw at Eirick's head.

“I hope he's a freak among his tribe.” Rex exclaimed in quiet awe as the giant pressed the attack on the smaller man. Chi was dancing backwards, weaving, ducking and rolling to avoid the onslaught. A single swipe and his body would be broken.

Eirick leaped forward on the attack, rolling past the Bear. A long gash opened up across Grellnock's thigh. The giant roared and kicked out his injured leg, catching Eirick in the chest, throwing the smaller man three meters across the arena. Eirick's body slammed against the wall, stealing his breath, as Grellnock knelt and gripped the wound between two large mitts.

First blood Chi.

Eirick struggled back up onto his feet and stumbled forward dazed. The Bear snarled and rose to meet his foe. They began circling each other anew, the smaller man slashing and feinting, reposte followed remise. Eirick and Grellnock gathered a new collection of gashes and punctures across their scarred skins. Blood gushed and the gladiators slowed their furious steps.

The wiry foreigner struck again, carving a lump of fat from the giant's side.

Grellnock screamed and flailed his arms, catching Eirick's braid as the smaller man tried to roll away. The giant lifted his bane by the hair and swung the smaller man around like a hammer, as if he were trying to launch his foe from the arena. Eirick swiped his knife at the man's wrist, and flew backwards head over heels until he landed in the sand.

After a long moment on his Eirick rose unsteadily to his feet and shook himself. Grellnock's severed hand fell from his hair. The giant was on his knees and screaming as he clutched the stump that had become a fountain of blood. The rest of the world was lost to him, as Eirick's knife slid between his ribs, and then again, and a third time. Grellnock screamed and lashed out with his good hand, catching hold of Eirick's face.

The giant struggled to stand erect, heaving with the effort as his blood soaked the sand at his feet. Eirick thrashed his arms and legs, trying to free himself from the larger gladiator's enormous hand and powerful grip. More gashes appeared Grellnock's flesh. The giant bellowed and rage and he began to shake the champion of Chi.

There was a loud pop, followed by a hollow grinding. Eirick's arms dangled uselessly as his body fell limp. Grellnock tossed the corpses aside like a rag doll. The Champion of Indy took a half step forward and then collapsed, falling down face first into the mud, bleeding out around Eirick's last knife in his Triumph.

Deafening silence ruled the room for the space of several heartbeats following the final collapse of the Indy's champion. Then the howls of

“This situation won't end well.” Angela jumped down from her bench and peeked out into the tunnel.

“Ah hell. No, that isn't, no!” Rex said. He threw his chit down onto the ground and stomped on it. “I can't believe that that little runt won. I'm going to kill that runt myself!” Runt, he was taller than Rex, though Rex looked broader.

“Grellnock won.”

“Really?”

“Most likely. They're both dead. I guess Eirick struck his killing blow first. But the Giant was the last still standing. You didn't bet on the challenger, so you should be holding a winning ticket.”

Rex crossed his arms and growled. “I bet on our man to not only strike the killing blow, but to survive the match. The payout was better. Damn, I should have gone with the safe bet...”

Angela sat up straight. Something felt wrong. She cut Rex off as she strained her ears. The cadence of running feet rippling through the tunnel that they had entered. “Trouble.” She said. The tantrum ceased without a sputter as Rex became fully alert. He cocked his head and then got up and edged towards the tunnel entrance.

“Wonderful.” Rex spewed a stream of profanity as he peaked around the corner and cursed. “Where did you get your tickets from Athena?” He stepped back and glanced quickly at the mob. Nobody was giving any attention to the tunnels. They were near rioting.

“From a favored client. They came by courier.”

“Well, you've been betrayed or tricked. But either way, now we know why we didn't have to sit through baiting. We're going to have to run through it instead. I wonder if they got cameras pointing at us for the entertainment of the outside. I damned well hope that we survive.”

“Why are you so pressed? You're destitute again and likely to end up in the gutter if we escape.”

“Hey, alive and broke ain't so bad so long as you get the alive part. That way I can keep going and try to find my fortune. As the old rhyme goes, Live to play another day. Man's gotta have something to strive for, else life would get powerful boring.”

Angela climbed back up onto the top bench and scanned the room again. Any minute now the soldiers were going to burst into the arena and the carnage would begin. Rex climbed up beside her. He was still complaining. “It's a Cull. Those aren't Peace-keepers Athena. They're not even Rangers. Who are they?” She could hear the cold sweat dripping down his face in his voice. Rex was never frightened and rarely bothered. Angela couldn't blame him. She felt like her knees were about to give out.

“They looked like the Hammer of the Heavens to me.”

“They exist? I thought that the Hammer was a myth. What the hell is going on?” Rex looked around frantically for a bolt hole to dive into. “I knew I shouldn't have accepted your invitation. Momma always said that there was no such thing as a free lunch. I always get into trouble when I forget that stupid rule. Greed is going to be my downfall!”

Angela wanted to strike the man. He often let himself be swept away before a fight. Instead she took a hold of his shoulder and pointed towards the pit. A crew was working hard to remove the carcasses. They were entering and exiting through a pair of “I think that may do.” Rex looked up, following her finger.

“Maybe.” He said slowly, nodding as he studied the fence. “Looks like they built it to keep the fighters in. But toe-holds might be hard to come by.” The footsteps were growing closer. In a minute or two the Fanatics would be wading into the crowd. Angela glanced at one of the cameras. It was pointed straight at her. She touched her mask to make sure it was still in place.

Some faces in the crowd had turned back towards the tunnel. Mouths opened in screams that were swallowed by the surrounding din. Those newly awakened to the danger pushed away from the door. More faces turned backwards. More screams. A few broke away from the mob and darted for the tunnels.

Bullets tore through the air.

“Now!” Angela cried a heartbeat before the first soldier stepped through the portal. Her long legs carried her down across the tops of the bench seats of the bleachers. She felt Rex follow close at her heels as she leaped up atop the crowd. More gunshots and more screams of terror and pain. Projectiles flew past her, tearing at her jumpsuit.

Angela pushed as quickly as possible, stepping on faces and heads as she waded over the panicked crowd. Please let them hold together, she prayed as she waded towards the pit. Bullets were ricocheting off the Feglass.

Her fingers curled around the top ridge of the fence. Steel barbs dug into her flesh as Angela pulled herself off the crowd and over the wall. She landed heavily in the sand and rolled to her feet. A moment later she heard Rex land behind her.

“What are you...?” The man started. Rex rammed the heel of his hand into the man's jaw, toppling him over backwards into the blood-soaked sand. Angela took one of Eirick's knives from the worker's belt and transferred the weapon to her own. The rest of the laborers stopped their tasks and backed away from the intruders.

Angela through herself shoulder first at a heavy metal door under a tall arch. The Arch that Grellnock had entered through. Pushing at the handle she tried to force it open. The door wouldn't budge.

Rex dug in the sand and found a knife. The tip was broken, but it would do. “The door! How do you open it?” He demanded as he swung around the stub of the blade. “Now, or I'll gut the lot of you and then find your families!”

A short, broad man with cropped hair stepped forward. His hands were shaking as he unlatched a metal ring about the size of his fist and tossed it at Rex's feet. The mercenary picked the ring up and examined it. The ring had been strung through some twenty finger-length bits of metal that clinked together as he shook the ring. Keys! Angela exclaimed silently. Actual keys! How old was this tunnel that they still used keys?

“What...?” Rex began to ask as Angela yanked the ring from his hand.

“Watch them!” She ordered her companion as she searched the door for the key-hole. A moments inspection lead her to what must have been the lock. She singled out the first key and tried to jam it into the opening. It resisted, she spun it around and tried again. No dice.

“Hurry Athena, whatever you're doing.” Rex said nearly over her shoulder. He had backed up as far as he could go. The screams had diminished noticeably, even to her distracted ear. The keys rattled in her hand as she shook with fright. Methodically she tried the next key, and the next as Rex prodded her onwards.

The seventeenth key turned with a soft click as the lock gave way. Angela lifted the latch and pushed the door open with her hip. “Let's go!” The Ratcatcher called as she slipped through portal and into the concealing darkness.

Buggery and the Lash

Alister stood at attention along with the rest of his company. First Sergeant Reynolds was walking back and forth like a caged wolf. Before the three ranks of evenly spaced soldiers. He was in full dress and regalia – very official for the parade grounds. Alister and his cohorts exchanged wondrous glances when they had first taken notice some two hours before when they were first ordered out onto the parade grounds.

Sergeant Reynolds was looking especially surly, and he had only grown more so since he had begun his pacing. The soldiers could sense that something big was about to happen. Alister stole a glance at the Captain and the rest of the officers. They were all standing at attention and allowing First Sergeant Reynolds to do the heavy work. A matter of discipline. It must be. But for what? What infraction would call for the full company to fall out on the parade grounds, for the First Sergeant and the Officers to dress in their finest uniforms?

What would drive Reynolds to cut a trench into the artificial grass with the multiple passes of his feet.

Finally he stopped and faced the company with a grim countenance. “Corporal Punishment! Front and Center!” Alister sighed as an ox of a man took a step forward out of the line of soldiers and jogged over to where the sergeant stood. He had been tagged with the byname Corporal Punishment, he had been born Benjamin Harrison Stone. The Soldier was a the progeny of a proud family.

Stone stood at full attention and saluted the sergeant. The Sergeant glared into Stone's chest. Reynolds wasn't a short man. Part of the Stone's fame was purely physical. Tall and broad shouldered with handsome faces, blonde hair and blue eyes. They were Poster Fodder and beloved by the masses on the other side of the Wall.

Stone new this and took advantage wherever he could.

“Well Private,” Sergeant Reynolds began, “You have failed to control your base urges and have Crossed Over and Taken a girl. Not only that, you have gotten the victim with child. You have committed a crime against the Church, the Rangers and this Company. You have shamed your fellow soldiers by disregarding Seventeen Dash A of the Rules and Codes of Conduct of the Rangers.”

The man-child giggled from nervous relief.

“Do you think that this affair is humorous Private? You are about to take the full brunt of the Law of Heaven.” The Sergeant stated in a strained whisper that carried across the parade grounds. His face had hardened and all of the heat had drained from it. Alister guessed that his eyes were burning with rage behind his mirrored sunglasses.

Stone ignored the warning glare and began to slouch as if the worst were behind him. Clearly he didn't know his regulations or his law. He was a strange boy from a strange family. His father had been one of the most highly decorated officers in the Rangers. A man who was toted to be the Hero of his generation. He had forged some powerful connections over the three decades that he actively served. As a Hero with powerful friends, he had been given a certain amount of leeway in his life.

His son hadn't earned the privilege. His father had been soft on the boy. A pity. He was a decent soldier.

“What do you think Sargeageddon?” The man standing to Alister's immediate right asked. “Twenty lashes? And then the rest of his life as KP?”

Alister spoke without moving his lips. “I don't think that he'll escape so easy as that.” The soldier gasped.

“Harsh, don't you think?”

“I think they're going to charge him with rape.”

“Rape?” Gonzales asked in a harsh whisper. “You were there! That girl nearly ripped his clothes off him. Girls are always after Stone. The man is too pretty!”

“Those of us who were in attendance might even get a few stripes ourselves.”

“Oh hell. Are you serious?”

“Miscegenation is forbidden Corporal. She was Laborer and he's Soldier. The only way it could have been worse is if the girl had been a Seer. He should have tried to gain the attentions of one of the Coteries.” Stone's mother had been a Seer, but since Stone had followed his father's path, he was officially a Soldier.

“Coteries? Who ever sees one of them out here? Even when we're allowed inside, face time is precious.”

“That's not the point. He broke one of the founding laws.”

“Yeah, but usually they just destroy the offspring of mixed unions don't they? And then flog the parents too. But just a light punishment.”

“I don't know.” A pair of burly MPs sandwiched Stone and then skinned him, leaving him hanging in the nude before shackling him, stuffing a gag in his mouth and finally leading the dumbfounded private away.

There was a lesson here, and the officers made sure that their grunts didn't miss a beat.

The Captain took the Sergeant's place and addressed the company. “Punishment will commence in one hour's time before all ranks of the West Gate Garrison. You will wear your Greens with all commemorations and decorations present. You will be spotless. You have forty-five minutes to prepare. Dismissed.” Alister and his platoon separated from the company and humped it quick down into the tunnels that ran underneath the base of the Shell where their barracks were nested. Where the Rangers were housed.

“Well,” Gonzales started, “That is exactly why I only fool around with Derelict girls when we're off duty.”

“You have some dangerous friends Corporal. They might knife you in your sleep. It's happened before. Derelicts and Soldiers don't mesh well. In the end you might be ordered to sweep your bunk buddies up. Would you be able to handle that?” It was a twitchy question, and Alister felt that he knew the answer already. No matter, Gonzales changed directions again and wandered down a familiar path.

“Do you ever wish that you had been born in one of the other Orders? I mean, besides the Derelicts, but they don't really count as a Order. I do. Or hell, why did I have to be so exceedingly good at soldiering and violence as a sprout, and get myself sorted into the Rangers? What would it be like just to have been ordained into internal security? At least then, I would be able to spend some face time with the Coteries. Like those fellows over in the Special Squad? They have those sharp uniforms.” Gonzales studied his calloused hands. “I think that I could put my hands to much better use as a mechanic than a rifleman. I always wanted to know how machines worked.”

“You have your M-7.” Alister responded by rote. He rarely listened to the bulk of Gonzales' ramblings. “You must know that inside and out by now. And the Enforcer. And of course the SM-4. All the improvements that you made to the squad's equipment have been adopted by the entire company. Corporal, you clearly have talent in the area and might be a greater asset to the entire Brigade as an Armorer. If you want, we can talk to the Captain about getting you into the Armory division.”

“I was hoping for something else Sergeant.”

“You want to be a machinist and this may be your only way to achieve that dream Corporal. The Rangers get to keep you without rocking the boat and making the Council nervous. Everyone wins. At least, nobody loses.”

Gonzales sighed. “Yeah, I guess. What about my fireteam?”

“We'd find someone from the company to fill in.”

“Not Jenkins! Sorry, my fault. Didn't mean to insult you. Just not Jenkins.”

“Were it up to the Sergeants, Jenkins would spend the rest of his service mopping the floors of the head. But Generals don't always listen to Sergeants.

“Sergeant. Sergeant. Sergeant. Yeah, that's a funny word. Sergeant.” Gonzales was babbling as he furiously polished the bottom button on his tunic. “How do I look? Did I get everything?” He asked as he stood up to reveal his full splendor. The uniform was slightly tight, several months of relative inactivity had packed a couple extra kilo's of fat onto his frame.

“Acceptable Corporal. Now kindly go and check your squad. We have five minutes before we're due to review. You are responsible for four men. And they seem to be distracted.”

Across the barracks some of the men were yelling back and forth. “No way!”

“Totally true!”

“No it isn't. Not a chance!”

“Will happen!”

“War Hero Stone won't let his son die!”

“The Prophet's Balls he won't!”

Corporal Gonzales called them up short before the argument came to a head. “What is going on here?”

“Simmons thinks that the Council will force General Stone to execute his own son. I think Simmons is mad.” More yelling and Alister lost the thread. Nerves were high, they had all liked Younger Stone. He was arrogant and at times obnoxious, but he strove to live up to his father's legacy. All without being foolhardy and reckless.

He was a fine soldier.

The Sergeant didn't say anything, but Simmons was right. According to the regs, seeing Hero Stone executing his offspring wasn't a possibility, it was probable. Only his status before the people of Indy kept him from being punished too. Alister held that tidbit to himself. Life was hard in the Rangers, and sometimes it was almost as hard as life outside the dome.

Alister's squad formed up and joined Second Platoon. Second Platoon took it's own place in the Company. The Company joined their Battalion in the procession around the parade grounds. The Regimental Orchestra was present, instruments in hand. There was no music, aside from the rhythmic stampede of 2600 pairs of boots. The music would come later.

The West Gate Garrison was formed into a semi-circle around the parade grounds. A scaffold had been erected in two levels, on top was the majority of the officer's corps centered on the Chaplin Commander. The officers wore their grimmest expressions.

With a nod from the Chaplin Commander, Colonel Ford stepped forward and away from the rest.

The Colonel waved his hand and the band began to play with energy and enthusiasm. First the Ranger's March, then the Song of the Prophet and finally the Hymn to Mother Indy. Festive and lively songs that got the blood pumping. The music stopped suddenly, like a rug being pulled out from underneath the listeners. Alister's ears started ringing form the sudden silence.

“Bring out the prisoner!” The Colonel ordered. Stone was pried out from whatever little hole the guards had stuffed him into. He was completely nude and soaking wet. His eyes had been Opened. The halter had been strapped to his head. The prisoner stumbled as the MPs paraded him before the formations. The MPs dragged him onwards and up to his place to the scaffolding.

The Colonel stepped back and was replaced by the Chaplin Commander. Stone was forced down onto his knees. One of his guards took hold of the metal halter and yanked it, forcing the prisoner to stare up at his persecutor as final judgment was handed down.

“Private Stone. You have flaunted the Prophet's Seventeenth Doctrine and willfully broken Her Covenant with her Children! In doing so you have Violated an innocent in the most savage and Ungodly manner. These crimes, having been perpetuated underneath our very noses has Shamed the Rangers to their very bones.”

Private Stone, true to his family legacy, held his silence as the blows began to rain down like stones of ice from the sky. The shriek of the leather Cat against his bare flesh gave way to a wet slap as his skin was torn away.

Eventually the unfortunate soldier known as Corporal Punishment broke down and began to cry. “Please! End it!” He begged with a shattered sob. “Please.” His voice tapered off and then was broken by sobs. That call was the most mournful and aching sound that Alister had ever heard and it cut him to the core. The Chaplain Commanded took a step back and nodded to one of the officers. A hole formed around General Stone. He didn't seem to notice. All of his attention was focused on his son.

General stone was given a knife with a long, curved blade and then pushed towards the shuddering and weeping remains of his child. He walked with a slight limp, his back was straight to the point of rigidity. He looked neither left or right as he gripped the handle of the knife.

“General, do your duty to the Prophet and Her People.” The Chaplain Commander said. The father leaned over his son and then in one swift and merciful stroke, drew the blade across his throat, nearly severing his head.

“Very good General! You remembered your duty to God and the State.” Finally, the Chaplain Commander turned to the Rangers as they stood at attention. “For the rest of you, you are not innocent in this. You are all guilty in this man's crimes. From here on, all Rangers will be restricted to base when not on duty. By order of the Council. You will now return to your regularly scheduled training and duties. If you have loved ones, I suggest that you write to them tonight before mail call. It may be the last chance you get. Mark my words Soldiers and remember them as if they came from Her lips. Your own punishment will begin soon, and you will cleanse away the worst of your sins with blood.”

Sunday Breakfast

“Day and time!” Angela declared as she kicked off the covers. She was already regretting the previous evening.

“Sunday. 8:40 AM.” Angela sat up and got out of bed. She made her way through the clutter and pulled aside the blackout curtain that covered her tiny window. The warm, diffused glow of full day was upon the city as the skyscape warmed up. She could already see the clouds collecting on the horizon as the light began to dim.

Right on time.

In twenty minutes the downpour would begin. Right now she needed to break her fast with some protein and carbs. Angela's stomach growled to urge her on in making her decision. Her cupboards were empty as usual.

Angela jumped into the shower and sluiced herself off and made herself more presentable to the outside world. By 8:50 AM and she was on the street and walking briskly towards her favorite slop shack just off of SSW and Ring Seven. Level Sixteen, Unit B Prime. One level up from her own apartment and only a kilometer off.

Minutes ticked by and the sky grew darker and swirled overhead. It was how Angela imagined a storm at the far distant sea to look. How the stories had described them. Angela checked her time piece. Angela stepped inside and walked over to the counter. The cook nodded to her. She nodded back and held up her hand. She'd have her usual.

There was a new reader on the Network. She was prettier than the last, her voice more pleasing. She was relating a story about a team of Soldiers who had valiantly sussed out a nest of outcast vermin in a basement in the third ring. The outcasts were to be humanely relocated and introduced into various wholesome vocations across the city's several farm complexes, where they would be a boon.

The outcasts' handlers were to be recycled once they were judged to be guilty.

The clock turned over to 9 AM and the gates opened.

She watched the cleansing as she waited for her meal. A river of water was pouring off of the walkway. In moments the streets below would be a raging torrent half a meter deep. The water would scour away any filth that had accumulated in the last week. The cook set a bowl down in front of her with a final nod. Angela picked up her spoon and saluted before tucking in.

Breakfast Mixture Four. The specialty of the house, and the one thing that kept Angela coming back to the little corner shop. It filled her nutritional needs perfectly, providing the sensation of satiation as well as an abundance of energy. Didn't taste too bad either.

She was about a quarter the way through the bowl when the television flickered and went black. And instant later it lit back up and a nose appeared. The camera panned out, revealing a face and then a figure robed in red silk robes. Pontiff was on for his weekly meeting. The lights went out as the patrons and staff stood up and turned towards the nearest screen.

Angela stood up with alacrity, rising before nearly the rest of the room and nearly knocking over the seat of her stool. She locked her eyes on the screen and smiled broadly. But not too broadly.

“My children.” The Supreme Vicar said, holding out his arms for an embrace. All around her, people returned the gesture. Angela was among the first to rise. It was part of the ritual. Pontiff continued. “How I love you all, and as your beloved and humble leader I wish on every one of your heads happiness and the eternal smile of our Heavenly Father. May he always look on us with Grace and divine Favor!” Amen, the flock responded in near unison, bowing to their leader. “Please stand and we shall begin.”

He spoke on the Prophet's Parable of the Empty Vessel. A favorite subject of the Pontiff lately.

“And the Prophet climbed upon the stone and faced his cohorts. And loudly he spoke, instructing them as the crowds began to gather! A wise man had seven pots in his kitchen which were full of pure nutritious oil. And seven pots in his kitchen that were full of tainted, rancid filth. Seeing this, he commanded his servant to carry forth the unclean pots and pile them in the midden heap away from the house! But the servant was greedy, and instead he took the tainted pots to the market and sold them, casting them out into the world to wreck havoc on the unwary. When the Wise man discovered the betrayal of his despicable servant and declared his life forfeit for all time for his crimes against his master and his fell men.”

Pontiff took a deep breath as he chanted the last words of the parable. He stared into the camera for a moment, his eyes boring into the minds and souls of the viewers on the far end. Burning away their will with the intensity of his gaze. “We should always follow the laws of our society, as they are wise and well thought out and meant to protect us from the harrows of the chaotic world outside out fine barrier. Remember, that only those who were full of the Prophet's teachings were to be accepted into the flock and be allowed to live amongst us. Anything else is to invite disaster.”

They took a break to sing the hymn Abide With Us. There were some mellifluous voices in the cafe. Angela spoke along to keep her lips moving, barely above a whisper. She knew the words as well as any, but her vocal talents did not live up to her name.

Finally Pontiff began his closing remarks.

“Remember the teachings of our esteemed Prophet. If they are not saved by my grace, then they are nothing in the eyes of the Lord, and should be nothing in your eyes either. Though our bodies shall be returned to whence they came, our immortal souls will join Him in paradise. I expect to see you all at Service, with your tithes in hand, when your schedule permits.” He bowed his head slightly and the screen went black. The cafe bowed back and stopped for a moment of silent prayer.

Somewhere during the Service, the rain had stopped.

Angela tasted her first spoonful of the gruel. The unexpected extra It was cold. It tasted good. The mixture satisfied her hunger. Angela waved her right hand over the scanner and paid for her meal , plus a small gratuity. She stepped into the growing foot traffic, intent to take a walk for her morning exercise.

“Someone stop him! He destroyed my image of the Pontiff!” A woman screamed from somewhere up ahead on the path. The crowd was parting like a river around a boulder. Someone was pushing through, and they were moving fast. The progress halted and the boulder fell into place as the opening grew larger. The runner had been caught. Angela was almost close enough to see the commotion, and she could hear yelling. She watched the ruckus out of the corner of her eye as she passed. The Mercenary was careful to appear focused on where she was putting her feet as she followed the flow of traffic.

The man was screaming as he fought to free himself from the strong grasp of the Rangers. The soldiers were silent as they worked, a marked contrast from their quarry. “Pontiff's a tyrant! A tyrant! We will not bow to such a power mad monster! Fight against him! Do not listen to his lies! They have corrupted the words of the Prophet to feed their own profit!” A powerfully built man held the Heretic by the arms while another took a handful of hair and pulled his head back. The man screamed and then began his chant again, until the officer finally managed to slip the gag into his mouth.

The man thrashed and fought as he was dragged away. Traffic opened up around him. Eyes staring forward as the people enjoyed their Sunday recreation.

Angela kept walking until she reached the relative safety of her apartment.

Pamplet

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The standard Foundation is a ring of steel reinforced concrete that reaches up to 50 meters in width and height. Bunkers, tunnels and guard posts can be cast into the Foundation Ring to meet your defensive requirements. The HHD can be outfitted to perform as a fortress or a prison depending on your NEEDS.

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The Zombie Teapot Uprising and other strangeness

The door shuddered one last under the pressure, before finally cracking and then falling to pieces. In they came, dozens of them. The walking corpses filled the room.

One stumbled forward, quicker than the rest. She had been a blonde, and pretty at one time. There was just enough of her left to hint of what was lost. I stood transfixed for a moment as she reached out her hands, two fingers were missing.

Lisa roared wordlessly and the spell broke. I raised the fire-poker over my head like a sword and brought it down on her skull. there was an unpleasant crunch. She fell and stopped moving.

I stepped back. The room was filling fast. Lisa took a hold of my shirt and pulled me into the kitchen.

Still more came.

God, why did I have to waste those last two bullets?

And to pimp an old ceramic project - http://krassos.deviantart.com/gallery... - The Zombie Teapot Uprising.

If you're looking for a diversion...

Of the non post apocalyptic variety. Here's a more recent attempt of mine at the adventure genre under a different pen name. Available on Kindle and Nook.

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12...

on montages. Survivor Chronicles outtake.

Rapture (Outtake)

Jason slid the bolt back in place and lay the rifle back down on the table. For the third time in as many days he had cleaned and oiled the weapon. He wondered if it was possible to wear away the parts just by cleaning, without ever actually firing a single shot. He felt like an obsessive-compulsive hypochondriac as he added another step to his daily pacing.

Get up, break-fast, check the doors, clean his guns, check the garden, get some exercise, watch the sun set and go back to bed. Each day seemed to vomit onto the next in a cycle that never seemed to end. How long had it been? A month? Two? Did time have meaning anymore? Or would the clock devolve to the simple Morning, Noon and Night? The years would no longer be marked with days or months, but the turning of the seasons. What day was it?

All he knew was that it was now day time, and the beginning of summer was on them.

“Why didn't they ever show this part in the movies?” He asked aloud.

“What part? Who? ... What they hell are you talking about?” Billy asked as he popped open a can and took a swig of beer. Judging by the grimace, that can too had gone skunky on him. Just one more tangible amenity of civilized life that they would need to let go of. And try to forget.

“The boredom. Why didn't they ever show the boredom of just being here in the zombie movies?” Oh Romero, why did your vision fail here?

“What do you mean? They did. In both Dawn and the remake. In Day too. They showed the survivors struggling with the tedium and hopelessness of existence after the world ended.”

“I don't remember it. Are you sure?”

“You usually had to hit the can by that point in the movie.”

“You're kidding me.”

“I'm not. The action would usually slow down a little, you would get bored and use the opportunity to go and take a leak.”

“You're shitting me.” They Dead series were long movies. And Jason would usually have a frosty cold beverage on hand while they watched. Snacks seemed to make movies that much better all around.

“'Fraid not buddy. Lynn and I had it timed out almost exactly. They would finish cleaning the zombies out of the mall, and you would get up to go. Every single time. I even wrote a paper about it for my Psych class. I concluded that you were crazy.”

“Really?”

“I got an A on that paper. My professor wanted to study you in greater depth, something about Pavlov's dog experiments. She offered to have sex with me, and give me an A in the class if I could hook her up.” Jason glared at his friend. Billy grinned. “Alright, she didn't. But I did get an A on the paper thanks to your having the crazy.”

Jason let it pass and the two friends sat in silence for a few moments listening to the moans of the host below. The zombies were still there. Always. Why he should expect anything different was beyond him, but there was always that glimmer of optimism that one morning he would wake up and the mob of walking corpses would have evaporated away. The last weeks would have just been a dream.

“You know Jason. Our montage has been kind of lackluster.”

“What the hell are you talking about now?”

“Same thing. In the movies they would always make a montage of what the heroes were doing to keep themselves busy. They did things like play sports, have wild sex, kill zombies, some more sex. Like in the first Dawn movie, they got decked up in furs and robbed the bank. Just for the hell of it.”

“Well, we only have one woman, and she's attached. And don't look at me like that, the answer is no. I won't be getting that desperate ever.”

“So you say. But the rest aside, our montage would look better on the cover of the AARP magazine. We get up, stretch, read, eat breakfast and weed the garden. We even gave up smoking. A ton of tobacco below us, and we're just letting it rot. We used to love smoking. It felt so good.”

“Go ahead and smoke. Who's stopping you? I gave up smoking. You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to support you in your making of healthy life choices. But that's not the point.”

“What's the point then.”

“We're boring.” Billy stepped up onto the ledge and looked down at the swarm below. “Terribly boring. We're going to die sooner or later, of something. Why not cancer? At least then I could enjoy the ride up until I finally kicked it.”

Jason couldn't argue. He just wanted to stay alive as long as possible, and that might require having a functioning set of lungs. He had found, since quitting smoking, that the common and necessary act of breathing was a great deal easier. Billy squatted down and picked up a stone. He hurled the stone with all the power he could muster from his scrawny frame. The stone bounced off the roof of a sedan and skittered harmlessly into the crowd.

“Figures.” He said. “Ten thousand zombies out there. All packed shoulder to shoulder. And I can't manage to hit one.” Billy looked over at the rifle. Jason shook his head, though he didn't know why. They had hundreds of rounds of ammunition downstairs in the store. Even Lynn had to admit that they could use some practice with the rifle. Target practice with the undead would kill two zombies with one bullet, so to speak.

“I agree with Lynn on this one. We should keep our heads down and try not to attract any attention.” He had seen those parts of the movies, where a swarm of dozens of bikers would swoop down on an unsuspecting shopping complex and carry off whatever loot they could lay their hands on. Jewelery, money, electronics.

“Please. There's already a heap of broken TV sets down there. Who won't notice those?”

“It's not as if those will ever come in handy again. The bullets might.”

“Yeah? What good will a hundred bullets be if we can't shoot straight?”

“About as much good as an empty rifle if we blew away all of the bullets in target practice. Besides, we've had a lot of practice. I'm a fairly good shot.” Billy grunted.

“The least we could do is kill off some of the zombies with some of the extra ammo.”

Jason shielded his eyes with one hand as he gazed out over the parking lot. If he squinted enough, the masses below really did resemble the ocean as they rocked back and forth like surf crashing on the rocks. There had to be thousands of the dead pressed together as they tried to get in. thousands.

“What good would it do against that? And then after we killed them all? What would we do with the bodies?”

“I don't know. One problem at a time. Right now we can't even safely walk out the front door. We're stuck here. The MegaMart is our prison. What the fuck were we thinking when we decided to camp here? I hated this place when I was paid to be here. Now to get stuck for the rest of our lives?” Billy leaned forward as if he were thinking about taking a dive off the edge. Jason reached out and grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him back. Billy gave him a frown.

“We're here. We're alive. Until we stop being alive, there's always room for improvement.” Billy shrugged and went back inside, leaving Jason alone.

An Unwanderer

I ascend out of my plot of earth
From a hole in the ground my body dumped
Half eaten by a thousand thousand slimy things
and other crawling horrors of the soil
The shell of my former self
Stumbling over unseen grounds
To rise up as humanity's darkest fear
Greater than the unknown darkness of night,
Worse than the creature in the closet,
A plague on all the world
Led by my ferocious hunger
Existing to eat and little else
All that was known is forgotten
All that was felt, now quite lost
Belief and memory are wind
Never again to know Sol's warm embrace
No longer to enjoy the wind's caress
There is no longer pain
Pleasure long forgotten
All that exists is hunger.
I've returned to feed.
Feed on those who were once like me.
Family and stranger, all the same.
All that I am is the emptiness.

They Need a Beating

It was one of those beautiful summer days, with the clear blue sky, bright sunshine and pleasant breeze. The perfect weather for an adventure. And even if the sky had been grey with a cool breeze crossing the surface of the suburbs, it wouldn't have mattered any. It was summer and they were outside.

The kid crouched in the small cluster of trees and bushes, wearing his camouflage shirt in the hopes that it would magically make him invisible to others, like some wondrous Gods-gifted trinket sort of charm bestowed upon one of the heros of old. He was staring out across the street at a large group of other children his age, they were playing a game that involved riding their bikes down into a pit, and then up the other side where they would ride a foot or two into the air. They called it bike jumping, sort of an suburban sport that was about as extreme as their idyllic surroundings. A childish imitation of what they had seen on television. Their imaginations put to the full test as they saw themselves winning the accolades of millions with this game of theirs.

In his one hand the kid held a balloon full of water that was still managed to retain its cool, even after what felt like hours, maybe even days, of sneaking through the woods and fenced backyards between here and their homes. Probably only fifteen minutes had passed in the real world, but kids don't really live in the real world. The mission called for stealth, and be damned if they didn't give sneakiness their best shot. The other hand was full of sweat brought on by neither the heat of the sun nor the exercise.

He looked over at his friend, who was wearing shorts and a bright orange t-shirt that would be better applied to walking through the woods during hunting season than this clandestine operation of the most sensitive nature. "Are you ready?"

"Damn straight." He said, just a little too loud. A car passed them by in the street and the bikers kept up their game of riding and jumping, the future stars cheering one another on. If nobody else saw it fit to salute their daring, then they would see to it themselves.

The kid looked out across the street once again and hefted his balloon. It wasn't an impressive payload. One balloon. For all of the work, maybe they should have brought an entire cooler full of them, and be carpet bombers. They could make their last stand in this micro-forest. A two person Aalmo. The Aalmo though hadn't gone well for the defenders. Though they were doing something innately stupid, there were limits on their self destructive

Instead they decided to be guerilla warriors, snipers. Fighting their way through the barren and frightening wilderness of the suburban landscape, to burst out on their prey, strike, and then fade away. This was the plan. He had his special shirt along to bring them luck.

"Now," he said, bursting from cover and flinging his balloon up over the road in the vague direction of the other children.

He had played this game before, numerous times. Not once could he ever be sure that he hit any single one of his targets. His friend often claimed amazing feats of accuracy and power, hitting one of the jumpers in the face and knocking him through the air, his body spinning as his heels sailed over his head until he landed in a large pool of stagnant water. His friend claimed this, but then he also had claimed to be a prince and a werewolf on separate occasions.

His friend had his boasts, numerous ones. Which he couldn't begin to argue against, since the moment after the balloon left his hand he was already turned around and running. Maybe the fact that his friend was at his side keeping pace as they sprinted for safety could be taken as evidence of the less than truthful nature of his stories. But then maybe he was too jacked up on adrenaline to much remember the sequence of events that followed the release.

The game had its forms. The two friends launched their payload and then the jumpers gave chase. Now, trying to outrun a group of bikers on open ground is really not a wise tactic. But these two kids weren't the brightest bulbs on the tree as it was and seemed to usually discount this in their plans. Sure, they could have jumped fences and maybe gotten away. Bikes after all can't climb fences, and most children weren't inclined to jump off their bike and leave it to its own devices as they chased their prey.

Nope, instead the two kids decided to try and make their escape down what amounted to being an empty lot that ran the full length of the block. The camouflage charm, it turns out doesn't much help the holder when running through en empty lot in broad daylight. Who knew? Really, it doesn't help you when sitting still in an empty lot either. The Gods though, they do have their wicked senses of humor, and little kids aren't usually savvy enough to catch on quickly.

They deserved a beating. They knew it. The other kids knew it, they were legion and could easily visit their wrath on the two sticks in their midst. But for some reason or another, he bikers were feeling generous and turned around and left.

His friend extended his arm over his head, palm inward and fingers curled into a fist before then straightening his middle finger. "Fuck you all!" He yelled out in the traditional form of farewell as the group of bike riding kids as they began to make their way back to their own little game.

Admittedly, there must have been a mishearing or mistranslation somewhere along the line. Such was the power of the farewell that the other kids took it as a invitation to return to the fun and games.

The kid and his friend ran once again. Out of breath as they were, the game had once again renewed and losing meant - they weren't sure what losing meant in its entirety - that was, they did not grok - they didn't plan on finding out either.

Using their full measure of cunning, the two kids found a hiding spot. On front porch belonging to a complete stranger. Now, this was no walled wrap around porch that would shield them from the view of their perusers, nope, not even close. No, they could be spotted from the street, a block away, which was irrelevant, they were too tired and out of breath to keep running.

Their hunters caught up. Circled around like a pack of wolves, and began to close. When the door behind the companions opened. The owner was home, and he had seen.

"What are you all doing out here? Get off my property!" He commanded. He was an adult and therefore unchallengable by a mere pack of kids and they slunk back, just out of sight. That was enough for the companions and they jumped down off the porch, sprinting towards a nearby wooded lot and leaping into its shadowy embrace.

Safety and escape once more.

They had done something especially stupid, and gotten off scot free once again. One day the natural laws of Karma would catch up with them. But for now they were invincible and invulnerable. Luck's favored sons.

Moving Day

"Have fun." She said, as she lounged on the couch and watched the idiot parade on TV. Alice barely moved her head as she wished him his farewell, enthralled as she was with the flickering altar of passive entertainment.

Inocente slapped his front pockets one last time. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Everything was in place. Now he could respond. "Oh, yeah, I will."

"Where are you going again?"

"I'm off to help CB from upstairs move."

"Who are you going to help again?"

"One of my ex-co-workers. He and his family are moving out of state. So I'm helping him. Good riddance."

"Why don't you like him Inocente? Was he the guy who messed up your car upholstery?"

"No, Jason was the guy who hurled in my car, my fault that was, should have known better than driving him home when he was drunk. No, the CB is the guy who hit on pretty much everyone in the office."

"Everyone?"

"Yes."

"Even you?"

"Yes. Everyone. Except the boss. We all complained about him, but the boss never did anything about it."

"Wow. Maybe he was giving your boss blow-jobs or something." An image flickered into his mind unbidden. Like the flash of a nuclear bomb at ground zero. It etched the shadow across the forefront of his brain. The kind of stain that only the likes of a well placed bullet could scour away. In that brief flash of agony and loss of innocence he relished the possibility of being clean once more.

"Maybe. That might explain the sudden promotion."

"So, why are you going to help him move Inocente?"

"He offered hard cash in exchange for my labor."

"Oh. Ok." Yes. Money, the great liberator. The one thing in the world that would make him set aside his misgivings and feelings. How mercenary was that? Any how, he was off.

"Back later. I might go out to the bar with Bill and some of the others."

"Ok, have fun. Love you!"

"Love you too."

Traffic Sunday morning was nearly non-existant. A paradox. Both a blessing and a curse. He made great time and saved a lot of gas, but he wasn't to thrilled about arriving at his destination early. Nobody else would be around. No sort of lightning rod between himself and the CB. Maybe another jog around the block before he pulled in... No, get this done with.

"Heya Inocente!" CB called out, waving like a maniac as Inocente rolled up his driveway. The man had the same as ever shit-eating grin spread across his jowls. A grin that gave Inocente the shivers every single time he encountered it. "I got some bad news for you." In the pause that followed the announcement Inocente's mind flooded with the possibilities - He's staying after all - he's broke and won't be able to pay - He didn't really need help and Inocente could just go home.

"Oh?"

"None of the others could make it. It'll just be the two of us. Though, I'll give you more money for the trouble. Hell, I'll even pay you twenty dollars more per hour. That brings it up to fifty I think." Inocente nodded and offered a half smile. More money was always good. But now he would be alone in the presence of the CB for many more hours than he had originally intended. He had really been hoping that his coworkers would be there to provide a natural defense. Like the lone herring lost in a flittering school of fish. Or chaff dropped from a fleeing jet.

Instead he was the lone tree on the plains.

"Come on, this way. Take a look at what we have here." CB said from the door, waving him along towards the interior of the house. His hands had a tendency of moving in conjunction with the man's mouth as if he were weaving the sounds with his fingers even as his mouth made them. It was a habit that many people found annoying. especially when they noticed the tendency for him to move his hands when his mouth was moving without his actually speaking.

Inocente followed, reluctantly. He did his best to appear cheerful and calm as he stepped through the threshold into what he had always imagined must be a den of iniquity. Dark, smoke filled halls, straps, whips and chains adorning the walls and sex-toys lying scattered across every horizontal surface.

What he found was an ordinary family home. It lay in the usual disarray that usually accompanied a major life change like upping one's roots and moving cross country. Walls were bare of adornment, leaving only the slightly brighter patches of paint to suggest that their lives had once been filled with glamor. The floors were covered with cardboard boxes, and their future contents strewn across the floor. Furniture in the middle of the room, wrapped in plastic and waiting to be lifted up and carried away.

The normality that he encountered in CB's home relieved Inocente, and then doubly creeped-out in the same breath. The house, the life, that the CB presented to the world seemed like a facade. A painted hero's mask of every day family normality. Everything he found made Inocente wonder about his family.

Did they see the same face as the man he knew at work? Or was he just husband and father to them?

Worse yet, which mask was his real face? Did he even have a real face?

"Hey buddy, are you awake?"

Inocente looked up from the picture that he was holding and nodded.

"Pretty girl isn't she? That's my sister. A real fox. She got all the good looks in the family let me tell you. Anyhow, back to the tour. This is the living room as you can see, we need to get the couch, and those two chairs out into the garage. Don't worry about that thing over there," He said as he motioned towards the far corner where a piano squatted, derelict, in the shadows. "We're leaving that for the buyers. Good riddance I say, the damn thing is a pain in the ass and nobody in our family even plays it."

"Then why did you get it?"

CB leaned in close and whispered "The wife wanted one. For the kids you know. We spent a fortune on the thing, and then on lessons. But none of it ever really stuck. But now it's the buyer's problem and not mine. Can't tell you how happy I am for that buddy. I'd of chopped the thing up years ago if it had been up to me. Anyhow let's finish the tour, what do you say?"

Inocente nodded and followed along. CB walked the halls, his lips and hands moving in conjunction as he delved into just about every detail that he could dredge up about the house's finer points, and just about every knick-knack housed between its eight (it was the only octagonal house in the state, fancy that) walls. The tour took over an hour, and Inocente was exhausted by the time they returned to the kitchen for what would be the first of many rest breaks and accompanying beers.

Box followed box, and then came the furniture. CB narrated every jarring, exhausting step with extensive lists of what was in each and every box, from exotic odds and ends from all around the world down to his wife's lingerie collection and how she looked in each and every garment.

Judging by the man's description of his unmentionable clad wife, and her lusty nature, Inocente couldn't begin to understand why the man behaved as he did towards the rest of the world at large.

That was how his day went, for four long hours until the house was a empty cavern with only fading memories of the departing occupants. Crayon marks and faded paint marring its interior. CB and his brood were soon to be forgotten. Inocente felt a pang of jealousy. His own memories would never fade so easily.

He leaned up against the mattress from the master bedroom, ill advised he knew after the afternoon of CB's boastful hints and implications, but then he was just too damn tired to really think clearly or care. CB crossed the garage, picking his way through the minefield of boxes to come to rest in front of Inocente, far too close for the latter's comfort. Worse yet, he didn't seem the slightest bit winded from the afternoon's labor. inocente disliked him even more. He kept his expression mild.

"Thanks a lot buddy, I really mean it. I really couldn't have done this all without your help." CB said, reaching out and taking Inocente's hand and giving it a shake.

"Yeah, no problem. Good luck with the new job." Too bad it was a promotion, but at least it's taking you the hell away from here you sleazoid. Inocente thought that he was getting pretty good at keeping his smile in place no matter what went on behind his eyes.

"Thanks again. Hey, tell you what, I have some nice wine down in the cellar, why don't we open a bottle to celebrate. Both of our good fortunes!"

"I don't know."

"Oh come on buddy, I have a excellent vintage all picked out for this kind of. "What is it?"

"Do you very extensive wine knowledge Inocente?"

"Not really. I've only ever drunk the stuff out of the box."

"Oh god, that's terrible thing to say. Here, you need to try this wine. It is a spiritual experience in and of itself. Most of the vintages I've collected are top-notch." He gestured with his free hand towards the rack, and Inocente, "though I doubt that you would know that, as a ignorant peon working in the mail room."

Inocente started to turn as the bottle exploded across his temple, shattering, the shards spraying across the room as he fell to the floor with all the speed that gravity could muster. CB smiled and dragged Inocente's inert mass away from the wine cellar.

Brightness. A lamp glowing so bright that for a moment Inocente thought he was outside looking up at the sun. For a moment. Until the light burned some of the fog away. He was in a dark damp room. Concrete floor. Dank basement smell. A clicking sound rattled around the room, somewhere out beyond the halo of light that was now Inocente's world.

CB stepped forward, blocking the light, eclipsing Inocente's sun. He leaned in close, staring directly into Inocente's eyes as he did. Inocente tried to move but couldn't get too far. He was cuffed to the chair. To scream. His mouth wouldn't open! It wouldn't open.

"Well peon, you tried to cause me all sorts of trouble around the office." His breath reeking of the wine as he spoke. "Your plans seem to have backfired on you boy-o. Still, i dislike the sentiment. Bad intentions and all that. So, i've decided to offer you up to The Mistress so that she might bless me further. I don't actually serve an ancient Goddess, nothing like that no. I made the Mistress up for the hell of it. I usually tell the unfortunates who I bring down here that they're being sacrificed to a obscure Goddess of death. I guess it cushions the blow some for most of them. Not you though Peon."

"Trouble opening your mouth? I used some super glue while you were out. I just slathered it on. Which might explain the buzz I'm feeling right now. It seemed, I don't know, an appropriate gesture considering. If the eye offends, pluck it out! But you can't really pluck out a mouth? I mean it's already an orifice. I suppose I could have cut out your tongue. But that would have been a little dangerous. You could have bled to death before I was finished. Then where would we have been hmmm?" Innocente passed out.

He woke again, CB was holding his forehead with one hand and waving the knife in front of his face. "You know what the best part of all this is Peon? It's always the quiet ones. The church going salt of the earth who never say a cross word to their neighbors. Then the police find a freezer full of chopped up hookers in their basement, because the quiet one was using the parts to manufacture some sort of sick and twisted sex doll, don't worry about that I get enough of the live pussy to satisfy my needs if not my desires. Chris from the manager's office, that one is fine piece of ass let me tell you. You know what I mean. I don't need to make a doll to fuck. Besides, I failed basic sewing, and sewing together a fuck-toy is something you need to do by yourself. Anyhow, it's always the quiet ones. Those guys a little like you. Who would ever suspect this sort of thing from a... "Blabby" I think you called it... man like my own self."

CB stepped out of Inocente's line of sight. Inocente tried to convince himself that he was having a nightmare, rolled in with the worlds worst case of sleep paralysis, and if he struggled long enough he could force one of his eyelids open.

CB appeared once more, surrounded by a golden aura as he filled Inocente's vision. He wiggled his fingers and pointed at and object that he had retrieved somewhere from the abyss beyond.

He held a knife. The blade curved inward like a raptor's beak, serrated and cruel. The knife was made to part flesh from the body. CB held the knife like it was the tool and he was a master artisan with long years experience. with the sort of familiarity that most men reserved for their wives or lovers.

With a flick of the wrist CB made his first cut.

Inocente passed out.

CB began his work in earnest. A piece here, a piece there, making a patchwork from what had been Inocente. He rehearsed as he worked. "No officer, I have no idea where he could be. He said that he'd stop by and give me a hand with the move, but he never arrived. Is there some sort of problem? No, we worked in the same office. I didn't know him very well since we worked in different departments. He looked like a wiry guy so I offered to pay him to help me move."

No mere artisan was Creepy Bastard, but a true artist.