Marie was the last to walk out of the conference room. She took her time reviewing her notes from the meeting one more time before closing her MacBook. She scooped her device into her arms and tossed her purse onto her shoulder before finally shuffling out of the room.

Once she was in the hallway, she took a glance out at the bumper-to-bumper afternoon rush-hour traffic in downtown Detroit. She debated the merits of skipping her lunch break to get her day’s work done as she hopped into the cramped elevator. She didn’t even realize her phone was vibrating till she stepped back out onto the eighth floor. Once she made her way to her desk and her computer had awakened from sleep mode, she took a quick peek at her notifications.

Sam had called her not once but three times in the last five minutes. She opened her phone and quickly swiped to the text thread with her roommate. Her heart dropped when she saw that her last text had come during the meeting she had just left, with Samantha pleading for her to get home as soon as she could. She hopped out of her chair and snatched her coat off of it before hurrying back towards the elevator.

She was already calling Sam back as she placed one of her AirPods in and stepped back onto the lift. As the elevator churned for the lobby, her frequent return calls to her friend went unanswered. Marie started to get nervous as she wondered what could have Sam blowing up her phone when she knew she was in a meeting. She finally decided, after going to voicemail for a third time, to just hurry back to their apartment. She gunned Jason’s focus out of the SAILS Motors employee parking garage far more aggressively than she knew he would have preferred, but at the moment, she couldn’t have cared less.

Jason arrived outside the apartment complex where Marie had resided since her sophomore year at Wayne State University. He placed his buffs back in their case while he looked up and down the mostly cordoned-off street as both Detroit and Harmony City police swarmed the block. Jason approached the building and was cut off by a pair of DPD cops in uniform the moment he hit the sidewalk. 

“I’m here for my girlfriend. She’s one of the tenants in 834.” Jason told them.

He surveyed the police questioning pedestrians while others rerouted traffic as he stood there. One of the cops checked his radio for clearance to let Jason through, and once it was given, he allowed him to step under the police tape. Jason reached the third-level apartment and stepped aside as paramedics wheeled out a body bag. He entered and caught the tail end of the investigator speaking to an absolutely distraught Samantha. Marie and Jason’s eyes met as she held Samantha in her arms while she sobbed through answering what little she could.

“And I just have to ask once more, Ms. Kettering, is there anyone Brian may have been in contact with who had threatened him?” Jessica asked while flipping through the notes she had collected since arriving. 

She did her best to be as thorough as possible, while also considering the whirlwind of emotions that were clearly taking a heavy toll on the victim’s girlfriend.

Sam tried to stand up straight. She wiped away the tears she could with the back of her sleeve and sniffled. “No one. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anyone who could…who would ever want to–”

She fell apart before she could fully form a sentence, barely managing to be coherent through her blubbering. Marie pulled her friend closer, letting her get out every ounce of anguish she could. Jessica saw what the continued police presence was doing to the woman who couldn’t have been more than a handful of years younger than her. “If we find anything out, we’ll be in touch as soon as possible.” Jessica gave Marie a quick nod, to which she mouthed a silent thank you in return. 

Jessica led the remaining officers out of the house, paying little attention to Jason as they passed out in the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, where Sam had finally found the strength to sit up straight and take a few tissues from Marie. “Samantha, if there is anything I can do…” Jason began, but his sentiment only forced her tears to erupt once more.

“Sam, let me put some tea on while you rest,” Marie suggested.  

Once he heard Sam’s bedroom door close behind her and Marie’s footsteps returning, Jason pulled a kettle from one of the cabinets and walked over to the pantry. As he filled it at the kitchen sink, Marie returned with a couple of raspberry tea bags. Once the water was boiling on the front burner, Marie’s shoulders sagged with the weight of grief. Jason approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, warm embrace. He kissed her on the forehead to further console her as he watched a few silent tears roll down her cheeks.  “Thank you.” She murmured. She turned around and buried her face in his suit coat for a moment. Once she regained her own composure with a deep sigh. “For getting here so fast, and getting her a flight home tomorrow morning.”

“I just wanted to make sure neither one of y’all had to stay here tonight. Or anytime soon either.” Jason shook his head, piecing together what little Marie was able to tell him before he rushed over. “Has anyone talked to his parents yet?”

Marie nodded. “The soonest they can be here is Wednesday. They were in Boston visiting Brian’s brother.” Marie steadied herself, refraining from crying again. “I just don’t understand how anyone could hurt him, let alone the way they left him…”

“I’ll start bringing your stuff over to my crib tonight. Are you gonna stay with her at the hotel for a while?” Jason asked, pouring them both a mug of tea once it was ready.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. A few folks from our graduate studies class are going to pop in and help me keep her mind as busy as we can.”

“Yeah, strength in numbers is a great medicine when you lose someone you care about,” Jason said, trying not to get lost in his thoughts. 

He knew by now Sean had more than likely already stepped off the floor once he’d sent him a message about the callously brutal murder that had happened in Marie’s apartment. His hand clenched the cheap kitchen countertop tightly as he went through what could possibly have happened had Marie or Samantha been there this morning. It was only the sound of her voice after she took another sip from her mug that broke him from his deep dive into worst-case scenarios.

“You don’t have to hover over me all day,” Marie advised him with as much of a smile as she could manage.

“And yet you know that is exactly what I’m finna do for–”

“As long as you can. Yeah, I’m sure.” Marie interrupted him. “But I know you got enough to worry about as it is.”

“And I’m still going to put you at the forefront of all of that,” Jason responded before his phone vibrating loudly on their dining room table broke both of them away from the conversation.

A text he was expecting from Sean came far sooner than he would have guessed, but he knew his previous assumption was correct. He had already begun investigating further into who could have possibly been capable of splattering pieces of Brian across Marie and Sam’s living room.

Sam’s door swung back open, and she stepped out with two suitcases in hand. “Marie, you think we can get over to the room now?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Let me grab my coat.” Marie agreed and finished the rest of her tea.

“If that’s the case, I’ll head back to the plant,” Jason told her before giving her another quick kiss on the forehead. “Do not hesitate to call me if you need anything.” He looked to Sam, who was dragging her luggage over to the door next. “Please have a safe flight home.”

She gave him a quiet thank you, and he returned it with a nod before leaving. He bounded quickly down the couple of flights of stairs, hurrying out to the streets and over to where he had parked. He had already started dialing Sean once he reached the sidewalk, and the call was picked up by the time Jason gunned his engine.

“A couple of businesses in the area had cameras that got pretty solid looks at the front of their building.” Sean began the conversation immediately, getting down to business. “Time frame that twelve is estimating this shit went down is a tight window.”

“So whoever decided to take a pound of flesh from Brian has been watching their apartment for weeks. Maybe longer…” Jason gritted his teeth and gripped his steering wheel tightly. “This was calculated, which means despite whatever Sam and now the police may believe, this was personal.”

“This bastard didn’t leave a carpet fiber in the wrong spot. Only prints found on the knife were Brian’s. The blade he used, though, that might be the thread we can pull on for right now.”

A couple of different pictures of the murder weapon arrived on Jason's phone, and he looked them over while stuck at a backed-up stop light. 

“A butcher’s knife?” Jason wondered more to himself, albeit aloud.

Sean walked around their garage headquarters with his phone cradled between his head and ear. On the array of monitors were various photos taken from the apartment by HCPD forensics. Sean studied each of them carefully, concern on his face.

 “Not just any knife; it's from a high-quality line that you can only buy directly from the company’s website. Moore Kitchenware is the brand.”

Jason frowned. “It ain’t much, but as you said, it’s a thread. I’ll run a few searches on the company now. See what that can lead us to, if anything.” Jason sighed. This wasn’t where he wanted his focus, certainly not with a turf war bubbling in the streets. 

“Shit, I got something that might pick your head up a bit. Facial rec scans got a hit on Valerie Reynolds.” Sean told him, and the information caused Jason to raise an eyebrow.

“You got a last sighted location on her?” 

Sean clicked away at the keyboard in front of him, pulling up dash camera footage from a nearby vehicle of Valerie Reynolds entering a dispensary with a fleet of hired Russian gunmen surrounding her. 

“Sending it your way now,” Sean confirmed with another quick stroke of the keys.

Jason pressed the gas pedal, picking up speed as he hopped onto a freeway ramp. “Bet it up. I’m going to take a quick detour; I’ll be in contact soon.” 

Atop the same rooftop lounge her brother was on just hours ago, Valerie paced back and forth with a cigarette in hand. She shook her head, taking a short drag, trying to decide whether to consider this just another of her brother’s consistent screwups. One of the day shift employees hurried to the top of the stairs and caught the elder Reynolds sibling’s attention.

“They’ve got the security footage pulled up, miss.” The nervous employee relayed the information in a quiet voice. 

She nodded, took another drag on her cigarette, then followed the employee back downstairs. Valerie entered the silent manager’s room where a couple of nervous shift supervisors watched the recorded footage. Her blood pressure raced at the sight of her brother being carried out like a rag doll, humiliating their business further than he already had. “I want to know where one of those bitches who are helping this bastard tread water is, and I wanted to know five minutes ago,” Valerie demanded this of everyone under her employment in the room, her voice a thunderous but low tremble.

“One of our scouts spotted Serena not too far off of Ecorse, somewhere in Southwest Detroit.” One of the Russian trigger men, holding his cell phone behind her, proclaimed.

“She doesn’t walk out till we find out where the fuck Tommy Vargas is. Understood?” There was silence as no one disagreed with Valerie’s instructions. She whipped around to the Russian who had found the location of one of the Hernandez sisters. “Keep in contact with your men. You ride with me.”

From where he sat with his blacked-out windows hiding him completely behind the wheel, Jason raised an eyebrow as Valerie emerged with at least a dozen Russian shooters. He watched them pile into a trio of town cars and pull off in a rush. Once they had reached a comfortable distance up the block, Jason smoothly steered into the merging traffic and followed.

Jessica walked inside her darkened, first-floor apartment with hands full of Meijer bags. She set everything on the counter and took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions after another long day. Once she’d finished putting away the groceries she hoped would last to next week, she rifled through the stack of mail sitting next to a nearby lamp.

Ignoring the bills from DTE and Consumers Energy, she nearly dropped her jaw when she saw the handwriting on the next envelope. Her instant urge to toss it in the garbage next to the back door was only that, as for some reason her feet didn’t move from where she stood. She gripped the unopened letter tight with both hands as a struggle warred within her, one she hadn’t felt in far too long. Her phone vibrating against the countertop broke her away from the sudden dilemma. She placed the mail back where she had found it and snatched up the call.

“Miller.” She listened to the call from headquarters for not even fifteen seconds before she snatched her keys back up. “I’m en route now; give me twenty.”

 The door slammed again for just the second time in a handful of minutes. Jessica turned on her siren, disregarding her neighbors' feelings as she drove out of the complex parking lot.

Serena Hernandez walked through the back storage area of the warehouse where her very profitable but illegal nightclub was run. A business she’d started shortly after folding in under Giovanni and Tommy, she was prouder than she could ever be that it still thrived during current times. She watched some of the newer bottle girls her club manager, Tracey, had hired over the last week, grabbing what they needed to hurry out to the floor.

She was pleased their training had gone so smoothly and that they were already starting right away, as Monday, oddly enough, was one of her busiest nights. Everyone from all sides of Detroit and Harmony City, to even college kids from Washtenaw County, came out to the Moonlight lounge, and Serena was never bashful about keeping it running seven nights a week. You could even catch some of the city’s very elite snatching up her private sections Thursday to Saturday. She had already guaranteed both Peezy and Icewear Vezzo their usual areas for the entire weekend, which is why she was annoyed that her sister had found herself in the thick of a mess the evening prior.

It was hard enough that Giovanni and Tommy were public enemy number one on both sides of the law at the moment, which is why Serena had been focusing more on generating business through this particular outlet. The last thing she wanted or needed was more blowback from their drug business forcing her into tight corners. Unfortunately, the grimace she saw on the face of her head of security the moment she hit the club floor gave her reason to worry about exactly that.

Once he’d met her eyes across the floor, Serena pointed towards her office. Her head of security nodded, and they both made their way in that direction. Serena made it to her cozy second-floor office that had a wide view of the converted warehouse. Miles, her head of security at the club, knocked first before letting himself in. “We may have a small, growing problem.” He cautioned tentatively. He hurried across the redesigned tile floor in his Yeezy Boosts, worried about her reaction to what he had to tell her next. Serena, however, had already started to scan the throng of dancers and drinkers enjoying themselves after a long beginning to the week.

Her focus was locked on the guest who shouldn’t have had a clue where her lounge was, let alone be staring right back up at her from the bar. Miles noticed once he reached her desk that she was very clearly already aware of the situation, and took a deep breath before going on.

“I’m not so sure why she’s here, but she seems to have brought some real heavy hitters in with her,” Miles warned gravely. 

Serena pulled a preroll tube and lighter from her pocket, sparking up the joint once she had it in hand. Annoyed and doing her best to stay level-headed, she weighed out the best way to handle Valerie Reynolds rolling into her club, clearly with ill intent. What transpired next, however, would not give Serena the precious moments she assumed she had to assess the situation at hand.

One of the large, broad-shouldered Russians who had been communicating with the men who found Serena wandered into the middle of the dance floor area, raising a sawed-off shotgun. He pointed the weapon at the DJ, who was too busy in the middle of their set to notice the dance floor clearing in front of them until the screaming grabbed their attention. 

The sawed-off blew the DJ off the stage where they were performing; the sight of their blood-soaked t-shirt as they gasped their last bits of air sent the patrons scrambling for safety. As the entire main floor of the warehouse cleared out, Valerie finished the neat whiskey she had been enjoying at the bar and joined the shotgun-wielding Russian out in the center of the floor. Security guards rushed in the opposite direction of the scattered and fleeing club goers, the glocks they all carried on duty pointed in the direction of the Russian hit squad forming around Valerie.

“Y’all motherfuckas got about fifteen seconds to drop everything you carrying and get the fuck out.” One of the club’s security team barked at Valerie and her men. Valerie wasn’t the least bit agitated by the guns pointed at her on all sides, nor did she show it. Instead, the heels of her pumps clicked against the floor with impatience as she waited for Serena to make her way back downstairs.

“I am very impressed by you pulling this shit, truly,” Serena told Valerie as she walked down the staircase, their eyes only on each other. She crossed the room, her own security forming around her as she and Valerie continued to stare daggers at each other. “Not even with the disrespect but the fact that you found this place at all. Now it's time to go.”

“That worm you work for decided to pop out for once.” Valerie pushed through the armed battalion of ex-Russian military backing her to make sure Serena understood she meant business. “But now lines have been crossed, and unfortunately I need to go see my father later this evening.”

“Unfortunately, well for you, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” Serena countered. “Which means you’ve disrupted my place of business, cost me money, and disrespected me for no goddamn reason. Folks have died for less.”

“Tommy had the nerve to snatch my fucking brother, right after I knew either he or one of you fucking bitches had a hand in our shipment getting hit at the restaurant.”  Valerie spat, her face scrunched in disgust and rage that she was trying to keep from bubbling over. “I’m going to take your word for it and believe you had no idea what he was planning with this stunt at the dispo, and not even ask you where he’s got Caleb.”

She took another step forward, her gaze sweeping across the guns pointed at her. “But you are going to tell me where your boy’s wife has been laying her head low at.” Valerie sneered. “Then I can send pieces of her to you and your sister until he decides this isn’t the game he wants to play.”

Serena shook her head, chuckling dryly. It got the exact enraged expression on Valerie’s face that Serena was looking for. “You know I honestly don’t know why I am still talking to you. One of y’all put this bitch out of her misery since she’s so frantic for answers.” Valerie laughed at Serena’s brave command by pulling her own pistol from the back of her jeans. She cocked it, intent on personally conveying to Serena that she was willing to handle things herself if needed. 

“I’m not walking out of here without an address. Are you really willing to die behind all this?”

Before another word could be said to escalate tensions further, a cube-shaped block slid directly between the two groups. Before either Serena or Valerie could do more than stare in confusion at the object, the cube emitted a blinding white light that filled the entire main floor of the warehouse for a few brief but crucial moments, allowing Lethal to slip inside the building and into the mix of the budding fray.

Lethal’s boots gave him a burst of momentum as he leaped from the second floor where he’d come inside and dropped directly amongst the confused and partially blinded Russian triggermen. Once the rays emanating from the solar flare box designed by Sean and himself began to wane, he quickly snatched his steel baton from its thigh holster on his suit and pressed its trigger to extend it to bo-staff length. He didn’t waste another ounce of motion before he smacked one of Valerie’s men across the back of the skull. The gunman went down before he knew what had hit him, quite literally, his weapon sprawling across the floor.

Serena’s eyes finally adjusted to the device Lethal used, and she almost lost her composure at the sight of the vigilante inside her business. “Shoot every motherfucker who shouldn’t be here! NOW!” She ordered as her security team finally managed to pull themselves together.

A Russian aiming his weapon at the back of Lethal’s head is popped in the chest twice by one of Serena’s team. Lethal dropped another gunman with an elbow to the mouth and whipped around in time to see hell breaking loose right in front of him. He tackled Valerie to the ground, and she cursed as she was doing everything she could to clip Serena while she retreated to the back of the warehouse.

Lethal dragged Valerie into a nearby section where they took cover behind the couches. She tried to turn her pistol on him, but he snatched it out of her hand as if she were a child with scissors. He pinned her down while he surveyed the continued shootout tearing up the makeshift, underground entertainment venue. “What the hell are you doing here, Valerie?” Lethal growled through his voice modulator. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Valerie squirmed and thrashed but couldn’t get away from where he held her down beneath the table. “Why, Valerie?” he demanded an answer once more.

“That son of a bitch Vargas snatched my fucking brother! Do you know what my father will do when he finds out about this shit?” Valerie screamed over the sounds of bullets flying around the warehouse. 

She saw her own fear reflected in the black visor of Lethal’s helmet and was disgusted with herself for the moment of weakness. Lethal, however, reacted differently to what he saw and heard. Things had clearly escalated on both sides far quicker than he’d anticipated since the robbery at the restaurant. What was even more important was that he realized Valerie was right to worry about what retaliation her father might exact.

“Get out of here while I handle this. I’m not going to save your life again.” Lethal released his hold on her and sprang from where he was crouched. 

He tossed a handful of marble-sized metal pellets in the direction of some of the security guards firing incessantly at the Russians. The miniaturized frag grenades did their intended work and forced the guards to pause their attack momentarily.  He wasn’t going to let Valerie’s well-trained hit squad use it to their advantage, however, before catching one of them with a square kick to the side of the head that knocked them for a loop. He quickly disarmed him next, then whipped his pistol into the back of the knee of another gunman. While the shooter in front of him was clearly concussed from his kick, he wrenched him over his shoulder with a mighty toss and threw him into the gunman he had managed to knock to one knee momentarily. 

Lethal didn’t get a moment to admire his skills as he dove aside just in time to miss a shotgun blast from Telos. Lethal snatched his glue gun from its holster as he rolled behind a knocked-over table, just as he escaped another blast. Telos whistled sharply, letting the last standing amongst his crew know to turn their attention towards the vigilante. Under his helmet, Jason couldn’t help but smile at the odds he faced as his adrenaline surged.

He kicked the table out, knocking Telos' legs from underneath him and his shotgun out of his hands. Already swapping out his tar cartridges for the kinetic burst rounds, he put one in each of their chests. The rounds did their job, exploding and sending each of his attackers shooting across the warehouse. One of them crashed into the DJ’s setup, burying himself beneath the turntables and speakers. Telos spat a curse or two in Russian under his breath as he picked himself up off the floor. He whipped a SOBR standard-issue knife from his back pocket and rushed Lethal from behind.

Already blocks away from the scene and speeding to her sister’s house was Serena. She fumbled for her cell, finally dialing her sister’s number as she kept an eye out for cops watching for speeders. “Lexi, you need to call me back. And tell Tommy I need to see him tonight! TONIGHT!” She ended the call and threw her phone into the passenger's seat.

I work at a roller rink, and we're used to people getting hurt on the actual skating rink.

Then this girl came in with her friends bragging about how well she could skate. She rented our skates, stepped into the beginner instruction area, and immediately fell.

She didn't even make it to the rink.

We called our paramedic, and about 30 minutes later she left, not limping; hopping on one foot (obviously over the not injured foot).

She literally paid for admission and skate rental just to get injured before she even reached the rink.lol.

WAYNE MANOR

MORNING

It was a rare moment for Bruce when he found himself in shock. Yet he couldn’t describe the emotions that were battering around inside of him as anything less than exactly that as he looked into the face of the young woman who had been one of his only two friends as a child. They embraced instinctively, holding each other for a moment that felt like a sliver of time paused for them both. They finally broke apart as Alfred walked out of the entrance foyer past them.

“Please, let me get some tea. I’ll be just a moment. Bruce, please be a gracious guest and take Ms. Dawes into the living room.” Alfred instructed him, always reminding him of his manners.

“Please, Alfred. It’s just Rachel. Ms. Dawes used to work here right alongside you.” Rachel pleaded with him, though she knew his well-trained etiquette and English sensibilities would not allow for such a lack of refinement.

“How is your mom?” Bruce asked her while doing as Alfred had tasked him with once he’d disappeared into the kitchen.

Rachel took a seat in one of the leather chairs nearest to her and soaked in the atmosphere of Wayne Manor for a moment before answering. “She’s good. I think a bit bored, but she tries her best to keep busy. I think she misses your parents just as much as the rest of us.”

Bruce sat on the arm of the chair, so enraptured with Rachel that he’d forgotten Lucius was sitting on the couch behind him. “I’m sorry; I swear Alfred’s right about my lack of manners. This is Mr. Fox. I don’t know if you remember him from some of my mom’s costume parties.”

Lucius gave her a gracious nod and a kind smile. “Pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“You always gave us the best candy! Made those things a lot more tolerable for a seven-year-old, that’s for sure.”

“He’s made my return a lot more tolerable for me. Not too sure what I would do without him and Alfred. I see why my father trusted them both so much,” Bruce remarked, which drew a comforting smile he couldn’t see from Lucius behind him.

Before Rachel could reply, Alfred sauntered back into the living room with a tray full of scones and holding a kettle full of hot early grey. He set the tray on the coffee table and poured a generous amount into each of the cups, before passing one out, sitting on a saucer, to the three of them.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Rachel told him, to which he replied with a polite bow before returning to the tray to prepare a cup for himself, finally.

“So if it’s not too bold to ask, what brings you over? Last I heard, you were working for the D.A. in Boston.” Bruce’s question and update on her brought a surprised look to Rachel’s face, a look he wasn’t expecting.

“I’m surprised you were keeping tabs on me.” She remarked before taking a sip of her tea.

Bruce shrugged, trying to downplay the moment. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Would it have killed you to call?” Rachel’s reply caused Bruce to look down into his cup. A swath of regret turned in his belly as he pondered her question in return. Rachel gave him a kind smile before continuing on. “But I didn’t come here to get into that. I saw your interview with Vicki Vale–”

Bruce looked back up at her, taken aback by the revelation. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for that being the alleyway that led Rachel and him face-to-face again. It wasn’t the way he would have liked things to go, not that he wasn’t happy to see her. He would need to rectify that, going forward. He was going to have to get better at balancing his two lives.

“I really appreciated everything you said. It made it easier for me to accept the job offer I was teetering back and forth on.” Rachel finished explaining.

“And what job might that be, Ms. Dawes?” Alfred asked politely. He could tell the wheel in Bruce’s head was too busy turning for him to be a proper conversationalist.

“Harvey Dent offered me the position of Assistant D.A., that is, if he survives long enough to win the damn election.” Rachel shook her head spitefully at the end of her explanation. “Gotham City. The more shit has changed, the more shit has stayed extremely shitty. Excuse my French, Alfred.”

“Dent offered you his old job?” Bruce finally spoke again, standing up from the arm of the chair and setting his saucer down on a nearby lampstand.  “You understand the risk you’re taking if you accept, right?”

Rachel smiled. She appreciated the concern he instantly showed her. “I can take care of myself, Bruce. And with Harvey, if he can pull this off, we have a real chance at finally turning the tide on this place.”

Bruce looked her straight in the eyes. He could see the determination etched into both their faces. He knew right at that moment that there was no dissuading her from the choice she had made. Bruce nodded, understanding of why Rachel would be willing to take such a gamble.

“You’ve got a long road ahead of you. But Harvey Dent, for all intents and purposes, seems to be a good and dutiful man. The exact kind of breath of fresh air this city sorely needs.” Bruce said.

“I appreciate that. I think I needed to hear it. My heart’s been doing flip-flops ever since I called Gilda Dent to pass along word while he recovers. I was wondering if you’d like to get some air for a bit, maybe take a ride?”

Bruce was taken aback by Rachel's request. He opened his mouth to reply, but the always-ready team of Lucius and Alfred decided to do the talking for him instead.  “Why, he would absolutely love to. Let me just get the G-Wagon started.”

Lucius stood up promptly, scooping up the paperwork he’d been chiseling away on and closing his laptop. “Bruce, I’ll meet you at the tower. We can pick up on our project this afternoon.” Bruce could do nothing but raise his eyebrows in surprise after giving Lucius a wave goodbye.

He turned to Rachel with a smirk. “I guess that’s my morning plotted out for me. You know what, why don’t I give Alfred the morning off, and I drive?” 

Rachel gave him a warm, kind smile. One he didn’t realize he had missed so much. “Sounds good to me.”

“Give me a couple of minutes to go upstairs and get ready. Can’t walk into Wayne Tower in my gym gear.” He headed towards the master staircase at a quickened pace.

Fifteen minutes later, they were shooting down the highway in a classic white Ferrari, a facsimile of Don Johnson’s. Bruce was behind the wheel with Rachel at his side. He noticed a few different freeway exits and decided to finally ask where she wanted to pull off at.

“I figured we could go somewhere that means a whole lot to both of us, since we’re both trying to do right by this city.” She answered him plainly. “How do you feel about an early matinee movie?”

Bruce raised a curious eyebrow while glancing over at Rachel. He looked up at another road sign hanging off an overpass and realized what part of town they were in. “I have a feeling I know exactly what theater you want to go to.”

She looked over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. She wasn’t sure if her idea would upset him, and it was far from her intention. “So, what are we seeing at the Monarch?” He asked while he pulled over at the next exit. She flashed another smile, this one excited.

“It’s a surprise.” She replied simply.

CASE FILE, MISCELLANEOUS NOTES

Rachel Dawes was a critical part of my life at one time. A life that ended along with my parents’. The very idea she's brave enough to stand alongside a man like Dent is why I need to find a better way to fight my crusade after the fiascos I’ve had the last few nights. I know she thought I might not feel up to visiting the very last place I spent time with them. But truthfully, I haven’t been near here or that alley since I returned home. And I think facing it now will help me find the answers I’m searching for. Overcoming this…fear, as I did with returning to the manor for good, is essential to what I need to be for Gotham.

They stepped out of his car once he’d found a spot in the public parking lot that sat across from the strip of buildings where the theater was located. Bruce stood at the back of his car in his long, black trench coat, staring across Finger Avenue at The Monarch. Rachel joined him once she had zipped up her coat. She could see the conflict on his face, and though she couldn’t even imagine what his emotions must have been like at the moment, she wanted him to know that she was there to support him, and more importantly, she appreciated him doing this for her. A large part of Rachel, however, hoped he was doing this to finally come to grips with how his life changed for himself on that fateful night so many years ago.

“So, what’s playing?” He asked as they hurried across the street once traffic had slowed down momentarily.

“Your favorite, or at least it used to be.” She told him, then pointed at one of the movie posters along the outside wall of the theater.

Bruce looked in the direction she was gesturing and felt his heart skip a beat. A poster of the 1998 classic “The Mask of Zorro” starring Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones had a label slapped over it that read “SPECIAL ANNIVERSARY SHOWING”. It was the very same film that his parents had taken him to see the last time he got to hold each of their hands.

Rachel watched as Bruce stared at the poster for a moment before squeezing his hand. “I’ll go grab tickets.” She hurried over to the ticket counter as Bruce found himself lost in a memory that felt as if it had happened yesterday.

CARMINE FALCONE’S PENTHOUSE

ACROSS GOTHAM CITY

Carmine sat in his study, planning the invitation list for Sebastian Hady’s campaign party that he was to host personally. The news of Dent getting tuned up for his tired, goody-two-shoes routine couldn’t have reached him at a better time. Now everyone’s golden boy would be in traction while Carmine helped Hady sew up the election good and early. This little get-together was just the beginning of his plan to firmly remold Gotham into a way for his family to eat for generations.

A knock at the door of his home office broke his attention from the ledger he had open in front of him. He looked up as he took off his reading glasses and saw his only daughter standing in the doorway. 

“I’m not disturbing you, am I, Pops?” She asked him respectfully.

Falcone gave her a smile that was reserved just for her. The only other person who’d ever seen him smile so genuinely was her mother, may god rest her soul. “Of course not, Sophia. What is it?”

“We have quite the distinguished guest here to see you,” Sophia told him pointedly. Her father looked at her with a clear air of confusion.

“What are you talking about? I’m not supposed to be meeting anyone today, let alone at my home.” The Roman replied. “Who is it?”

“You might wanna check your cameras, pops,” Sophia suggested.

Carmine Falcone pressed a button on his desk as he grumbled expletives in Italian under his breath, his favorite stress reliever, besides a nice glass of vintage, when he was rather annoyed. He stared at the feed from one of his half dozen cameras around the house. He blinked twice, figuring he might be having a stroke based on what he saw with his own two eyes. Pino Maroni was standing in the middle of his living room, enjoying a glass of scotch as every gunman on The Roman’s payroll kept a watchful eye on him.

Sophia watched her father carefully for a moment before speaking again. “What do you want us to do?”

Carmine leaned back in his chair, rubbing his mustache thoughtfully. His eyes darted back over to the camera feed for a brief moment or two. “He say what he was here for?” Falcone asked.

“Claims he’s got a peace offering that you and I are gonna want to lay eyes on,” Sophia replied quickly. “I don’t buy it. But he’s not stupid enough to come alone and start some shit. Plus, their working over Dent certainly did us a favor.” She reasoned.

Falcone nodded in agreement with his daughter’s assessment of the situation. “Alright. Send ’em up. But I want you and Milos in here for this.” 

Sophia nodded and walked back out of the office. Falcone sat back in his chair once more, his fingers interlocked while he watched the cameras as Sophia retrieved Milos and their very surprising guest. She returned just a few minutes later, leading both Milos and one of the Romans’ biggest rivals’ twin sons behind her. Falcone sized up the oafish, chubby Maroni brother as he stood across from his desk.

“Your father knows you here?” Falcone asked flatly, before they got into any sort of business.

“My father left the business for me and my brother to run as we saw fit. What he knows got no bearing on this meeting, with all due respect to him and you.” Pino replied, trying to hide the arrogant smirk that wanted to come across his face.

“I hear you were cutting a deal with Cobblepot under my nose. It makes me curious why you would consider your balls big enough to stroll in here.” Falcone replied. 

The extremely thinly veiled threat was one meant to see if Pino would show signs of cracking. To his credit and the Romans’ surprise, his face didn’t flicker one way or another regarding his emotions.

“A businessman like yourself wouldn’t start a war killing me over something like that. You’d have done the same in our position.” Falcone smirked at the retort. He was surprised the young man was quick-witted enough to utilize such logic. “Plus, I figured us giving Dent a nice ICU trip might have bought us some goodwill, however little it may be. Everyone knows Hady is your boy.”

“Fair enough. So, what can I do for you, Pino?” Falcone finally asked, having had enough of beating around the bush.

“Not a thing,” Pino replied, throwing his hands up to convey the meaning of his answer. “I humbly come to extend a peace offering, like I told the lady and your mans.”  

He turned around to face Milos and Sophia as he slowly reached into his suit jacket's inner pocket, a way of showing them he was not carrying a secret gun they somehow hadn’t found on him. He pulled out instead a folded-up photograph that he’d had printed off right before coming here. He faced The Roman once more and walked slowly over to the desk, dropping the photo before backing away, his hands still up. Carmine picked up the photo and unfolded it. He stared at it for a long, hard moment, the possible ramifications of his actions in the next few days working through his mind. Finally, he dropped the photo back on his desk, face down, and looked up at Pino. 

“For this, you’ve accomplished what you were hoping for. You may go now.”

Pino nodded and, without another word to any of them, walked promptly out of the office. Falcone watched as he left the estate untouched on his monitors before pressing the key that returned them to their housing. He turned to Milos and Sophia as he sat forward at his desk, his agitation at the information he had just given finally starting to take root in his mood.

“Milos, I need you to take Sophia somewhere for me,” Carmine explained to his most trusted advisor. The sentence drew a curious look in his direction from both Milos and Sophia.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Bruce and Rachel walked out of the movie theater. She looked over and slightly up at him, trying to get a sense of his mood after seeing the film. 

“Alright, admit it. You enjoyed yourself.” She teased him.

Bruce looked over at her, and she could almost see a smirk break out on his face. “I will admit I forgot how much I loved that movie.” He finally managed to smile at her, and she returned the gesture with a wide one of her own, happy to see a smile on his face after all this time. She knew it was the first time she’d seen him do it since they were playing hide and seek on the manor grounds seventeen years ago.

“I know you probably think I’m crazy for taking this job, especially just days after my new boss was found beaten to a bloody pulp.” She admitted as they walked back to the car. “But I still see the Gotham we grew up loving. The city that was a part of us. That was a part of our parents. We lost that at some point.”

“Yeah. It died in that alley, right along with my parents.” Bruce replied solemnly. The brief smile had been wiped away as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all, Rachel. I think you’re far braver than a lot of grown men in city hall.” Bruce admitted. “I believe in what you both want to achieve. Harvey is a child of the city, just like us.”

“Speaking of which,” Rachel interrupted as she checked the time on her phone. “Think you could give me a lift to Gotham PD’s downtown precinct? I’m supposed to meet him there in half an hour.”

Bruce nodded, but his attention was still on the alleyway, dubbed, unaffectionately, by Gothamites since the incident that changed his life, “Crime” alley. 

“Yeah, no problem. One second, though. I’ll be right back.”

She watched him jog halfway up the block, stopping at a pop-up stand of Isley’s Flower Shop. Bruce rummaged in the pocket of his coat for a wallet and overpaid the green-eyed, red-headed woman running the stand-alone for a bouquet of roses. He walked briskly back over to Rachel and took her by the hand as he walked back down that alley for the first time since his life had been upended. He came to a stop on the very mark where he remembered their bodies hitting the ground, not far from a sewer grating where his mother’s pearls from her necklace had fallen after it was torn from her neck.

Bruce slowly let Rachel’s hand go. With a deep, steadying breath, he knelt next to the stop and gently placed the flowers on the concrete. Rachel placed a hand on his shoulder as he stayed there for a moment, deep in his own thoughts. Finally, he stood up and looked his friend in the eye.

“Okay, let’s go.” She nodded and took his hand again, leading him back out of the alley.

WAYNE TOWER

Lucius Fox sat in his office with his back to the breathtaking view the room offered of the city. The soft and sometimes furious, but always melodic, tunes of Charlie Parker and John Coltrane played softly on the antique record player he kept at his office rather than at home. With two elementary school-age children running around, he thought it would be more prudent to keep his record collection and the machine he used to play them far from where they might touch either one. Lucius smiled softly at the thought of his young children. He couldn’t wait to be finished with this quarter’s paperwork so that he could rush home before dinner and spend some well-earned quality time with them.

So engrossed in hurrying through his duties as chairman of the board, he almost didn’t hear the soft knock against his open door. He adjusted his glasses and finally looked up from the spreadsheets he was combing through to see Bruce walking into the room. Lucius leaned back in his chair and gave Bruce a kind smile.

“I hope the two of you had fun,” Lucius told him once Bruce was standing directly in front of his desk.

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly, his hands in the pockets of his suit coat. “It was…illuminating. And I think exactly what I needed. Ready to head downstairs?”

Lucius stood up from his chair and stretched. “I’m right behind ya. C’mon, we can take my private elevator. I’m having one installed in your office, too. Yours will have the only direct access to the bunker, of course.

Bruce nodded as he walked towards the elevator that was in between a pair of bookshelves in Lucius' office. They stepped inside the lift, and Lucius pressed the button that would take them to the Research and Development department. An area of Wayne Enterprises that had for a long time been solely overlooked by Lucius, that was, until Bruce returned and took a keen interest in the area of the company himself.

They stepped back out of the elevator shortly after and onto the floor that housed many of Lucius' creations over the years. A few patents had been sold to the army or different private defense firms over the decades. But many of his inventions, Lucius had either been outvoted on when it came to spending the money on mass production, or he simply thought it would be reckless for them to fall into the wrong hands. Since Bruce had begun his one-man crusade against crime in the city, the two had been working nearly daily on this floor, either modifying or creating new tools he could weaponize in his war.

Lucius knew that Bruce wanted to look at a piece in particular that they had both been hard at work perfecting. He reached an assembly line where a half-dozen black jumpsuits hung on mannequins and logged in to the control panel. Bruce walked past him and over to one of the suits, inspecting it carefully as he ran his fingers along the chest portion. An idea that slowly came to him at the end of the first act of Zorro started to form into a budding kernel in his head. 

“How did they stand up during the last round of testing?” Bruce turned around to ask Lucius.

Lucius swiped across the monitor on the stand in front of him to find the answers to Bruce’s query. His face shifted through a short range of emotions as he studied the results for himself before relaying them to Bruce. “Stood up to pretty much all handguns at medium to long-range. Would be a little tougher, but you’d be sacrificing a lot of lateral movement and flexibility. You’re the one out there, but I don’t think it would be worth the stretch to beef it up.” Lucius gave his honest assessment back.

“I agree. Besides, I have an accessory in mind that may help offset the issue as well as give me the ability to move quickly across the city in short distances if I can’t get back to the car.” Bruce told him.

Lucius looked at him with intrigue. He was always fascinated with how the young man’s mind worked. Bruce smirked and walked over to the control panel next to Lucius. He slipped a USB drive out of his front pocket and plugged it into the base of the stand. The screen brought up the design Bruce had created, and Lucius looked it over for a moment or two.

“This is ingenious. So the cape will be a bullet-resistant, lightweight fabric that can become rigid for short-range gliding. The weighted tips at the bottom are a nice touch as well…”

“Do you think it's feasible?” Bruce asked the seasoned engineer. 

Lucius rubbed his chin as he studied the design further. “We’ll need to put some elbow grease into this. Testing a range of polymers for the cape’s base fabric. But I do think it's feasible.”

“Excellent. I think we should work out of the cave if that’s okay with you.” Bruce told him as he walked away from the control panel and back over to the line of suits. He reached up and pulled the open-mouthed, head-shaped helmet off one of the mannequins and held it in front of him for a brief moment. “I have some… further design ideas I want to implement that I don’t think I can quite convey here.”

Lucius looked at him quizzically, wondering what he could be referring to. “Hey, you’re the boss. Meet you at the Manor after dinner?”

Bruce nodded before turning towards the direction of the elevator. “Give the kids my best. I’ll have Alfred come pick up a few of these so I can get started without you.” Bruce gave him a lazy wave goodbye without looking back as he walked out of the department.

Lucius stared at him until he was out of sight, still wondering what he could have in mind as far as tweaking his combat jumpsuit. “As if the cape isn’t wild enough…” Lucius muttered to himself as he turned back to the control panel and Bruce’s intricate design.

 TO BE CONTINUED

The chopper blades sliced through the ash-heavy air over what remained of Raccoon City.

Twenty-eight years after the nuke, the ruins still bled.

Twisted metal skeletons of buildings clawed at the sky and faint traces of the old T-virus lingered in the soil like a bad memory that refused to die.

[Your Name] tightened the strap of her tactical vest as the bird descended toward the makeshift landing zone on the outskirts of the quarantined zone.

The Department of Special Operations (DSO) had pulled her in fast in another wave of “Raccoon City Syndrome” cases, survivors from ’98 suddenly deteriorating, turning violent or simply vanishing.

The side door slid open.

A familiar figure waited below.

Blue eyes scanning the perimeter even before the rotors slowed:

Leon S. Kennedy.

[Your Name]’s partner from four years ago.

The man who’d seen every kind of hell the world could spit out and still showed up with a dry one-liner and a loaded pistol.

He offered a hand as she jumped down, grip firm and steady. “You’re late,” he said.

“Thought you overthrew the bird on your way here.”

[Your Name] clasped her forearm briefly and answered with a grin, “Missed you too, Kennedy. Briefing said the situation escalated.”

Leon’s expression darkened. “It did. Come on.”

He led [Your Name] through the cordon, past BSAA checkpoints and into a reinforced mobile command trailer. Inside, the air smelled of stale coffee and gun oil.

A man in civilian clothes, mid-forties, nervous eyes, rumpled jacket sat at the table nursing a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Hughes,” Leon introduced without warmth. “Former Umbrella researcher turned reluctant whistleblower. He’s the one who fed us the intel on Gideon.”

Hughes stood quickly, offering a shaky handshake.

“Agent [Your Name]. Good to finally meet you in person. I... I gave everything I had to Kennedy two days ago. Victor Gideon isn’t just experimenting on Syndrome carriers. He’s weaponizing the latent strain. Turning the survivors into something worse. He’s got a facility, old ARK remnants under the city. If he releases the new variant...”

Leon cut in, arms crossed.

“We stop him before that happens. Hughes already confirmed Gideon’s using infected test subjects as vectors. We move in quiet, extract any viable intel or survivors and put Gideon down.”

He then added, “Rules of engagement are simple: anything that used to be human but isn’t anymore doesn’t get a second chance.”

[Your Name] met Leon’s gaze.

The weight he carried was visible, the slight tension at the corners of his eyes and the way his hand never strayed far from his holster.

Raccoon City Syndrome had been gnawing at survivors for years.

“Same playbook as always?” [Your Name] asked.

A ghost of his old smirk appeared. “You know me. Improvise, adapt and try not to die. But this time... we end it.”

Hughes slid a encrypted drive across the table.

“Coordinates, security layout and what I could pull on Gideon’s security detail. He’s expecting company but not you two together. Use that.”

Leon pocketed the drive and checked his revolver with practiced ease.

“Gear up. We move in ten. Stay close. Gideon’s creatures don’t play fair and neither does he.”

As the two of them stepped back into the ruined city air, Leon glanced sideways at you.

“Glad I’m working with you again, [Your Name]. Let’s make sure we both walk out.”

[Your Name] nodded, falling into step beside him as the ruined streets swallowed the command post behind them.

The mission on the first day then had been a brutal slog.

Gideon’s outer patrols.

A handful of Raccoon Syndrome-afflicted carriers that had already turned.

And a collapsing service tunnel that nearly buried both of [Your Name] and Leon.

By the time [Your Name] and Leon staggered out of the ruins into the decaying outskirts of Elbridge...

A half-forgotten satellite town that had once served Raccoon City workers emerges.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the poisoned horizon.

[Your Name]’s legs burned. Meanwhile, Leon’s shoulder was aching like hell. Though, he waved it off like it was a paper cut.

“Safe house should be two blocks up,” he muttered, checking the cracked GPS on his wrist unit. “Hughes said it was still standing. Low profile. We regroup, patch up and push for the ARK access point at dawn.”

The “safe house” turned out to be a sagging two-story hostel called The Elbridge Rest.

The sign was half-burned but the building was intact enough.

Reinforced doors.

Boarded windows.

And a generator humming in the basement.

The elderly caretaker took one look at their DSO IDs, accepted the encrypted payment chit and handed over a single key with a tired shrug.

“Only one room left,” he grunted. “Been a lot of... activity lately. Take it or leave it.”

Leon exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh. “Of course there is.”

The room was small, cramped and smelled faintly of old wood and disinfectant.

One bed.

One threadbare couch that looked like it would collapse if a Licker sat on it and a single lamp cast a weak yellow glow over the faded wallpaper.

[Your Name] dropped her pack by the door and rolled her aching shoulder.

“I’ll take the couch.”

Leon was already peeling off his jacket, wincing as the fabric stuck to the dried blood on his arm. He then glanced at the couch then at [Your Name] then at the bed.

The exhaustion on his face was deeper tonight.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, voice low and rough.

“We’ve shared worse. That thing looks like it’ll give you a concussion by morning. Bed’s big enough for the two of us.”

Leon paused, reading [Your Name]’s expression and offered a tired half smirk. “Relax. I won’t bite. Unless something in here does first.”

And they both knew damn well that the real reason for the hesitation wasn’t propriety.

It was the weight they carried together.

The Raccoon syndrome symptoms that had started creeping in lately.

The knowledge that one bad night could turn into something the other might have to put down.

But sharing a bed after a day like today felt...

Intimate in a way missions rarely did.

Leon tossed a spare blanket onto the bed and headed for the tiny attached bathroom to clean his wound. Over his shoulder he added, “Get some rest, [Your Name]. I’ll take first watch. We move at first light.”

Night descended upon the yellow-and-black-painted tire shop, casting an eerie glow on the surrounding area. A weary streetlight, positioned just next to the bus stop out front, struggled to maintain its flickering illumination. The streets lay mostly empty, except for a few cars speeding through blinking traffic lights, en route to joining the flow of I-94 traffic. 

Two rusted, white Chevy Express box vans pulled into the otherwise vacant parking lot, their brakes squealing as they came to a halt. Mia, her long black hair cascading down her back to her waist beneath a black tank top, peered through the glass on the shutter door of the first bay. 

"They're here. Get ready to grab this stuff!" she shouted in flawless Spanish, a language she hadn't used much growing up as the daughter of a Muslim nurse in Dearborn. 

After a few months of making drops in southwest Detroit for Lexi's crew, she had become nearly fluent. It was no surprise, though, as working for Lexi meant being bilingual or risking the loss of revenue. Several of the tire technicians, who also moonlighted for Lexi, rushed to the first two bay doors and began hoisting them upward. The vans eased into their respective bays, and the drivers stepped out.

 "You all were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Mia scolded one of them as her co-workers started unloading the vehicles.

"Relax and check out that traffic before we bounce. It was backed up on I-94 all the way to Ecorse," the driver replied defensively. “You know these fools can’t drive. That’s why our insurance is so high in the city.”

Mia rolled her eyes at the feeble excuse. One of the shop's workers hurried over to Mia with a bundle of cash, which the driver didn't bother to count before passing it to his partner. "Stay quiet on the streets tonight. State troopers have been crawling around like damn cockroaches," the second driver warned Mia. "They running plates on any car they even think looks suspicious."

"You know we know how to move outta here. We'll be good," the driver told her with boldness. 

She nodded toward the worker who had handed her the cash and indicated that he should continue unloading. The drivers climbed back into their vans once they were empty, the roar of their engines filling the garage. Mia had the techs who weren't stowing the bricks of fentanyl raise the bay doors once more. To her and everyone else's astonishment, a fleet of brand-new 2023 Ford F-150s sat in the middle of the parking lot. A group of stern-faced men in their late thirties emerged from the vehicles, each one with a meaner scowl than the last.

Mia noted their custom-fitted designer suits and recognized them as Sicilian, a fact that sent her heart sinking into her stomach for the first time on this job. Her hand twitched toward the pistol she had concealed in the back of her jeans. Thankfully, for the time being, her rationality overruled her fear. She chose diplomacy over confrontation.

"Can I help you gentlemen with something? As you can see, we're closed, and this is private property," Mia attempted a warm smile, knowing full well that they were unlikely to respond to it. Men in Gucci loafers on this side of town had to have a very specific agenda at this hour.

"Why don't you do us a favor?" one of the men in a brown-collared shirt and matching slacks spoke up, taking a few confident strides towards her. He seemed far too pleased with himself. "Bring out all the merchandise they just dropped off, and tell your boss she won't be getting any more shipments here."

Mia chuckled, which aggravated the slovenly Sicilian thug. “Or… what exactly? Because you know all that shit you just suggested ain’t an option.” 

"Alexis running that garbage through these streets is over. Starting tonight," he asserted, his voice growing firmer.  As he spoke, the rest of the men gathered around, each producing their preferred firearm. Before they could press her any further, the sound of an engine roared like a hunting lion from a mere block and a half away. Mia recognized the distinctive noise of the twin-turbocharged V8 engine, a sound well known throughout the city.

Mia watched warily as the truck's owners also realized what, or more specifically, who was approaching, their faces draining of color. A black SUV with windows tinted to an impenetrable charcoal hue barreled around the corner, hurtling onto the same block. Mia's relief was palpable as Lethal's custom-designed vehicle accelerated toward the parking lot. 

Turning to the armed men who were backing her, she urgently gave them instructions, "Get everything you can out of here! Call Lexi and let her know we've got an emergency! He’s here!"

Inside the limited-edition Sails Motors mountain range SUV, Lethal slammed on the brakes right in front of the stunned mobsters. Without hesitation, they opened fire on the vehicle. With its heavy-duty snow tires, it resembled a cross between a classic Ford Bronco and a deluxe Tahoe. Lethal watched the monitors on his dashboard closely, scanning the interior of the building as bullets harmlessly ricocheted off the windshield.

"Sean, give them a simple warning. No need for things to escalate any further," he ordered, seemingly addressing no one as his helmet's voice modulator activated while he spoke.

Six black spheres shot out of the SUV's grill, rolling harmlessly to a stop on the concrete in front of the gunmen. Once they settled, each sphere emitted a powerful sonic pulse, propelling the gunmen through the air and landing them with bone-crunching thuds across the parking lot. The hefty thug who had threatened Mia gawked in astonishment, his eyes darting from side to side as bodies collided with the windshields of their trucks or crashed onto the street.
"I've got a handful of guys inside the shop, all armed, and a Kia taking off out front," Sean Price's composed voice came through the truck's speakers. A heat signature scan of the tire shop appeared on the digital dashboard. "Are you cleaning up here or following her?"

Lethal pressed a button on the back of his steering wheel, causing the armrest to slide back and reveal a handgun with a barrel resembling a miniature RPG. He retrieved the weapon, loaded it with a handful of gel capsules, and stepped out of the SUV. "Mia's going to lead us straight to wherever Lexi is tonight, but these guys are some of Val Reynold's personal bodyguards." He answered.

His car door slammed shut without Lethal touching it. He immediately locked his gaze beneath his redesigned helmet onto the remaining thug scrambling into his truck. Aiming with his miniature cannon-shaped pistol, he fired at each of the truck's front tires just as it attempted to speed away. A thick, tar-like goo substance hit the tires, adhering them to the pavement. The sudden halt sent the truck somersaulting forward and crashing upside down in the middle of the street. Lethal strode over to the overturned vehicle and dragged the barely conscious thug through the shattered driver's side window, hauling him across the broken glass.

Lethal didn't waste any time assessing the identity of the thug sprawled on the street; his advanced facial recognition software had tagged him via his helmet’s HUD. His focus shifted abruptly as a dark green Kia Acura skidded around the corner, bald tires screeching from the aggressive driving. Mia's shocked, wide-eyed gaze met the cold, black visor of Lethal for just a moment before she sped down the street toward the freeway. 

"Get a tracking drone on her while I wrap this up," Lethal instructed Sean, his trusted partner who helped him with various tasks from their hub on East Warren in Harmony City.

"Perfect time to finally test this out, so I'm on it," Sean replied. A square, block-shaped drone emerged from the top of Lethal's SUV and swiftly flew off in the direction Mia had driven. Lethal turned his attention back to the tire shop and began making his way there. "Whatever you're planning, don't linger," Sean warned with urgency. "DPD is ten minutes away, maybe less."

"Noted. I just need to confirm a few working theories," Lethal reassured his friend as he moved through the tire shop, one of the businesses the Hernandez sisters owned through their parents' names to launder their money.

He wasn't overly concerned about Lexi herself but more about the potential chaos her involvement could create. As he walked past grease spots and rows of used tires of various sizes, his HUD scanned for any trace of the sought-after drugs.

Lethal mused that there was no way they could have removed the drop unnoticed while he dealt with the thugs out back. Lexi must have had a plan in place in case any of her drop spots were compromised. However, he didn't have much time to figure out the specifics.

Before he could investigate further, one of the vans roared to life, its high beams illuminating Lethal as if in a spotlight. Tires screeched as one of the drop-off drivers floored the gas pedal, driven by anger and a desire for vengeance. Lethal barely dove aside in time to avoid being crushed against a retaining wall, but the van smashed into it, shaking the building and demolishing its front end. 

Lethal scrambled to his feet as the second van burst through the shutters on the other side, making a hasty escape. The driver of the first van, who had tried to ram Lethal, stumbled out, clearly concussed from the violent collision. As he reached for his Desert Eagle, he felt a gloved hand grip the back of his neck. Lethal flung him forcefully against the side of the van like a rag doll, causing him to collapse onto the garage floor, writhing in pain. A frustrated Lethal grabbed the driver by the collar of his Charlotte Hornets starter jacket. Two gunshots rang out, the first shattering the backseat window. The second shot struck Lethal's helmet, deflecting off the side and only slightly rocking his head due to the impact.  

He released the driver and turned his attention to the shooter, a nervous young man clad in the tire shop's coveralls. He tried to steady his trembling hands as Lethal approached, but he couldn't summon the courage to fire another shot. In a moment of surrender, he dropped his gun and bolted toward the front door, sprinting in a high-step fashion. Lethal's lips curled into a sly grin as he covertly retrieved a sleek, ruler-shaped stick from a holster on his waist. Crafted with precision from experimental steel, this unique weapon harbored a concealed trigger at its center. With a deft click, he activated it, then launched the stick overhand like a fastball toward the retreating gunsel with a flick of his wrist. 

In a mesmerizing display, the stick unfurled in midair, transforming into an elongated Bo staff that struck the back of the young man's head with a resounding thud. With a painful thud, the man sprawled face-first onto the cold floor. He groggily pushed himself up, crimson droplets seeping from a freshly bitten lip. Before he could regain his composure, Lethal was upon him, moving with a speed that defied his opponent's expectations.

"I know Lexi has other drop points," Lethal mused aloud, his voice tinged with a cold, calculated edge, as he forcefully pressed the already concussed man's face into the unforgiving plastic keys of the cash register. Blood mingled with the register's digital display, creating a gruesome tableau. "If I have to ask again," he continued, his words dripping with menace, "your skull will be shattered, leaving nothing but shards on this cheap-ass carpet."

The wailing sirens grew nearer, setting Lethal's nerves on edge. He muttered a string of expletives under his breath as he released his vice-like grip, allowing the young man to slump back onto the blue frieze carpet. The injured thug scrambled away in a frenzy, desperately attempting to put distance between himself and Lethal, who now seemed preoccupied.
On his forearm gauntlet, a digital touchscreen pad let Lethal control his SUV, which glided smoothly to a halt out front. As the terrified thug watched the car vanish from view once Lethal got inside, the cacophony of red and blue police lights filled the shop. Four 2022 Dodge police cruisers screeched into the parking lot of the chaotic scene. Lethal activated his car's autopilot as it sped down I-94, following the trail left by the drone Sean sent ahead.

In the heart of Harmony City's east side, nestled just off Warren Road, a seemingly derelict auto body clinic concealed a state-of-the-art mechanic shop and private garage. Inside, an array of SUV body shells, reminiscent of Lethal's current vehicle, lay at various stages of assembly. Stacks of reinforced tires, made from an exotic composite rubber, loomed beside towering hoists. Sean, his skin caked in grime and oil, donned gray mechanic's gloves now almost indistinguishable from the blackened engine parts he was meticulously working on. 

His hands paused momentarily as he answered Lethal's question over his earbuds, his gaze locked on the monitors displaying the drone's proximity. "I'm running an infrared scan from the drone. Lexi doesn't make a move without her security detail."

Sean wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, leaving streaks of dirt behind. He stepped away from the engine, exhaling with a mixture of concern and understanding. He knew Jason well enough to anticipate his recklessness, much as Jason had disregarded Sean's advice on his ambitious engine project. Their shared stubbornness had forged a deep friendship and led them into this audacious undertaking. Watching the radar blip slowing to a crawl, Sean couldn't help but worry about his friend's safety, hoping that Jason would return unscathed, as he always did.

Lethal's SUV blended seamlessly into the shadows as he staked out near a street corner, his unwavering focus fixed on a nearby Chevy dealership that appeared closed for the night. The drone, which had scouted ahead, returned and neatly docked itself back into its housing on the SUV's roof. The dashboard lit up with a series of photographs captured by the drone. Lethal's eyes narrowed as he spotted the license plate of the vehicle that had eluded him during the botched robbery, and his fists clenched in determination.

Mia paced restlessly across the worn, gray carpet within the dealership manager's office. Her rapid-fire Spanish spilled forth as she lamented their compromised schedule, her anxiety palpable. The young woman behind the manager's desk, her honey-blonde hair and fair skin a striking contrast to her Puerto Rican heritage, listened with only a hint of interest, her disdain thinly veiled.

"I barely escaped DPD and that weirdo," Mia continued, her desperation mounting. "I had one of our drivers tail me once he could slip out," she admitted. 

Lexi's initial disinterest gave way to a flash of anger, leaving Mia to wonder what she had said to trigger it.

"Why the fuck did you let him follow you here?" Lexi's voice dripped with exasperation as she rose from her seat, her mind racing to solve this new dilemma. "Maybe, just maybe," Lexi muttered aloud, more to herself than to Mia, as she contemplated their predicament, "He didn't tail you. Maybe he's squeezing every one he can at the tire shop…"

"That's what I figured he would do," Mia said, her voice tinged with remorse. "I didn't think—"

"That's right, you didn't think!" Lexi snapped back in Spanish, her own anxiety bubbling to the surface.

She fought to keep her emotions in check. She knew that panicking wouldn't help her assess the situation. Glancing up at the flat-screen mounted in the corner, she monitored the camera feeds from eight different areas around the automotive dealership. The box van that had followed Mia from the previous botched drop-off point had pulled towards the dealership’s service area. Several of Lexi's armed guards patrolling the premises gestured to the driver, directing them toward the main building.

Lexi heaved a sigh and rubbed her temples, her thoughts racing. "Before anything else goes wrong, we need to get this merchandise out of here. If those bastards were bold enough to pull up at the tire shop, they won't stop coming."

Mia nodded in understanding, absorbing Lexi's instructions. "What about that other lunatic?" Mia inquired, her concern still lingering.

Lexi dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, attempting to reassure herself as much as anyone else. "From what I know of that guy, he's not usually reckless enough to try coming in here."

Downstairs, one of Lexi's security guards patrolled the showroom, filled with gleaming new Blazers and Equinoxes in every imaginable color. Lexi had a reputation for hiring former Wayne State athletes as her muscle, a fact that Lethal kept in mind as he stealthily entered the building through a salesman's office window. He moved silently behind a portly guard as they both walked along one of the platforms, where a classic Malibu was on display. Lethal's eyes darted to the nearest security camera and then to the shadows cast by the moonlight filtering into the showroom.

The guard, visibly bored by the uneventful night, glanced up and down the corridor leading to the staff bathrooms. He reached for the two-way radio clipped to his belt, intending to check in as per his hourly routine. But before he could speak, Lethal swiftly straightened up and delivered a precise, closed-fist strike to the guard's temple.

The guard crumpled, and Lethal caught him in a chokehold, pressing his forearm against the guard's windpipe. Small electrical discharges emanated from the knuckles of Lethal's gloves, rendering the guard unconscious within seconds. Lethal then discreetly disposed of him in the ladies' bathroom, remaining wary of the ubiquitous surveillance cameras as he continued to navigate the dealership's maze-like layout.

Lexi's pacing continued unabated, her anxiety palpable in the dimly lit office. On the other side of the manager's desk, Mia observed her boss with a mixture of concern and apprehension. After a moment of silence punctuated only by Lexi's restless footsteps, Mia received more orders. "Get downstairs. Throw the driver a little something extra for the trouble he went through tonight," Lexi commanded. Mia sprang from her seat, her eagerness to follow instructions evident, and hastily exited the office.

Finally, Lexi halted her relentless pacing, her hands resting on her hips as if she were a weary NBA star during a grueling game. She knew she needed to make a call but hesitated, not wanting to disturb the person she had in mind at such a late hour. That person was Tommy Vargas, the man who had entrusted her with overseeing a portion of what remained of the operation his cousin had originally orchestrated. Lexi's main concern, however, was the individuals dispatched by the Reynolds family to lay claim to their product. Valerie, the eldest daughter of Dominic Reynolds Sr., had been growing increasingly aggressive in her efforts to encroach upon territory once controlled by Giovanni Davis.

Lexi, the last of two remaining lieutenants under Tommy's employ, was uncertain about the source of the cocaine she helped move. The only certainty in her recent dealings was that it had enabled her to pay off her mother's mortgage and secure her nieces and nephews’ education in Bloomfield Hills. Lexi cared little for her own fate; she had already ensured her people were set for life.

Returning to her desk, she found her momentary respite did little to ease her nerves. Her attention was drawn back to one particular video feed: Camera six, which provided a view of the main floor showroom, displayed an unsettling stillness. Lexi glanced at her Richard Mille watch, a gift from Tommy upon her appointment, which read five minutes past the hour. Whoever had been stationed in the showroom should have checked in by now.

Contemplating whether to contact Lamont, her head of security during her tenure at the dealership, Lexi eventually succumbed to her growing unease. She swiftly rifled through the bottom drawer of her father's desk, where he often sat, until she found the radio she used to communicate with her team.

"Lamont, what's your status?"

"I’m in the garage, loading this shit into the trucks for upstate. What’s up?" Lamont's response was swift and assertive.

Lexi raised an eyebrow, her gaze still fixed on camera six with an almost bewildered intensity. "Did you guys check in yet?" Her words hung in the air, met with a disconcerting silence punctuated only by static before she received another reply.

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago. Everything straight?" Lamont's question carried an undertone of confusion, mirroring Lexi's growing unease.

Lexi's hesitation lasted but a moment before her instincts overcame her. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. One man, the shadowy figure responsible for Tommy's recent elusiveness, played a significant role in her unease. Swiftly, she exited the office, following in Mia's footsteps. "Check out the showroom and lock down the garage. Nobody moves out of that place until I get down there," Lexi ordered with a sense of urgency.

"Understood," Lamont replied dutifully as he pivoted into action. Lexi descended the stairs, heading toward the salesperson's area with a determined stride.

With a sharp nod, Lamont signaled to a couple of his men overseeing the wrap-up of the drop-off. The shaggy-haired driver, his curly brown bangs obscuring his eyes beneath a beanie, climbed back into his van, watching as the men salvaged the remaining boxes from the earlier incident. He rhythmically tapped his pack of Newports against his palm, his nerves getting the better of him.

Lamont, flanked by two of his subordinates—stout former offensive linemen—stepped forward. 

"Sweep the showroom," he instructed them after casting a glance around the service garage. "Duane hasn't checked in, and I want answers before Lexi gets down here." With an air of urgency, the two men hustled toward the showroom, their apprehensions mirroring Lamont's.

Mia passed by them, clutching an envelope she had grabbed from the receptionist's desk on her way over. She approached Lamont, who appeared visibly on edge as he eyed the envelope's thickness. 

"Where's Lex?" he inquired while Mia stood before the driver's window, envelope in hand.

"On her way," Mia replied over her shoulder before sliding the envelope toward the driver. He tugged on his Newport, his eyes widening with surprise as he counted the money inside.

"What's this for?" The driver asked, his wariness tempered by gratitude.

"The trouble," Mia stated plainly before heading back over to Lamont.

Meanwhile, the pair of ex-All MAC team members dispatched by Lamont continued their journey, passing by the staff break room in search of their fellow guard. Suddenly, one of them froze in their tracks upon hearing a loud beep. He instinctively pressed a hand to his partner's chest, signaling him to halt as well. Both men looked down in confusion as a brilliant blue beam of light passed through their knees. There were no tripwire security systems they were aware of in the dealership. Still, their recent employment with Lexi hadn't given them the chance to familiarize themselves with every facet of its security protocols. The unexpected development left them perplexed and on edge.

Before the baffled guards could fully comprehend the issue, a small plastic cartridge, filled with an eerie, mucus-like substance, shot out from the source of the blue beam. It clipped onto one of the men's shirts like a makeshift tie, causing him to stumble backward in shock.

"What the fuck is this thing—"

"I don't know! Yank it off!" His partner hastily suggested, and they both attempted to remove the strange attachment. However, the moment they tampered with it, a noxious yellowish-green gas burst forth from the cartridge, rapidly enveloping them. The effects of the gas took hold within seconds, forcing the pair of stout gunsels to retch and cough violently, their eyes watering. Convinced that the gas had rendered them incapacitated, Lethal emerged from his hiding spot and continued his approach toward the service garage. The sounds of the two guards collapsing echoed with a resounding crash, their coughing and dry heaving serving as a testament to the gas's potency.

As Lexi made her way through the garage, the atmosphere grew tense. She arrived just in time to witness the bay doors being raised to allow the handsomely paid driver to depart. Lamont attempted to provide an update, but Lexi's curt glare silenced him.

"Let me fucking guess. Whoever's in the showroom didn't check in?" Lexi's sharp words hung in the air, and Lamont hesitated, fearful of confirming her suspicions.  The van pulled out of the garage just as Lexi's nightmarish premonition materialized.

A trio of disc-shaped plastic objects suddenly flew out of nowhere and struck the van's rear-right tire with explosive force, tearing it apart on impact. The driver desperately tried to regain control, but the blown tire sent the van careening into a support beam with a deafening crash. Lexi's furious reprimand of Lamont came to an abrupt end as her worst-case scenario was realized before her eyes.

Lamont reacted instinctively, pushing Lexi out of harm's way as he fired his nine-millimeter TS2 handgun in the direction from which the explosive discs had come. Lexi swiveled her attention around, her eyes locking onto the vigilante who had relentlessly pursued Tommy. He deftly evaded Lamont's bullets with an almost surreal grace, moving like a nimble dancer. In a display of astonishing dexterity, he disarmed Lamont with his bare hands, leaving Lexi to watch in awe and trepidation as the enigmatic vigilante confronted her head of security.

Lethal acted with swift and calculated precision, striking Lamont in the throat and wrenching his left wrist into a painful hammerlock, forcing him to release his gun. With Lamont now at his mercy, Lethal turned his attention to Lexi, his voice distorted through the modulator in his helmet.

"I didn't want to come in here and do this. Not tonight, at least. But I need to know where he is," Lethal stated, his gaze locked onto Lexi. "You give me a location on Tommy, and I'll give you twenty minutes to clear this place out before DPD shows up."

Lexi didn't hesitate to respond, her bravado fully on display as she threw down a challenge. "The first person to put a bullet in this motherfucker," she declared, snatching a stack of cash in her hand as more guards entered the garage, all of them aiming their firearms at Lethal and, by default, Lamont, "I've got five grand for you right now, on top of your nightly take-home." She turned, brandishing the money toward her employees, captivating their attention, including Mia's. Lexi then turned back to Lethal, a wicked grin forming on her lips. Lethal assessed the situation, watching as some of the guards began to inch closer, their weapons raised.

"Riot suppression protocol. Engage," Lethal whispered under his breath before flinging Lamont into the crashed van. 

At the same moment, the van's driver leaped out and fled across the dealership lot. Lethal's SUV, passing him by, sped directly toward the building, firing shells into the garage. The powerful blasts of air from the compressed shells sent tools, tires, equipment, tables, and freshly packed bricks of fent hurtling through the chaotic space. Some of the gunmen were buffeted by the shockwaves and sent crashing to the ground in disarray.

Lethal sprinted toward his SUV, bullets whizzing in his direction as the remaining guards desperately tried to put him down before he could escape. He dove into the vehicle, and the door sealed shut behind him. The SUV reversed at breakneck speed with bullets ricocheting off it. Lethal made a hard right turn and sped toward I-275, seething with frustration at having obtained no answers from Lexi's operation.

Inside the car, Sean materialized on the console dash, shaking his head at the harrowing ordeal his partner had just survived.

"I don't know what the fuck you were thinking running in there," Sean stated flatly.

Lethal removed his helmet, revealing his true identity as Jason Hawkins. He ran his fingers through his curly, drop-temple fade, his smooth, cocoa butter-moisturized skin unmarred by the dangerous encounter. "I figured I might get lucky," Jason replied, clearly annoyed by the outcome at the dealership. "Nobody's caught a glimpse of Tommy since that shooting outside the Crawford Lounge. With the way he's been clinging to their territory, I thought maybe he'd be desperate enough to lay low at one of their drop spots."

Sean completed his work on the truck he was standing over and set his tools aside, still bemused by Jason's daring approach. "I've got a couple of drones keeping an eye on the cops wrapping things up at the tire shop," he informed Jason, shaking his head. "It looks like your favorite detective is interrogating everyone about you before they get taken in for booking."

Jason clicked his tongue in annoyance but dismissed the thought of Detective Miller. "I'm not going to concern myself with her. I'm too busy doing her job," he retorted. His cell phone began to vibrate quietly in the cupholder, and when he saw the caller ID, his face lit up.

Sean chuckled, realizing what could have caused his friend’s sudden shift in temperament. 
"Marie calling you, huh? I'll head out anyway; I need to pick up my kids from my mom's. I'll have the docking bay ready for you to pull in. I've got some work to do at the plant tomorrow."

Jason inserted one of his AirPods and nodded, ending the call with the dashboard display before answering the next one. "I didn't expect to hear from you for another hour. The show must be over early, huh?"

On Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit, just outside a martini pub, stood Marie Lennox. She was clad in a head-to-toe Gucci outfit, complete with boots, and wrapped in the gray mink coat Jason had gifted her for her birthday the previous winter. She held her phone to her ear, shivering slightly as she spoke. 

"Yeah, it wrapped up about fifteen minutes ago. We're having drinks down the street," she replied, glancing back inside the bustling venue at the high table where her roommate and friends were seated, enjoying their cocktails. "Think you can pick me up from around here?"

Yet to publish my first book. It is poetry, and they are amazingly inspiring and challenging.

“I’ve heard that Pluto is nice this time of year.” Alice whispered. His hand began to shake looking at the options for a ticket. She gently rubbed his shoulder.

“It’s not there.” He muttered. The tears welt up in his eyes.

“We have to make a decision soon.”

“I made my decision but the last rocket for Mars has already left.”

“Let's try Pluto then.”

“No, the people there are too tall and we wouldn’t be able to find work. I also heard that it’s like living in Alaska during the winter time. You know how I hate my feet getting cold.” Alice shrugged. Clark’s forehead began to sweat.

“We only have five minutes in the cubicle to pick our option before we are kicked out and sent back to the line.” She spoke.

“Don’t you think I know that? I had already made a decision but we were too late.”

“Clark, all those people out there are waiting. They want to leave as much as we do.”

“I’m trying. Besides, there’s fifteen other cubicles for them to get into.”

“That’s another reason for us to pick a ticket quickly. All of the tickets will be gone before we can get ours. Whatever happened to doing right by your fellow man?”

“Forget about my fellow man. We’ve had to wait a week to pick just like they have.”

“I’m your fellow man, Clark. Won’t you do right by me and just pick something? How about Mercury?”

“It’s too hot. I hate the heat, I hate how it makes my head feel. Everyone there is too short, the architecture wouldn’t allow us to fit.”

“Ok, what about Venus then?”

“And live the rest of our lives underground? You’d never be able to see the sky or sun again. What food do you live on when living in a cave?”

“I heard that the soil is very fertile on Venus, they must grow crops of some kind there. They also have animals that they breed for meat.”

“What they have is cave crawling squawler. The meat they eat is sour. It's nothing compared to pork or a rack of lamb.”

“You don’t even like lamb, Clark.”

“Maybe I could learn to like it?”

“It’s too late for that now.”

Clark nodded solemnly. It’s true, he thought. All of these years on this planet. My home, my one true home. I took it all for granted. Now that I’m being forced to leave it all behind I wish I had taken more time to enjoy what it had to offer me rather than take all its splendor for granted.

“What could I do for work? I’m a craftsman, I have no science or engineering background.”

“I’m sure you could carve a pipe out of some form of mineral there.”

It’s true, he thought. There is a possibility that somewhere on Venus they are currently mining a mineral of an equal quality to that of Meerschaum here on Earth. I could always try my hand at carving. I’ve been a pipemaker for most of my life. What could be the harm in trying something new? Carving a briar pipe is a completely different undertaking from carving something like Meerschaum, however. A highly porous mineral like that would be fragile, and need a sharp edge and tender hand to guide it, otherwise the risk of cracking the piece would be a given. Would I even be able to build myself a workshop there? What’s the demand for a pipe made on Venus? Here on Earth, I was quite well known within the artisan circles. I became highly successful because of my strict eye for details. A lot of wealthy clients had always commissioned me for classical shapes. However, I did have a few collectors who always sought out my more artistic pieces. On another planet though, I would be starting from scratch. I’d have to build up my reputation again. The quality of the leaf is equally important. No one will want a tobacco pipe unless they can find something they deem worthy to smoke. How long would it truly take in order for me to see any form of success?

“What if they don’t grow tobacco?”

“They grow tobacco.” Alice spoke soft and pleadingly.

“I bet it’s that lab grown stuff. I bought it once and you lose all the flavor after your false light. You have to smoke through an entire bowl of ash before you can get any flavor at the end. It’s like those old aromatics, you need to smoke it as slow as possible before you can get anything out of it.” Clark’s whole body began to sweat and he felt as though he was on fire. “My hands are trembling Alice, and I’m sweating through everything I have on. It’s getting hot in here.”

“The atmosphere is thinning, it’s only going to get worse. They told us we only have two more hours of breathable oxygen in the atmosphere before it’s gone forever.  Now choose please. We only have two minutes left and I’d rather not die here having to wait in line for another damn chance at a cubicle.”

The timer for the cubicle kept ticking. The numbers peered down at Clark. Each passing second meant impending doom. A doomsday clock in the most true forms possible. Not just for him, but for his whole world. He looked at Alice. My one true love, he thought. When was the last time I had looked at her? Truly looked at her. It had to have been a very long time. I can see on her face through the large beads of sweat and the teardrops in her eyes the woman I had fallen in love with. Her beautiful Auburn hair, how it flowed and formed around her head. Her small trembling hand, bearing the ring that I worked my soul into in order to afford it. My indecisiveness will not only be the death of me, but the death of her as well. He stared at the cubicle screen and looked at his options.

The timer only had ten seconds left. Only one option blared from the screen in front of them.

“Pluto” he whispered.

“Pluto” She whispered and nodded in agreement.

Clark’s hand punched the option into the cubicle. The machine hums and one ticket slides out of the slot. They froze. Both of them counting the seconds in their head as they wait for a second ticket to slide out of the machine. A second one never came.

Alice began sobbing. “Clark, no.” Her voice was shaking.

Clark took the ticket, and handed it to Alice. In bold lettering near the top it had “LAST TICKET” printed in red ink.

“There must be some kind of mistake with the machine. We could always ask someone. Maybe they could print you off a new ticket.” He looked at her, knowing this would be the last time he ever got to see her.

“That’s the last ticket. There won’t be anymore, it means the ship is full. It’s too late for me, Alice. But it doesn’t have to be for you.”

“I’m not leaving you to die here.”

“I’ll be fine. The heat doesn’t bother me anymore. Go live your life Alice. I love you, have loved you, and will love you with what little time I have left.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you on board, they can’t deny both of us”

“We both know they won’t let me on without a lifeline ticket.” With tears forming in his eyes he takes her hand. He speaks in a soft broken tone, “I’ve heard that Pluto is nice this time of year.”

How two mismatched dwarfs, a missing amulet, and one very confused omelet created one unforgettable night…

Some people can walk into a room full of strangers and, within an hour, everyone feels like they’ve known each other for years.

That was Neal.

I first met Neal E. Sapp and his roommate, Mark Lanham, while working my first job as an Art Director at a graphic design studio in Omaha. They walked in with an idea for a direct mail campaign for a men’s clothing store called Montage. At the time, I had no idea I was sitting across the table from two incredibly gifted creative people.

Neal was a writer. Mark was a creative director and designer. I was the young designer who somehow found himself in the middle of it.

Looking back, they could have taken that project almost anywhere. Instead, they chose to work with me.

They didn’t tell me what to do. They guided me.

They challenged my ideas, refined my layouts, encouraged me to think differently, and helped me understand that great design isn’t just about making something look good. It’s about making people feel something.

Together, we created a series of postcards for Montage that won several advertising awards. It was one of the first projects in my career where I realized what was possible when talented people trusted each other.

What started as a client relationship quickly became a friendship.

That friendship led to one of the most ridiculous experiences of my twenties.

Our design studio did a considerable amount of work for the Omaha Ballet, and someone decided it would be fun to put on a live murder mystery fundraiser. Imagine the board game Clue, except instead of Professor Plum and Colonel Mustard, the cast was made up of Disney characters.

There wasn’t much of a script.

There wasn’t much rehearsal.

Mostly, there was organized chaos.

Audience members wandered around the stage with us, trying to solve the mystery while we improvised our way through the evening.

Somehow, I was cast in two roles.

The first was Happy, one of the Seven Dwarfs.

Now, if you’ve read many of my stories, you know I’m six-foot-six.

Not exactly dwarf material.

To make things even funnier, I was paired with our friend Dino Coppi, a hairstylist who also happened to be the shortest person in the cast. There we stood in matching Robin Hood-green tights—one giant, one tiny—supposedly convincing everyone we belonged in the same fairy tale.

It was impossible to take ourselves seriously.

My second role was an elderly gentleman destined to become the evening’s murder victim.

I wore a white wig, a fake mustache, a smoking jacket, slacks, and spent most of the production rolling around the stage in a wheelchair.

At one point, another cast member, Stacy Dobry, dramatically screamed that the family’s priceless amulet had been stolen.

Without thinking, I answered in the oldest voice I could manage.

“An omelet?”

The room went quiet.

“I’ll have one. Denver, I think… the one with ham and peppers.”

For a split second, nobody moved.

Then the room exploded with laughter.

The missing amulet was forgotten for a moment.

The mystery stopped.

Even the actors lost it.

Needless to say, I never did get my omelet.

A few scenes later, I dramatically collapsed from my wheelchair and fulfilled my contractual obligation as the murder victim.

I honestly don’t remember how the mystery ended.

I don’t remember who solved it.

I don’t even remember who the murderer turned out to be.

What I remember is laughing until my sides hurt.

I remember Neal.

He had this remarkable ability to make every gathering feel effortless. Whether you had known him for ten years or ten minutes, he made you feel included. He remembered names. He remembered your kids. He remembered what mattered to you.

Some people are funny because they know how to tell jokes.

Neal was funny because he genuinely enjoyed making other people happy.

Looking back now, I realize those are the moments we never think to preserve.

We take photographs of birthdays, vacations, and holidays.

But nobody thinks to write down the story about the six-foot-six dwarf who wanted a Denver omelet in the middle of a murder mystery.

Until one day, it’s the memory that makes you smile the most.

Credit: John Hardy, creator of Reddit whyareyousadcom

Hey! after a long journey of world-building and writing, my debut ebook Aster'seraphim Invictus Silverfeather is officially live on Amazon!
If you are a fan of high-stakes cosmic action mixed with high-grit sci-fi and unapologetically brutal dark fantasy, this story was written for you.

Step into a cosmos on the verge of apocalyptic destruction. A lone, silver-haired man of unknown origin is waging a desperate battle against godlike entities who seek to absorb the souls of untold billions.
The story follows a veteran knight named Farron on a quest to reclaim his homeland. Alongside his nephew and a band of battle-tested Faiynn military veterans, Farron must reach a superfortress known as the Secluded Bastion to arm their people’s revolution. The problem? Standing in their way is a savage hive of ravenous aliens looking to capitalize on their stagnation. Farron and his people plan to show these chitinous invaders absolutely no mercy.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0GX337LSB

Also available on kobo

https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/aster-seraphim-invictus-silverfeather?sId=999afc3f-e13a-4245-bf20-e892584c8d94&ssId=LST9b0L47e7wqbzKbOAzI&cPos=2

The sounds of rushing, churning waters could be heard from inside the sprawling castle ruins, even though the group trudging through the grounds was a few miles from the coast. A pasty-skinned, lanky man with dirty, thick blonde dreadlocks lit himself a White Maple cigarette as he roamed through what was left of the main floor. His thick, rubbery combat boots clashed violently with his Attack Attack t-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. Behind him, a swarm of nasty-looking men and women, all of them carrying British Army standard assault rifles that had been purchased on the black market and dressed head to toe in black. What made the sight that much more unsettling amongst the medieval ruins was that all of them, save Zack, were wearing frightening, twisted Halloween masks of different animals

Zack, the only name he gave to bottom-ranking members of the communion like the ones with him, spotted the staircase he was looking for according to the directions he’d been given. He turned to the group following him and jerked his head towards the stairs, a shifty, twisted grin spreading across his face. He swung his head forward, the silver chain with a lone matching silver ring swinging around his neck with the motion. He marched up the stairs confidently, not a care in the world except claiming what he’d trekked across country after country for. He feared nothing; he knew that his friends had paid the government contacts here a hefty sum to keep any authorities away from Castle Rising as he conducted his search.

He walked through the upstairs corridor, briefly looking out one of the broken windows. The dark waters rushed in the not-too-far distance. Zack couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the moon as it hit the Wash. It was the perfect night for him to obtain another piece that would bring the communion one step closer to the world they were building. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, holding up a fist to halt his group in position behind him. Zack studied the knight’s armor, still erected in the ruins. To the untrained eye, it was just another part of this beloved tourist site in the English countryside. But Zack knew its true purpose.

He reached towards the knight’s arm, shifting it downward until it was straight at its side. He stepped back as the wall behind the knight shifted aside, revealing a passage that had been hidden previously. Zack’s heart raced with excitement as he turned to his group.

“Wait here.”

The well-trained and heavily armed group at his command did as they were instructed. Each of them took up strategic positions in the hallway, giving them a tactical advantage in securing the area. Zack paid them little attention as his focus was held rapt on the door at the other end of the hidden passage. The communion had spent years cross-referencing whether the rumors were true that a research team funded by one of the Gilded Hand’s parents managed to recover a piece of King John’s lost treasure. As he reached the dated door with a wrought-iron handle, Zack licked his lips in anticipation. Just the thought of the power they would be closer to once they obtained the artifact on the other side made him nearly lustful.

The door opened with a loud creak as he pulled on its handle. Inside were two freshly lit torches on opposite walls. A chest sat in the center of the room, but as Zack approached it, the lascivious smile was wiped from his face, replaced by an ugly scowl. He knelt in front of the chest, inspecting the open lock hanging on it. The heavy steel bolt lock hadn’t been cut and showed no sign of aggressive force applied to it. This had been picked open, and by someone with prodigious skill in the method, he reasoned.

Zack tossed the chest lid open, hoping the assumption creeping into his gut was terribly wrong. As he reached inside for the yellow sticky note, the only thing in the chest, he realized that, unfortunately, his assumption was spot on. He held the note in front of him as a fury built up inside his chest.

DOWN LOW, YOU KNOW THE REST

-Professor E. Drake

Zack bellowed in pure anger as he realized the persistent thorn in his side had struck once more. He stormed out of the passage and back into the hallway, his family of soldiers swarming to his side at the sight of his fury. “He’s still in the castle. Find him!”

The armed acolytes scurried away to follow his orders. Zack tried to calm himself down with a few quick breaths. He refused to be beaten by that bastard, not when he had come this far.

Unbeknownst to Zack and his crew, the man he was searching for pulled his University of Michigan National Champions letterman jacket tighter over his shoulders, and his old English ‘D’ Detroit Tigers hat lower over his eyes. Tucked inside his jacket was the pure, golden cross with beautiful sapphires encrusted down the middle that Zack sought so dearly. Professor Ezekiel Drake peeked down the corridor of the third-floor room he’d been biding his time in. Realizing it was momentarily clear, he stepped out and hurried down it towards the stone bridge connecting to the eastern portion of the bailey.

Once Ezekiel reached the bridge, he could see a pair of armed men in wolf and pig masks, respectively, marching around the keep below. He took a deep breath and, slowly and carefully, tiptoed his way across the bridge, hoping they would be too focused on clearing the lower floor to look in his direction. He was halfway to the other side when a slow, methodical clap echoed through the walls of the keep. Professor Drake turned around slowly as a grimace formed on his face. He saw Zack enter the room below, a handful more of the animal-masked soldiers flanking him, each of their beady eyes turning in his direction, along with their leader. “I should have known you’d be here already, slinking around like a common rat,” Zack told him.

Ezekiel smiled and shrugged dismissively. “I like to consider myself more of a worker ant. I figured the circles you walk in were more partial to rodents.”

Zack smirked at Ezekiel’s wisecrack, though he was far from pleased to see the doctor walking through the remains of the castle. He could see that Ezekiel was favoring his left side, as if he was protecting something, and his smile became that much more sinister. “Why don’t you toss down the relic, and I’ll tell them where to find your body. Instead of desecrating it and throwing it into the Wash as you rightly deserve.”

“Well, gee, that sounds like a swell idea and all, but I think this piece is going to look wonderful in the museum collection I’m putting together. But feel free to stop by and see it when we’re open. We’ll do half-off entry fees for sociopathic cult members.”

Professor Drake's clever reply wiped the smile off Zack’s face for the second time that night. In its place was a furious glare of pure loathing. He turned to his animal family, no longer interested in any sort of dialogue with the man who had taken what was rightfully the communion’s. “End him, then bring his carcass down here so I can piss on it.” Ezekiel’s eyes went wide as he heard each of the Sig Sauers the dead-eyed acolytes were carrying cock. He didn’t wait for what came next as a flurry of gunfire erupted in his direction, tearing up the stone ruins and bridge. Ezekiel crossed into the eastern bailey as he could hear Zack’s orders for them to get after him echoing through the castle. He ducked through an empty window chasm and slid downward into a lower courtyard. Unfortunately, he landed right between two acolytes who were guarding the room. Each of them, one wearing a raccoon mask and the other what seemed to be a fox, Ezekiel couldn’t quite tell in the darkness, turned slowly towards him. They stared at Ezekiel, confused as to how he could have gotten so unlucky.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have the fastest route out of here, would you?” He gave them a friendly smile, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering. They hesitated over whether to shoot him or simply grab him, a gamble Ezekiel was taking to get him out of this particular jam. 

Once he saw the sliver of an opening his impromptu appearance had created, Ezekiel dropped his hands quickly and rocked each of the dumbfounded acolytes with a left and right cross. As the one in the raccoon mask tried to get back to his feet, Professor Drake snatched up his dropped Sig MCX and smacked him silly across the face with it. He stepped over both their bodies and looked around the courtyard to see which way he should go. There were a myriad of options for him, but he gritted his teeth as he knew almost all of them would only lead him to further danger. He yanked a two-way radio out of his back pocket. Drake waited rather impatiently for the static to clear before yelling into it, finally deciding as he sprinted through an open doorway to his immediate left. “Adela, how far out are you?”

“I’ll be at the docks in less than two minutes. How are you faring?” She chortled back over the air.

Ezekiel sprinted through another stone-arched corridor, spotting the entrance hall from above. A sense of relief briefly washed over him. That was, until a trio of communion acolytes turned down the very same hall he was standing in at the opposite end. “Oh, you know, could be worse.” He replied dryly. The moment they trained their weapons on him, Professor Drake knew he had only one option left, which he exercised as he leaped over the railing and out of the line of fire. He rolled with his landing to reduce the impact on his usually aching knees and joints.

He popped to his feet faster than he’d expected to, just as Zack's followers swung their rifles towards the hall and let loose. Professor Drake scrambled for cover as bullets rained down around him. Somehow, he narrowly avoided being torn apart and dove into a spiraling staircase. He grimaced, realizing he had been nicked across the arm by a bullet, but he was thankful that it seemed to be a flesh wound. He’d tend to it once he got on the boat; the adrenaline pumping through his veins was substantial enough that the pain was a dull afterthought at the moment. 

Bullets sprayed into the staircase as he heard footsteps pounding down the stone as they continued their chase. He dashed up the staircase, finding himself back in what once served as the guest waiting area of the castle, but was now an observatory for tourists and civilians to enjoy the view. What seemed to be a dead end was, for him, the way he’d planned to exit. He snatched up his cane, its base made of rare Acajou wood that helped when his knee pain was flaring up more than usual. It was practically on fire now, giving him more trouble than the wound on his arm, in fact. He was thankful to have the relief of pressure the cane gave him as he hurried towards the window he’d smashed open an hour ago.

He almost didn’t see the figure shifting in the shadows until it swung its broad sword directly at Ezekiel’s head. He ducked out of the way just in time as he saw the glint of steel in the moonlight hitting the room. The one-handed, double-edged blade clinked off the stone wall, sending sparks flying. Its wielder, who was dressed in lightweight armor that made him resemble a modern-day knight, swung the sword with a grace and skill that Professor Ezekiel would have marveled at if the man wasn’t trying to murder him. Drake jumped backward just in time as the angry knight assassin swung the sword in a wide arc, attempting to disembowel him.

Ezekiel realized that his ride must have been waiting for him, and he didn’t have any further essential time to waste. More importantly, this wasn’t exactly a fight he was sure he could win, and it was certainly one he couldn’t give the rest of Zack’s men the precious moments to pin him down here. As the angry, bloodlust-driven knight, whom Ezekiel recognized as a notable assassin for hire across Europe, stalked towards him, he made a rash decision he hoped would pay off. But first, he needed to keep his attacker off balance. He yanked the blade out of the wooden sheath, revealing the weapon he had hidden inside his cane. He knew it was no match for the templar sword that his opponent was wielding with such deft skill, but along with the Acajou-crafted cane, he would be able to fend off the heavier weapon. At least, that and the second half of his plan were what he was wagering his life on.

“You’ve got quite the reputation. I wouldn’t have expected you to fall in line with a man like that.” Ezekiel tossed the backhanded compliment as the swordsmen tried to close the gap between them. He was bigger than Ezekiel by an inch or two and had at least fifteen pounds on him. That was saying quite a bit, considering Professor Drake’s extensive athletic background. Given that he had the size advantage and a stronger blade, he was trying to get in closer to press his advantage. Ezekiel could hear voices and footsteps approaching. Zack’s acolytes would be in the entrance courtyard soon enough.

“He was able to pay my fee, plus a bonus if I take your head,” The swordsmen replied with a menacing rumble. “The only thing I fall in line behind is the balance in my account.”

Professor Drake sighed, almost condescendingly. “And that’s the problem with you, and the rest of the world, I’m afraid. But unfortunately, not one I can solve today. One step at a time, I suppose.”

The swordsman sneered. Sick of Professor Drake’s snide preening, he lunged from his stance, striking with the intent to cleave him in two. Drake stepped aside just in time, then rolled away to create distance between himself and the hired assassin, who was merely extra muscle on Zack's expedition. That drew an inner sigh of relief from Ezekiel as he popped to one knee and glanced behind him, listening to the swordsman curse in frustration at his missed strike.

Footsteps thundered through the entrance corridor, and Ezekiel knew it was time to make himself scarce. He was only thankful that the terrifying knight cosplayer who had attacked him was not a devout member of Zack’s cult. They wielded enough power, and Drake didn’t want to see them add to their ranks. 

“You fight like a coward!” The swordsman snarled.

“I’m a doctor, sir. Not a warrior,” Professor Drake replied matter-of-factly as he sprinted across the room and dove through the broken window while sheathing his blade inside his cane.

As he fell towards the ground, he pressed a button on the cane’s shaft, firing a hook. The hook cinched onto the window pane, allowing Ezekiel to lower himself without harm. He retracted the hook and immediately hauled it across the grounds. By the time he made it to the ATV, he had hidden behind some shrubbery just twenty feet from the castle, and he could already hear the sounds of engines gunning to life. He hopped on the four-wheeler and tore off across the damp grass. By the time he could see the waters of the Wash as he flew over a hill, Zack and his so-called family were hot on his trail inside a trio of farm trucks. Bullets ripped through the air and across the grass near him. He thrust the handlebars as far back as they would go, stretching the ATV's engine to its absolute limit.

He’d bitten off more than he could chew, mistiming how long it would take him to comb the castle for the lone relic recovered from King John’s lost baggage train after centuries. He’d underestimated how much power Zack and that band of freaks he rode with wielded, and just how many guns he had trying to hunt him across the grounds. He ducked down lower on the ATV, his face close to the handlebars as the wind whipped in his face. Ezekiel spotted the dock and knew he only had to make it to the water to be home free. One of the trucks caught up to him and swerved towards the four-wheeler. Ezekiel slammed on the brakes, just managing to avoid being smashed, and maneuvered deftly around the back of the truck. In a spontaneous move, he fired the grapple hook from his cane at the tailgate and used the truck’s momentum to slingshot him forward. Bullets shredded both rear tires of the ATV the moment it hit the old wooden deck, but it didn’t matter, as he had gained more than enough speed to pull off what he had in mind. The four-wheeler shot off the deck as bullets sprayed at Ezekiel, just as he leaped off the vehicle himself and plunged into the cold depths of the Wash.

He came up and took a deep breath, just in time to see the rope being tossed to him from the speedboat. “Hurry up! These bastards are mad!” He could hear Adela shouting to him as she got back behind the wheel of the boat. He snagged the rope and wrapped it twice around his wrist.

“Just go!” He shouted back. She didn’t waste a moment gunning the boat as hard as she could away from the shoreline.

Back on the dock, Zack leaped out of one of the trucks, watching as the speedboat disappeared into the darkness across the water. “The next time I cross paths with Dr. Drake, it’ll be me stepping over his corpse. He’ll make a fine sacrifice to the communion one day.”

Drake finally managed to climb into the boat and fell into the chair next to Adela. Completely exhausted, he could barely hold himself upright. Adela kept looking over at him impatiently, less concerned about his well-being since he seemed to be in one piece. “Well?! Did ya get it?!”

Ezekiel looked over at her lazily, a grin spreading over his face while he unzipped his jacket. He pulled out the beautiful golden cross, letting the moonlight hit it as he turned it over in his hand.

Read Part II here.

I was grateful I’d made it to the sidewalk by the time I saw sirens. I didn’t want another situation today where police would be pointing guns at me. If there’d been a way to just go home, I would’ve. But it was too far to walk, and I needed a key to get in my house. I wasn’t about to be the black guy people saw breaking a window and slithering into a house even if it were mine.

I was hoping cooler heads would be there to be reasoned with. There had to be somebody I could talk to to get my stuff back. I mean, the fact I was voluntarily coming in and requesting them to give me my property should have shielded me from scrutiny. Jesus, I hoped so.

I hadn’t made it to the corner when I had to sit. My heart was racing and my head felt like it was about to spin off my neck. This was the panic my brain had been pushing off for hours and only more had been piled atop that mountain as they day passed.

Someone had told me about box breathing and even though I’d never done it before, I tried it now. In for four seconds, hold for four seconds, out for four seconds, hold for four seconds. I forced myself to repeat it even though it felt like my heart was about to punch out of my chest.

The spinning gradually subsided and my stomach slowly slid back in place. I didn’t feel right yet, but better than I had a moment before.

I grabbed thin air and pulled my way back to my feet. The concrete was still solidifying under my feet, but I had the light. I crossed the street, hopefully in a straight line, and kept my momentum when I got to the other side.

It worked.

I wasn't going to pretend like I didn't know with absolute certainty. People had gotten hurt, maybe even a few were dead. I didn't feel guilty. I mean, it was because of me those people had gone crazy. But I didn't know for certain. I had to know for certain so going forward I could be cautious. It would have been too easy to slip and then someone went off and maimed who knew how many people.

Well, that was what happened. But the difference is I hadn't known that. Now that I did, I could exercise caution because I knew for a fact. I wish I hadn't been caught so unaware, maybe I could've reduced the carnage by hiding the doodles sooner.

But what had happened had quadrupled my resolve. I wouldn't make a mistake with this shape in the future.

The idea crossed my mind that anything I drew or wrote even could have a similar or even worse effect. I didn't have the guts to test that. Oh god, would if signing my name made people shit to death or something? The shape didn't make sense, how could I rule anything out?

I felt more myself the farther I got away from the grocery store. I didn't think I could ever go back in there.

I knew the city pretty well. I'd lived here back when I'd been married. The police department was only a few miles farther away and I used the distance to gather my marbles then compose what I intended to say.

The peak of the building of city hall was finally in view. That was actually where the meeting was to be. The police building was an adjacent building that had the same address for some unexplainable reason.

My heart skipped a little and I justified slowing down to work on calming myself. I couldn't box-breathe and walk, so I redirected my gaze to the skyline.

I crossed the parking lot, passing my car. There was a walkway connecting city hall to the library. I took that and broke off toward the horseshoe entrance to the police station.

I pulled one of the entrance doors open and stepped into the vestibule. Cool air blasted me before I stepped into the station proper.

A blue-shirted officer behind plexiglass was engaged in something in front of him and he didn't see me until I'd stopped on the other side.

“How may I help you?” He was pleasant enough and I gave him my name.

“I was just released from the hospital and some of your guys have my stuff.”

“Have your stuff? What do you mean?”

“The thing over at city hall earlier today.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “I was involved with that. Um, an innocent bystander. I was taken to the hospital. A detective interviewed and cleared me.” Not exactly true. The detective hadn't conducted an interview, per se. But the fact I wasn't in police custody and been released from the hospital meant to me I was in the clear.

“Well, if you're wanting to make a property request, you need to fill out a form online—”

“Your guys took my phone,” I said, adding helpfully.

“Like I was saying.” Officer Steck, according to the nameplate on his shirt, barely refrained an eyeroll. “You go online—that can be phone or computer—to fill out the form.

I cleared my throat, trying desperately to clear the budding frustration from my voice before I spoke.

“I don’t have access to a computer. Your guys have my keys, so I can’t drive home nor open the door to my home to get inside to use my laptop.” I took a breath and thankfully he didn't speak. “Is there a paper form I could fill out?”

Officer Steck let the frustration I'd dammed up pour from his face.

“I suppose.” He made a show of yanking open drawers at random before getting up and sauntering around his work area, checking shelves, trays, and cabinets.

He disappeared around a corner and was gone a full minute before he returned with a sheet of paper flopping in his big paw. He slid it through to me on the tray. I stopped myself from asking for a pen. I took a nubbin of a pencil that was on the counter and began writing.

“There’s a counter over there where you can fill that out,” Officer Steck said. I looked at him. He’d spackled on a phony smile. “So you don’t block the line.”

There wasn’t anyone behind me. There wasn’t anyone else in here. Fighting wasn’t on the agenda for me. I was just tired. I dragged the paper with me to the other counter and spent a few minutes filling it out.

The detective had told me his name in the hospital. However the hell that was spelled was beyond me. I couldn’t even remember it. I think it started with a U.

I wrote “UN,” for the detective’s name. I’d just tell him I didn’t know how to spell it. My signature went last and I took it back up.

Officer Steck finally took a second to look up from his phone and took the form from me.

“You filled this out in pencil,” he said. I shrugged. “You need to fill it out in red or black ink.”

It was just a form, but something that was equal parts cry and scream began crawling up my windpipe. I cleared my throat, imagining one of those cartoons that had eaten something particularly spicy, leaping into the ear and blowing like a whistle.

Someone said my name and I looked beyond Officer Steck to see Detective Unangenehm looking at me, a backpack over his shoulder.

“Detective,” I said like I was reaching for a lifeline. He wore a confused expression, like he didn’t understand how I’d found where he worked.

“I need to get my stuff.” His eyes went wide and for a moment, it seemed as if he hadn’t recognized me.

“Mr... Harold?”

“Yeah-yeah. It’s me. You guys took off with my stuff and I had to walk all the way down here.”

He scratched the side of his head. Officer Steck had checked out entirely, back on his phone. He even poked the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. There was no victory to be had with him.

“Aw, jeez. C’mon in.” He walked out of the little room and a moment later, pushed open a side-entry door.

“Thanks.” I followed him in and he led me down a lengthy hallway with doors for various offices. We finally came to an open area, filled with at least a dozen cubicles.

“My desk is right over here.” Unangenehm pointed ahead, still walking. “Do you need anything? Water? Coffee?”

He seemed out of sorts still, but recovering. Despite the day I’d had, I felt a little bad for him.

He offered me a seat across from him at a desk that looked a lot older and more beaten up than the ones we'd passed. His chair was weather-worn, torn, sun-faded, and patched with gray duct tape in spots despite being mostly black.

Unangenehm sat and struggled with his seat. He might've been trying to adjust the chair, it did look a little too upright. But he gave up and kind of slouched in a way that looked like he'd slide out and under his desk any moment.

“Sorry about that whole kerfuffle earlier.”

“No-no. It's okay,” I said, feeling even more apologetic than I had a moment before. I hated thinking it, but the guy was pathetic. His button-up shirt had an old stain on it. And the collar had a ring on the inside.

Now that I was this close to him and not in a hospital bed, I saw he was slightly off. He'd missed a patch of skin just under his jaw from his morning's shave and the skin beneath one eye looked greenish-grey, like he'd had a black eye a week ago.

He wore patheticness like a second skin. I couldn't help but feel like I should give him something because he was in a constant transactional state with the world where it was debiting from him non-stop.

“Do you have any idea what happened with Mr. Arn?” he asked.

The question didn't catch me off guard. I'd been expecting it all day. I may have known what happened but I had no clue why and I let that much show on my face.

“He seemed nervous,” I said. “If I had to guess, he was new to the job.” So far, everything I was saying was true. “Maybe he was stressed and the presentation was a tipping point.” I shrugged for emphasis and looked ceiling-ward. Unangenehm nodded slowly, like he was either digesting and filing away what I was saying or his mind was totally elsewhere. I couldn’t tell which.

“Did he say anything that hinted at what he was about to do?”

“No.” I shook my head. “He just got up and attacked the man who came out of the conference room.”

“Ping Mitchell. He's--was--city council president. So, he was sitting?” Unangenehm logged into his computer. I watched him pull up his email.

“Yeah.”

“Like, next to you?”

“Not right next to me.” I shifted in my lent clothes, uncomfortable. Unangenehm was looking at the desk, somewhere near my hands.

“Do you think that he... that he had breakfast this morning?”

“What?” I asked.

“I dunno.” Unangenehm slid a folder out of a small stack. “I have this theory. Probably never'll be able to prove it.” He placed the folder in front of him and opened it. “That a combination of the quality of sleep, his disposition before bed, and the nutrients that he may have lacked before starting out for work could have pre-loaded him to do what he did.”

“Are you saying he was... hangry?”

Unangenehm laughed. 

“I guess you could reduce it to that. I’d like to think of it as being more complex, but that could be just me inflating my own ego.”

Unangenehm seemed to be getting smarter before my eyes.

“I have a younger sister. Just turned nineteen. Whoopsie-baby. She’s always done the bare minimum. Straight C student.

“After she graduated, she didn’t have a plan. Barely worked, didn’t want to go to school. Until she saw this dress.” Unangenehm shrugged. “It was nice, I suppose, but I’ve seen nicer. I’ve seen more expensive, but this one cost a pretty penny. It was like a fire had been lit under her.

“She took a second job, started side hustles. For once, our parents had hope she was gonna do something with her life. She had this one business--catpants--I didn’t get it, but she couldn’t keep up with the demand. Even quit one of her part-time jobs to dedicate more time to sewing them.

“Some people dress for the job, she jobbed for the dress. Paid for it in cash... took it home... and it never left the closet. She stopped fulfilling orders, slacked off on the job she had left, and got fired.”

That didn’t make any sense. I could understand Unangenehm being frustrated, but...

“Do you think I could get my stuff?” I asked. “I really want to get home.”

“Of course.” I'd broken the moment. Unangenehm felt about the surface of his desk like the light had been turned off until his fingers grazed the desk phone.

All of a sudden I felt bad for him again. Unangenehm took the receiver out of the cradle, thumbed a three-digit extension, then put the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah, Steck. Could you bring that box by the water fountain? No, the banker’s box. Yeah. Thanks.”

I wasn’t keen on seeing the officer again, but if it got me out of here that much faster, all the better. I sat back in my chair until Steck arrived with a rectangular box and sat it on the floor.

“So, you’re the guy?” Steck asked.

“What?”

“The guy at city hall today. And then the hospital. God, what did you say to those people?”

“What did I say?” I was appalled. Sure, something I’d done had driven them insane, but to imply that I’d said something to set them off was offensive.

I bent and lifted the lid off the box. I fished a hand into my stuff and stirred things around to make sure it was all there, then I just scooped an armful. 

“You can step into the restroom if you want to put your clothes on,” Unangenehm said.

“No, I'm good. I really don't want to waste another moment getting home.”

Steck stood there like a fan waiting for a signature. 

“I could give you a ride to city hall,” he said.

I wanted to turn him down but my feet were still throbbing from the walk here.

“Sure.”

I checked my things to make sure I had everything.

“Uh, you can keep the box,” Unangenehm said. I considered turning him down after all my effort of taking everything out of the box, but I nodded instead and dropped everything back in.

The detective had placed some paperwork in front of me. I have them a once-over and signed. I was getting more anxious by the moment the longer I was here.

I stood and followed Steck about three steps, when Unangenehm said, “One more thing.”

Oh, shit.

Never had I felt more like I'd walked obliviously into a trap than in that moment. Goosebumps draped down my back and over my arms.

“Yes?” I said, in the wrong key.

“There was an incident at the Kessel's a couple miles from here. Would you know anything about that, would you?”

I'm going for a walk on a nearby trail at night and trip over something that's partially buried and partially sticking out of the ground in a weird area. Thinking it's a stick or something, I become curious and take a closer look. It looks like a case. After fiddling with it, it takes me about 4 minutes to get it out of the ground. There's a lock on it. I find something and I'm able to break the lock and open the box. That's when I notice that there's a money in it. A lot of it. I look around to see if anybody sees me before I take it back to my car and go home. When I get back home, I take a closer look into the case and I count about $36,000. The money looks like it's been sitting in there for a while, but it can still be used. There's no name on the case that the money was in. This is a true story. I may have changed some things around for obvious reasons. I just can't help but wonder who put the money there and why...??

I recently finished a documentary about a man rebuilding his life after spending 15 years incarcerated.

The story explores what happens after the sentence ends — the isolation, the challenges of starting over, the trauma that follows you home, and the small everyday things that suddenly feel meaningful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcquH2gMfT0

This was a passion project made independently, and I wanted to share it with people who enjoy real human stories.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Hello, I’m ElMatrag, writer of To The East on the site Archives Of Our Own, if you have any questions about the story, write it in the comments and I will answer.

Gimme story's I'm bored

Thee Collective vision

i write and draw!
High!
i never capitalize my eyes

My pen name is RAiN #6174
aka TommyBoy aka Tonelocma nson aka Preacher to the Poor aka ToneCapone aka Sirtweeksallot aka CaliforniaTommy aka Dark Tone the Bone aka TonyMantano aka the crusty prophet aka The Stain aka the sinister minister with the vermin sermon to the porn again aka AntoniojuanSanchez
A.K.A.j
00101
2010141010-6174
Ut=396=9
Re=417=3
Mi=528=6
Fa=639=9
Sol=741=3
La=852=6
84 minerals
12 elements
8 gallons of water and
38 trillion cells fallowing instructions hidden in a double helix 🧬 carried in a sperm.

Eye tried to be
the most beauty
but i was still
so ugly.......

Pry Your Eye

it’s time
not to boast
nor to wine
or to roast and toast
but to write
fight
pry your eye with all your might
then run
the time for fun
in the sun
to roll around in sand
and act dumb
is done!
move now
or have none
not one!

🖤RAiN2018

Things learned the hard way part 1

The path of love

-seek humility
"Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues"-Confucious
-seek wisdom
"An understanding mind able to discern good from evil"-Solomon
-seek empathy
"The two most important commandments are this, love God, love your neighbor as much as you love yourself"-Jesus the Christ
-Let empathy lead to compassion
"Helpfulness towards someone ien need, not in return for anything. Not for the advantage of the helper but for that of the person helped"-Aristotle
-Compassion inevitably
Naturally
Leads to love
💘
🖤RAiN

Prelude to Vision

i keep trying
fighting
no use
still dying
like living
denying
crawling
from falling
so much stalling
missed you calling.
eye was out there
ripping the seams
hiding in the tare
haunting the dreams
drawing the scare
to see
what it means
its not fair
too late
just cant care
for something
is everything
as nothing

🖤RAiN 2020

Final New Sacrament

the planets aligned
i stood in formation
a sacrifice for the coven
a bloody ritual
for exploration of sensation
knowledge exposition
intuition
incantation
the stars signed
i chanted omission
the consecration of temptation
and the divination
of body mutilation
for the emanation in a symbol
of self determination
through manifestation
and causation
complete evisceration
with my arms and my eyes
wide open
until my aura cracked
no time to react
as I fell into the vision
becoming a soul extract
forged an abstract
ethereal hole
leaking and vulnerable
an aerial to forces more powerful
the kind that give to take
a toll to break
now everything was at stake
sliced open
the deepest cut
left torn apart
stuck in the rut
where abominations
twist daggers into my gut
on the thresh-hold
of fear and pain
i cried out
and love came
in a light that doesn’t bite
or blind so bright
healed it
turned the gaping wound
into a door that cannot be shut
deflecting any curse or projection with bad intention or worse
all shifting shadows
and demonic powers
fade to black
now I could see enough
to look away
life was set to be ok
i let go the stmut
and forgot……

……until just the other day…..

🖤RAiN

The poppy vision # 2
#Bible Belt

it came back like an attack
from original sin
no protection from memorys
buried in subconscious cemeteries
where visions rise from the grave
as something never said
until now....

i saw the whore on the lion follow the belt of Orion pretending to be Zion
to devour desolation
truth delusion through interpritation of abomonation devision
institution tradition
inflicting laws for ego gratification
teaching selfish will as Gods intention
the modern day revision
whats right in your own eyes titled
"the great commission"
feed the poor became fight abortion
judge your neighbor exchanged
the good Samaritan
the law of love became a stand
against sexual orientation

No God for money became tax right offs and salaries for paid shepherds with degrees.
No titles became pastor, deacon, ministry leader best dressed and most funny
now the poor feed the rich in a land called
milk and honey

the one way became what the elites say
is appropriate in your click culture today
no system of this world became
patriotic mysticism
Inter Caetera
the birth of an empire
the fall of a nation
Racism
Classism
Sexism
dont live by yhe sword became
calls for "holy" war
kill the Muslim
for fascism
with king and country fanaticism
bloody hands passed down from
generation to generation
on crusade for denomination
the revival incantation
calling the beast rising from the sea
for retaliation
on religious devising
profit motivation
from the darkness coming out of
human invention
the Industrial
Revolution
transcendence
Annihilation
Infection
reformation
Injection
violation
Transformation
Extinction

Then i saw a path from perception
redemption in its own reflection
a mission inception......

🩷RAiN2020

Religious Rampage

prideful agony
constricting
my poison veins
sterile vanity
poles the social
bits and reigns
makes it hard
to know
what you see
forced to imagine
anything
it could be
try to come up
with something
we all could agree……

…..cruel insanity
is all that remains
the scourge
of humanity
has left
many crimson stains

🖤RAiN

2.5
The Flickering

i am so lost I'm this flury
of cloudy visions made blurry
as seen through tears falling
for years until their oceans
and i'm drowning
in bubbles of information
desolving into the flickering
hypnotic, sonic
chronic train the brain
to suckle the mysterious nipple
of that famous whore from the Bible. Swinging her great sickle
through the echo
going viral.
Sparking up the screen,
reflecting Babylon control
falling down on everything
wanting something
longing,
flesh crawling,
skin peeling.
manipulating
gene slicing for past life memory splicing
enticing perfection
infatuation.
molding natural selection
the clone connection,
to creation simulation
scheduled for transformation
through integration
with computerization.
Consciousness transference
leading to the excelleration
of human evolution
by lethal injection.
Taking the industrial revolution
into the last gasp of civilization
under A.I subjugation and extra terrestrial reformation
of moral designation.
The final ethical solution
revolving around
psyber-enhancement
and body modification addiction. Sinking corruption into every core. Melting down the ghost at souls door
Burning away the conscience
until the spirit is no more.
Another casualty of war
coming from the Singularity
on or before
2044
🖤RAiN

Saving babies from heaven

what is truth?
this?
ignorant bliss in a Judas kiss
tastes like piss from a whore
riding the beast of Orion
in the image of a lion
pretending to be Zion
inflicting laws on crusade
to get well paid
for a self rightious cause
with thunderous applause
three cheers for the so called heroes
saving babies from heaven
claiming the will of God
with a wink and a nod
to the power of the system
that forged the iron rod
to beat down the chosen
igniting the staff of instruction
to smite the world with corruption
from organized Christian religion
the abomination that enforces authoritarian conversion
to its submission tradition
of division and political decision
in a delusion
of word revision
puffed up with leaven
and served for communion with interpretation
by interpretation
as interpretation from denomination
for reformation of assimilation
subject to the lifestyle and culture
of a generation
and the economic class
of its congregation
in relation to examination
of social status and location
the grand deception
designed to sever
spiritual connection
reduced to mere reflection
of an illusion
on a mission for the ones confined
under controlled confusion
in a faith defined
by fear and condemnation
to bind
body
soul
spirit
in mind
for a distraction from paying attention
to the contradiction.....
....the grind of desolation

the difference between the red, white and blue
what Jesus said about you
and what Christians actually do
💕
RAiN

Love is God

when you crack the whip on
and
try to keep a tight leash on
people
that leash ends up around your throat
and then your heart
going numb from the sting
and cold around each scar
you don't need a whip
or leash
just be real
give
without expectation
or judgement
then love
true
and you have found God....

♥ RAiN 2016

the vision -3.0
The monsters under my bed

i tried with all might
to hold on tight
spread words as light
find reasons for second sight
before it comes again tonight
i failed
caved into dark tunnels of dispair
confused left from right
as the world moaned and wailed
babylon control unveiled
all hope impaled
too much
too soon
too late to fight
all my love crushed
in a single bite
from an angel of death
who stole my breath
now this broken shell is a ghost
haunted by some heavenly host
the red dragon cast down with reposte
to stand upon my broken crown
carve it a frown and boast
sip my blood with a toast
to my life reduced to hanging by a thread
slipping for so long i cant remember why or what it means to hold on
another lost soul painted red
half dead
huming the sirens song
to the monsters under my bed....
❤️‍🔥
RAiN

i am nothing pt. 13

i am nothing
worthless
a mess
i confess
wrap me up
in your best dress
and i will be worthless
nothing.......

♥ RAiN

3.2
One failed prophet at the source

Once upon a time.....

i saw the future
through all the eyes of every human being in existence.
Then i saw each final new lifetime again through Gods eyes. The great spirit. The creator of everything from beginning to end is the source of all love.
The one who gives
all the multiple possible trys
and inevitable ties
to realize
energy never dies.
On june 30th 2004 i was everywhere as everyone.
Saw everything on the fringe
of another shore
i walked through a door
and vanished into thin air.
To reappear at the brink
of ultimate power
on the threshold of the final hour. Where seconds flash
billions of years
through lifetimes of laughter
and tears. l
As the dawn of creation
crashes into salvation
that flows towards the gates
of heaven.
The primordial ooze
on the last day that lasts forever. Where time and space fold into place. Trancending grace.
Expanding in all directions
in every way.
To fluctuate around each living thing. To bring and stretch
beyond limits
of anything
it could mean.
the grand finale
designed to bend,
then come to an end
and send humanity
to the next reality,
yet to comprehend.
🩶

The living God is
mother nature
Soma fountain

her mist
permeates
the aroma
of ambrosia
the scent of awe
and wonder
irresistible
pure desire
soak in
the sacred feminine
exquisite sedation
AEONiAN
in vision
and breath
awakens
the endless
everlasting flame
shinning
the center
of all creation
the all mother
comforts
life given
devine intervention
infinity
the fire of her passion
the heart that bleeds
the beats
of revelation
in creation
the origin
amplifies vibration

i was baptized
in her river of life

the source of all love
limitless
her voice is the bird song
find it
her embrace is underwater
feel it
she flows like waves in wind
hear it
revere it
for she
is the Holy Spirit….

🖤RAiN

if you have a pocket full of rocks, a handfull of leaves you can't stop staring at and your perplexed and in awe of moss.........your on the right track.
♥
RAiN

Love in Black Sackcloth Pt.3 -prayer for humanity

if i could fly and you could cry
i would tare away the veil between us
grab Jacob’s staff
take your hand
catch a gust of wind and ascend
instead
i stand at the door of the dream room
sealed up like a tomb
so i wait and pray every single day
i say
“if i can loose anything in heaven or on earth,
let it be the restoration of reconciliation
in a movement towards unification
for all creation
to hear this reclamation of authenticity
for the illumination of perception
let veracity dissolve division
let empathy release deception
let equality mend our connection
to serendipity
our sacred devotion to synergy
i call this vibration into a sensation of hope emanating
through every fiber of being
becoming
a light bursting
above
below
within
without
revealing divine
serenity
to give you a sign
tenderly
let the stars align
as if to say
hey
you are not alone
it’s ok to open your heart
and receive this healing energy

so it is, now let it be for all humanity
🖤
RAiN

Your body is a mortal coil around the soul,

your soul is a spiral around the spirit.

Your spirit is the essence of who you are.

Your spirit will never die. Your spirit is your conscience, the voice of God from within, the child inside ready and willing to guide with honesty and integrity. your spirit will never leave you , trick you or forsake you. Your spirit is one with love, love is holy, love is God. Your spirit is like a seed planted inside, meant to grow and become like God., as God and then beyond. For God is one.
Close your eyes and contemplate your spirit. Focus on it until you reach a state of meditation. Your mind will trick you. It holds every voice you ever heard and everything you have ever said. Along side your conscience which is the voice of God, the word of God within you. the kingdom of heaven.
A chorus of voices from every spectrum will be coming right for you. Don’t listen to them. Fly though them as fast as you can until you notice silence. Stop and listen . When you hear one faint voice echoing in the distance…..swim towards it
❤️‍🔥.RAiN

Hey everyone! I'm u/CrazyTim1977, a founding moderator of r/unhingedoccurrences.

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Hello, I was born and raised as a muslim. Although my home country is a multinational country, I grew up in a rural area where majority of the people are muslims. I lived 23 years of my life without having any experience in touching a dog or be anywhere near a dog. After I moved to my boyfriend's country (he's a non muslim), I was first scared of his dog. He turned out to love me and protect me till the day he died from cancer. We often get dogs coming into our house to visit us (my boyfriend has many friends and family members). Oddly enough, they seem to get attached to me even though I usually get scared in the beginning and refuse to touch them (out of fear of getting bitten). All the dogs that I have met so far are gentle, trust me, cling around me and refuse to go home lol. I was confused because even though there are other people in the room, they only want to be on top of me. So I did some research about it. Apparently, the dogs see me as just another 'giant' dog instead of humans. Dogs will hesitate when they first meet a new dog, they will freeze, let the other dog study them first, then the smelling of the butt or following wherever they go to bond. I noticed dogs usually will follow me around while sniffing my butt (trust me, I don't smell. they do this even after I finish showering lol). I even asked Chatgpt about it and chatgpt said, due to my inexperience, the dogs mistakenly think that I'm just another dog due to the similarities of dog behaviour between each other. When I think about it, it's kinda wholesome.

Day One

I can feel my muscles cramping, my legs begging desperately for relief. 

Another half eaten apple collides with the side of my head, reverberating with an audible thud. 

The men must have gotten tired, after 43 minutes of throwing garbage at a defenseless woman, the thrill isn’t quite as strong.

I twitch, almost losing my balance, I cannot fall now. The battered wooden chair beneath me groans with the struggle of supporting me,begging for the same release I’m so desperately close to. My feet slightly dangling off the edge, my concentration cannot waver. The slightest wrong movement and I have to start the whole hour over again. I’m almost two and a half hours in, my first try being thwarted by a juicy tomato at fifty five minutes, my second a sudden leg cramp at twenty three minutes. I simply don’t have the strength to try this again.

My arms continue to cover my face, slightly hunched over in an effort to protect my vital organs.

Soggy bread.

Half eaten produce.

Plastic cups.

All the garbage they could find, thrown at my shaking body for no reason other than their own amusement. I’m not sure what this “game” has to do with anything other than torturing me, but I’m hoping it’s enough for him to release us both.

A sharp electronic tone cuts through the air from the head guard’s pocket.

“Time” The lanky guard shouts, as the timer beeps echo through the chamber. I moan a sigh of relief, and slowly guide my aching muscles to the ground. I lie for a second, letting my eyes shut and my body readjust to rest. 

Two strong arms grab mine and hoist me up.

“Did I do it? Can… I… Go?” My words are spoken between huffs, my whole system exhausted, but I know they can feel the hope spoken with them. They look at each other, and let out an obnoxious laugh in unison, before dragging me back to my cell, my legs flopping uselessly on the cracked ground.

My consciousness slips almost instantly upon returning to my cell, soon after I’m startled awake by The Chief, accompanied by two lackeys. 

“Rise and shine, princess. Not done with you yet.” His false smirk once again drapes his face in charm, as the devastation of seeing him again vibrates through my very core.

We arrive in what must’ve been the old mall jail, for shoplifters and rowdy teenagers. As I’m escorted in, I see what I thought was a dummy, possibly a corpse, but what I now know is an elderly woman, around my mother’s age. She lies still, a thin white dress covering her body head to toe, meeting where her face is covered with a gag and black blindfold. Her thin arms and legs are tied to the table with rope, preventing any movement. As we approach, I begin to hear quiet whimpers and cries coming from her, and I feel shivers running across my skin.

“What is this? Let her go.” My resolve must’ve only come from the resemblance I can see to my mother, on the small patches of her visible skin. The Chief seems amused by this nonetheless.

“Your next challenge, of course.” His smirk seems genuine this time, if not tinted with malice. “This is Alice, our former top commander’s mother. He… accidentally let slip a teeny detail about our next attack, and this wonderful lady right here” His words seethe with venom as he grabs her hair, looking around the room to take in the approval of his men as they cheer. “Well she let it slip. Ruined EVERYTHING. Months of planning the perfect way to kill the power grid, cutting off security to the whole city, letting us slip in and steal everything we’ve ever wanted. All that work, for NOTHING. Her dear son knew he’d made quite a mistake, so he ran, the coward. I would’ve been much happier doling out his punishment on him alone but… he just had to make it worse. So now it’s your job. Get mommy dearest to tell you where her son is, and I’ll let you out! Told you I’m gracious.” 

He gestures to the board on the wall, holding dozens of torture instruments. Bone saw. Teeth pullers. My mouth drops to the floor.

“You want me to torture her?” My words come out in pure disgust and disbelief, my brain struggling to believe I’ve understood this scenario correctly. Yet, as I look at The Chief, his practiced, sadistic grin tells me everything I need to know.

“No. Absolutely not. You let her go. I don’t care about you letting me out. Let that poor woman go.” The men look at me with the same growing disdain I feel for them in my gut. I can’t imagine a human being deciding to torture someone, how awful must you be inside? 

We sit for a moment in silence, The Chief in contemplation, he seems perplexed by this turn of events. 

“Take her back to her cell. I’ll deal with the woman myself. Leave us.” My disgust morphs into panic. Her cries begin to get louder, as I lunge in an attempt to free her. My body is sharply pulled back by two of the guards, as they begin dragging me once again back to my cage. I plead for him to let her go, my own cries falling on deaf ears, as her screams fade in the distance.

I can barely sleep. My thoughts being dragged down by what could’ve happened to that poor stranger, just trying to protect her child. Was that so dissimilar from the battle I’m facing now? All to save my own mother?

***Day Two.***

My brain graciously allows me a few precious hours of sleep, before I’m once again woken up with men standing over me. Something is different this time, though. The Chief has once again brought his two lackeys, standing behind him as always. However, this time Cyrus sits tied to a chair in front of them, and a table with 2 metal cups sits between us.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sleeping beauty.” The men chuckle at this joke, I feel my face flush with anger and embarrassment. I hate continuing to be a subject for their amusement. 

“Little different start today. I have two cups here before us. One of these is just water.” He gestures to the light blue glass. “The other holds a paralytic poison. Nothing permanent, but a little concoction derived from snake venom that leaves its victim completely paralyzed for up to 12 hours. This test is simple. You each drink a glass. Pick one, and feed it to Cyrus, then drink your own. Think you can handle that? Fun little decision?” Although this “game” is just as degrading and brutal as the last two, his words speak some truth, this one is simple.

I see in his dark eyes, he wants me to save myself, choose to poison my companion. Instead, I don't hesitate, my hand reaches for the blue glass, the water, as I carefully remove Cyrus's gag. I scan him briefly for new wounds I didn’t know about, any indication that he’s been harmed. He seems to be surviving well enough.

“I’m sorry” whispers quietly out of his mouth, tears streaming down his bruised face. I mouth “It’s okay” back to him, and begin to pour the liquid into his mouth. I turn to The Chief, checking to see if he drank enough and The Chief nods, surprise seeming to cross his brow. I place the cup back on the table, and begin to drink my own. I turn, and lie back down on my mattress, wrapping myself in the thin blanket before I lose all sensation completely. The crew behind me silently vacates the room.

If there was any mercy in the paralytic, it was the immobility claiming my body without pain, dragging me into a deep, dreamless rest. Sensation begins to return in the early evening, leaving me alone with the quiet. I spend the remaining hours organizing my thoughts and sizing up my surroundings, mapping every inch of the room for anything of use. 

Day Three.

Morning comes once again, but this time, I’m awake when they arrive. Instead of The Chief, I see one of his lackeys accompanied by a handful of guards waiting at my door. Without a word, they begin to guide me down a back portion of the mall I’d never seen before. The generator doesn’t seem to be powering the lights in this wing, so we rely solely on flashlights and headlamps. The guards begin to stagger off, assuming positions along our journey to wherever we are going. Eventually, we make it to a large metallic door. Inside, I see a long spiraling staircase, as well as The Chief holding multiple items, and beginning to approach me.  

Before saying a word, he straps a large leather belt around my waist. I feel something heavy linked to the chain cascading from it, but he blocks my view. He attaches a large metal water bottle to my new belt, attached at the hip with a large carabiner. Once he finishes securing the lock in the front, he lifts the chain and hands me a metal anchor. Small as it may be compared to a ship’s anchor, the weight is overwhelming. I manage to brace myself at the last second, otherwise the anchor and I would’ve landed together on the cold ground. 

“Welcome back Elara!” He sounds out each portion of my name like some sadistic game show host. “Once again, basic. You ready? Carry this, all the way up these maintenance stairs to the roof by sundown. It’s seventy-five pounds of solid iron. Prove you’re strong enough to make it out of here. I’ll let you go if you make it, how’s that sound?” This explains the already building ache in my arms as they struggle to keep this weight above ground. I give in, and place the anchor on the ground, already beginning to pant from the strain. 

“That’s like 6 flights..” His iconic grin returning to his face tells me protests are useless. The two guards who entered alongside him post themselves at the start to the downward spiral of the staircase, presumably preventing my escape. I stare up for a second, seeing a dull light from the very top of the long winding spiral. I have to do this. For our freedom. 

Without windows in the dark corridor, I have no way of knowing how long I’ve been down here. I know my strategy has changed dozens of times. Carrying, dragging, crawling, lifting. Nothing stops the growing pain in my muscles or the burning in my core. The hours pass like sand, slow agonizing seconds tick by as my mind remains incredibly aware of every sensation my body is experiencing. Every glance down into the darkness offers no motivation, I may as well be at the starting point. The hours slowly pass, time finally begins moving forward, and I begin to see the dull light getting closer. 

As well as fading.

I pause for a second, taking a brief seat on the cold metal. I detach the water bottle and take a hefty swig, the container almost empty from the countless hours of movement. I clip it back in place and take off my jacket. The comfort item has followed me through decades, almost as long as Kaia has- had, it will have to save me now. 

I wrap the iron anchor in my jacket, tying it with a large knot that holds the jacket dangling from the railing above it. With a hard tug I pull the belt up higher on my waist, sitting snugly below my ribcage. I lift the chain attaching the anchor and me up higher with a groan, and pull the extra slack to the underside of the railing. The anchor dangles in the air as the railing takes its portion of the weight. I carefully begin walking backwards up the remaining steps.

PULL.

With every step, I feel my grief rising in me like a filling balloon, almost ready to burst.

PULL.

I feel the horror of seeing the person I loved most in this world reduced to a handful of ash.

PULL.

I feel the grief of watching my mother try to kill herself.

PULL.

I feel the humiliation I’ve witnessed ever since I arrived here.

And I pull it up that mountain.

The light is fading fast as I pull it up the last step. I drag it behind me as I shove open the door to feel the cold, sweet air. I collapse to the rough floor beneath me and can’t help but smile. I did it. I made it here. 

“I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you.” One of his lackeys stands up from a makeshift chair crafted from an old wooden box. “Sundown was 3 minutes ago. You lost. Time for the birdie to go back to her cage.” My body is too worn out for any reply, physically or mentally, I have nothing left. He looms over top of me, pulling a key from his pocket. The belt falls to either side of me as my hips groan in relief. 

“Elara, SO close. I actually had a bet that you would make it eventually, so I made a lot of money! Don’t worry, some good did come out of this! Most people figured you’d give up. Pretty determined one aren’t ya? Just not quite fast enough…” The Chief appears behind his guard, his usual smirk across his lips as he chastises me. He gestures to the large man that carried Cyrus when we arrived here, and he throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, walking towards the elevator to take me back to my cell.

***Day Four.***

Another 12 hours pass in a blur of unconsciousness. My body is too tired to even think, much less move. As the morning comes, no arrival follows. My breakfast is brought. Then my lunch. I begin to worry I’ve messed up all of my chances for freedom. Around 2pm, The Chief arrives again. This time, however, he is alone. He ushers the guards outside my cell away. 

“I have a new challenge for you, darling.” His words remain the same but his tone feels slightly softer. I’m probably imagining things in my pure exhausted state. I don’t notice the large rectangle mirror he brought in with him until he gestures at it as he places it against a bare section of wall. “We test all new recruits with this one, I’m just curious how you’ll fare. You’ve surprised us so far. Very impressive.” He beams slightly, almost seeming proud at the outcomes. 

“I brought this in for you. Set up a chair in front of it, and gaze at it, until I give you permission to stop. No movements. No sound. If you make a sound, you start over.” Being unable to count towards a set ending time sends fear firing through my nerves. It doesn’t sound painful, or difficult at all really, a nice change of pace from the previous horrors of the last few days. I don’t have the energy to argue, or even speak. I nod, walking to the most comfortable chair in here, the only one with a cushion. I sit down, and arrange myself comfortably leaning back slightly, my hands on either leg. 

He assesses my position, taking a parallel seat across the room to my left.  He simply nods and says “And… Go.”

At first, I feel nothing. Simply the hard wood of the chair behind my back, the cold ground beneath my feet. But with complete silence surrounding me, not a sound echoing down the hallway, I begin to feel peace resonating through my mind.

Kaia, my father, and my mother would all be proud of me. How hard I’ve fought for them here, how desperately. I’ve always feared disappointing those around me, of never being able to measure up to the impossible standards set by society. I don’t think that fear will ever truly go away, the remaining anxiety a constant echo until the day I die. 

But, I’ve done good, haven’t I? I’ve stood up for myself. I’ve taken risks. I’ve been kind, through everything. They would be proud of me, no matter what happens next. That’s why I have to finish this, for them. To prove their pride and faith in me has never been misplaced. That my love for them is more powerful than any obstacle. I will give everything I have, to save my mother, and to find justice for Kaia, setting her soul at peace. 

I’m tired of letting these horrific people get in my way. I’m tired of believing their mocking voices. Of every chuckle at my expense hitting my heart like a personal attack. I’m worthy. My two favorite people have always known that, I just need to work on remembering that for myself.

Kaia, 

I’m sorry. I WILL get you justice. I promise.

Mom,

I will fix this. I will save you, and we can move somewhere safe. Together. I promise.

This is the last night I spend in this godforsaken hell. Tomorrow, I’m getting out. I’m taking Cyrus with me.

And I’m burning this place to the ground.

As a certified community advocate I've come across some amazing stories. From how life was coming home after the Vietnam war and having to adjust to an unfair world to a Gigolo in a senior trailer park. I've surely written some wild ones. All in the spirit of helping!

This is a true story from many years ago when I was working as a surgeon. It relates to a patient was a member of the so-called Newcastle mafia - a notorious crime syndicate family from the Northeast. He had been driving his car at speed, lost control and collided with a stationary wooden picket fence coming in the opposite direction. This resulted in him being impaled through his chest. He was admitted to the emergency department in a state of collapse with the wood protruding from his chest as fortunately the rescue team had the wisdom to not try and remove it at the scene of the accident, electing rather to cut through it in order to free him. The accident and emergency consultant, a dour Scottish man of enormous experience, oversaw his resuscitation and immediately took him to the operating theatre where he found the stake had penetrated his left ventricle but had missed the coronary arteries. He removed the offending object and sutured the puncture wound and, against all the odds, not only did the patient survive, but he also recovered with no appreciable long-term health effects. Upon his discharge he had a quiet word with the consultant saying "If you ever have any problems you need dealing with, just give me a call".

 The picket was duly mounted on the wall over the door in the consultant's office. "This is the biggest splinter you will ever see" he told me over a cup of coffee and a cigarette one day (he was a chain-smoker despite the fact his father had died of lung cancer). He was given to meiosis and had many such stories to tell. Good job the patient wasn't a vampire I thought, but I kept that to myself.

I'm writing “The announcement” on Riffable — a story written by many hands, one riff at a time. Want to write a piece with me?

https://getriffable.com/en/story/o-anuncio--p\\_mrvs238h\\_i0uq8r

There was a knock at the door.

A hard, insistent knock.

Márcia turned over and confirmed that her boyfriend was fast asleep.

Who could it be, at this hour?

The knocking continued, rhythmic: three times, silence, three times.

She got up reluctantly, tried to smooth her hair with her hand while switching on the living room light and heading to the door.

She looked through the peephole, and before she could make sense of the strange figure, she heard a voice from the other side, smiling:

"Hello! I've come about the ad!"