It would take him 4 seconds to fix a boiler, and half that to 'fix' you.

Thursday January 30th, 3:00pm

"Alright, it's done. The memo has been sent. This weekend our middle management will all be under the impression that their weekend plans have been extended considerably." The director proclaimed. The board looked around at each other.

The room spoke. "But they won't be, right?"

"What do you think? Wait, let me rephrase that to telling you what they'll think. They'll think they've all been performing so well that they deserve a two week vacation and a discounted company flight package to Cancun. Well at least those that lack perspective will." continued the director, letting out a casual chuckle. "That should keep the majority of them out of the way while we call for a vote."

Concern still lingered in the air, to a degree. "And those who don't lack common perception? Or those who simply don't want to go away for 2 weeks?"

Another board member spoke up. "We'll tell them that they passed a test, of sorts. We'll just offer them some phony bologna stock options in a subsidiary that we'll have dissolved by Monday and send them on a weekend getaway at a spa or something."

"Sure, but what about those who can tell what's going on?" murmured the board table.

"Well, they're probably not new to the business. We'll offer them an incentive in the form of a handsome severance on the condition that they sign a non-disclosure agreement and leave quietly. I don't foresee any issues with this, but if they get violent make sure security is present in HR."

The board lifted. All loose ends, it seemed, were tied.

Then, it struck them, at once and almost instantly.

"Oh crap, what about Richard Thompson?" The name Richard Thompson was whispered nervously around the table.

Richard Thompson, the name itself adds one thousand pounds of pressure to any room it's muttered in. The lights grow dim. The air grows thick and chokes around you. You can see your breath as you exhale. So dark... so cold...

The tension couldn't even be cut with a knife now. "Well? Do we have a Thompson plan?!" "Um, uhh" the director nervously shuffled through papers on the table, attempting to look like there was a plan in there the whole time. What an oversight!

"Um... okay, we have a big contingency. Let's pay Thompson off with an offer of four hundred thousand. That should take care of that."

The room hissed and shuddered. Money was of little concern to Thompson, everyone knew that. Some of the members were shutting off their laptops and packing up to head towards the door.

At first, the doors clicked quietly with the indication that they would be locked in the room from the outside. Then, the lights quickly cut out, but only for a few seconds. They came back on with an orange glow indicating that they are all now facing a real emergency. Thompson was behind the director, crouching on one knee. The director surveyed the room, noting that the rest of the board members were passed out on the table. Richard leaned in closer, whispering in the ear: "Dear director, I sure hope you're not fixing for a hostile takeover.  I really do love this company the way it is." he paused.   "You know, they say I'm the one who put the word hostile in hostile takeover."

The director only let out a hushed scream. Thompson snapped his fingers and the emergency lights cut out. Only 3 seconds later they came back on, with the rest of the board waking up and Richard nowhere to be found.

"Okay, in light of recent circumstances, I'd like to move in quite a different direction. Can we vote on this motion?"

Shaken voices resounded "Aye."

Twisting the Hedgehog

"So, welcome to my humble proposal. As you know, I like video games, and don't we all?

Ahem. Anyway, I know if anyone can pull this off, it's going to be you. You know how to use the computer right? Video games are made on computers, aren't they? Then it's settled!

See, I have this great idea - this GREAT idea - it's going to blow your lid, and you're going to wonder why it hasn't been done before; Seriously. You see, when I play some games, I get to having myself a few games that hold a place in my heart. You might even say they are my favourite games, you might. Anyway, I have an awesome, totally original idea for a game I know you're gonna love. Seriously.

So, it starts like this. There's this princess right? But she's also a robot, a robot that was once an animal. But she wears this pink dress and is never in castles you look. Hell, she's never in castles at all, because some big crime syndicate stole her away from you. You - whom I so eagerly divulge, being the hero of this story. So anyway, these guys named Bimmy and Jimmy;

What? Billy and Jimmy? Well, no, I'm pretty sure its Bimmy and Jimmy. Why would I lie?

So, uh, well... crap. Anyway, I can't remember what the deal with them was, but I know they ended up dead because of Dracula. Oh, and you don't have to worry about Dracula in this game because someone already whipped him to death. I know - Kinky, right? Well, that was in the games back story, which we will make into a game later. I know, genius, right? Aha!

Okay. So, that leaves us with you, the hero. You're a chief of some sorts. Exceptional chief? Unparalleled chief? Anyway, your name doesn't matter, cause you have this awesome red beret and a blue spiky spine and I think you can also play the guitar. Wait, scratch that, you DO play the guitar. This is my idea, of course I know what's going on!
Also, you have a base in the woods, but its not really the woods. It's actually a secret to everyone, and there's a woman living there. A woman whom happens to be wearing a - get this - a suit made from bird people! Or, is it by bird people? Whatever, she's hot and will be the main sell point of this game. We'll put her on the cover.
Where was I? Oh! I forgot the most important part! You (as the hero, dummy!) are actually from outer space. A gorilla alien with guerrilla combat skills.

Oh, and the story? I'll tell you the hero's motivation and turmoil right now. I'll just lay it on the table and that will be that.

So, an old monkey tells you that the princess (Remember her? Yeah!) is in distress, but that he just mentions that to you because he has a newspaper and doesn't give two licks if you save her or not. He just wants you to find some damn bananas or something, it doesn't matter. Anyway, Incredible Chief (You! Referring to you in the game) is more interested in doing exactly the opposite of what is asked of him, which is basically to start a wild-western war. Don't worry about the details, I did a lot of research, so I know what I'm talking about.
But anyway, it is incidental that his quest brings him to try to rescue this princess. In the end, he'll accidentally kill her, shortly forget why he was doing anything at all that day (aside from sleeping in) and quickly return home to his bird-killing girlfriend (which he actually just wishes was his girlfriend.)

And we will make millions. So, when can you get started?"

The pair of orderlies reeled their heads away from the doors window.

"There you have it. He just keeps repeating that same idea every single night. It just keeps getting more twisted the more he does it.
Honestly though, I liked it better when the heroes were the Battletoads. I fucking loved Battletoads."

Ode to Stoicism

A seasoned man advised me once,
Our strong feelings,
Any which way,
Wear down the enamel of the soul.

Herald of sore dreams,
Beautiful with skies so sullen,
I can't bring myself to pity him.
I can't face him tonight.

There is a flavour,
To that wonderful, wretched world;
Though it slips from my mind.
I admire him, but I cannot return.

Night and night he returns.
Sitting there alone.
I wonder what worlds you've been to,
Mr. Stoic Man.

Nectar

She's poisonous, you know.

Alas, nothing is as sweet as before you have tasted it.
It's like, you think you know what's best for you. You have a pretty decent understanding of what you'll like before you even try it.

Well, sometimes, that turns to obsession.

When you really think you want something, and I mean truly and absolutely covet something that you don't have, your life starts to morph. Each day, you grow more and more dependent on your persistent daydreaming. Soon, every spare thought becomes engrossed by it. You fit whatever it is into every situation and to deny yourself of that blissful escape hurts far more than any real thing ever could.

And it can get worse.

What if what you really wanted was a person? Every heavenly glimpse, every euphoric note, every beautiful thought that you could experience weighs your soul down.
Yet, you still proceed; there is no logic here. The crashing lows are absolutely no match to those incredible, magical highs. You trick yourself into thinking what is there has real meaning, but it's shallow. It is so very, very empty.

That's why it can get really dangerous to trust yourself. More often than not, you don't know what's good for you. I thought I could trust myself, I thought I knew better, but I didn't. And nothing in this world stings more than that realization.

See, I can tell you, I can warn you. There are a thousand ailments of the mind that have a weaker hold than the curse of the siren. You won't ever be able to fool yourself into thinking that logic is more powerful than your feelings, but if you want my advice, listen here: You will always find what you want when you are no longer obsessing over it.

April Quote Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiixxxx

Here is the quote for April times. It may be a bit early, but I run the risk of getting busy and forgetting, so here it is!

"Now the sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence... someone might have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never. "
-Franz Kafka



(He, is, Franz, Kaf, Ka! Franzkafka!)

Victory

"Astrid!" Zenith called in shrill horror, hands trembling in agony. Astrid's lifeless body
fell to the cold, rocky face of the ground. Her impact was but a pin drop against the pain
that fell across his body. She had been a companion, stalwart ally, and above else as much
a part of himself as his own heart had been.
But he cannot show his anguish.

"Your days are numbered, Zenith!" The young, charismatic soldier shouted. "Our day of glory
has come, and now that I brandish the legendary blade Aspidistra, there is nothing that will
stop our righteous victory!"
"Yeah!" Cried the young woman from aside him. "We have come so far, suffered so much, and
finally your tyranny will end at our hands." She pulled from behind her a longbow and pointed the lethal end of an arrow towards her target.

The majestic scope of it all was starting to unfold in Zenith's mind. His loss of power from the senate. His alienation from society. The loss of his closest and most loyal of brethren: Joseph the almighty, Vera the wise, and now even Astrid, the cunning. And here he stands, alone in all his valour, facing the tangible element of his failure. The all-too enthusiastic adventurers who have been the bane of his most recent existence before him, and here he was, not even knowing their names.
"You're blinded by your ignorance!" He cried. "Do you even know why you're here? Do you even know why you've hunted me and my comrades, or why you have spoiled all we have worked for? You don't, and on this I am certain!" He shouted as his anger and fear tainted the air.

The group of indignant warriors took up a aggressive stance. The leader of the crew stepped forward."We all have our reasons, Zenith. You have left a trail of devastation in your wake." He rebutted. The tall, slender man dressed in gold robes came forth from behind.
"My family was killed in the great fire of Lynkis village, the one you and your cronies are responsible for." He unsheathed a fine, slim blade and readied it at his side. Another woman came forth, clad in shining silver armor.
"My father was the guard on duty that night you escaped from Tlyvas Hold, he died trying to detain you and your followers. I doubt you remember; After all, whats another nameless victim in your grand plan, right?" She let out, almost in tears.

"You people really don't understand, do you?" Zenith questioned. This was the first time he had ever heard of the firestorm in Lynkis village, and neither him nor his allies killed anyone when they escaped that prison. He realised now that the senate had been framing him in their attempt to silence the evidence. "The state is outright lying to you, and you are feeding into it without recourse."

"Be still, foul-doer!" The charismatic leader commanded, pointing his fabled blade directly at Zenith. "You lie in a last, pathetic attempt to escape your fate. You will atone for what you have done, and by the hand of my blade, I will see that you do!"

With that, the adventurers charged forward to the pinnacle of their epic journey; And with that, it was clear to Zenith that the corrupt senate would continue to Sheppard the state unopposed. His final breath marked the trimming of the last thread of freedom that would be ever be salvaged, and he was well aware of that.

Questions

"The stage is now set. I will show the answers to your questions using your own memories. Before you became comatose, you already knew most of your answers; you just forgot them. "

Morpheus closed his eyes and went silent for a few moments, then slowly opened them again. A door appeared before him.

"You see, Ryerson, memories never leave us. Our mind take thousands of snapshots daily, and files them accordingly. Weak memories are the result of the minds tendency to forget to remember."

He pointed at the ethereal door.

"I have taken the liberty of finding the ones you were looking for. All you have to do now is enter and see them for yourself."

Ryerson nodded, and took a very deep breath before pushing the door open with both hands.

He emerged in his Cincinnati apartment, looking just as empty as it had ever been. As soon as he shut the door behind him, his phone rang.

'Hello?'

"Ryerson? It's your mother. I, I don't know how to tell you this, but... It's about Peter..."

He felt himself freeze like he did the first time he had heard this call. He knew how it went from this point on.

He left through his apartment door just as he had entered it, and emerged at the frosted glass window of a private investigators office. He now remembered this clearly as the day he was there. This was probably the third time he met him; he remembered this engagement very precisely.

"No gang involvement, no outstanding debts or vendettas of any sort, and only about two people I talked to even know the guy. I don't know what to tell you, other than I have absolutely no leads on your brothers case."

He left the stuffy room into a more interesting domain; his fathers office. Sometime while he was in high school in another county, his dad had scored himself a very snug job in the city's upper echelon. It was rather sudden too, but Ryerson was far too apathetic to dig into the details. His dad had become rather rich and powerful since he had last saw him, so he decided to take it upon himself to use some of those resources to continue the investigation on his own.

He remembered an awful lot here, rifling through the greasy rolodex on his dads gaudy desktop. Names he knew from his childhood: like P. Kurly, a smelly friend of his dad's who sometimes came to the christmas parties; he always had sound advice like 'never shave'. Or Sam Paxton, a man who he had always seen with his father, but had never talked too. When he had the common sense to know it, he figured he was a dealer or something.

There were also a few dangerous looking names that looked to have been added recently; names Ryerson had heard only mentioned with a very cautious hush, or had read about in the more unpleasant of newspaper clippings.

"I remember now. Dad, I couldn't possibly have turned a blind eye to this, regardless of blood."

He closed the rolodex with a mute sigh, made a b-line for the office's double-doors, and heaved them open. The room he was in now was not familiar in any sense. It was completely black, save for the solemn eerie glow of a street-lamp, and a familiar figure leaning against it.

"Brother." It was Peter.

"P..Peter..." Ryerson sheepishly responded.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully." Ryerson just nodded. "Before I told you that I wasn't going to see you again, I was following dad's dirty footprints for a good while. He was getting himself into some very heavy shit - much worse than his tangos with coke. He was in real danger, the kind where people get stomped by sledge hammers, if you know what I'm saying. He may not have ever really been a real father, but he was the only one I had, so I tried to stop him."

Peter collected his thoughts a bit, as well as bit back some of his radiant emotions.

"He wouldn't have it, no matter how I urged him, he just wouldn't fucking listen. So I left home for a very long time. I kept tabs on him and everyone around him; those who he owed money, those who were out to get him, even those who fucked him over and thought they could get away with it. I was his shadow, his silent guardian."

Ryerson sat down beside the lamppost and continued to listen intently to his brother's message from beyond the grave.

"Word got out that dad was damned invincible. People started to really fear him, and I'm sure I've told you before what kind of power comes from being feared. He nestled himself into a position of legitimate power and was able to double his influence. "

"Ah, so thats how he did it."

"Yeah, but he was getting really out of hand. He definitely didn't need my protection anymore. In fact, at that time it turned out I was doing what I could to stop him entirely; too much power in the hands of an unfit man.

I was clumsy though. He caught wind of what I was doing, and when he found out it was me, he feigned joy over the rediscovery of his oldest son, and took me home for dinner. During the night, he drugged both myself and mom, and raped her. When we came too, he pinned it on me, threw a fit of rage and kicked my ass to the curb. He looked for me later that night, and shot me once in the chest."

Ryerson jumped up. "What?! Why would he do that? If he was going to kill you, why did he do that to mom?"

"He didn't want her to find out that her son had been investigating her husbands crime ring. He wanted to keep her in the dark, in case she got any funny ideas. Doing this ensured that she would be caught off guard.

Dad also used it to his advantage; he had enough power that he was able to use that to cover up my death. It was said that a bunch of junkies ran into me and roughed me up a little before killing me."

Good Lord, thought Ryerson.

"And finally, he had the balls to try to kill his youngest son. You know, it was dad who poisoned you. You were getting too close to the truth of the matter, so he fixed you a cocktail that was to die for."

He just stood there, jaw agape. He had a feeling, but never did he commit to the idea.

"Fortunately you survived, and you're going to awaken soon. And brother..." He paused. "You're going to kill dad for us."

Generations

I know that man. I saw him in a dream a while ago, in a coffin at that. I wasn't too sure, but he looked like my brother would have, had he been older than I had last saw him.

I was adopted, but my real parents always tried to keep some contact with me. I was told they dropped me for financial reasons, and I believe that; I was probably an unplanned occurrence in their tightly-knit budget, and it looks like there would have been no way to support two kids. I would see them usually on Christmas, my birthday, and at graduation ceremonies, but my brother was seldom there. He, being 8 years older than I, was always occupied with more interesting matters; Drinking down by the bowery with a couple of his retarded friends or roughing up some school kids for some easy money were some of his pastimes, if I recall. He lead a troubled childhood, but from what I heard from mom, calling their household dysfunctional would be an understatement.

Though I didn't meet up with Peter that often, I formed a strong brotherly bond with him - more so than with my apathetic parents. When we did meet, he would educate me with priceless life lessons. Mantras like "Nothing is set in stone, everybody has their price" and "When things get rough, trust in yourself. The long arm of the law is crippled" still stay with me to this day. He also gave me the presents that I really wanted: Like when my parents gave me a Nerf gun, he gave me a 7mm that he 'found'. We were pretty solid.

The last time I saw him was when I was fifteen. He told me that he had to go away for a long time, and that he couldn't tell even me why he was. I knew it had to be something dangerous that he was getting into, but I also knew better than to try to stop him. The next time I saw him, I guess, would be now.

But... Why would dad kill him?

And brother, what did you get yourself into?

Degeneration

Above all else, I have to find out who tried to kill me. Morpheus told me that the toxins had already been removed from my body, that they were able to save me, but my mind is still lost. In order to get it back, I'd have to dive into the backwaters of my wayward thoughts and get a glimpse of what was going on before all this.

I didn't know how to do this; all that Morpheus told me to do was to keep going forward, eventually I'd get back far enough. Then he showed me a door, and I've been going through corridors since.

So many corridors, good lord. I'm sick of it. They vary so much; some were a deep crimson with a velvet lined ceiling, some were baby blue and split into many different doors, some were modern with bright windows. Some were even familiar, probably fragmented bits of my memories - but of that I'm not sure. All I know is that they felt very nostalgic.

Anyway, I figured whenever I come across a hall that felt right, I should always follow it to the end. I also figured it was a bad idea to backtrack, since Morpheus told me to go forward. Anyones guess would be as good as mine at this point.

The deeper I followed the more strange and familiar corridors, the more I started to remember things, but also, the more it hurt to do so. My head was throbbing, and I was experiencing powerful memory triggers, ones that called very vivid and detailed bits of my past.

Bam! My first fall off my first bike, ouch;

Bam! My foster mother scolding me for setting the kitchen on fire back in '79;

Bam! My... my father? My biological father? What is he doing? I don't remember him like this at all. This is completely different than I remember him.
Wait, there's someone else here too. Dad is packing heat, and it doesn't look like he's pulling it out to show it off. Some shit is going down here, but who is that other person?

Click.

Lock, stock and barrel. I better do something before dad does something he'll regret.

"Hey!" Shit, they can't hear me. What should I do?

Bang. Only took one shot - dad always was a good shot. I remember now, him telling me that a man with a machine gun is no scarier than one with a pistol. He told me that in the end, it only takes one bullet to bring a man down.

He's leaving, doesn't look like I can stop him either. Oh well, let's see who his unlucky point of interest was.

Oh. My. God.

Answers

"You're probably well aware; The universe is believed to exist in four dimensions. It actually exists in many more, but for those locked in cages of flesh, it really only exists in three.
Think about it, time doesn't exist, at least not in the sense you think of it. There are only two instances of times, and they are both instantaneous.

The first instance is called the 'Antecedent Moment', and it refers to the last moment of time that had just passed. It actually doesn't exist, but because of the phenomenon of memory, it forges a sense of the 'past'. Our memories consist of the stacking of antecedent moments, and we only know of the 'past' as a sum of them because we have the ability to make sense of these instances.

The second instance is called the 'Current Moment', and this refers to the moment that all events occur during. It also refers to the only frame that any real 'time' exists in. These two together, and the physical three-dimensional world are all that human minds can perceive, but that doesn't stop us from envisioning other possibilities. That's why we can see time as a line, rather than a string of instants"

Does he really expect me to wrap my head around that? That's not even what I asked. Maybe I should just nod and smile.

"I can tell I'm losing you, but do not fret, Ryerson, I'll answer your queries yet. Before that, however, let me introduce myself. I am Morpheus, think of me as a shepherd of your inner self, your dreaming self. The part of you that exists in the other world. You wanted to know where you are, and you wanted to absolve your concern over your slipping reality - I am here to help you with that.

The first thing I want to let you know is that here, in this recess of the mind, know that the confines of time and dimensions are broken, and that is why you have been experiencing a twisted form of reality."

I guess I'll buy that, for now. "Where is here, again?"

"You are in your mind, in-between the awake and dreaming worlds. You are stuck here, in dreamless sleep, and that is why I have come to rescue you."

What? "Why am I here?"

"You are in a coma. You have been for a few years."

A coma? This is the first I've heard of it. "How?"

Then he told me that I was poisoned. Intentionally.

Problems

Ah! Fuck, woke up with another splitting headache. This is getting worse. I'm fine the night before, but I wake up feeling like a train wreck. Not to mention the pain I'll probably carry with me the rest of the day. Stomach pain, fevers, chills and nausea have become my uncomfortable roommates. It's God awful, I swear it.
But why? I was never like this before. It just doesn't add up. Even my doctor can't find a damn thing wrong with me - not that he could find the starboard of a schooner from any which way.
What is going on with me lately?

***
Hmmm, it happened again today, second time I've noticed it yet.
I was waiting in line at 7-11 and glanced over my right to the front store windows. Outside, I noticed a woman and her child, but they weren't moving; That is to say that they weren't walking. They were moving, but it was in one spot, and it was very unnatural. It looked like they were skipping, like a CD does when you've used it as a coaster, or a youtube video when you've only got dial-up. It was like they were replaying the last few sudden movements over and over again, locked up like some laggy-ass Xbox game.
It only lasted an instant.

This has to stop, it's really distracting...
...
On that note, when was the last time I was baked?

***

Fucking dreams.

So get this, I fell asleep after hitting the couch to some Home Improvement reruns, and I had this messed up dream. It was like getting born, but the opposite. Not dying, but getting unborn; Crawling back into the uterus. It was really graphic, but not that realistic. After the vaginal gates, there was a long hallway, white and pure with scarlet draperies adorning its lofty walls. It was very large, big enough that a horse-drawn carriage could ride through. I know this because one did, and inside it was a coffin. It was really odd, because even though it was opened, I didn't recognize the person inside. But now that I think about it, I never did know what my brother looked like. Damn.

Well, what do I know about dreams or uterus's anyway?

Marcus

"You know," he said, as the blade bore deep into the potato's hide. "I've been thinking more about it recently, and I don't see how the Empire was considered evil." A skin shaving fell to the floor.

"How d'ya figure?" His knife also stripping potatoes.

"Well, for one, they didn't do anything technically evil. I mean, sure, they did blow up a few planets, but that was an act of defense. The targets were rebellious and posed a threat. The Empire only had their well-being and security in mind. They never blew things up needlessly."

"Dude, they killed innocent people. Not everyone on those planets were Rebels. If that isn't evil," he brought the back of his hand with the knife across his nose. "Then I dunno, man."

"Maybe those innocents themselves weren't in the front-lines, but they were supporters, confederates. That withstanding, all governments have their share of body bags, it's part of what a government is. Even the tolerable ones."

"But the Empire also commits acts like fear-mongering and condones slavery. What do you make of that?"

"Well, two things with that. If you think way back, Clyde, to your days of history, can you name a power that hadn't used fear as a tool? Why, even our country was guilty, but that doesn't make it wrong. It only means it's something you have to acknowledge as inherent to humanity." He took a hefty bite of the raw vegetable.
"And of slavery, it's a word used with such animosity these days. It was once, in the early days of mankind, commonplace. Besides, it's only slavery so much as you paint it ugly with that word. I'll bet you dollars to donuts that many of the colonies and planets the Empire seized were poor and desolate. How could they make things worse?
Well, they wouldn't. In fact, quite the opposite. With the rise of the Empire we saw an increase in galactic productivity and safety. Mining and industries were introduced to many backwater zones, causing the need for regular feeding and protection of the Empire's assets. If anything, the Empire only enhanced life, providing jobs and reasonable comfort to those loyal to their cause."

"Freedom, Marcus. I'm talking about freedom. What good is livelihood if you can't be free?"

"Explain to me what you think freedom is."

"Well," he bent the wrist of his knife hand down, and crossed his legs. "I suppose I'd say it's being able to do what you want to and enjoy life as it were meant to be."

"That being said, what if I were to cut you right now?" He twirled his knife joyously at the idea.

Clyde stared back at him. "If, you did it?"

"If anyone did. Surely you wouldn't have a problem with as you have no problem with freedom, right? See Clyde, sometimes there are reasons for our actions. Too much freedom, as you have coined it, is a dangerous thing."

"Pssh, I still like the Rebels more."

"Hey boys, look alive." Their commanding officer shouted. "We got ourselves a warm body. Calls himself 'Yuri'. Be sure to give him a proper tour." The officer laughed sarcastically and meandered away. Clyde and Marcus both looked up at him; Clyde returning to his task almost immediately. Marcus took a longer look, and gave a subtle nod.

"Hey guy," Clyde muttered as he looked back up to him. "Welcome to the crew. As you've no doubt have heard, our primary task is to stand watch for this fort. We control nearly all the juice in this sector." He paused. "But it's been kinda slow lately so now we gotta peel supper. Any questions?"

"Yes." Yuri replied, as he smiled every so lightly. "Would you consider yourself a free man?"

Clyde froze. The two others drew blades and lunged towards him.

"Almost too easy." Yuri stated. Marcus looked back unto him.
"Heh, it's not over yet. Try to be careful with this one. It's too big a hit."

"Do not fret." He replied as he licked the blood off his weapon. "I quite enjoy my freedom. We will not fail."

Rachel

*sigh*
She exhaled as she peered deeply into the mirror. She mused about herself; a halfway smile formed upon her lips and her hand began to tremble subtly.

'Are you proud of yourself?'

"I, I am yes."

'Oh, you are, are you? You do know what you have done, right? Don't tell me you're that selfish.'

"No. No, I haven't done a thing wrong."

'But you have. Don't you remember? Take a look at yourself, see what I see.'

"I am."

'No, really look at yourself. God, look at what you have become. You once were different. I
remember it, so should you.'

"I have always been myself"

'But you haven't. Do you remember your friends? There was a time when you wouldn't sell them out. Where you wouldn't betray them. You are a traitor, it disgusts me.'

"I... I don't know what you're talking about."

'You do. Look deeper into that mirror. That face, that smile. The price you paid for
it all. Whore. Was it worth it? You don't really remember, do you?'

"I really don't know what you're saying. You're disturbing my peace. I wish you away."

'Heh, you can't escape it. You're dying on the inside. Your soul is as tainted as your innocence, and we both know where that leaves you.'

"S..Shut up! My head's hurting. Leave me alone!"

'Tell me, are you really happy?'

"I.. I am."

'No, you're not. Don't lie to me, you will regret it.'

She smashed the reflective glass with fearful force. Distraught, she stared at her hand as her carpet stained red.

"I am happy."

Porter

To whom it may concern,

You may have heard of me on a passing whim. Dr. Edwin Porter, the man of the hour. Single-handedly changed the face of medical technology, forever. Changed the world forever too. My name isn't spoken much in that sort of praise these days.
Well, it's not really spoken at all anymore. Seems people have forgotten me. It's the least I can hope for, anyway.

Coresta is what it was called, but most people just called it 'the new plastic'. It was that which changed us; that which ruined us. I never considered what it would mean for society to have such technology at its disposal, but I was delusional.

Its conceived usage was strictly medical. It made headlines across the intellectual globe when we made our first artificial lung out of this new, synthetic organic matter. And it even hit mainstream when we successfully transplanted a working, prosthetic heart and it was not rejected by the patient. We were dawning a new, golden age, where our greatest fears were subsided by life-saving Coresta. Nothing seemed impossible, and were were replacing our frail, cancer and condition ridden organs with robust, dependable copies at an alarming rate.

But alas, how foolish I was to think that any good would truly come from it. It wasn't long before the comsetics' got their strong hold on it. I had no quarrel when it was necessary to restore a charred face or missing ear, but it went far beyond that. Some people are, to a high extent, vain; and I found my fruitful efforts were being used for frivolous plastic surgeries, natural sexual body part enhancements and other non-mandatory medical applications. In this country, the dollar is mighty. Too mighty.

It's no surprise where this ended up. If you're reading this than you're probably living in a world that lies as an echo of the events that spiraled when I opened Pandora's box. Personal enhancement and surgery became as addictive and dangerous as high-grossing illegal narcotics. People weren't heading the warnings and guidelines that came with the surgery. People were getting implants while they were still bedded, recovering from the last ones.

It spun right out of control. Coresta had transformed us into damned demons. People were killing for the stuff, bargaining with all they owned and performing insidious tasks just to gain access to more. Some people even starting rejecting the product outright as a result of improper administration and procedure of surgery. Some people just died, others were ridden with madness. The rest of us found that our safety and quality of life plummeted. The great depression was nothing compared to this.

So I write this as an apology to you. No doubt, my creation has caused you grief in some way - It has to all of us. If you have the strange fortune of coming across this letter, know that you will no longer find me here. I'm going to repay my debt to society. I have embraced my fate.

Antonio

"So they say you gotta starve a cold, right? And feed a fever? Well what if you catch the flu, huh? Well, thats kinda like a fever and a cold at the same time. So, like, do you starve, or what? Well I'll tell you what you do, you feed as if you hadn't ate in years. Yeah, heh heh."

Silence befell the audience.

"Tough crowd. Sheesh. Well, how about the worlds worst pick-up lines? I caught a few 'dese myself while down by the interstate." He cleared his throat intently. "Did you just come from the can? 'Cause you're an eight! Haha, yah, get it?"

Still, not a murmur heard. He pressed on.
"How about this one? Are you a saint? Cause you's ain't half bad lookin'! Yeah, thats a classic, heard it from a guy named Gus."

You could almost hear the dust settle.

"Seriously? Geez, this is more awkward than the time I found out my brother was my dad. I mean come on!"
Frustrated, the comic walked past the spotlight's glow, taking a better survey of what he was dealing with. He stared fixedly at a man sitting at a table with three others, front row left.
"How about you buddy? What's your gig? You from round here?"
The mans blank expression and silent poise was almost as riveting as the current entertainment. The comedian balled a fist and planted into his jaw.
"Ya lousy scrub, I outta sock you again for being so coy."

The painfully enthralled patron's head rolled on the floor six feet from his body. The comedian watched as it tumbled towards the jukebox and rested his eyes there for a moment. After a moment, he lifted his eyes and pointed them outwards, surveying the rest of the brew'n stop.

"Geez buddy, I was just letting out some steam, ya didn't have to lose your head over it."
He raised his arms upward in a deliberate fashion, hoping to stir an arousing round of giddish laughter from the boring attendants. Not a single motion was felt; the comedian was not impressed. He ripped his festive floral pattern button-up off and revealed a rather stock set of ammunition belts strapped over his shoulders, and followed this notion with a swift kick to a large case he had sitting by the stage. Like lightning, he whipped out his automatic and cocked in a new clip menacingly.
"My patience has been slightly tried, and I must make my leave. Who wants to be the next funny guy?!"
Hot lead pumped through the still crowd and pierced their flesh and cartilage; but dust, not blood, flew from their wounds.

"Antonio!" A voice cried. A burly man busted through the bar entrance. "Stop fucking around, this place is bone dry, these ones have already been harvested, same with the ones outside. Someone got here before us."
The crazed comic touched the scalding end of the rifle to the headless patrons neck, cooling it off.
"Psch, fine." He threw his AR-15 back into the junk-trunk. "Didja check for wallets too?"
"Petty change in comparison to what we came here for. There's someone hitting this area hard and I don't like making meaningless trips. If you want to fire off like a twelve-year old with a penthouse, save it for the fucker who's been picking at my fields."
Antonio just grunted and hurled his gun-box over his right shoulder.

They left for the next deserted pisshole - Antonio all the while wondering if their competition has a good sense of humour.

When I look back

I can only laugh.

Can I describe to you the feeling? It’s like you’re chasing your destiny. The wind calls out your name. You have your blurry sights set on your near future, thinking something like: “This is justice. I am the hand of justice.”
You can feel your lips tighten as everything around you gets quiet. It’s quite exhilarating to behold. Each stride passes as your hands cut the still air around you and your feet stampede across the cracked earth. If you do it long enough, your mind starts to silence; as if you can feel your thoughts collect and dissipate. Only one thing matters now, as it so happens, and life rests on the backburner for the moment. Life wouldn’t dare interrupt you now.

Have you ever moved so fast you experienced tunnel vision?

It was a chase, you see. Adrenaline is a funny thing – makes you do stupid things, but there would have been something wrong with me if I didn’t heed the call.
I digress though; let me tell you what happened while I still can.

Nobody knew who he was, but he was donned in drab grey and wore a mask, as most criminals do. He came as soon as he left, nobody knew what he wanted. Funny what a man does for no reason.

Killed four people quick as he left too, it was bedlam I have to admit.
You know, it starts in your belly, boils up a bit, and then your heart starts going. Even if you tried to ignore it, your chest tightens up, and by then it’s too late. Quick as I could, I grabbed the double barrel from under my desk and pursued on foot. Never was I able to run so fast, but there I was, fuelled by my purpose.

I… I wasn’t thinking straight, but it didn’t matter. Hell, I don’t even think what he did mattered now; it was what I did in response that was important.
It all comes down to a battle of primal urges in the end. It wasn’t about being the hand of justice anymore. Neither of us was going to back down; it becomes a competition between two men, rather than a clash of good and evil.
It’s funny how meaning dissolves when you get so close to your instinctive natures. Pains me to admit it, but for that moment, I was able to grasp better the meaning behind his actions.

There I was, looking him down over the spine of two barrels. Two shots fired, two shots hit. But, stupid me; I hadn’t cleaned the damn thing in too long, and I had remembered why I had it under my desk in the first place. One of the barrels jammed, backfired on me. Pellets in the chest hurt like sin. He fell, shot right in the spine, nearly killed him on the spot. I fell as well; Two shots fired, two shots hit.

Was it my punishment for losing myself? The thrill of the hunt became more important then the damn reason I got out here in the first place. I guess its true what they say, Truth and justice always win, and I lost to justice today.

Funny how life does this to you; The good guy meets his maker same time the bad guy does, it’s the type of bittersweet humour you don’t appreciate until you’re the punch line.

As I said, all I can do now is laugh.