Current Transmissions:


The Gates of Door to Doors Ritual

Prison, somewhere in Central America.

"We're screwed," Tasso said. He was hot and tired and pretty sore from the beating. His fingers felt like they were splitting apart.

"Not yet," Max replied; he glanced around the room as if he was studying it.

"What do you mean?" Tasso questioned. He sat on the edge of the bunk and put his head in his hands. "When they get back here they are going to drag us out and put several bullets into us."

"They might," Max replied. He felt along the edge of the south wall, and he put his head to it and closed his eyes.

Tasso looked at him as if Max was going crazy and shook his head slowly; he knew he shouldn't of trusted the man in the first place. But no, he had to follow his gut instinct.

Max's eyes opened and he cracked a smile. He dug through his pockets and picked out a match and lit it and then blew it out, as the smoke was still burning he blew it towards the wall.

"Tasso, get me some water," he said.

"You get it yourself," Tasso shot back.

"There's not much time, Tass. Just get me the fucking water now."