To Be Continued

The Professor addressed the latest team. The newest Dragons. It wasn't the first time the roster had been replaced, or recombined. He had worked with so many of them throughout the strange non-years of the Metaplex, the liquid time of plureality. All of the lost and the found, the warriors, the outcasts, knights and assassins, witches and spies. The different teams gathered and sent on their missions, and always The Professor there to guide them, to never really be a part of them. Except the times that he had been, or the times he was never there at all - though most of those he couldn't remember... 

Dexter, Wraith, Darius, Callan. Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki, Aqua. Akimoto, Tatterdemallion. Cromwell, Bern, Caden. Siltailus, Falador, Rickson, Cloak, Nurendemyr. The Kat, Misfit, Silver. Odin, Merlin, Kele-De. Mick. Marshal, Michelle, Nick and Jonas. Nick, Pat and Charlotte. Soma and Heresy. All the Travelers, the Blueberry Hill Gang, the Shelter Team. Bishop, Twofeathers, Trump. Pretty George. Maggie Magenta.

And now, Stone and Riveta, Donnelly and Mayganne, Scorpio. He had explained to them as much as he could, what he was allowed to, what he was able to. And what the plan was. Desperate and uncertain, but the only way the Professor could think to turn this situation around. It wasn't safe to contact Simon Light in any local versions - the Professor had had to quarantine him. But maybe if they went far enough around... Find him, some version of him, somewhere else...

There was no telling if any of them would make it, or who they would be. If they would remember or understand anything. If they would find him and reach him. If that would be enough of a convergence to change things. If this would save things or end them.

The Professor had briefed them. He had taught them all the mantras and visualizations that he knew for transferals. Had exposed them to specifically modulated energy fields. Had read them modernist poetry, shown them certain movies. Tried anything he could think of to help them.

And now he was going to send them into another world and hope that they would somehow return...

Threshold Days

He felt exhausted. 

Last night he had injured a classmate during self-defense training.

This morning the sun was red. Crows lined the road on his drive into the office.

He had yelled at people he was trying to help. He was stuck on a level of the videogame he had been playing. He could only lie to his co-workers and his friends and tell them everything was fine.

Last night he dreamed of killing a man named Morganfokker and of a great feeling of change and relief coming over him, but in the morning the dream made him feel uneasy and scared.

Alison was dead and no one seemed to care. His cellphone would ring and he would answer it and hear only static.

Breakfast of Champions

"Good morning," he said. 

Alice looked at him. He was blond-haired, thirtyish and looked a little rough around the edges. She had just finished pouring him a cup of coffee.

"Hello," she replied with a smile. "What can I get for you this morning?"

"First of all a name would be nice," he stated with a smile of his own. It was a warm smile, a smile that was shared between good friends guarding a personal secret.

Alice looked at him and chuckled. After all she was wearing her name tag on her shirt.

"No," he said. "I was wondering if you knew my name."

Alice looked at his face and into his eyes. They were like pools of liquid, of warm emotion. His face seemed familiar but she attributed that to being a customer. She knew he was here a few times before. "Can't say that I do."

"Damn," he muttered. He took a sip of coffee. "They only reason I asked is that I've been going about seeing things and little flashes of recognition would just spark then die out. For some odd reason seeing your face and seeing something familiar about it sparked something in me."

Alice smiled and knew how he felt. Sometimes she just had an urge or feeling that things happen for a reason. Lately she'd been getting a lot of them. Like yesterday when she took the subway and she thought that she had entered the last car on the platform but when she got on and looked at the back window she saw another car, and in this other car she saw people. People's faces and clothing that seemed out of place and style, and there was this one cheerleader who looked familiar and...

"I suppose I will have the special this morning," he said.

Flames

Susanna shook her bodyguard-slash-houseguest awake. Maggie gasped and sat up. “Where’s my sword?” she asked with a raw voice. 

“It’s right here,” Sue said. She almost picked it up from the floor beside the couch but felt uncomfortable about touching the weapon.

Mags steadied her ragged breath. “What’s happening?”

“You were talking in your sleep, almost shouting. It woke me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Susanna brushed Mags’ hair back in a motherly gesture. “It’s fine, really. Are you ok?”

Maggie had dreamed of the cheerleader again, the one who reminded her of her old friend, Angst. Another lost friend. Except her cheers weren’t rousing, inspirational chants; they were dark, whispering rants. Cruel poetry, words that cut deeper than a demon’s claws. Maggie reached down to touch the katana; it couldn’t cut through ghosts but it made her feel stronger knowing it was there.

“If I say I’m fine will you tease me again about deflecting?”

Susanna smiled. “Let me brew some tea.”

As the woman she was supposed to be guarding for the Professor, and whatever bizarre scheme he was running now, moved into the kitchenette, Maggie shivered and pushed the last echoes of the nightmare from her mind.

“I hope you get attacked soon,” she said, “so this arrangement doesn’t feel so one-sided.”

Slow Train A Coming

The car had moved several inches in the last few hours. The wheels squealing on the tracks, as if pulling away from glue. Something was definitely happening and he was glad for it. He didn't know how many more days he could stay couped up on just a platform. A prisoner lost in time and space. He could hear Bishop in the conductor car yelling at the train, shouting for it to move forward.

"What's going on?" Aqua inquired. She was bouncing around in her seat, itching to get into combat.

"Looks like whatever is holding us here is trying to keep us here," Frank said. "It doesn't want to let us go."

"Could it be some demonic force? Like a life leech?" Tatter asked. She sat by a window looking out and saw people begin to mill about on the platform, their images ghostlike in appearance. Whatever was happening it was affecting the platform too. 

Bishop continued to shout at the train, hurling verbal abuse at the Gods, the earth, the world, his shoes. It was the first time any one of them had heard him become so vocal.

The train lurched forward again, a sudden two feet, sending everyone in the car tumbling over. It was a violent battle that was going on and it looked like Bishop was finally winning. Frank stood up and glanced around at the car to make sure everyone was okay, then as he scanned the platform his eyes widened in shock...

Crisis Call

Simon snapped a few pictures of the dining room.  Baboor had the woman in the living room, Stockard was upstairs with the son.
Simon had been teamed with Karen Stockard and Asha Baboor on a number of assignments. They always got along well and their styles in the field complimented each other. On the drive over today, though, Simon had felt irritated by them both. Their voices, their conversation. Any time they asked him a question, always friendly, always polite, he bristled. They were talking about social stuff - they usually sorted and prepped all the work stuff in the office before leaving - but he felt so disconnected, so out of touch with the world and lives they were chatting about, it was almost painful. He wasn't surprised when they offered to conduct the interviews.

He snapped a few more shots then moved into the kitchen. He could hear Baboor speaking with the woman, her voice gentle, calmly drawing answers from her. The woman started to sound more tense, Baboor shifted her tone slightly to try and keep her grounded. It didn't work; the woman slipped into anger instead. Got defensive.

Suddenly, Simon found himself striding into the living room.

Baboor was sitting on the couch facing the woman who was seated in a chair beside it. Baboor read his posture right away and stood up.

"Who do you think you are?" Simon growled at the woman. Her eyes widened in shock at his tone.

"Agent Light -" Baboor said, trying to cut in.

He didn't stop. "We're here trying to help you and you shut us out? You're lucky Agent Baboor is doing the interview - I'd be smacking the info out of you if you tried that tone with me."

The woman looked terrified and confused, pressed back into the chair, hands clutching the sides.

 Baboor realized that she had to meet his level, even though it meant showing dissonance in front of the woman. "Agent Light! Back into the kitchen right now!"

Stockard appeared at the top of the stairs. The son called down, "Mom, are you ok?"

In his mind Simon was yelling SHUTUP SHUTUP SHEISNOTOK YOUARENOTOK LEAVEMEALONE SHUTUP but he managed to stop the words from coming out. Managed to turn around head back to the other room. Heard Baboor and Stockard speaking to the mother and son.

Simon imagined drawing his pistol, firing randomly into the room, imagined surrendering to violence, the terrible freedom of it. Anything to get him outside, get him out of whatever he was trapped in. His hand rose up before him. He was holding his cellphone, not the pistol. It hadn't rang in days.

"Where are you?" he whispered to it.

Sometimes It's Just

Susanna closed the door gently behind her guest. “Please, come on in, make yourself comfortable. You can put that…” She gestured awkwardly at the sword the woman had slung over her shoulder. “Well, wherever you’d like.” 

Maggie smiled a warm smile, hoping to put Susanna at ease.
A short time later they were seated on the balcony of Susanna’s apartment building, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Susanna had started smoking socially after some of the local gigs she had played.

“I really appreciate this,” she said.

Mags exhaled a line of smoke into the warm spring air. “It’s no problem at all. Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?”

“I’ve decided that pampering my bodyguard is a smart idea.”

Mags laughed; she liked Susanna, she could tell right away. Some people collapsed in a crisis, and Maggie had sympathy for them. Others let fear become anger or bitterness, and Maggie had little patience for them. And some, like Susanna, stayed strong when things went out of control; Maggie always admired them. She herself had been each type of person at different times in her life.

“Well, breakfast-in-bed is always a classic form of pampering,” Maggie said with a smirk.

Susanna came back quick. “It’ll be breakfast-in-couch I’m afraid. Struggling musician means tiny one-bedroom apartment.”

Maggie laughed again. It had been a while since she had felt relaxed like this. Chatting. Fun. The balcony overlooked a wide park, trees and paths, a fountain. Children playing, dogs being walked. It would be easy to start pretending that this was her life, visiting with a friend, having tea. Easy to let her guard down, to let the Professor down and Susanna be taken by whatever enemies shifting had earned her.

Maggie asked her about her music, they talked about leaving teaching to pursue her art. Mags called her Sue, and for some reason it didn’t bother Susanna like when others had done so.
He used to tell that she could have this, that it could be her life if she wanted it. She would never be free of everything else, of all the darkness and the fighting, but there could be room for this too. He had tried, in his way, to help her find that. But of course he could never make it work for himself…

“You ok?” Susanna asked. Maggie looked at her. “You looked troubled all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine,” Mags said, fishing another cigarette from her pack. She didn’t like it when people got a glimpse behind the armour.

“I hope that sword is better at deflecting than you are, or I’m in trouble,” Susanna said lightly.

Mags felt the urge to lash out; she always did when she felt vulnerable. Susanna had a sweetness though, that cooled the sudden fire. A crow cawed from a tree in the park. Susanna saw Maggie look sad for a moment, then focus. Summon a playful smile.

“I could always practice my forms with it, if your apartment wasn’t so cramped,” Maggie jibed.

They kept talking and laughing, and for a while everything was peaceful.

Operation: Glass Vial

Morganfokker got up from the table and looked into the eyes of those he had summoned. The looks that they returned told him all he needed to know. He gathered up the folders and slid them into his briefcase before Ms. Morningstar stood up and walked toward him.

"Am I to believe that what transpired a few months ago has rippled outward?" she inquired. "That the very fabric of all existence is unwinding faster than a spool of yarn? That all of this right now will cease to be in a few years?"

"I told you that we were opening up a can of worms on this one. Yet you ignored the data in my initial report," he stated. "Things like this cannot be controlled. You of ALL people should know that." Morganfokker kept his cool.

Ms. Morningstar smiled. A bittersweet one at that made Morganfokker cringe inside. That smile was a smile that ate worlds for breakfast and spat them out.

Ms. Morningstar sat at the edge of the table; she looked straight into Morganfokker's eyes, leaned forward towards his ear and said in a sexy voice, "You know what you must do now..."

He damn well knew what needed to be done. Hopefully it isn't too late, he thought as he snapped the lid shut on the briefcase.

You See Me Don't You

Suki was knee deep in shit. 

She trudged forward down the sewer tunnel. Godhammer in her arms, lighting the way like a torch. She was looking at the walls, following the trail like Hansel and Gretel. 

Click. Click. Click. 

"Yes," Suki replied. "It does stink down here." 

Click. 

"Hopefully shortly," she answered.

She came up to a T-junction and studied the walls. She heard the splashing coming down the left tunnel. 

Click. Click. 

"I know," she whispered. "If it is though, I'm ready."

23rd Century Party People

Today's meeting was in a conference room in a downtown hotel. The Professor had a laptop set-up at the head of the table. Beside it there was another one of his strange devices - wires and winking lights and whirring parts. No one had asked the rumpled old man what these objects were for; there had been too many bizarre answers to other simple questions already. 

"Why isn't Susannah here?" Donnelly asked.

"It turns out that she's not a part of this. Not exactly." Things had continued to cohere, to synchronize, since everyone had been gathered. Or reunited. Some memories had become clear, while others were still cloudy, and others still pitch black. At each meeting the Professor had new files that he had compiled from whatever mysterious sources he had. A picture had started to emerge, but it was one of wavering lines and shifting colours and impossible angles, like a Cubist painting.

"Where is she then?" Riveta asked.

"I don't have the ability to remove her from this thread; it's not part of what I do. But I have made arrangements for her to be kept safe."

Scorpio studied the newest folder intently. LEGACY was mentioned a few more times in some documents, but there was still no record of him being in contact with Greg Logollos. Each night Scorpio thought about trying to contact Greg. He hadn't yet.

Stone resisted the urge to question the Professor, to ask what guarantees he could provide that Susannah was safe. He knew that there were none. From all the sci-fi technology, mutant attack dogs, and psychedelic metaphyiscs it was obvious to Stone that there weren't any certainties anymore. His training as a detective told him to keep asking, to keep digging, keep trying to solve the mystery of it all. His training as a soldier told him to keep quiet and follow orders.

Riveta seemed to be dealing with it all fairly well. Maybe because she had been in contact with the Professor the longest. It was almost as if she had somehow learned something from undergoing all this weirdness. Stone was so glad to have her back. He knew that they could get through anything together.

"So what's next then?" Mayganne asked.

Donnelly looked at the teenager he knew from his school. She had always been a quiet girl, shy, a little gloomy. Now she came to the meetings smiling and eager. School had never seemed a good fit for Mayganne, but this - whatever it was - had opened something up inside her. Donnelly knew that he still had to have a stern talk with her about breaking into that bank, but for now he was using her enthusiasm as a way to stay grounded amidst the chaos. He had wondered a lot lately about starting to pray again...

"Well," the Professor said, tapping some keys on the laptop and glancing at the device. "What's next is that we're going to try and change the world. Or one of them anyway."

Drowning

"It was stupid," Simon said. "I wasn't hungry, but I ate the whole thing. The whole bowl. I just kept eating and eating. And I was so stuffed. felt like crap." 

"Compulsive behaviour," Susan said.


"It's been like that with everything. Talking with my co-workers. Watching movies. I'm doing all these things but I don't know why. I don't feel good. About anything."


"Go on," Susan prompted.


"I tried writing about it, in a journal. Like you suggested. But... well, it hurt. Does that make sense? It hurt to try and put it into words. Felt so rough and jagged... I feel tired all the time. Plus I'm out of shape. I can't get motivated."


"You tend to be hard on yourself," Susan observed.


"Yeah, but when I hear stuff like that... I feel I'm not being hard enough. I'm not being the person I'm supposed to be."


"What about the person you want to be?"


"I don't know. I sleep odd hours. Go to the office. Put some time in the field. The cases I'm on don't feel like they matter. Any agent could do them, and it won't really matter either way if they ever get closed."

"What do you think you need, Simon?" she asked.

"You know I hate that. The whole 'getting your needs met' angle. Like we're these mechanical processes of exchange. Treating our feelings like an economy."

Simon sighed. They were silent for a while. 

When you feel like there is something wrong, how do you know if it's the world that's wrong or if it's you? How do you know what to change? 

"I feel like I should go home," Simon said. "But I know that when I get there I'll feel like I need to go out. Then I'll end up going out to the coffee shop. And when I get there I'll feel like I need to go home."

Who is Watching the Watched

3:55am. Subject awakes with nosebleed. Subject goes into the bathroom and washes up. Subject then proceeds to study face in mirror for 3:17 minutes. Subject looks into self's eyes and then heads back to sleep.

5:59am. Subject awakes before alarm clock. Subject reaches over and shuts it off before it has a chance to turn on. Subject proceeds in daily ritual of preparations.

6:17am. Subject's cellphone rings. Subject picks it up and answers (recorded static bursts. have technicians see if they can hear anything at all). Subject hangs up phone and proceeds to head out door. Subject picks up phone and calls work tells them illness is a factor. Subject proceeds to leave.

6:45am. After subject leaves home. Subject walks a few blocks and heads for a coffee shop; Good Tomes. (research owners of establishment. check connections). Subject has a coffee and is chatting with a girl (received static on hand held mic). Interference bursters in effect. Subject definitely has been targeted.

Alison Meets With Simon Part Three

Her cell phone rang. Simon suddenly felt panicked.

"Don't answer that," he said.


She had fished it out of her purse, beside her on the bench in the park.


"Why not?" she asked as she checked the screen. "It's just my mom."


She raised the phone to her ear. Simon almost grabbed her arm. His eyes wide, fear exploding in his chest.


"Hi mom."


A white van stopped on the street bordering the park.


"Alison," he said harshly. "We have to go." He stood up, reached for her.


She gestured to give her a second. "Yeah mom, Thursday is still good for me."


The window of the van rolled down and the rifle barrel emerged.


"Four o'clock," Alison said.


Simon stepped away, trying to put distance between them, to keep her safe, and realized too late, the knowledge crashing like thunder through him. He wasn't the target.


"K mom, see you then."


He reversed his momentum, shifting to throw himself on her. To cover her, hold her, save her. Too late.


The blood erupted from her head. The gunshot crashed like thunder through the park. He landed on her and tackled her off the bench. Her blood splattered across his face.


Too late.

Alison Meets With Simon Part Two

Alison and Simon used to go driving for long drives all the time. They would talk about all sorts of things - movies, history, politics. They would listen to music. He had hesitated when she asked him today. Made a few feeble excuses. She pushed. 

They were on a back road. Trees and farms and fields.


"You know, I used to think you were psychic," she said.


He smiled. "Really? That's... weird."


"You were a weird guy. Not psychic like on the talk shows. But you had these insights. These really neat takes on things. People and situations."


"Hm." Simon stared at the window.


"You don't seem angry," she said. "You seem sad."


"Both I guess, back and forth."


"Like before."


"But different."


They drove. Alison had a Blue Rodeo cd playing quietly.


"Sometimes," Simon said, "it feels like every case I get assigned to is the same case."


"How do you mean? It gets repetitive?"


"Yeah, but it's not only that. I mean it feels like there's really just one big case and every assignment I get is sortof one facet of it."


Alison wished she could ask more questions about the work Simon did. About the details. And part of her was glad she didn't have to know.


"That one last month seemed to take a lot out of you," she said, trying to support him from outside the walls.


His brow furrowed. "Which one?"


"That last big one. Whatever it was about, well, you sounded on the phone like you were on the edge. Like it was maxing you out."


Simon looked at her. "I don't remember."

Alison Meets With Simon Part One

Alison sat down. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

Simon shrugged. "I came pretty early."


"How long have you been here?" They had agreed to meet at the coffeeshop after the morning rush.


"Well... All night."


Alison sighed. "You're not sleeping again."


Simon sipped his coffee. "Yeah."


"Can you tell me what's going on?"


He looked around awkwardly. "It's... It's like before. I guess. Different though, too."


"I'm sorry, Simon. Do you know... I mean..." She struggled to find the right words, to be concerned, gentle, but persistent enough, otherwise she wouldn't reach him.


"It's frustrating," he said. "Things have been going so well." She was equally relieved and disturbed by his willingness to respond.


"How's the work?" she asked. Sipped her coffee.


"I don't know... It feels like a job. Everything's been about the office, about politics. About policies and paperwork. I've forgotten what the actual work is supposed to be about, I think."


"What's changed?"


"Some positions in management have shuffled around. I don't know. I don't think it's just me. Everyone seems disillusioned there right now."


"Are you upset you didn't get that other job?"


Simon shook his head. "I'm glad, I think. Given how I'm feeling, it probably wouldn't have been a good fit."


Alison fixed him with a look. "And how are you feeling?"


He didn't avoid the question, or deflect it. His answer surprised her.


"Angry."


"How come? At what?" Simon was always pretty laid back. She knew that the field he worked in was stressful; she had seen him work through burn-out a few times. He'd never been angry before. Or at least he'd never been open about it.


"I don't know. Everything."


She made her voice soften. "Are you feeling lost?"


"No," Simon said. "I feel found. And it feels wrong."

Shadows Full of Light

"Jebus!" Goner said shockingly, making Frank jump up suddenly. His heart picked up the pace a few notches. 

Finally some excitement. 

"What is it?" Frank asked. He came running out of the car, his hands went into his jacket and onto the pistols that were holstered there. Waiting for a chance to sing again.

"I think I saw Suki!" Goner said as came back excitedly. He had been standing by the exit. It was like a view screen on a wall; no matter what they had done they just couldn't step through it. But it was like the same thing with the vendors and the newspaper; each and every morning the view would show a different location.

"Suki!" Frank said. It could be a sign of cabin fever. "Did she see you?"

"No. Just when I was staring out the exit and looking at the faces going by, I could have sworn I saw Suki. But she looked older!"

Then the subway car hissed for the first time in what appeared to be a long while.

Benched

Suki passed by an entrance to the subway and had a flash of nostalgia for her childhood. Old friends, strange places. No time for it now.

She stayed on the road-side of the sidewalk, so no one could pull her into a doorway or alley, or in case she needed to rush out into traffic to create confusion. Of course, whatever was hunting her could be invisible and ready to impale her any moment without warning. Hazards of the job. She had missed it. It felt different from when she was that schoolgirl - it was heavier and coloured with sadness now -  but it still had that pulse.


Click. Click. Click.


"I know, I know," she whispered under her breath. That pulse is what had got her in this trouble. All these ambushes, all these strange attacks, and she met each one head on, Godhammer blazing. Just like the old days. Hide and seek with enemy agents, fatal games of tag with spooky beasts, Hong Kong cinema gunfights with mooks and Big Bads.


All thrilling and exhilarating and full of act-three, near-death goodness. And each one had kept her distracted from the real plot. Had kept her isolated. She was being set-up, sidelined. She was stuck in the lobby and the main show had already started.

Same Time Same Page

The Professor circled the table, handing out the file folders. 

"Hopefully some of the materials in these will start to generate trans-version connections," he said. "And you will all start to remember what happened." 

Riveta began scanning the contents of her folder right away. Police reports from some recent investigations she didn't remember undertaking. Photos of a diner that looked familiar. A picture of a man who she didn't recognize, but who had the saddest looking eyes she had ever seen. 

Stone sat beside her; he hadn't been more than a few feet from her since the night on the street, when he had found her again. When the impossible had started to happen. Except the impossible had started to happen some time ago, he was realizing now, as memories of certain crime scenes started to return.  

"Who is this man?" Donnelly asked. He held up his own copy of the photo Riveta was looking at.  

Mayganne studied her copy. "He looks familiar, sorta..."

The Professor had taken a seat at the head of the table. "His name is Simon Light. He is very important. Hopefully, you will be meeting him - again - very soon."
 
Scorpio tried to keep his breathing steady, trying one of the meditation techniques he was slowly starting to remember. Among the copies of police reports and photographs inside his folder, there were memos and press releases from the LEGACY Corporation. Many were signed by Greg Logollos. He glanced at the Professor... Did he know that Greg had been in contact with Scorpio? Recently? Or did they know each other already from before? It made Scorpio feel nervous, trapped. He wasn't sure who or what to trust.
 
Susanna stopped at a picture of an older woman holding a young girl on her lap. The older woman was holding a tattered pom-pom. The little girl was smiling.
 
The Professor spoke up. "Shortly I will be asking each of you to begin making notes on what the files mean to you, what you recognize, how they make you feel. My own picture of what happened is far from complete."
 
Stone looked at Riveta and smiled. He didn't care how weird all this was. She was alive.
 
"What we need to focus on right away," the Professor continued, "is the very grave threat facing each of you, and some other people who you may or may not know. Indeed, the very Metaplex itself is in danger."
 
"The meta-huh?" Mayganne asked.
 
"A threat from what?" Donnelly cut in.
 
The Professor adjusted his glasses.
 
"A man named Morganfokker."

We Will Throck You

Simon awoke on the floor of his apartment. His phone was ringing but he never got up to answer it. His head swimming, buzzing with information or it could be the tequila. Was he drinking last night, he couldn't remember. Heck he couldn't remember what day it was. He lifted up his head and glanced around, trying to regain focus on the task at hand. His head still swimming, as if he was seeing through his eyes but from a distance. If that made any sense at all, he thought.

His cellphone rang this time. He made to move to answer it. His mind and his body ached and all he wanted to do was sleep now.


Homer sleep now.


He chuckled at that thought. A reference to a roughly drawn animated series had snapped him out of his sluggish state and he reached for the cellphone.

Chaos Splatter

Suki swung around with the butt of the gun, smashing into someone's face. She could feel the nose turning into mush and hear a bone-jarring crunch from the impact. It meant that she was ticked off at the moment. She broke away from her falling assailant's grip and spun around, kicking up her leg straight into the groin of the other fellow. The kick was with such power and ferocity that the recipient would be singing soprano for a long, long time.

Two done. Only forty four more to go.


It was going to be one of those days.