The Memory Garden

Chapter 13 by Derek Rawlings  

Space being not at a premium, the central ring of the Ministry of People was built out rather than up, and was designed with the principles of geomancy first and ergonomics a distant second. Hallways bended and undulated, often shrinking from one end of to the next if they even end up going anywhere in the first place. In the entirety of the Ministry there was believed to be only one room that was of good and proper rectangular shape, until one particularly daring young intern pressed the ominous cyan button on the wall, causing the entire room to tilt fifteen degrees from the horizon. Further button pushing of all kinds proved futile. This was unfortunate, both because employees once prided themselves on being promoted to the Rectangle Room and because it then had to be renamed. Navigation in the MoP (as it is so affectionately truncated) proved as much a task as the day to day chores of the Ministry itself, though years of inhabitation had rendered the bureaucracy thoroughly capable of managing the monolithic building. For those raised in the Ministry getting around was nearly a subconscious act, one possibly even passed down by birth. The rest had to make due with crudely drawn maps that could never hope to adequately capture the impossible angles that the building perched at. Occasionally marginal notes lined the sides of these drawings, such as the one that Lemon and Kaplin stood in front of now. Down the left hand side of the page was a sequence of scribble likely intended to be helpful, though rather than making idiomatic grammatical choices this author had opted to write in abbreviations. Few notes, as a result, were even remotely legible. One helpfully pointed to an area and claimed ‘/= hallway,’ while another stated ‘TRAPPED!’ without giving any indication of what kind of trap it may be, or where it might be located. Levels of the facility were superimposed on top of one another with colours being the only implication of height. Someone had scrawled an ‘S’ over one of the map’s lines with lipstick, while someone else had amended an entire wing of the MoP using a lavender crayon. Lemon scowled at the map, looking it up, left, down and right, trying in vain to locate himself. There was no merciful dot or ‘X’ to aid him. “It’s like they want you to get lost in here.” “Naw. I got it.” “You’ve been here, Kaplin?” “I don’t ever recall so, no.” “You’re not telling me you can read this claptrap, are you?” Kaplin waved slightly down and to the left. “Naw, not really, but it’s off this way.” “What makes you so sure? I’ve read better directions in my alphagetti.” “Well, where would you put it?” “I’d put it near the front door.” “Well, they didn’t. Common’, this way.” Kaplin threw a rucksack over his shoulder and made for a row of doors to the left. It evaporated as he approached. “Coming?” “Christ, Kaplin, you’re going to lose us.” “Maybe.” Kaplin disappeared through the door. “But I’ll getcha there.” The two went down three steps, turned left, climbed down a seven foot ladder, walked down a hallway that slanted up considerably, went through two doorframes spaced less than a foot apart, took a minute long movator trip and arrived in an hexagonal room with a vaulted ceiling, and eight pillars arrayed in a diamond shape. Kaplin licked his finger and held it up in the air. There was no wind, but he smiled. “Ok… so far, so good. Now there should be an ‘L’ thingy around here somewhere – we’ll need to find that next.” “An ‘L’ thingy?” “Yeah, starts with an ‘L’, or maybe just has an ‘L’ in it, you know. Might even be a silent ‘L.’” Kaplin gestured vaguely at the sack he was carrying. “How long is this stun spell supposed to last, anyways?” “Long enough. Don’t worry about her, she’s my responsibility.” “Fine, at least she’s not so heavy.” The room offered little in the way of clarity. Four doors interspersed the six walls, one of which bore a brass plaque reading ‘Department of Homonculae, Simulacrae and Effigies.’ Noticing the ‘L’s Lemon made for the door. As he approached it irised open. A bureaucrat in a triangular office the size of a garden shack dropped his stamp in shock, looked up and then nervously shuffled a few papers. The door then un-irised without ceremony. “Dead end. Not that way.” Lemon meandered back to where Kaplin was standing. On his way, however, he felt his foot sink slightly into the ground. He looked down, and noticing a pressure plate allowed his instincts to reign. He dropped to the ground and rolled, glancing down, left, right and up for a swinging spike, or a poisoned dart, or a descending portcullis, or a scything blade, or for the ceiling to lower, or for the room to lethally fill with water. All of these things failed to happen. Instead the foot plate lit up. It read ‘LIFT.’ “That’s it Lemon, good job man.” The single light of the transportation module flickered twice, causing Lemon and Kaplin to glance up. They had been moving rapidly left, towards the Core of the Ministry (or so the little liquid crystal map suggested), not that they were even sure what left meant and if it was even a direction at all. Lemon had been doubtful about the magnetically driven roughly cube-shaped capsule that when called had descended on hooks from the ceiling and haphazardly slid open. Kaplin, however, had been resolute. Without factoring in ‘getting ourselves unlost’ time it was a ‘fucking three hour walk’ to the sector with their briefing room. During this time the half-breed had kept himself occupied humming whatever came to mind half assedly, though he’d yet to finish a tune. Halfway through one song he would be torn away from it, transitioning inattentively into something else similar that came to mind. Occasionally the sack slung over his shoulder twitched softly. Lemon meanwhile had reached into his sleeve, whispered a few words of vaguely mystical origin and pulled out a multi-coloured scarf which was in turn tied to his digital scroll; it was time to put together a team. There had been a time when the very thought of working with another breathing soul had driven Lemon to dread. Failure hung enough like the Sword of Damocles when one trusted in one’s own capacities – dependence on another for success was downright terrifying. That, however, was a Lemon of the past. The new Lemon was forced to face certain realities: even if the incompetence of others will inevitably hinder any endeavour, such things are simply beyond possibility without them. Success now proved far more relevant than the misgivings he may have towards working with others. With the mere touched of one end the scroll came to life. Matthew pulled the two rods apart revealing the paper-thin writing surface which now read in sweeping black cursive ‘Initializing…’ It blinked once or twice before disappearing, only to be replaced by an equally neat scrawl saying ‘Please log in: _____________.’ With a practiced motion he placed the scroll on his knee, pulled out the digiquill that had emerged from one of the doweling ends with his other hand and initialed the line. ‘Good evening, Lemon’ the device now read. Several icons appeared in two columns down the page. He tapped the quill against the icon directly below ‘Grimoire’ and directly adjacent to the ‘Artificial Assistant’ buttons. This button had a ground’s eye view of a skyscraper, though it could easily be confused for a mountain. Backgrounding the building suspended with authority was a screened capital ‘P.’ ‘Accessing Pinnacle Database… please wait.’ Lemon paused a moment, waiting for the connection to catch up with him. He then scratched in his sharp cursive ‘Personnel Files – Field Agents.’ Lemon had seen his share of assassins, cyborgs, super soldiers and ninjas, it came with the territory. He’d also seen his share of cyborg assassins, ninja super soldiers and all derivations there between. Pinnacle agents as a rule rarely score points for originality, and while Lemon was flipping through unoriginal electronic dossier after obnoxious handle after stale dossier he grew increasingly sickened and bored by the trite people that he allegedly worked with. He even thought that he recognized a face or two from the office Christmas party he’d been blackmailed into attending a few years back. With such dignified names as Magnus Carver, who’s more salient points included skinning, electrification and yodeling he wondered why he was the one chosen for solitary. But he knew the answer to that question, and he couldn’t dispute that atypical particular stroke of Pinnacle logic. Sébastien DuCroix fit the bill; at the tender age of seven his world collapsed. Parents, close friends, turtle – all dead via mysterious means. He just walked out of the washroom in the middle of his birthday party and was met by a bloodbath. From that point he dedicated himself to the pursuit of the offenders. It took him twelve years, but he found them. Wouldn’t you know it: Vampires. Having vanquished them he fell to anomie. He tried doing other things, but with no training in various life skills his failure was inevitable. He worked a few contract jobs, but they didn’t satisfy so at nights he’d booze it up and put chemicals up his nose. When Pinnacle stepped in something was ready to break. DuCroix wouldn’t be a bad choice, if Lemon had wanted to annihilate the

Memory
Garden, but as it stood he was nothing but muscle wrapped in a tight little tragic package. Those sorts of crude antiheroes always have baggage. Worse still, DuCroix has no mystical backing; what you see is what you get. The Pinnacle had use for that kind, but it was rarely the sort that Lemon bothered to dirty himself with. Pass. Vincenzo Pyros was a master Magus affiliated to the hermetic element of fire. If a spell involved fire, heat or mayhem he had bartered for it. He’d even waded through the labyrinthine quagmire named Ebay for some of them. Vincenzo was a tall fellow branded by his trade; tattoos of totemic representations of his chosen craft lined his torso to the tips of his fingers storing arcane energies. Potent and resourceful, he was currently inflicting peace upon two warring werewolf packs in the mountains of
Brazil. Pyros, another destructive choice, seemed more promising yet ultimately unsuitable. For one thing he was a one trick pony, probably possessing of a notion that fire was the cure for all that ailed a situation – any situation. His elemental alignment counted against him. Any kind of attempt to find the Garden would by necessity be surreptitious. Agents of the Other could not be permitted to first discover what they were up to (though Lemon had little doubt that they would figure it out sooner or later, regardless), but even more importantly could not be allowed to interfere. “Pyros?” “You know him?” “Not personally, Molly in Kidnappings told me he’s a giant dick though. Ego the size of… big ego, got it? “It doesn’t matter.” “Nah?” “No, he won’t be joining us anyways.” “Good. Who’s next?” “Isn’t this interesting.” * * * The klaxon of automation drove most to madness. Those that it didn’t had already driven there. That was why the term of service on the backwater mining planetoid Genghis III was so short – a paltry four months. But men and women of a peculiar bent swarmed to the Kuiper Belt for the opportunity to set up their electro-picks and work. The pay was good. That was it really. Artificial gravity was a novelty that few could afford and the Secondary Filtration Unit frequently failed. The habitable quarters imposed, an immense cement sarcophagus. Of those that went, few ever returned. The odd ones that did were rather odd indeed, specimens better left in and to such subterranean miseries. It was one of these evolutionary derelicts that Doctor Augustovson Sinclair sought. * * * Name: Augustovson Bailey Sinclair Position: Field Agent Enlisted: 29 After Pinnacle Age: 67 standard years CV: 12 AP BA:

University of
Baltimore (Cum Laude) Major: Arcane Theory Minor: Evocation, Conjuring 14 AP MA: Ecole Thaumaturgique de Verseilles 16 AP Doctorate:

Prague
University  

Employment history: 6-7 AP Dishwasher Jim’s Meatgrinder Café 13 AP Special Consultant Johnstone Textiles: Occult Affairs Division 15 AP Project Coordinator Johnstone Textiles: Astral Enforcement Group 16-18 Freelance Contractor Johnstone Textiles, Eurasia Pacifica, 7B, Fredtek, Zero Neptuna, et alia. 22-27 Freelance Tutor (combat casting): US Department of Arcane Defense 27-29 Classified: P17 * * * Walter-Lee Jacoombs, unlike most of the riffraff of the mines came to Genghis not for fortune but rather to be forgotten. The things he’d done, the agencies he’d upset, the people he’d crossed had led him to the end of the solar system; further had that been possible. However, all things lost are destined to be found, eventually. Dr. Sinclair’s divinations had led him away from Earth, through the colonies of Mars and past Saturn’s moons. It was almost entirely by accident that he’d stumbled across the freighter Albatross drifting idly through space. All psychometry suggested that this had been the vessel that Walter-Lee had used to escape. Inside the blood of the crew had coagulated, though the corpses were absent. Necromancy was difficult enough in the spiritless expanses that Sinclair now traveled, but without bodies most would consider it a lost prospect. Fortunately the doctor was not most. It took seven hours of chanting to compel the crew back, and they had been hostile. Half of his crew on Sinclair’s vessel revolted from fear under the influence of the restless dead, while the other half desperately held close to Augustovson for guidance. Only after the doctor had made examples of two of the spirits, rendered thoughtless automatons, did the other phantasms smarten up enough to be talked to. The crew never made it to Krieger VI. Lee had stowed away in the freighter. He killed his way to the engine room and cut off life support, killing the remaining crew. The trail of corpses that he ejected from the airlock could be measured in miles. Genghis III was not their intended destination, but that far out from Earth the number of possibilities diminished greatly. The stateroom that they had been escorted into was surely a luxury suite by this backwater monstrosity’s reckoning. It was cramped, with nothing more than as steel table for four and a corner entertainment suite in the room. Augustovson noted that many of the wall cabinets pulled out stovetops, dishwashers, cutting boards and the like. A glance upward revealed a four poster bed, headboard and nightstand that could be lowered for an evening configuration. Most importantly, when the door slid shut (nearly crushing his young assistant) the ubiquitous calamity of the mine ceased, replaced by an artificial silence. Sitting at the far end of the table on a metal chair sat a man of blasted features. His skin was creased and cracked by recycled air, and while his beard would looked sporty on someone half his age, on him it simply blended into the rest of grey pallor. He extended a hand, shaking and shrivelled, towards the Pinnacle Agent. It seemed what little strength the man still had manifest only in his voice. “Agent Sinclair. My name is Ari Mulholland. Director of Mining Affairs here on G3. Allow me to be honest. Pinnacle has never taken an interest in what we do out here. Your visit is. Well. Unprecedented. Also somewhat inconvenient.” “Mr. Mulholland. I intend to take as little of your convenience as is necessary.” The two shook hands, gingerly. “I’m looking for a miner that likely works on this rock, last known alias Walter-Lee Jacoombs.” “I’m afraid that that name is not familiar to me. Might you have a description of what he looks like?” “Yes. Anton?” Mulholland blinked, noticing the young man at Anton’s side. Augustovson’s assistant, Anton Faulk, was startled to attention. His hands, once nestled in a grey, ill-fitting suit, emerged. It dangled off of his teenaged frame. From one pocket came a thumbnail thin disk of plastic which the lad placed on top of the steel table. He gave a quick, nervous adjustment to his chimney sweep hat before plunging his hands anew into his pockets. With an urchin’s accent he spoke to the disk, “Prey: Jacoombs, Walter-Lee.” The holograph emitter began to emit, flashing briefly the Pinnacle logo before projecting a human form. Walter-Lee fit in with the degenerates of the mine well, his face was pocked and blistered, his nose irreparably broken. What hair he had in the unflattering mug shot was thin and patched. He showed all the signs of Kren abuse, including the most obvious of features; his irises were drained of colour like a shirt put too many times through the wash – not that Walter-Lee could ever be accused of bathing. The Pinnacle Agent glared at Mulholland, expectantly, as the director glanced at the scrolling marquis adjacent to the suspect: height, weight, ethnicity, known aliases, last seen all leisurely tumbled from the holographic ceiling. “I cannot say that I recognize the face. But I assume that you feel confidently that he is here?” “Yes” “You know that many of our mining entrepreneurs meet grisly ends on the floor. I so seldom bother to try to put a name to a face these days.” “Very well, I see no recourse then but to question the workers directly. When is the quickest that you can have them all gathered?” “First mess begins in half an hour. Can I inter…” Augustovson interrupted him, “I will be there.” *** Pinnacle Rank: 7^th degree Sorcery: Creations – 6^th degree Destructions – 8^th degree Intrusions – 6^th degree Summonings – 9^th degree Tracking – 7^th degree Wardings – 5^th degree Willforce – 8^th degree Physical: Athletics – 3^rd degree Guns – 6^th degree Melee – 7^th degree Pugilism – 4^th degree Known Specialties: - The Dead - Spirits of technology - Fine telekinetic manipulations - Obedience *** The mess hall’s gravity generator was a rusted machine that never ran for more than an hour at a time. This, however, suited Augustovson Sinclair just fine. He’d watched as dust encrusted miner after miner poured themselves out of their ventilators and took their spots at tables in their cliques, though what may have normally been an interesting sociological examination into the hierarchy of civilization in the dredges meant nothing now to the Field Agent. Each of them was too coated in miseries to be clearly identified. Occasionally they glanced up at him, dressed too well to live on Genghis III. The miners likely figured him to be one of their off planet bosses. They were soon to discover how wrong their presumptions had been. He waited for most of the room to fill before he spoke. “Miner’s of Genghis,” he paused, waiting for the idle din to silence before flashing his Pinnacle insignia, “I will have your cooperation before you are permitted to eat. You will line up against the mess wall and await interrogation.” The mumbling resumed as the crowd considered his request. Few obeyed instantly, while hushed words of outrage were whispered amongst the others. “The Director of Mining Affairs has been instructed not to feed any of you until I have completed my investigation.” Despite initial protests, when their stomachs were attacked, they rapidly succumbed. A crude line was soon assembled. Augustovson chose the leftmost member of the line and spoke loudly, yet directly at him, “might I inform each of you that as a third tier Field Agent I am permitted a finite quantity of unquestioned kills and that I am far from my quota this annum. To that extent I have prepared this to assist you all in getting back to your meal more quickly.” Anton reached into a briefcase and produced a small calibre pistol etched finely with a series of interconnected arcane circles. The magic imbued within the pistol hummed softly. “This weapon will only discharge after a lie is told. It is thus naturally in your best interest to reveal to us the entire truth when questioned. You will be first.” The Agent then handed the weapon over to the leftmost miner who quizzically put his hand on it. With a jerk his arm moved in defiance of his will, positioning the pistol over his own left temple. “One question,” said Sinclair, “what is your birth name?” Sweat trickled down the miner’s nose as he looked locked in a mental battle. “What is your name?” It deflected off the top of his mouth and continued down to his chin. “Ahh…” “Your birth name?” “Ahh…. Brandon Oaks, my name is Brandon Oaks.” The mutinous arm removed the pistol from its lethal trajectory, and returned it to the kid. “Good. Now each of you is going to do the same. You.” He gestured to the next man in line, who clutched his hand, unwilling to take the pistol that Anton had extended. When the metal touched steel, however, his resolve crumbled. Each in turn was made to touch the gun, and each was made to reveal their name, until one decided to test the enchantment. The sound that emerged from that miner’s mouth sounded like nothing human, and rang with an impossible rightness. All that heard knew that he had meant to say one thing, but had instead spoken the truth. The miner looked surprised, horrified by a voice that had come from him but was not his own. Then his trigger finger began to slowly depress while he gaped, powerless to oppose his own body. The hammer struck the pin and the next miner in line was made all the more untidy by the bone and cranial juices of the liar. At the far end of the line, one of the miners broke rank and made a run for it. The miner’s unwashed features blurred into motion. He grappled the nearest miner to him, and tilting his victim back by the neck placed him between him and the Magus. With his barricade in tow, the miner made for the door. Augustovson did not hesitate, moments later the mortal shield erupted in a pillar of blood from arcane wounds. “It’s Jacoombs,” exclaimed Anton. An arc of electricity in the shape of a birdlike talon struck the doorframe as their prey ducked through the opening. Augustovson quickly followed, only to find the hallway empty. “Anton?” Anton pointed up. “Through the ventilation shaft.” The doctor curled his hand, grasping the air and pulling towards himself, and the cheap thermoplast ceiling began to creak, flake and collapse. Electrical wires dangled from the shattered surface sparking as a buckled square pipe fell to the ground. But Jacoombs was not among the wreckage. “Follow me, he’s gone this way” * * * Commendations: Half-General Ginger Arcanthan: “…exemplary interrogation techniques. I intend to employ Agent Augustovson, if available, in all future Concept suppression missions… when attacked by rogue entities the doctor handled himself in a professional manner, slaying all interlopers through sufficient and discreet arcane measures.”  

Minister Montcom Wolphe: “He laid waste to the settlement without regard for conscience and with an admirable thoroughness. I have no difficulty recommending him for future missions.”  

|-|@ks0r |\/|@x1mus “S7ryf”: “Augustovson’s spirits made a mockery of the database that I needed shut down. He came through in a pivotal segment of a multi-stage raid, and thus comes with my highest recommendation. And when he dropped that Buick on the bad guy it totally rocked!”  

VP of Finances, Johnstone Textiles, Claude Van Oort: “…his speculations were spot on, and even when his divinations were lacking he was more than willing to do the legwork to ensure his initial prediction, despite what would have otherwise occured. In light of that I have no problem recommending Dr. Sinclair to anyone…” * * * The chase had lasted the better part of an hour, with rarely a moment of visual contact with Jacoombs when the pair came to an airlock. “We’re close. Jus’ the other side of this.” Augustovson pulled the release button and scowled. “Tell me now, Anton, what should one do when faced with an encrypted door?” Anton stammered “I… I… what would you do?” “Simple, Anton. There are creatures of the astral plane adept at any mundane practice. It is simply a matter of knowing how to bridge the astral rift and draw a suitable thing through it. What spirit should I use?” “A being of Doors?” “Possibly, but convincing something mechanical to perform its function is rather a chore. Perhaps this?” Augustovson reached into a burlap sack about his belt and withdrew a simple rotary lock. He briefly displayed it to Anton, and then began to rotate the dial, going left, then right, then left again in an algorithmic pattern that all things made of magic know. Soon the lock began to glow with a kenning brilliance that shook the room and doused it in crackling lights. Then the lock became a door, and an impish little thing emerged, clinging to the lock’s circular edge, pulled against its wishes into a foreign plane. Its bulging eyes reflected numbers and sigils spinning and interlocking at a bewildering intensity, its limbs were bolts of lightning and appendages both, and it stood to its full 5 inch height at the foot of the airlock with a gaze of hate and subordination. “Little Cypher, open this door and you may return to your bed of code to once more haunt the dreams of programmers.” For but a moment, all of the markings of its pupils became aligned, and the Cypher grinned an inscrutable grin. It leapt into the control panel of the airlock, and within a breath the inner door began to groan open. Then the buttons of the panel lit up red, and gazed in the form of eyes with malice at the one that had brought it here. “I release you, little one, and know that I will speak well of you to the Great Enigma when next I speak to it.” The outer door creaked open. Augustovson and Anton idled out into the depths of space, the former robust and majestic, the latter mimsy and ill fitting in their spacesuits. Augustovson’s radio crackled, “Remember, Anton. You don’t have to know how to do everything. That’s actually quite impossible (or at least improbable). Instead, draw from the infinite sources of the universe. Somewhere, some thing wants to do the very thing you need done, or can be coerced into doing it. The first option is, naturally, better, but never forgo the second because of fear of some petty enmity. Simply don’t abuse help that can one day hope to challenge you.” “Yessir.” Anton replied as he gingerly thrust himself away from the airlock. The door faced into the primary shaft of Genghis III, a long tunnel not less than 20 meters in diameter that reached three quarters of the way to the core of the asteroid. Mining an object such as this was not a delicate process. The iron walls of the passage were blackened by an onslaught of explosions that had created the hole in the first place. As pieces were broken off from the bottom of the mine they were pushed up the hollow and intercepted by a series of large, extendable mechanical hands which, through a sequence of mounted lasertorches, electro-picks, and mineral filters would distil the useful metals from the wasted carbon and hydrogen. Miners would attach themselves to these motorized limbs, and manually operate the equipment in antiquated suits which they brought and maintained (or in most cases didn’t maintain) themselves. A day rarely went by when an employee didn’t take a wrong step and become processed just like any other chunk of rock, or even worse, an arm would malfunction and an entire crew would be lost. Anton looked behind him just soon enough to see one such articulated arm swing for the back of his head. He shouted an exclamation as he performed a full retro-thrust in a negative ‘Z’ direction (relative to his orientation). The blow of the stalk glanced off his helmet, torquing him on a clockwise relative ‘Y’ spin. A laser torch bathed him in plasma radiation, but its focal point missed the boy by a scant few inches, as he reeled head first into the opposite wall. The arm followed through towards the doctor, who effortlessly deflected it with a telekinetic impulse. Three arms circled Augustovson, their digits curled up like dukes, their torches flaring with menace. The entire column was bathed in spotlights, blinding the pair floating in space. The dread appendages were motivated with fell practice, descending all at once upon them. A burst of wreathing flames erupted from the archmage’s outstretched palm, severing one before it could even get close. It careened off of the shaft wall, sending jagged shrapnel in all directions. The doctor empowered his forearm and parried the second arm, though it towered over him; a lesser being’s bone would have been crushed. The third arm drew across his chest, ripping his suit and spreading his organs into the vacuum of space.
Crystals of blood decorated the mine shaft walls. * * * Jarl Azure Decker, Duke of the Twelfth Tier: “Make no mistake, Doctor Augustovson Sinclair spares no quarter, and expects none to be spared. He is relentless in his pursuits, a master magus, and a paragon of all drinks mixed. Without the least hesitation I grant this agent the highest of my praises. His continued service at Pinnacle raises the standard of the whole organization.” Status: Deceased * * * “But Sinclair’s dead.” “Of course he’s dead.” “Well, you’re not going to recruit him from the dead are you?” “Ghastly, Kaplin. I wouldn’t imagine it.” “So…” Kaplin tore his eyes from the scroll. “You’re not looking closely enough.” “Wha?” “Try looking again.” Lemon’s gaze met his. “Pinnacle faked his death so that the doctor could continue his work?” “No, Kaplin. I’m beginning to become a trifle disappointed with you” “Fuck then, what?!” “Anton, Kaplin. Where is he now?” “How the fuck should I… wait… why the kid?” * * * Anton leapt from the mine wall, expending what remained of his propulsion canisters ducking beneath the storm of metallic appendages. Impossibly his vision was not overcome by the blinding lumens of the spotlights and arc-welders. The cavern erupted in a furious radiance, yet the boy propelled himself towards the base of one of the arms. Jacoombs was waiting for him, with his control glove worn on one hand and a pistol in the other; it discharged, missing the boy. Anton flipped around to the underside of the mechanism and engaged his magnets as another shot ricocheted off of the arm. Within moments he closed the distance and lunged for the felon. The two hurtled off the arm towards the jagged caveside, with Jacoombs pummelling the kid the whole way with his pistol butt. This persisted only for a moment, as Walter-Lee connected with the wall. His suit was split and then violently depressurized, but before the Kren-addled eyes of the hunted man could close, Anton plunged a needle through the visor, through the skull and into the brain of his prey. The brain’s memories poured in liquid form into the back of a syringe. * * * Lemon rolled his eyes, “Because Kaplin. Augustovson was one of Pinnacle’s best. He turned down desk job and desk job to stay in the field. He made 7^th degree, he was rated in one sphere as 9^th degree; do you have any idea how rare that is? He was in the game far longer than he should have been, but succeeded regardless because he knew what was what.” “And somewhere in there this kid fits in?” “I knew Augustovson personally, and he, much like me, never made a decision without sound reasoning. He chose Anton to be his personal aid for a very clear reason, had the pick of the litter, really. When Augustovson died, who completed the mission?” “That kid.” “Correct. He incarcerated a dangerous felon in his own territory that clearly had made preparations to make a run for it. He had no external assistance against someone who quite likely far more treacherous than he was, yet came out on top. I would really like to see what made this child such a worthwhile choice to old Sinclair.” “Ok, now you’re not the only one.” The transportation module slid open, revealing an octagon doorway. “This is our stop, by the way.” Before them lay the solid aquamarine double doors to the briefing room. They descended with a shudder into the floor, revealing a conference table, a wide screen television, a popcorn maker and a tall backed chair facing away from the door. “And besides,” noted Lemon, glancing down once more at the digital scroll, “he’s already on the case.” * * * The mission was a success. Mr. White would need to be debriefed.  

Chapter 12 By Carl McPherson 

Jericho woke with a start covered in sweat.  Although the fear of the nightmare was still fresh in his mind, he couldn’t remember what it was about.            After turning on all the lights in his apartment,
Jericho took a shower.  Afterwards he grabbed the morning paper and sat in his favourite chair with it.  He smiled at the name of the newspaper “The Ministry”.  He wondered if there were actually ministries for each of the sections in the newspaper.  Ministry of Sports, Ministry of Business, Ministry of Entertainment, Ministry of Travel, Ministry of Employment, Ministry of Death…            “That sounds like a lively job.”  He said as he snickered as his stupid joke.  “Now if there was a Ministry of Sex, that’s the place I’d want to work.”  He got dressed as he read through the file that Zuul had given him.  Once finished he place the file back into his trench coat.            He had acquired the trench coat during one of his visits to the Ministry of Ill Begot.  He had liberated an ID badge from a drunken ministry worker at the Creamery Goodness.  He was there retrieving some items for a client that the Ministry had confiscated.  He was in a restricted area when he bumped into a female agent.  He quickly read her ID badge, Agent Forrestor, and apologized for the incident and went on his way.  It seemed that the agent didn’t like something about him as he had almost gotten caught in an area that he could not turn invisible.   

He heard security coming and was perplexed when he stayed visible.  He quickly scanned the room that he was in looking for a place to hide and tried not to let panic set in.  The room had a wide variety of stuff and he had almost given up hope when he found a very large coat rack with equally large coats hanging from it.  He climbed into a trench coat and closed it around him.  Moments later he heard security enter the room.  He listened as they talked while searching the room.  They left once they were satisfied that no one was in the room.  A short time later
Jericho tried to climb out of the coat, but his foot got caught on a pocket and he ended up knocking the whole coat rack over.After climbing out of the mess of coats, he listened intently to see if anyone had heard the noise and was coming.  Once he was sure that no one was coming, he pulled himself out of the coats.  It wasn’t until he was about to open the door to the room that he noticed that the coat he had hid in now fit him perfectly.  He decided to keep the coat and then made his way out of the ministry making sure to avoid any agents.            As time passed,
Jericho found that the coat was able to hold an undeterminable amount of things of various sizes.  Also when he wanted to get something specific out of the coat, as he thought about it, the item in question would be accessible.  If the coat had other powers
Jericho hadn’t discovered them as of yet.           
Jericho stepped into a large room and started placing things that he figured that he would need on this little assignment into the coat.  Once he was done he headed back into the living room.  He was just about to walk out the front door, when a thought hit him.            “Key.”  He said to himself and put his hand into a pocket of the trench coat.  As usual, the key was the first thing he grabbed.  He pulled it out and looked it over.  The key in question was an old style skeleton key, but instead of made of metal it was made of bone.  The key was one of the things that he got from Zuul, made they made their original deal and as far as
Jericho knew, the key was able to open any door.            He put the key back in his pocket and caught something in the paper that got his attention.  Of course, he thought to himself, where else would you go to find someone? The Ministry of People            With that thought he headed out the front door and into the streets joining the masses of people heading off to start their day.            He had entered the Tatterdowns and was getting closer to the Blue Moon bar.  His mind was on Clemancy, and it took several minutes to realize that the voice he was hearing was actually in his head.  He stopped so suddenly that several people almost ran into him.  He didn’t notice.            Over here, Alley you come.  The voice said and kept repeating.  Looking around
Jericho didn’t see anyone watching him directly, but he was still wary of the voice.  With a flick of his wrist, the hilt of a throwing knife slid into his left hand.  He focused his mind on the voice, and kept his thoughts off the knife.            Yes, good.  Alley you come.  The voice said.  Once in the darkness of the alley
Jericho faded from sight and slowly walked further towards the unknown voice.            You, where you gone?  The voice asked. 
Jericho felt the confusion the other mind.            ‘What do you want?’ 
Jericho thought.            You still here? Where? The voice asked.            ‘Answer my question first, or I am out of here.’            No, don’t leave.  You were thinking of Clemancy, where is she?  The voice asked fearfully.            ‘I don’t know.  I was looking for her myself.’ 
Jericho thought.  ‘What is she to you?’            She’s my bo… she is a friend.            ‘Where are you? Why are you hiding?’ 
Jericho asked.            Why are you?  The voice asked. 
Jericho sighed this was getting frustrating.            ‘I am hiding because I don’t know who you are and why you want to talk to me.’I told you, I am looking for Clemancy.            ‘Just because you said that she is your friend, why should I believe you?  How do I know that you aren’t out to hurt her or something?’  He hoped to draw out a little more information by goading the voice a little.            No, I would never do that she is my bo… friend.  The voice said almost giving away a secret.  Clemancy wouldn’t be happy if he got himself taken away to the Ministry.            There it was again.  The voice almost said boss twice, or he hoped it was boss.  He decided to try something.  A moment later
Jericho became visible.  He pulled a dead rat out of a pocket with his right hand, his left still holding the hilt of the knife.  He tossed the rat up and down.            ‘It seems that we have the same goal.’ Again he tosses the rat up but this time he sees a blur rush towards him, catching the rat in mid air. 
Jericho turned knife at the ready and barely saw the outline of something eating the rat.            “Charlie I presume?” 
Jericho said out loud.  The dragonette quickly finished the rat and stared at the human kneeling in front of him.            How do you know my name?  Charlie asked scanning the human’s thoughts.            “I know many things, like the fact that you like rats.” 
Jericho said as he pulled another rat out of a pocket.  The dragonette’s eyes tracked the movements of the rat in
Jericho’ hand.  “So why don’t you tell me why you aren’t with Clemancy.”  When it seemed that the dragonette was hesitating,
Jericho put the rat away.            “What? Why is the rat gone?”  Charlie asked aloud.            “Well you aren’t playing the game.”            Game, I like games.  Charlie said excitedly. 
Jericho sighed.            “I am trying to get information from you, and the rat is payment.  But since you are unwilling to tell me what I want to know, I don’t need to have the rat out.”  He explained as he slid the throwing knife back up into its sheath.            You bring the rat back, and I’ll tell you.  Charlie said, his head unconsciously moving side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of the rat. 
Jericho pulled out the rat and tossed it into the air.  Charlie quickly snatched it out of the air and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.           
Jericho waited patiently as Charlie enjoyed the rat.  He listened intently as Charlie explained being spotted by people, running home, and the people at the door. 
Jericho had another rat in his hand as Charlie explained Clemancy’s meeting with the half demon and the gentleman and then how she passed out.               She fell down and I lost her thoughts.  The half demon’s thoughts were of worry, and soon others in the bar were coming over to check on her.  I lost sight of her with everyone around and soon I lost the thoughts of the half-breed in the confusion of everyone else’s thoughts about my boss.  Clemancy would be proud of me; I made sure no one saw me.  Soon I lost sight of the gentleman and the half-breed.  People thought they saw them carry her out of the bar, but no one was sure where they went.  I snuck outside but couldn’t see or hear any of them.  I hid in this alley hoping that they would come back.  I listened to people as they passed hoping to hear something.  I found out that way.           
Jericho tossed Charlie the rat as he mulled over the information.  If people were looking for Clemancy, then he didn’t think her two companions would take her to a hospital.  After several minutes he decided that the best thing to do for now was carry on to the ministry of people.  Maybe they could find something out there.            Good idea.  Charlie thought. 
Jericho looked at the dragonette.            “Don’t do that.”  He said.            Sorry.            “First thing to do is to get you a hiding place.  Knapsack.” 
Jericho called and pulled out a large knapsack out of the trench coat.  “Hop in and keep your head down.”  Charlie looked at the knapsack with some trepidation.  “Hey this is the easiest way to keep you with me and for you not to get caught.”  Charlie climbed in and got himself comfortable.  “Ready?” 
Jericho asked as he closed one of the clasps.            Ready. 
Jericho hefted the backpack onto his shoulder and walked out to the end of the alley.  He looked around to see if anyone was watching.  He saw no one, but that didn’t mean anything.           
Jericho readjusted the knapsack and then eased himself into the late morning crowd and continued his journey to the Ministry of People.

Chapter 11 by Helene Neale 

“ How soon before he is ready?” asks the handsome gentleman with cobalt hair of his associate.“ Within the week”“ Excellent. What of the other?” There is a slight pause while the associate thank of her reply.“ Our charms are not having the desired effect.  She seems to have an unusual immunity to them, but she shall be ours very soon.  I’ve arranged for her pick up.”“Let us hope so.  If we have to wait too much longer then she will no longer be a suitable vessel.  You know how much I Dislike starting over again.” Circling his associate, he ran his hands through her full curls.  The associate leaned into his caress, then entices his hand into hers and looked into his green eyes and smiled seductively, “Do not worry my dear, you shall have the child and all she will give.” Tossing back his cobalt hair, he turned her palm face up and with his other hand trailed his fingers up over her wrists, to lightly tickle the tattooed rose on her forearm.  The fingers continue their journey up her arm onto her shoulder and behind her head.  Grabbing a handful of hair, he aggressively pulled her to him and looked at her with an unnatural light emanating from his eyes.  Sneering at her and commenting, “ You better believe the child will be mine.  You would find the consequences otherwise rather…unfortunate.”   Throwing her away like day old garbage he walked around his desk studying his notes dismissing his associate. 

*                  *                    * 

‘You’ll not get away from me this time’ thought Charlie while adjusting his back legs ready to pounce his unsuspecting prey.  It just sat there, oblivious to the danger lurking behind.   Muscles bunching he readied himself to leap forward.  Like the breath of death Charlie’s muscles contracted sending him forward to capture his prey.  Just as his claws are about to dig into his prey, he hears the sound of keys in the lock and picked up on Clemancy’s thoughts.  He landed deftly next to the prey sending it a look of frustration and bounded over to the couch to camouflage against it.  Looking over at his prey he thought ‘Fate has spared you this day, but there will be other days.  You will rue the day you thought you would thwart me.’ The prey chooses not to respond as it continued to sit in its blue, red and black splendour on the floor.Charlie’s bond mate Clemancy absentmindedly walked into the apartment and kicks the ball across the room, blue, black and red colours flashing in the light. Heading towards the table she deposited her bag and stared at the silver envelope in her hand.  Charlie tried to get an impression of Clemancy’s mood, but had a hard time making sense of her fear shrouded thoughts.  He watched the ball roll by and thinks ‘run, run, wherever you go I will find you.’  The ball chuckled in reply as it rolled away to hide under a chair.A dull thud brought his attention back to Clemancy.  Looking in her direction he saw the remnants of small hairs floating to the ground.“ Charlie, I brought you something”.Looking around for the promised gift he saw a new prey, this one worth hunting.  Coming out from under the couch he started stalking the dead rat Clemancy threw down for him.  Slowly approaching, least the slightest sounds scare it away he inched closer. The only sounds audible, the slow rhythmic breathing of Clemancy and the hum of the fridge.  Flies quickly gathered on the carcass prodding Charlie to hurry, least he have to share his meal.  Once within range, Charlie’s muscular legs bunched and contracted, launching him on top of the rat.  Sinking his teeth into the flesh he ripped off small pieces to swallow.  After a few minutes of stuffing his face in this manner, he asks of Clemancy ‘Hey boss, you got more?’“Sorry Charlie, I don’t.  Besides they would make you fat.”‘Fat good.  The ladies like fat.  It means I a good hunter’“Well then mighty hunter, go catch your own.” Opening a window to let Charlie out she added, “Don’t be seen.” Hopping onto the table from the floor Charlie peeked at what Clemancy brought home and saw a torn price of paper and a silvery envelope marked AOracle Inc.  Meekly walking over to Clemancy he tried to figure out what had gotten her so distracted.  Never having learned to read he can’t figure out why paper would distract her so.  Climbing onto her shoulder he gently rubbed his head on her cheek.  She gives him a quick scratch under the chin and statted  “ Get out of here you rascal.” Hopping over to the windowsill Charlie gave her a toothy grin and headed out the window.  Opening his wings to catch the air he soared out over the buildings, a dark shape against a darkening sky.Each membrane extended, sensitive to the surrounding air, Charlie soared high overhead, his green eyes searching for some entertainment.  Changing the direction of his flight Charlie found himself a neat little perch atop the Blue Moon.  The Blue Moon is a relatively busy tavern within the Tatterdowns.  As with most buildings in this area, it was a cast off reject of a computer unreality.  With crazily leaning blue walls trying to represent a crescent moon, it look to be constantly falling down but managed to stay upright.  Bricks jutted out at odd angles and places giving it a rough-textured exterior, beyond that some genius decided to spruce up the exterior by adding gargoyles, which only made it more grotesque.  Yet, despite the bad architecture, it was still one of the busier establishments outside the actual Ministry of People. Perching on a piece of jutting brick out about a foot over the door, Charlie thought stony thoughts and blended with the building making himself look like one of several gargoyles that adorn the tavern.Standing at an impressive 15 inches, Charlie is a fair representation of his species.  Small coppery scales adorn his hide that change colour with a mere thought.  Iridescent green eyes watch with cat like interest at people walking by. Making himself comfortable, he neatly folded his wings along his back, wrapping his tail around his powerful back legs, talons gripping the stone.  Charlie’s favourite pastime was people watching, seeing the diversity and schemes they thought were secure from prying eyes. Moving slowly to maintain his camouflage, the dragonette peered over the edge of his perch, reptilian snout peaking down at the people traveling by the Blue Moon.  The strangest sorts would pass by either on their way to or from the Ministry of People.  There were tall ladies with coifs that stood two feet tall escorted by gentlemen no taller then 2.5 ft tall.  Some of the more peculiar include half breed demons wearing blue suede suits and heavily tattooed personages where the tattoos seem to come to life and move on their own.Spotting one such unusual pair, Charlie focused his attention of them.  This pair consists of two men, a half-breed hiding his true form and a well dressed, if dated, gentleman.  Concentrating on the half-breed Charlie picked up excitement and purpose from his surface thoughts.  The other one he can’t read.  Not liking this fact, Charlie crawled back into the shadows of the building, taking off after them via the rooftops trying to peer into the gentleman’s thoughts.Using all his concentration on breaching this mystery, Charlie flew right into the open.  Panic quickly set in, as the words “Don’t be seen”, echo in his head.  Pedestrians of every sort stopped and stared in silent shock at his rare form.  The two men have also stopped and watched with mild curiosity.  One of the many strangers in the crowd flicked her hand up.  In a blind panic Charlie blotted high into the sky and ran right through an insectoid leaving little insectoid bits to fall on the crowd below, never noticing the little bug that bit him on the base of his tail.Flying high overhead and through trees trying to avoid further notice Charlie returned to Clemancy with due alacrity, trusting in her to cover up any reports.  Stopping in a tree just short of the window, Charlie took a moment to clear his thoughts and catch his breath.  It would not help matters if Clemancy picked up what was on his mind before he could explain himself, she would just get upset and shut him out.  He can’t take that risk with some foreign source trying to influence her mind.Looking around Charlie ensured the coast was clear and hopped out of the tree to soar to the windowsill, landing delicately on the edge and peering inside.  His tiny chirps a greeting to Clemancy whose smile is quickly followed by a scowl. “Damn it Charlie, you have been chasing those damn insectoids again haven’t you?” Placing the still unopened envelope from AOracle on the table she walked over to grab Charlie.  One hand over each wing, she picked him up and carried him at arms length to the sink.  Turning a few shades paler, Charlie got a slight sinking feeling knowing what was coming and not sure which to fear more, the threatening wash or telling Clemancy about being seen.“This is for your own g…”Knock.  Knock.  Knock.Clemancy froze still holding her illegal creature at arms length wondering who in the world would be knocking on her door at this time of the day. 

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.“Open up, we know you’re in there, we can sense you” stated a masculine voice from the other side of the door, the echo of his statement resonating through her head.  Turning very pale she carefully set Charlie down oblivious to the insectoid bits on her hands.  Running to the table she quickly scooped everything into her bag.  Feeling and sharing her fear, Charlie scurried over to the couch to haul out Clemancy’s pack from between the cushions and dragged it over to her.  Grabbing the bag in thanks she throws her purse into it then held it open for Charlie to climb in.‘Can you block them out Charlie?’ Clemancy thought to Charlie.‘Already doing it Boss’“Damn, she’s blocking us!” surprise and outrage filled the masculine voice on the other side of the door.“Break it down”Pack in hand, Clemancy raced for the fire exit as the pounding continued on her front door.Bang. BANG! CRASH!The door gave under the abuse it was receiving and three individuals rushed into the now empty flat and recoil at the stench of week old food and feces. Racing down the fire escape Clemancy swung the pack to her shoulders.  Jumping down the last few steps, she slipped on a piece of filth and jarred her ankle painfully.  Charlie momentarily lost his hold on the block as he got tossed around in the bag as Clemancy stumbled.  Half limping, half running, Clemancy headed down the alley closely followed by curses as Charlie regained hold of the block.  Trusting to Charlie, she headed to the only place where she knows she can lose them…the Ministry of People.Dodging debris piles better left undisturbed, she ducked back and forth between back alleys and side streets trying to lose her pursuers in the maze of streets.  Grabbing an old coat hanging from a line, she through it over her shoulders in an attempt at disguise.  Dodging into an unmarked doorway, she slipped inside and peered out the crack in the door, watching for pursuit.  Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass with no sign of anyone.  Tentatively peeking out the doorway, she carefully eased herself out and hobbled her way towards the Ministry of People.Aptly named, the Ministry of People is where anyone can go to find workers, employers or friends with which to spend time.  Shaped like a pebble dropped into water, the rings ever expanding outwards.  The closer to the center one moved, the higher the cost for doing business there.  The majority of the middle class establishments are located in the third ring from the center.  One such establishment was her eventual goal, whether see knew it or not.Wondering through the fifth ring of the Ministry of People, Clemancy started feeling hopeless as the reality of her situation finally sank in.  Spotting a bench, she headed towards it in the hopes to relieve some pressure on her ankle.  Sitting down she swung her pack into her lap cradling it like a baby.  Feeling this as good a time as any, Charlie decided to tell her of his adventures.‘Hey Boss, I have something to tell ya.’‘What is it Charlie?’‘Well you remember when you said don’t be seen?’‘Yeah?…’ with some trepidation.‘Well…I was…’“You what?!?”Some pedestrians’ looked at her strangely, as they walked by, a few with raised eyebrows.  Drawing her knees up she curled into a ball on the bench draped protectively around her pack and in turn Charlie within it.Light as a feathers touch, he replies ‘Sorry boss…’‘Tell me what happened’ Charlie explained to her his adventures and showed her the two individuals he was following, much to her surprise.‘Do you think you could find them again?’‘I think so Boss’ he replied somewhat hesitantly.‘Good then, that is what we will do.  I need to see him’‘You sure Boss?’‘Yes absolutely.  Now be still a moment while I find a place to let you out unseen.’ Uncurling slowly, Clemancy started looking around for a place to let Charlie out.  Standing up she noticed the filth making her clothes stiff.  Sitting back down, she reached into her pack looking for some spare change for a quick clean.  Careful not to squish Charlie, while reaching into her purse she pulled out her last few coins.  On the move again, she headed to the public cleaning facilities.The cleaning facilities are scattered throughout the Ministry of People.  It was all a matter of how much you wanted to pay and how many perks went along with it.  Clemancy choose one within the fifth circle of the Ministry of People.  The building she approached was a rather non-descript rectangular building with few windows and one door.  Stepping inside she approached a geisha looking man chatting behind his desk to a really short portly woman.  As she approached, they both turned their combined stare at her.  Feeling a little self-conscious, she stammerd…“I would like to use the sonic showers…no frills or extras…I just want a basic wash”The geisha turned his nose up at her and tried not to inhale to deeply.  Tapping into a console on the desk he ripped off a small piece of paper and handed it across the desk careful not to contaminate himself with anything Clemancy might be carrying.  Sighing at the cost, Clemancy left the appropriate cash, took the paper and headed to the back of the building.The sonic stalls were glass enclosures.  There was a small panel on the outside where you punch in your number received from the front desk.  Then you stepped into it and it bombards you with ultrasonic vibrations that knock most of the dirt off you.  Clemancy approached one such stall and punched in her number.  Not bothering to get undressed, she stepped in taking her pack with her.  Closing her eyes, Clemancy waited for the start of the cycle, dreading the nausea that usually accompanies a sonic shower.  The shower lasted for about fifteen seconds.  Swallowing her bile, she give herself a shake to clear most of the debris that was still clinging.Feeling cleaner, Clemancy left the cleaning facility and with purposeful strides headed towards an alley.  Within the alley, she looked around then opens her pack and let Charlie out.  Looking a little greener then usual, Charlie crawled out of the bag and took flight.  Looking around again, Clemancy put her pack back on and headed back to the street.Meandering down the street looking into various establishments, she watched the other patrons of the Ministry of People, in particular watching for those that were chasing her earlier. A half hour passes in this manner when Clemancy received a message from Charlie.‘Boss…I found them, they just entered into The Queens Sorrow in the third ring.’‘Thanks Charlie, stay out of sight but keep an eye on them, I should be there shortly.’Six blocks later, Clemancy approached a rather busy establishment.  The sign above the door had a picture of a king buggering himself on a dog.  The exterior looked almost medieval with large grey bricks and an old wooden door.  Several patrons were sitting on the patio enjoying a late evening drink.  Walking through the tables and slightly inebriated customers, Clemancy pushed the door open and walked in.  Inside the place was packed and there was a dull roar of noise from the various patrons enjoying themselves. Scanning the various patrons, she spotted Kaplin and agent Lemon at a table in one of the booths having a drink and discussing something.  A large duffel bag sat on the table between them.‘Charlie, I found them.  Keep your eyes open and stay hidden.  I should be out in a few.’‘Right boss.’ Weaving through the crowd, she grabbed what is left of her cash and headed towards their table.“…think the ghast meant?”“How the hell would I know, you were the one that solved its riddle.”“Maybe it was referring to…” Stepping towards the table, Clemancy cleared her throat, not wishing to disturb these men but not wanting to stand by all night while they talked about ghast riddles.“I am sorry to interrupt but I was in the neighbourhood and saw you in here. I wanted to give you this for earlier…” Not yet recognizing who they were talking to, Kaplin and Lemon where not sure what to make of the interruption by this women whose hair framed her face in a halo.  Finally free of weeks worth of grim and dirt, Clemancy’s hair floated free and framed her delicate features. Peering closely at Clemancy, Lemon dug in his pocket to look at the card he received earlier.  Glancing from it to Clemancy he shook his head and put the card back in his pocket.“Well if you are in the Neighbourhood, why not sit for a moment and have a drink?” Lemon sat up a little and placed his left hand over his right, hiding the glowing sigil on the back of his right hand.  Looking a little indecisive but not wanting to be rude, Clemancy took a seat.  Not quite sure where to begin, she pushed her loose change towards Lemon.  Saving her from her dilemma, Lemon continued in an innocent tone “So what brought you to this neighbourhood Miss Forrester?  No trouble I presume”Suddenly feeling like a cornered animal she stammered, “ Trouble, no trouble” at the same time attempting to get up and leave.  With an iron grip Lemon grabbed her forearm with his right hand and stated “I think you should stay”.  Between the steely gaze and the iron grip, the command sank in but was quickly followed by a white flash behind her eyes and a glimpse of a man in his mid thirties, cobalt hair framing his surprised expression, before it all faded to black, a tiny voice calling ‘Boss? BOSS?!?’

Chapter 10 by Robert 

A Kestrel ghast is a former demon who had its soul ripped from it by a soul collector. This left them very angry half alive demons / ghosts. Often a ghast will take a job to make the doldrums of endlessly walking the earth somewhat enjoyable. Commonly these jobs are said to be callous and annoying. Jobs like bus drivers, department of motor vehicles administration, Starbucks baristas and pet grooming assistants. Kestrel took a different career choice - a puzzle assassin.Kestrel lived in cramped apartment with his mother slime still dripping fresh from the ceiling and down the walls. Kestrel never washed them after she passed on. Today Kestrel was enjoying his late afternoon cup of tea. His tea of choice was a quick mix of Indian Chai and fermented fish livers gave this pot its own disgusting ad yet appealing scent. Blasting on the telly was the recent rugby game between IL Begots and Greenlight, the local windmill making company, while in the kitchen was the smell of burnt kittenpot pies.A whine rang through the cramped apartment while Kestrel tried to balance his teaspoon and the remote on the same claw. As if being a demon which looks more like a cross between a lobster and a grizzly bear was hard enough then there is the whole ‘ghast’ factor as well. Ghasts give off semi solid wisps of ether which often come drifting off your a ghasts hairy shell, given they have one.The wisps wrapped around the phone and began to lift it when Kestrel answered.“My fee is equal to the contract primed by tin and factored against at least three filters. Counter speak now.”This was very common in puzzle assassin negotiations. Kestrel’s mother was always proud of her bug’s loud vocal spells. Mother Kestrel often told this to any or every of her victims when she was alive. She even had a signature on her email that bragged as such to online strangers.“Two to the factor of five. Your contract is accepted. Soon you will see the fill-in the blanks. Please do not take your time. Effort in an essence.” The grating screen of metal on metal had a voice that replied to Kestrel’s demands.A large sigh from Kestrel as he continued to stir his tea and zoom into the crotch shot of one of the kickers to an Ill Begots player when slowly the screen morphed into a snapshot of two people leaving the Pinnacle. Fuzzy shots of Mathew Lemon and the half demon named Kaplin appeared and within moments so did graffiti who whoever was sending the broadcast. Mathew hat suddenly became a large 70’s afro and Kaplin had Dumbo-like ears and shades, one of his teeth knocked out and holding a tail in a provocative way. Brush of a wisp turned off the telly yet the images remained and then slowly faded away.Kestrel took the time to finish his tea since they were not due to be near for another few minutes or so the cryptic symbols at the bottom of the telly currently read. 

+ + + 

Now we change scenes. Please feel free to take a break. Fart or do whatever human bodily function / addiction / refueling you require. We shall begin in the next paragraph. 

 + + +  

The room wouldn’t stop spinning, not even when he begged it to while on his knees and praying to the Porcelain shrine with various stomach fluids and former dinners in liquid form exhaling from his mouth at high speeds.            Never again was a phrase that wasn’t in Kaplin’s vocabulary so he couldn’t curse the fact that drinking, fucking and smoking out a room full of undead at the House of Couches or the next-door party room, Eisley’s, was a stupid idea and one he shouldn’t attempt again in the future but alas. Gripping the stall’s doorframe, Kaplin tried to get up yet only to succumb to fucking gravity and his disorientation. Hitting the shrine with such force that he shattered the lid did slightly make an impact that perhaps such events should not occur during the week and at lunch.“Yurgzy ill ‘stand…” was all that Kaplin could muster without expelling more protein and flesh all over the floor. Okay. One more try and this time with force Kaplin managed to raise himself, a little bit of stuff dribbled out his mouth as he got to his feet and giggled, then one step and a lot of swaying – he was OUT!Covered head to toe in vomit that looked more like someone’s brains and guts all over himself, Kaplin smiled at his visual in the mirror only to note that one of the department suckups – assistant to the assistant to the national director of assistants who suck the presidential dick of the Pinnacle’s head director’s assistant was standing there with a wide mouth mason. Dressed to be a while collar nothing and black slacks, this nobody was quickly punching this info into the palmish device implanted on his right wrist.Flashbacks of many naked bodies atop of one another was pushed aside and all Kaplin could see is the palmish device. If word got out that Kaplin was found again in the departmental bathroom covered head to toe in half demon vomit, he would surely loose whatever is left on his free Krustie Krump donuts card discount and FUCK, who can live without those bloody addictions ever Monday morning? I mean the department of Lifestyle recommends them for a healthy demonic diet along with a few pints and a dozen smokes before even attempting to speak on a Monday morning!A rage built up and exploded within Kaplin and within moments the poor suck-up had his head slammed into the now broken and shattered mirror after which nailed the sink on the way down. Fucking gravity again doing its best. Kaplin also hit the mirror and then ripped off the cold water tap to which the bathroom itself had enough and gave out a large scream. It was already had a small portion covered in half demon fluids, a toilet lid broken now add a few mirrors, a nick on one of the sinks from the suck-ups top left incisor. A tooth which was now snuggled in the vomit after being forcible smashed out of the suckups mouth upon impact. That was also painful but luckily the suckup couldn’t understand any of that since taking such a nick out of the sink put him into a concussion and aptly knocked him out of consciousness.Struggling to gain some kind of control, Kaplin reached and punched some of the palmish devices buttons. A voice spoke up and Kaplin just replied, “Everything is fine. How are you?” then noted that it best to just get the fuck outta here before more troops arrive to attend to the screaming bathroom. On his way out Kaplin saw one thing written upon the back of the main doorway and on the condom dispencer:For a great mind ‘uck, call Salty’s [numbers were faded away and / or Kaplin’s eye sight was very blurry given his inebriation]This memory came flooding back to Kaplin as he and Mathew Lemon were riding the short yet terrible shaky serpent rail from South Pinnacle to North Pinnacle and near the rotten mushroom they needed to find to enter Tatterdown. Giving the seat a shake and roll, Kaplin finished off the quick guise glyph on his wrist with a jiffy marker. Taking a good few seconds to sniff the fresh paint and inhale some of those lovely toxic fumes seemed to remind Mathew to pad himself down for his lighter. Never be gone without one he remembered was muttered once from a voice in a cell long ago.Smells of bad perfume, piss and vomit came from the Sloggy beast that moved next to Kaplin and Lemon. Mathew moved slightly behind a cardboard cutout of a Ragged Robin to snort flowered dry paper than the Sloggy beasts sexual juices. Within moments Kaplin got into an argument with the Sloggy beast whos name was Beany Bratts the third and even as they made their way off the serpent rail and along the yellow and red markings where to go to get the funk off the station Kaplin and Beany kept arguing. Mathew pulled on Kaplin’s hoddie but to no avail.Kaplin ended his argument with “Bad dreams, sad scenes and fear can kill yeah!” to which Beany Bratts just slide away leaving his slimy residue all over the station. As the moved on and off the station, Mathew leaned into Kaplin…“Was the necessary?”“Very much so. Do you see this glyph?”“The mark on your han… oh it is now glowing.”“Bad dreams can kill yeah!”“Hmmm… a protection spell?”“Nope. Chaos curse, I just needed someone to activate it so I pissed on the Sloggy beast Beany Bratts.”“And this will do what exactly?”“Think of it as an early warning system. Kinda like Spidery senses without all the webbing.”“Well. Good. Now where do we go?”“Right. Fucking good question.”“You mean to say that you do not know?”“Well, I mean its not flashing in my face at this very secon… oh wait, there it fucking is!”And with that delightful comment, Mathew Lemon and Kaplin stepped down a small alleyway and to a door reading: Brass Monkey. Kaplin smiled to Mathew and licked his lips.            “Are you ready to sing?”“What? Why? This is not a Pinnacle door is it?”The door then roared, “I am no LONGER a Pinnacle door. Did you every hear of the story of the Brass…”Mathew cut off the tone deaf roaring door, “Yes and I do not wish to hear it again, Thank-you. Please open…”, but then stopped when Kaplin shook his head.“I will NOT open up for any agents of the Pinnacle. I have been mocked for years now and I will not listen to you bellow commands to me!”Kaplin just sighed, rolled his eyes as door rambled on and on about why it will not let them in. Moving aside and then Kaplin knelt down next to a small Mushroom that was growing out from the side of the ground next to the large tone deaf door. Lemon took a moment to look and then slowly bent down to see the small mushroom. It almost looked like it was ready to fall over dead but upon further inspection it was one of the most beautiful mushrooms he had ever seen.“Please sing to the ‘shroom and it will open the door.”Mathew began to quietly hum a little verse of Tomoyasu Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor” and while he did the mushroom began to light up and glow. While continuing to hum, Mathew noted that the mushroom was in fact a tiny machine and just made to look like a mushroom as micro panels began to shift and move, revealing and technological workings inside. It was simply amazing and all this time, Kaplin was tried hard to flick a few beer bottle caps he found on the serpent train at a small robin about halfway up the brick building beside them upon a fire escape.The roaring door suddenly stopped speaking and just opened up. Lemon got up and made a mental note to come back one day and examine that mushroom or whatever it is while Kaplin was still trying one last time to peg the robin with his last cap but he was always a bad shot. They stepped through and right into the busy hustle of tatterdown’s main street where ever manner of vehicle was attempting to be on the same road at the very same time, both ways.Kaplin pulled Lemon to the sidewalk and then some, checking his glyph for anything special. Mathew Lemon seemed as though he had just walked through any old door and was not phased at all that a dozen machined monsters almost mowed him down. Kaplin took a moment and leaned against a buildings nicely formatted ceramic exterior wall. At that very moment, his glyph sudden burned on his wrist. As he pulled his hand away, gripping it tight came a large smashing sound from above. As if something large and heavy had just broken through the fine ceramic wall. Kaplin barely got enough time to grab Mathew’s jacket and scream, “RUN!” and start the chase when the shadow fell upon them. Mathew was taking a moment, which was now gone, to check his black bag when Kaplin so rudely grabbed him but when that large shadow drew upon them he knew that it was time. Now was the chase scene.As if lightening hit the street, the ghast made the same bright explosion when it struck the ground and spun its two antenna-like eyes out to spot its prey. Lemon and Kaplin were moving like never before between people who were just stumbling along the mad street of everything imaginable. Mathew’s shoulder drove right through a bald skinny man with strange tattoos, funky glasses and fumbling with a bowel dissembler gun as he made his way for escape. Kaplin smashed his knee into the side of a very goth looking young woman with markings on her face, he didn’t look back, he couldn’t care less. Just keep moving is all they thought.“What in the Pinnacle’s name is that?”“Seems like a ghast to me!”“I thought that all ghasts were captured?”“Well obviously fucking not. I never saw one after anyone… they like to annoy people…”“This is bloody annoying!”“No shit! Why would someone send one after us?”“No. What is it? A serial ghast?”They turned the corner and down another alleyway off the main street, pushing past various drunken, stoned and dead bodies of demons, humans and whatever, they didn’t care. Keep moving is all that mattered.            “No such thing. Wait.”“I am not stopping…”“Fuck, I mean, what else comes after agents?”“Oh bloody hell”“Assassins! No what kind do we have?”Kaplin took a brief moment to look back and saw its predator, a half lobster-bear ghast thing crawling quickly and bouncing off the alleyway walls in pursuit. Wisps of ether flying off it like tassels and attacking anything it comes near by striking the poor sods eyes with needle-like points. A breath and suddenly Kaplin was pulled around the alley exit by Lemon’s grasp and right into a small corner side café. With another step, Kaplin went smashing right into an older bearded man enjoying his smoke and coffee and just about to write another chapter to this bloody mess when Kaplin ended that right quick. All this older man wanted to do was to enjoy a smoke and coffee at a small café in somewhere like Paris or such, well this was Tatterdown but beggars cant be choosers, and just write but not this afternoon. Not only did Kaplin push the man down but stepped on his right hand and kicked him in the chest while continuing down and away with another well groomed man in a trench coat, Lemon.            The man was just about to start cursing at the assholes who just ruined his afternoon, smoke, coffee and inflicted pain upon him but he noted that now they were half way down the new street and away from the café. When some waiters came out to help a large sound of numerous small metallic feet upon brick came into clarity and the Kestrel ghast appear out from the alleyway. Within moments it was passing by but its wisps reached out and poked out the eyes of two of the waiters but left the older man. Kaplin took the moment to look back again and answered while they both dodged a camel taking a dump and spit.“Right. It must be a puzzle assassin. Its taking eyes!”“Is that a sign of a puzzle assassin?”“No. It’s a obsession of puzzle assassins ghasts, they hate being seen when they are in pursuit. Looses the enigma of the chase.”“Oh so we are rightly dead then?”“No. Wait. What is Salty’s phone number?”
“Who?”
“Salty’s? What is his number? Fuck man, remember!”“Are you talking to me?”“Come on, remember… you smashed the sucks head… what is Salty’s number?”“You are obviously not talking to me.”The Kestrel ghast was almost upon the two of them when they turned yet another corner store and almost ran into two young men standing right there in full Pinnacle militia gear. Kestrel took this slow down to its own advantage and decided to put some fear into his chase, he raised his claw and slammed it right through one of the two militia men standing right there while both Kaplin and Lemon jumped aside. Within a moment, Kestrel whipped back his claw and held the young man’s still beating heart. Kestrel started to crackle and laugh when suddenly everything just stopped.Stone cold dead. No noise. No nothing. Kaplin and Lemon took a moment to get up from the ground where they fell aside and brush themselves off. The Kestrel ghast was looking around in much confusion with a young man’s heart in claw. Kaplin leaned into Mathew.“What is it? Salty’s number?”“I really do not know. Do you know what is happening here?”“Re-write.”“What? Really? So soon?”“Yup. See here come the censors…”And on cue stepped in two young men dressed all in white with black strips over their eyes. Only one of the two young censors spoke.“Right. Now who did this?”At that moment the older man from the café made his way down and just points out towards you. Yes, you the reader but its almost as if he is pointing past you, just to the right.“He did this. He knows the rules and yet… well, we all know his reputation… like a tide that one is!”Just then another mid thirties overweight man stepped into view and almost as if it just brushed right past you. Yes, you the reader. Standing there in his black socks, black boxers and orange t-shirt and laptop closed in hand.“Hey fuck you! What is this, GI-fucking-Joe? How many people are we putting into this story anyways? I thought there were no rules but oh no!”“No sir, please calm down”“Oh so you think you can just do what you want? Kill anyone you want? What if we just decide to kill one of your creations?”“Fuck man, I don’t shive a git. I told you that long ago!”“Oh yes you just want to either have everyone on the same page and working only this all the time or only when it suits you!”“Please gentlemen, can we just calmly discuss this for a answer?”
“NO! He will not!”
“Fuck you both!”            The other censor was dealing with the young milita man and his lost heart and this was when Kaplin stepped over to the other white censor and nicked his copy of the chapter and flipped back through and to a point. Kaplin took the next few minutes to concentrate hard while the other censor was slowly taking the heart out of the confused Kestrel ghasts claw. Mathew just took note of it all and moved next to Kaplin.“Do you remember now?”“Shhh… I spoke to the device… then I… it was…”“Odd or even?”“I sai… wait. Yes! Odd.”Kaplin then pushed aside the censor and stepped over to Kestrel who suddenly went from a limp bizkit to full battle mode and ready to strike. Lemon was slowly behind Kaplin, no afraid just looking for options, but Kaplin just announced one thing:“97! The answer to your riddle is 97. Salty’s number!”The Kestrel ghast just stared at Kaplin. Very few have been able to figure out his answer and often once they did or do, he ensured that they never would again since they often just blurted it out in chance or luck. No one ever put the answer to any function so I guess the same was to happen here.“The nine is 5+9+5+5 which is 24 which is 2+4 which is 6.”“Seven is 1+5+6+5+5 which is…”“No. Seven is 1+5+4+5+5 not 1+5+6+5+5.”“Oh shit, right, Seven is 20 which is 2+0 which is 2.”Kaplin stepped up and put his hand through the wisps and onto the furry shell of the ghast.“Put your things in order. This is your next step.” At the end of that sentence the Kestrel ghast began to tear up, well as best a lobster-bear-like former and now half dead demon can tear up. It began to snap its claws and cry.“Now is your time to query. Ask!”, the Kestrel ghast let out between cries and leaning against Kaplin’s shoulder. By now the censors had figured out the situation and the two militia men were blinking and looking at each other as if they completely missed out on what had happened. The one young man kept rubbing his chest and in the distance the older man and the overweight thirty something man kept arguing amongst laughter back to the café. Some balance was restored and the rewrite went over very quick and smooth.Kaplin looked to Mathew.            “Well?”Lemon reached into his black bag without taking an eye off the Ghast, he still didn’t trust all this madness that had just passed, then pulled out one of the many objects and asked…

Chapter 9 by William S 

The slow dull beat of a tune he’d never learned the name of merged with his existence. 

His eyelids fluttered and fell, he rolled his head trying to relax neck muscles stiff from sitting hunched up too long. A sliver of a smile turned up the left of his lips. He felt the familiar rush of past power seep into him from the rhythm of the beat. Some memories have a life all their own. They lay dormant, sleeping, then suddenly rush forward from your subconscious to strut and preen, centre stage of your minds immediate mental play. He snagged the powerful memory, chaining it down and played it forward again and again to relish in every nuance and subtlety of ideas the memory was giving him. The music accompanying it growing robust and pondering, feeding off of his desire to relive it. Sucking in a cleansing breath he opened his eyes and glanced down at the mess arrayed with practiced precision before him. He’d been tracing diagrams, maps, and schematics over cups of coffee for what seemed hours. Betraying thoughts of fear and doubt had been plaguing him since the refilling of the cream bowl. The floral pattern, Formica counter top was littered with scraps of ideas all on used paper. One fear was that his ideas were just as used.The music of memory was long in coming. His geometry to gather to himself the tools for tonight’s efforts was sketchy at best. Time to time he’d taken to glancing up to track his surroundings. A tiny hole in the wall coffee shop, booths, a few tables, one long counter with screwed in seating.A chuckle welled in his throat threatening to dislodge the music and fade the memory still trapped on play back. He asked himself why was it he always found himself in coffee dives when the important work needed to be done. His dead sister’s voice whispered from the wings of his internal stage, “
Newton’s Laws demand it. Inertia is just a fancy word for lazy.” He tracked the room again.The scent of grease cooked food, burned coffee and a lemon scented cleaner clung to the place. To his nose not a detestable smell, in many ways it gave him a feeling of home and loving hugs from his mom. His sliver of a smile spread wide to a grin as the memory of peanut butter cookies paid him a flash moment of time, a thought passed by in its wake. “My sister is right I do suffer from Inertia.”Four people shared the dinner with him. Two drunks, one male, one female, one old, faded, used up by years of debauches with the grey areas of existence’s substances. The other young and abused by association. A desperate pair ever seeking to wash away the suffering they had caused themselves. Any excuse to tip a glass, right? Not my fault life dealt me a crummy hand, right? May as well numb the pain, right? I can always quit, right? Right?They were riding out the last few waves of the alcohol sea they’d been swimming in. They had the look and mannerisms of forgotten people, so he gave them their wish. Forgetting about them was easier then continuing to look at them and feeling the longing for companionship. His smile failed, he frowned down into his coffee mug reflection. Even they had some one. The music slowed. He smeared and kicked his emotions into the neglected corner where they belonged. He was here for an important task. Got to keep priorities straight.Somewhere in the kitchen he was sure a cook was puttering, He could hear pots, pans and dishes being moved about. The only other occupant was Beth the over tired looking waitress. She once was pretty, never beautiful but definitely pretty. Stirrings in his cock warned him of his desire for her. Well maybe, it was more her sex he wanted then her.  The part of her that was Beth was irrelevant. All he wanted was tits, ass, and the sweet slick warmth of her twat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and lowered his head over his coffee. White knuckling the mug as he kicked and punched his desires back. The music and power memory were needed. Desperate longings were out of place here. He could satisfy himself latter on a pay slut he chided himself, now was working time, damn it. Fuck. He knew that if he was to act it was now or never. The city demanded its tithe. He could no more walk with it or its ways without the tithe then he could with all the angels in heaven. He was an outsider here. His presence a nagging paper cut to the being of the city. He must pay the tithe, his dues or be cast out. There was a mission to think of, goals to be reached, and objectives to achieve.With a grinding of his teeth and a sigh he opened his eyes, released his grip of the mug and set to work. He checked his notes once more, scanned his maps, hoped his crayon calculations were right and then folded the lot into his old battered leather wallet. The street through the wide front window was crisp and clear. Two taps of his left pinkie on a Pilot ink rune covered Kit Kat wrapper siphoned a taste of power from the memory still playing over and over. The window shuddered and in it mirrors of the reality within the café stilled for the city’s residence to see. Putting on his best smile of harmlessness he motioned for Beth to join him.“Miss? Miss I would like to settle up now.” His voice was deep and thick with maleness. It sounded alien to him, it always did. She walked over, her heels clacking in time with the rising music in his head.“Sure thing honey. That was a bottomless coffee, two slices of pecan pie, and one apple. That’s nine bucks plus taxes. I’ll have the bill in just a second.” She pulled out her pad and flipped a few pages. “The pie was good, especially the apple. I love apple pie. Do you make it yourself?” He hoped that sounded right. Talking was not always easy for him. She gave him a smile as she put his bill down on the counter. A doodled smiley face in blue ink mocked him from the back of the bill. He covered it with a rough skinned hand. Beth was still talking.“The pecan we bring in, but Melvin makes the apple, fresh in the back. I’m glad you liked it.”“I liked it a lot. Could you call… Melvin, did you say, from the back? I’d like to thank him personally.’ He got a quizzical look from the request but she did as he asked and disappeared into the kitchen. Like quicksilver he turned and bored a stare into the back of the male drunk’s head. It was easy to bully his way into the subconscious. The drunk’s thoughts were a slow hurricane of booze tossed impulses. He navigated quickly, if not subtly. His girl was noticing the spasms. With a twist here, a slap there he set off a chain reaction down in the mammalian depths of his first victims mind. Out went the male, his head bashing down to the table with a bounce. Before she could scream he bulldozed the woman. She slumped into the corner of the booth, blood trickling from one ear.The witnesses out of the way he turned with a smile back to the kitchen door. His left hand strayed down to his trouser waist. Tucked round to the side and concealed by his brown leather coat sat
Norman his best friend in the world. He gave it a fondle.Beth whisked out from the kitchen followed by a portly man, clean-shaven, white, and smiling a crooked grin of satisfaction.
Norman annihilated the smile, causing Beth to suck in a deep breath for a scream.
Norman pointed her way with an ‘O’ of disappointment upon his face.“Don’t scream! Don’t fucking scream. Do it and I splatter you all over the cook.” He poured the weight of his power into the command. The effect achieved was desired, she snapped her jaw shut and stood there quivering, fear mixing into her adrenalin, pumping and bubbling for the right mix. He stood and waved her closer, testing her scent like a wine conosoure.  She showed no indication of moving. He frowned. “Get your slack ass over here, now.” Again the weight of his power was enough, or maybe
Norman was helping convince her. She staggered forward, not making a good show of it. Her puppet strings tangled by the confusion and horror of the situation, all naturally understandable. He forgave her the wasted time in her slow movements.Tears running down her face, making a mess of what was turning out to be too much make up she approached. He stepped forward into a punch to her solar plexus. Air rushed out of her as she doubled over.  Shoving
Norman down the front of his pants he could feel his best friend’s smile against his stiffening cock.Beth was showing signs of resistance, pain does that, but a finger flick to a temple took that out of her. She crumpled to the floor. Scooping her up he flopped her over the counter like a rag doll. Selecting the proper scalpel out of a little black zip case from his jacket pocket he set to work.It was an old ritual, one he knew he should not be using, too much history attached to it, but time was short and he was prone to nostalgia. So he did it anyways. Dumping out pie after disgusting pie onto the booth table with the now cooling drunks he carefully arranged her internal organs in the rotating pie display. Not part of the ritual but fun to do. Last to come out was her heart. So much poetry written about what in reality is a rather disgusting muscle to look at. Consulting his notes he dipped a finger into her heart’s blood and drew the required pictograms, runes, helioglyphs and lettering needed to dedicate Beth’s reluctant sacrifice to the city, the cold Formica of the counter top drinking it all in and relaying the message. Fuck the Internet, a hand written letter is better any day, more personal and resonant by far. Taking a moment to admire his work he collected his thoughts. Once there was a time he wouldn’t have needed to do this. Any city he walked into would have welcomed him and rejoiced at his arrival but he’d spilled to much life into the gutters, sprayed too many alleys, living rooms, and offices with red. His was not a clean occupation. Regrets and missed opportunities badgered his presence. The cities, omniscient within their borders knew it and rejected him for it all. It was the ghosts that really messed things up. He was a rod to their lightening. They collected to him, waked his passage, and pooled the rooms he dwelled in for long. The ghosts scraped the spiritual flesh of the cities with their needy ways. So he cast them off time and again. They come back eventually dragging behind them the city’s denial.He couldn’t bring himself to blame the cities and liked the ironic twist that they asked for a blood sacrifice from him for having spilt too much blood on them.Warmth spread over him, a friendly envelopment. It was time to go his tithe had been accepted. Whipping clean his scalpel on Beth’s hair he prepared to leave. He didn’t bother to clean anything else up there was no point. Some government agency would do it for him. Most likely send some keen little university graduates dressed in cheap black suits with snazzy black shades to do the job. Best garbage collectors in the worlds, those squeaky fresh government types. Bet they spend hours using their tiny occult knowledge to run themselves in circles. He chuckled at his thoughts and headed for the door.
Norman rubbed up against his stiff dick. He paused and wondered. His eyes tracked back to Beth’s opened body. Her stocking legs dangled over the edge of the counter, one shoe was missing, and she had pink toenails. Her skirt was hiked up.
Norman gave his ripe hard on a tickle. He slipped a finger under the lower edge of her skirt and tugged it slowly higher, giving him a tease and peek at her white panties. His sliver of a smile returned. His hand slid along her smooth thigh to rub against the elastic band of her underwear. Her sex was there for the taking. Norman and his now straining member rubbed against her knee. He had a little time to spare. He did promise himself some satisfaction. Curling a finger under the leg band of her underwear he gave a tug and ripped them free. Her sex revealed he gave s sigh and smiled in anticipation. He stroked a finger through her pubic curls.“What the hell.” He was disgusted. All that foreplay and she wasn’t wet, not a hint of moisture. She didn’t want him; she didn’t want him at all. Well fine then. The man most knew as Zero threw her tattered underwear down and stocked off into the night.“Be that way bitch. See if I ever show you a good time again.” 

************Leading the way Kaplin slithered his head out of a service stairwell. Holding the metal door chest close while flipping up his pull over’s hood to conceal his untypical features he looked left, right then stepped into the concrete hallway. A roar of crowed echoed the hall welcoming him. He waved Lemon out of the stairwell.“Do you do this often?” Lemon tugged on his right ear lobe then resetting his fedora triggering off an audio spell searching for hidden people in the shadows of the hallway. Looking down he began to brush stray speaks of dirt left from his literal run in with a former student. She was soon forgotten like the card she’d handed him that now rested in his suit jackets outside breast pocket.Glancing over at Matthew as he readjusted the heavy military bag on his shoulder Kaplin whispered “Do what?”“Take back ways into buildings.” Lemon dropped the volume of his voice to match Kaplin’s as the half-breed laid a palm on the paint chipped door caressing its surface.“Thank you for delivering us safely.” The door bulged slightly under his touch. “The back was are the best ways.” Lemon could see a hint of smirk through the folds of Kaplin’s hoodie.“I’m assuming that was a statement of your travelling choices not an admittance of orientation.” Their foot falls echoed around them as they delved deeper into the stadium’s interiors.Giving Matthew a withering look Kapin Mumbled out, “whatever.” Not really wanting to further any sort of confrontation Lemon let his attempt at humour pass.“This bar, Tatterdowns is in the service tunnels of the

?” Glancing about in the light of a naked incandescent bulb Lemon could not help but think he might have been mistaken in taking the half demon with him.“No this is just a short cut to the Tatterbowns. We need to head to the cleaning staffs lockers down there.” Looking down the passage to where Kaplin was pointing Lemon gave a shrug.“”Lead on then I was never any good at finding lockers. Something about the shape I think. What sort of bar is it anyways? The drinks don’t come with fruit and umbrellas do they?Kaplin barked a laugh as he shuffled along the concrete floor. “Hardly. Gist is a respectable joint, no umbrellas served.”“Gist? I thought we were going to Tatterdowns?”“We are. I told you Tatterdowns is an addendum world. Gist is located there. Where do you normally drink? “ Kaplin rummaged around in his green hoodies front pocket with both hands then drew out some saltines to munch on. Lemon waved off an offer to have some. The Half-breeds visages morphed to his human side and looked in need of a shave.Lemon sighed thinking of a non-committal answer. “I drink in places no one would think to look for me at.”“Like?”“Kindergarten class rooms.”Kaplin blinked rapidly to a stop and turned back to look at his new boss. “That was a joke right?”Lemon shrugged. “Well it is now.” They resumed walking letting a few ticks of time pass. “Tell me of the Tatterdowns.”“It’s not so much a place as a concept. It’s where the Ministry relocates the bits and bobs of failed mentalscapes.” They turned a corner to be greeted by rows of lockers flanking the passage. Kapin reached out a hand to gently tap randomly on the doors.Lemon mulled over his next question not wanting to reveal too much about himself or that he’d been away from the Pinnacle for so long. In many ways he knew is was too late for second thoughts he’d made his choice and the consequences were his to bear. Well almost he could always kill his new helper at a latter date. Pushing his doubts away he opted to see what would come about. His inner monologue went “May as well trust him with a secret or two till then.” His outside voice said, “What’s a mentalscape?” “Wow, where have you been? It’s the latest creation craze from the valley. Its computer unreality made real, or as close as Pinnacle people can pull it off.” Kaplin gave his boss another sideways glance. As much as he was enjoying his freedom away from Yuri and that cursed logbook, something about Mathew Lemon bothered him.Seeming unaware of Kaplin’s glance Lemon continued the conversation, “And some of these fail?”“Not everyone is clever enough to pull the mathematics off. For that matter the look of them can be tricky as well.”Lemon looked puzzled. “And the Ministry keeps these failures?”“Sure, the Ministry keeps everything just like it always has.” Said Kaplin matter of factly.“Not always.”  Was Lemon’s reply.The two of them paused before the grey painted folded aluminium door of a locker named 482, she was wearing the colourful calligraphy of Skank on her torso. Kaplin studied the lock a moment then ground his crotch against the locker like a newborn whore vainly hoping to orgasm first. Lemon politely turned away. The locker groaned and popped her lock. Kaplin held the door open for Lemon to precede him. Lemon blew a quick exasperated breath out as he was greeted by a paint-splashed set of coveralls, an open box of condoms and an unused home pregnancy test. Sighing he muttered to himself “Delightful.” Clutching his fedora to his chest, with elbows tucked in close he stepped shoulder first into the locker and out its mates side unto a linoleum floored hallway painted a cheerless white. A muffled voice elsewhere informed shoppers of the need to buy toilet paper and bagels, or words to that effect. Kaplin gently shoved him further into the hallway as he emerged.  The locker door behind them slammed shut with a Puritan clang. Kaplin cooed at it. “Don’t be that way baby I still respect you.” The locker rattled in fury as the two of them walked off laughing. “So what do you mean not always?”Lemon answered while idly helping himself to some cans of warm Iced Tea. “Time was if there was a failure the Ministry would simply cut me a kill order.”Kaplin gave Lemon a startled look waving off an offered can,  “The Min can’t do that, people would know.”Lemon shrugged while tossing six packs into the depths of his hat, “Who would tell then?”“The Min… of Information…” Kaplin’s eyes narrowed as he thought deep thoughts.“Exactly.”  They stood there till Lemon began pointing about. “Which way?”Kaplin nodded in the direction of the loading dock. Lemons lead them, Kaplin lost in his realization. “The Factions! One of the Factions would.” A note of triumph rang through Kaplin’s voice.“Most Factions work for the Ministry as pressure valves for the masses.” Lemon’s deadpan delivery caused Kaplin’s face to fall. His new boss was speaking some heavy-duty heresy to his beliefs.“Bullshit.” Was his best quick rebuttal.“Sorry but its true. When the Pinnicle was formed as a holding pen for ideas after the last migration. The Ministry elected to muddy the waters by formulating revolt to give people something to do. Most of the founding factions came about because of that. I don’t think anyone expected things to get so out of hand so quickly. No one was expecting the war. Only historians and mad men really want there to be a war.” Lemon shrugged and turned to face Kaplin head on. “The fact of the matter is the war and most of the factions took on an independent existence, one that no one seems willing to stop. I suppose the war is too good for some peoples existence.”Kaplin looked hard at Lemon for longer then was comfortable then burst into rolling laughter. “That’s the silliest set of lies I’ve heard in a long time. You missed your calling Lemon you should be writing children’s books or creating space opera for
Hollywood.”“
Hollywood is crawling with too many demons for my liking.”“Hey, I resemble that remark.”“But only by half.” The shared a smile. “Which way now?”Shaking his head to clear Lemon’s foolish notions from his conscious mind Kaplin pointed to an electrical room door. “Even if your bull shit was true not all the factions could work for the Ministry.”“No, definitely not all. As time passed the factions fragmented, it was all rather inevitable and might have been part of the initial program but the war spread the process too quickly, now, who knows who works for whom.” Lemon quieted as Kaplin rummaged around the hallway looking for a loose floor tile that yielded up a frayed electrical cord. He plugged it in and gave the door they were standing before a few shocks till it swung open on its own accord. He secured the wiring and they walked through. Darkness waited for them on the other side.“Then one of them would have told.” Kaplin’s eyes naturally adjusted to the lack of light letting him see the dust and bone strewn catacomb they stood in. Lemon was fumbling about in the darkness till he pocked his eyes three stooges style and a soft children’s night light glow shown from them under the brim of his hat.You take me to all the nicest places.” Lemon whipped his hands clean and rubbed dust from his eyes. Kaplin turned left, stopped then turned about to head off down the right. “You’re not lost are you?”Kaplin frowned in the dark. “No, it’s just these catacombs are tricky. “That happens. Where was I?” Lemon pause, then with a snap of his fingers went back to the discussion. “Even if one of the factions was to try and tell I would simply get new kill orders.” They slowed their pace as the tunnel slopped drastically down, a pile of sharp bones and skulls grinned up at them from the bottom.“Are you saying you can kill an entire faction?” Lemon couldn’t see he facial expression but Kaplin’s lack of believing was apparent enough in his voice.“Why do you think I was locked away?” They entered a large domed chamber, tunnels spilling off it in the direction of the cardinal points. Taken aback Kaplin almost dropped the Dawn Package as he turned to regard Lemon in shock.“You were what?“Jailed. I’m dangerous but useful enough to keep around.” The two of them stood in the centre of the vast space, then Kaplin took a few sliding steps back.“Fuck. I’m not sure I want to know you now.”Lemon chuckled. “Yes well not to worry, I was released, time served and all.” Lemon stood still not wanting to twitch and scare his guide away. He had no idea where he was.“Yea still, it’s fucking not right to spring stuff like that on a guy. People can take it all the wrong way.” Gripping the black bag of the Dawn Package a little tighter Kaplin held his ground not wanting this to end in a fight but not wanting to look a coward either.“Fuck, forget about it, it’s in the past. You still want to be a field agent right?“Yea, but not if it gets me tossed in jail.”“Jay walking

on Tuesdays can get you jailed, why sweat this?” The stood waiting and calculating, little swirls of dust gathering at their shoes, clinging to their skin and gathering in their lungs. Lemon continued, “This place is disgusting can we continue please?” With a shrug Kaplin turned and waved for Lemon to walk beside him as they entered one of the tunnels. With a cough of bone dust the disappeared to reappear on an uncrowded medieval street. The suns light causesing their eyes to water and blink. “This place is no better, now my sense of taste in style is being assaulted. I hope this doesn’t take much longer I seriously need a drink now. When will we get to the Tatterdowns?”             “Um, we’re here.” Kaplin shrugged and indicated the dirt street with its wattle and dab buildings all leaning against each other, four teenagers in twisted wire chain mail and ill sewn tabards with make believe heraldries on the chests were chatting near by about tournaments, tavern nights, and cloven fruit.“This is a joke right? You’ve brought me to an outer plain of hell, right? You’re not going to make me wear garb are you?” Lemon looked suspiciously at Kaplin who was snickering to him self.“Only if you want to,” Seeing Lemon’s set face of refusal Kaplin let it drop. “Don’t worry Gist is just around the corner, it’s less… geeky in there. They walked off. “You never answered my question about being able to kill an entire faction by yourself.”Lemon nodded his head as he stepped around what looked to be a purpose built pothole. “You got sidetracked, and no, I couldn’t do it by myself, sometimes I need help.” “So you’re not all powerful.”“Nobody is all powerful, the place would be damn dull if we could.” They stopped before a burnt out husk of a building it was still smouldering. Kaplin’s shoulders slumped. “I take it this was where we were going?”“Yup, Kyla must have renewed her insurance finally. Don’t worry I know another bar.”“Spiffy, lay on Mac Duff.” Lemon scratched his forehead. Walking quickly to avoid a gathering gaggle of corseted woman insisting on critiquing their lack of period cloths the two of them passed deeper into the Tatterdowns.“Ask you something else?” At Lemons grunt of approval Kaplin proceeded, “Do you ever think about the war?”            With a sigh Lemon answered, “I’ve lived it every day of my life, how could I not?”“No I mean do you wonder about who started it?”Lemon’s memory flashed back to surf soaked beaches criss-crossed with diagrammed chains of command and palm tree trunks scared with lists of the various factions and who belonged to which. “I studied that subject for a very long time.”            “And?”“And I still don’t know.”“Maybe God started it.” Kaplin looked conspiratory at Lemon.“That answer is too convenient for my tastes.”“Any theories then?”“None I’m going to share right now.”“Okay I’ll wait.” The shadows of an ally swallowed them up. Soon Lemon hoped they would reach a bar. High over head a little Robin peeped at another. 

************            She danced lightly around the room. She danced for the personal joy of it. She danced because she loved the feel of it, the erotic pleasure of the act. The shake, the sway, gliding about the room, hips, legs, feet placed just so, her arms and head movements accompanying every step, every sexy pose. This was music and sculpture rendered and joined to form beauty of the body in movement.  A playful giggle of glee slipped out of her.There is an almost forgotten street just off the motorway nowhere near the harbour called Innocence. That was not its official name of course, the Ministry would never stoop so low as to name anything that clichéd. It was a tawdry little thing in every meaning of the word, all painted up garish in an effort to impress, but failing, all fast paced, but never going anywhere. A flashy dressed whore of a street trying with desperation seeping out of its ash fault to gain a tiny bit of headway, or a sliver of respect. He wasn’t going to give it any of that.Music washed over her, around her, through her, in her. For others hours had passed since she had begun, hours more would pass before she finished. For her time was now a concept set apart. She had at the stirring of the first lyrical sounds stepped onto the polished hard wood dance floor and would not depart until the last song had died, taking her joy of movement with her. Partners had come and gone. There were old partners, new faces and those that wanted a go around the floor with her just once to say that they had. She refused none. Some were good enough to keep up others tried and tried. She was generous and encouraging, show her you love to dance and she will give you her all.Outside and down the way stood an ally mouth darkened by the neglect of changing a defective street lamp bulb. The shadows deep in the ally sagged, ripped and withdrew to reveal a menace in turquoise coloured robes with stitched shut eyes. A frown deepened the wrinkles on his face. He was a head of schedule. A despicable fact cawed forth by the watch birds. Time was a valuable commodity not to be wasted, especially not when one is at war. He knew he wasn’t a general. That was not his lot in life, but a competent lieutenant should not be found wasting his time. He searched the nighttime skies again for the time, sighed and looked about for something to occupy his attention while he waited for his moment of entrance to arrive. Spying a discarded house cat gone feral he let a wisp of a smile crock his ruby lips as he advanced upon it. Trash, human, demon and all their by products flowed around him as he stood down the street in a swirl of robes, his hiding glyphs, wards of ignorance and spells of invisibility obliterating his presence from their minds. He licked his lips.“Here kitty, kitty, here.” He held out a scared and red stained hand.The ballroom of the Excelsior dance academy knew her presence well. She was a fixture here. Reputation and gossip had spread soon people would attend the weekly open house just to watch her elegant form, her passion play itself out. It was said that watching her was akin to watching love, not the act of sex, although sexy she was, but the emotion that drove so much of the universes mechanisms. They would stare amazed as she moved with practiced ease, lines would form for the moments time of sharing that floor with her, to have just a hint of her attention spent on you.Drips of cat graced the back wall of a defunct donut shop. Whistling almost silently to himself as he finished his deliberately grotesque work he dabbed on the last sigil with a sponge of brain on tail. A murmured invocation with a sneer and he was done. Secreting the deconstruction glyph behind a sugar and lard smelling trash bin he checked the time once more. He was back on schedule. He moved off with a lighter, happier gate in his step. Behind him wisps of Anarchy magic began to seep. A trifling matter, no more the a nuisance, Pinnacle police would find it eventually and wash it away, but before then anyone passing would find their thoughts collapse and shred to be lost forever. An act of intellectual terrorism, so much more satisfying and destructive the mere violence.The band was taking a much-needed rest. Many apologies were spoken and accepted. She was lounging quietly against a ballet bar stretching the length of one mirrored wall whipping sweat out of the corner of an eye. Near by a couple were having an animated discussion. The wife wanted to learn to dance as well as she did. The husband was trying desperately to not explain why his wife with her rubinesque physic would fail to achieve her goal. She was about to intervene and whisper a bit of marriage saving advice to the man when an almost inaudible clearing of a throat caught her attention. Puzzlement as to how she could miss his approach was brushed aside by the overwhelming handsomeness of him.He was tall, lean and built with the ropey muscled form of a dancer, blond, blue eyed, just as she was. One look was enough to confirm that he had every physical aspect she wanted in a dance partner, and the smile, oh the smile, how it glowed and shined even brighter then the white tux jacket he wore.“Excuse me. I hope I’m not bothering you?” His voice was a baritone of confidence and polite breeding.“Not at all, if anything I welcome the company.”  She couldn’t help it she smiled her most inviting smile.His smile widened. “Excellent, then I may join you?”“Of course.”He took a step closer. He smelt of a fragrance she could not place, but did not disapprove of. “My name is Bruce Bond. It is a pleasure to meet you.” His smile took on an expectant aspect, like he knew a punch line before the comic did.“That’s a loaded name. It’s not real is it?”            He gave an artful shrug. “Its real enough. Is Charming Bell your real name?”“It’s real enough, but most people call me Tabitha. A silly nickname but one I can’t seem to shake. Do you by any chance dance Mr. Bond?” she didn’t even trip a little over saying it.“No where near as well as you. In comparison I am a lead-footed amateur and please call me Bruce” He chuckled softly. “I have to confess I’ve been watching you dance and until just now didn’t have the courage to speak. You dance beautifully. The best I’ve ever seen, maybe the best anyone has ever seen.” He for just a flash of a blinks time looked shy and disarmed of his confidence when he said that. She found Her small desire for him increasing.“You’re being too kind. I’m good, but not the best… still I won’t argue the point to strongly or stop you from repeating it.” They shared a laugh. “Would you do me the pleasure of having the next dance with me?”“Now you’re the one who’s being kind.” He flashed a smile at her that lit the room. “I would be honoured to accept, but I warn you I wasn’t joking when I said I was an amateur.”She waved his slight protest aside. “I’m sure you have more talent then you give yourself credit for. You can’t be an armature all your life. Come let me give you a … hand.” She knew it was forward of her to flirt with this stranger but he had so much about him that she desired. He caught what she was saying, where she was going in her own mind. Like a good dance partner he followed along willingly.“Oh I am not an armature in everything, some things I’m a skilled master at.  If you want to give me a hand I would love to … show myself worthy. Lead me I will follow, take me … anywhere,”Yes indeed she could grow to enjoy Bruce very much. “Shall we dance?” At a look and quick gesture the academy orcastra struck up a slow, slinky waltz, perfect for lovers. She blew Joseph, the conductor, and long time friend a kiss. The two of them strode with dignity and purpose to the centre of the dance floor. There they touched for the first time. Pleasure from that contact flooded her. They smiled once again in understanding of each other’s enjoyment and realization that this was but a prelude to things more intimate tonight.In unison they began, her first love consumed her once more; she could not help but give into that passion. Round and round in lock-step unison they twirled, waltzed and sashayed. He had been lying to her he was no lead-footed armature. She barely noticed the gathering crowds applause when the music was done, instead concentrating on Bond holding fast to his hand in command that he stay and dance with her some more. His warm smile and inviting stance confirmed that he would stay as long as she wished. She couldn’t stop smiling. The orcastra struck up a jazzy little number perfect for hip play. Joseph was lending a hand.“Tell me Bruce is this your first night here?” She manuvered them around the floor spinning them about so she could catch glimpse of their beauty of movement in the mirrored far wall, she approved of everything she saw.“No this is my second. I came with a friend the first time. That was when I first caught a look at you and…” his statement was cut short by a miss step he made trying to keep up with her rapidly quickening gyrations.“And?” She prompted as she slowed her step so he would not fall on his face.“And… something for latter I think.” He flashed his increasingly addictive smile at her and double-stepped to sync up with her movements again. It was exactly the answer she wanted, a touch too concealed a statement, but that was acceptable. If he wanted to be mysterious, so be it, everyone had secrets, even her.The moved smoothly out of the faster jazz piece into a slower, almost sombre, modern bit, she could hear the strings of a massive back beat building. Joseph was leading up to tonight’s electronica selection. Soon the room would be a frenzy of a rave for the younger crowd. Never let it be said the Excelsior dance academy didn’t cater to everyone’s tastes. Time for conversation was growing short. It was make a move or hold her piece. “You said your first time here you came with someone else, who? Maybe I know them. We might have mutual friends.” It was as good an opening gambit as any. She was really enjoying herself with him. She could feel a heat building inside.He hesitated, looking uncertain as how to proceed. She found the moment of innocence intoxicating, like his smile. “I was temporarily on the arm Lady Jillian Blake…” he mumbled to a stop as she stiffened in his arms and faltered a half step, trodding on his right foot’s toes. A mask of unyielding ice froze her once warm smile in place. They recovered from the fault and continued to swirl around the floor, but something of beauty was missing from their movements now.“You don’t say.” A tone sharp as a razor’s edge had crept into her voice. A look of concern clouded Bruce’s eyes.“Have I said something wrong? Has my stale efforts at dancing insulted you? I meant no harm. “ He tried to smile once more. She turned away from it to look over her shoulder at the crowd watching.“No, no you have said nothing wrong and you are too humble about your dancing skills. It is just… just… that I wasn’t aware that Jill knew I came here.” At the pronouncement of the lady’s name Tabitha’s voice turned poisonous. She finished dancing and broke with him before the music had slowed even further then shifted into ecstatic high gear. The surrounding crowd erupted into exuberant, primal yells and thrashings prompted by the driving bass and beat of electric music thundering into the room. He lost her in the crowd. Dodging an elbow he gave chase to where he hoped she would be.He spotted her fluttering dress as she slipped through a rear service door into the darkness of the ally beyond. His cries for her to stop unheeded. Running after Tabitha out of the corner of his eye he witnessed Joseph stepping off the stage to slip into the shadows. Crashing through the doors Bond quickly glanced about while brushing blond locks from his eyes. Tabitha was running with sleek long strides down the alleyway away from the street innocence. He dashed after her.“Tabitha! Tabitha wait.” She stopped suddenly and turned to confront him, her face flush with anger. He skidded to a halt and admired the fighting stance she had assumed.“You’ve been lying to me Bruce. You are not an admirer, you’re here on her behalf aren’t you?” Tell me you rogue, tell me the truth.” Her voice was cold and steady; it would be beneath her to scream.“Truth is a very subjective art form.” He winced as he said that it was a statement he did believe in but now was not the time for those types of philosophical debates. She bridled at his words, taking them for a rebuke or evasion.“Damn you Bruce” She snapped he meticulously manicured fingers. The grime covered brick walls of the alley rippled like rain splattered water as four chrome and polished steel mechanical men stepped through them. He heaved a heavy sigh, these were once referred to as the Gizmos, but it was never a popular name. They were the finest of Swiss made death constructs, percussion instruments, and clockwork killers. He avoided thinking of the obvious puns as he watched them click and whirl around him.  Serrated saw blades extended from their right arms, they held their left hands up as shields and settled into en guard positions.  They were fascinatingly beautiful to watch.“Now Tabitha there really is no need for this.” Bond shifted his weight about and rested casually on the balls of his feet.“On the contrary I think there is very much a need for this.” He voice hinted a little tremble of raw hurt. Tonight had started out so well for her now thanks to this dapper dandy her life was in upheaval, she would be working months to repair all the damage his presence had done. “I’m still waiting for the truth.”He blew an exasperated breath out threw clenched teeth as he surveyed the area and his opponents. “Very well… very well indeed, Lady Jillian did not send me but the Estectics League…”“Attack.”The man called Bruce Bond held in his curses at her interruption. Prompted by command his metal assailants struck as one. A timely and forceful leap propelled him high into the air well clear of their arching blades. His attempt to land on the shoulders of the one with what appeared to be the weakest neck structure failed as it dodged. He back somersaulted clear of two thrusts from its closest brethren. His hope was to get them to strike at each other as a means of damage and poetic justice. Things weren’t going well.  “Tabitha must train with these. They are so graceful and quick, much too quick” His errant thoughts were shoved aside as the four clockwork soldiers pressed their attacks. He dodged, weaved, fainted and spun about to do his work. In maddening disgrace, success was eluding him. A smile touched his face. He may well die here but it was a delightfully pleasing battle. The stylized katas of the Gizmos was exquisite to behold. If she had programmed them her reputation was well deserved. If he had but the time to admire the fight he was sure his taste and appreciation of the combat arts would be well satisfied. This would be a masterpiece of a death worthy of a renaissance realist or if luck modern French impressionist. Then seconds after it was too late he realized his flaw. He’d been admiring the wrong opponent.Her right hands delicate fingers, so refined in their nature, so perfect for the delicate arts of accenting her dancing, holding things in a pleasing manner or as he’d hoped interplaying in sex collided sharply with the bridge of his nose. Blood flowed fast and freely. He staggered from the pain and cursed to himself, awaiting the slashes and blows from the four Gizmos.“Desist.” The Gizmos stood frozen, metal statuary encasing him. She was serine in her pose. “I have the field, yes?”He sighed, and sniffed trying to arrest the nosebleed that was dripping from his chin to stain his suit. “I could see it no other way. The field is yours. May I retreat?”“Not as yet Bruce” she thought a moment. “Is that your real name?”“We’ve covered that all ready. What good would another name for a defeated foe do you?” She smiled patiently, turning slightly to glance down the ally way. Joseph revealed himself from the shadows pocketing an absurdly overlarge revolver of etched nickel plate. He made no effort to come closer, content to watch.“The Aesthetic League is dead. It was a foolish reason to go to war. Beautiful people versus the ugly, style over substance, art for the sake of benefiting a universe in desperate need of a face lift. It was a silly thing to dedicate my time to. I am no longer a member. I quit. Go away Bond” she sniffed he had been dismissed. At a snap of her fingers the Gizmos pulled back and formed a line between him and her. He straightened and took the time to brush hair from his eyes and dab up blood from under his nose in a futile gesture of trying to regain his dignity.“Everything old will be new again. No trend ever dies, merely it is recycled and refined. What was once passé is reinvented, repackaged and resubmitted for approval.” He kept his voice as benign as possible, a difficult task with a broken nose. From behind her shield wall of mechanical minions Tabitha gave a very unladylike snort of disgust. “The war is over, the ugly won because the masses are ignorant and tasteless. The Ministry likes it that way.”“I am not here to restart a war. I’m here to extract a bit of revenge. A pound of flesh if you will?”“From me?”“For you.”  He could see her puzzlement play across her face. “Explain.” “Not all of the League gave up as you did…” He held up his hands in a surrender gesture as she shot a glare at him. “Merely one perspective on events nothing more.” She mulled that over but let him continue with a nod of her well-coifed head. “After the… skirmish… at the museum some went away as you did, others quit and have been seen since publicly, but a faction went underground. Of those the group I represent decided to before anything achieve one goal.” He paused to see if he had her complete attention, which he did. “We wish to kill the man who murdered our glorious leader.” She blinked shock from her face.“It is known who did it?” she sounded smaller then he hoped she would. Deep emotional pain did that to some people he decided.“Yes.”“Who?”“He is called Lemon, and we want you to kill him.” A grin, bloody and large spread across his face as she waved a hand dismissing the Gizmos back into the alleyway walls.“Go on I’m listening.” 

************The last of the heads went into the oven resting quietly on cookie sheets. He’d preheated it to 350 degrees; the timer was already set to three hours. He couldn’t stop humming to himself in contented happiness. Turning from the oven he surveyed the Mason jar strewn kitchen table. The Ridley family’s hearts neatly placed in a jar for each family member.“Well a good nights work and done cleanly. The city will be pleased.”A phone rang somewhere in the dinning room. Knowing that he’s hexed the house to stop outside interference that should not have happened. Withdrawing
Norman from the cooling warmth between Mrs. Ridley’s thighs he skulked to the double-hinged door leading out of the kitchen, the phone persisted in ringing.  Brushing light fingers against the wood of the door Zero painted himself a picture of the dinning room with touch and sound, the phone making the task tricky with its now piercing ring. Something was moving about, snake like, whipping its tail across the family table beyond the door. A whiff of ozone was in the air. Grumbling about interruption Zero pushed into the room to look down at the black Bakelite phone handle with its coaxial cable twitching around. Black burn marks showed where the electrical zaps from the end of the cable were striking the table.“Honestly can’t a man enjoy himself in privacy these nights?” Snatching up the phone he barked a “What the hell do you want?” into it.“Sorry to bother you sir, this is Walsiingham, we’ve been looking for you.”“You and my cheating slut of an ex-wife. Is there a reason for this call?”“Yes sir, we don’t look for people without a reason.”“Well?”“A client we respect is looking to know where you are.”“Who?”“We don’t provide that sort of information for nothing sir.”“I hate you and will one day wear you as a condom, now tell me who.” Silence waited for him on the other end of the line. The sparking tail of the phone had lit the varnish of the Ridley family table alight. “Fine, tell you’re client that I’ll meet him in the Nowhere.” He then took gleeful pleasure in smashing the phone to jigsaw pieces. 

************The cold night’s air played with his blond locks. Trying not to giggle the creature known as Bruce Bond strolled into a familiar alleyway. As he passed through shadows his looks melted away and the tuxedo dissolved into his customary turquoise coloured robes, his eyes stitched themselves shut. Pausing to spread a fresh coat of ruby to his lips he smiled.“Who says you can’t mix pleasure with business”

Chapter 8 by Carl McPherson 

           
Jericho closed his eyes and tucked his head in as his body crashed through the front window.  It seemed to take forever for him to land and he tried not to brace himself against the impact, but go with the flow.  The air rushed out of his body as he hit the ground and bounced once before slamming against the wall of another building.  It didn’t take long for the pain to fill the emptiness that the air had left.   

            He slowly opened his eyes trying to see through the haze of pain brought on by several broken ribs.  He saw the two demons exit the bar, one of them stepped out the window that he’d been thrown through and the other used the door.            “Get up you little meat bag.”  One of the demons’ said. 
Jericho wasn’t to sure which one it was as these particular demons all looked the same.  He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position and could already breathe easier and with less pain as his bones started knitting together and the hole in his lung closed.            “We want our money back.  You stole it.”  The other demon said. 
Jericho lowered his head and laughed.            “What’s so funny meat bag?”  The first demon asked.            “First off, I am a professional.  If I were to steal from you, you wouldn’t know it until I was long gone and second I would steal more than a few coins.”            “You are a thief.”  The second demon stated.            “My aren’t you a real genius?  I just said that.”  This seemed to confuse the second demon.
Jericho was starting to get up when the first demon picked him up and slammed him against the wall. 
Jericho stifled a scream as several more ribs broke near his spine.            “I don’t care if it was you are not, someone took our money and you are going to pay for it,
Jericho.”  The first demon said.            “Oh, so you do know who I am.  Well now I know who wears the brains in your relationship.”  The demon took a swing at
Jericho, but he ducked it, and was promptly shoved back into the wall by the second demon.            “We know all about you.  Jericho Kane, the great thief.”  “Do you still have your little power ring?”  The first demon asked.              “Can you make silly things with it and try to hurt us like that guy, Pink Lantern?”  The second demon asked and then started to chuckle at his little joke.            “Okay, you rejects from a Disney movie, if you are going to compare me to a fictional comic book character, at least get the character right.” 
Jericho said standing away from the wall.  “So let’s get down to business, dumb and dumber, or should I call you Pain and Panic?”  This seemed to confuse both of the demons. While the demons were trying to figure out what
Jericho was talking about, he took a swing at the first demon with his left hand.  It was promptly caught.              “See we aren’t that stupid.”  Pain, the first demon said, as he started to squeeze his fist tighter. 
Jericho heard the bones in his hand cracking before he felt the pain.            “To answer your question,”
Jericho said through the pain, “Yes, I am going to hurt you with my ‘power ring’.”  Both demons looked at each other puzzled.  It didn’t take long for Pain’s hand to start heating up and go from blue to red and began burning.  Pain screamed and let go of
Jericho.             “Thanks honey.” 
Jericho said and kissed the ring.  The stench of burnt flesh permeated the air.  Panic, the second demon, went to the aid of his friend.  Once it seemed that the other demon would survive, he turned his attention to
Jericho. 
Jericho was nowhere to be seen.            “Where did you go? Are you a coward?”  Panic asked.              “Nope, just playing it smart.” 
Jericho said.  Panic turned trying to find where the voice came from.            “Can’t catch what you can’t see, can you?” 
Jericho’s voice asked.  Panic started swinging at the air wildly.              “Missed… Missed again.” 
Jericho taunted.  Panic swung faster and harder trying to hit the hidden human.  He wasn’t paying attention to where he was swinging and ended up connecting with the back of Pain’s head at full force, knocking the other demon against the wall and rendering him unconscious.  It took a few seconds to realize what he had done, at first thinking that he had gotten the human.            “Nice shot.” 
Jericho said as he materialized behind Panic.  As the demon turned to face the human,
Jericho swung a large sledgehammer and connected with the demon’s skull.  Panic stood there stunned by the hit, but didn’t go down. 
Jericho swung again and this time hit the demon in the side of the head.  Blood and fangs flew from the demon’s mouth as it staggered away, but kept on its feet.            “The dumber they are, the harder they fall.” 
Jericho said as he took another shot at the demon.  This one connected with the back of the demon’s head and shattered the head of the sledgehammer.  Panic still stood.            “What does it take for these things to go down?” 
Jericho asked himself as he walked around the face the demon.  Panic tottered and his eyes has had rolled up into his head. 
Jericho took the handle of the sledgehammer and pushed the demon over.  Panic hit the ground hard.            “I hate demons.”  He said. He looked around at the crowd that had gathered and figured that the local constabulary would be along shortly.  He pushed his way into the crowd, the opposite way he figured that the authorities would arrive and quickly disappeared into the night. 

           
Jericho materialized several blocks from home and walked confidently down the street.  His mind was wandering and he didn’t notice the large bodyguard standing outside a floating door that wasn’t there a short time before.            “
Jericho.”  The bodyguard said.  The sound of his name brought him back to reality.  He turned to face the bodyguard and sighed.              “Hey, Bruno.”  He said as he walked toward the bodyguard.  “I see you are still working for Zuul.  You could do better than him you know.”  The lesser demon just shrugged his shoulders and turned the knob on the floating door and pushed it open.  “He is anxious to see you.”  Bruno said. With resignation,
Jericho walked through the floating door and into another realm.  Instantly he stood in a large audience room filled with lesser demons.  Directly in front of him was a large throne made of human and demon skulls.  Upon the throne sat Zuul, one of the many demon lords.            “What the fuck do you want Zuul?” 
Jericho asked, as he got closer to the throne.            “Is that anyway to treat a friend?”  Zuul asked.            “Friend? Who the fuck ever said that you were a friend?  A deceiver and a murderer, yes but NEVER a friend.” 
Jericho tried not to let him anger get the best of him, especially in here.            “Are you still a little bitter about our last business deal?”  Zuul taunted.  “I figured that you would have gotten over that by now.”            “Bitter? You son of a bitch…”
Jericho tried to rush the throne, but was stopped by two large guards that grabbed him and held him in place.  “You killed my family, and you think that would be something that I would just get over?” 
Jericho’s rage was running rampant and if he could have loosed it on the demon lord, he would have in a heartbeat.            “You screwed me, so you had to be taught a lesson.  It is not my fault that your wife and daughter got home that night before you did.”  Zuul stated as a matter of fact.  Zuul got off the throne and walked down to
Jericho.  “And your little ring was able to save your wife anyways.”  He grabbed
Jericho’s left arm by the wrist and drew it to him to get a better look at the ring. 
Jericho felt all his rage drain out of himself and into Zuul.  “Where did you get a hold of a Soul Collector’s ring?”            “It was my father’s ring.  He was a Soul Collector.  When he gave it to me as a wedding ring, he didn’t tell me what it really was.” 
Jericho said.            “Well imagine to my surprise when I found out the your wife’s soul never made to heaven or hell.”  Zuul said.  “But that is neither here nor there.  I have a job for you to do.”            What in hell makes you think that I would ever work for you again?” 
Jericho asked.            “Besides the fact that I am the one that gave you your powers, I have something that might interest you.”  Zuul let go of
Jericho and held his hand palm up and whispered a few words.  A small cube materialized in his hand.            “So what, it is a box.” 
Jericho said.            “My aren’t we impatient, watch and see.”  With that said the contents of the box started to swirl and a face of a small girl appeared.  The girl appeared to be scared and was calling out someone’s name.            “Celeste.” 
Jericho called out as if the little girl could hear his voice.  “You bastard, how did you get her soul?”              “I had some associates catch it before it got to heaven and have been saving it for a rainy day.”  Zuul said. 
Jericho could feel the rage building once again.  “You do this job for me and your daughter’s soul is yours to do with as you please.”            “How do I know that you will keep your word?” 
Jericho asked, trying to keep the anger in check.            “You don’t.  But are you willing to risk your daughter’s soul by not taking this assignment?” 
Jericho lowered his head.  “Good, now you will find all the information you need on the person in question.  A lesser demon appeared and handed
Jericho, who had just been let go by the two bodyguards a file folder.            “So you sent those two idiots after me didn’t you?”            “Yes, I wanted to see if you were still at the top of your game and up to the challenge.”  Zuul said.            “Tell me about her.” 
Jericho said as he flipped through the file ignoring the comment.            “Her name is Clemancy Forrester and she works for the Ministry of Ill Begots, it is a subdivision of the Ministry of Belongings.”  Zuul explained.            “I know what it is, I have been there a few time before.” 
Jericho said.  “What do you want with her?”            “An associate wants her, but his reasons are not of your concern.  Know that he wants her alive and unharmed.”            “So, am I just finding her and bringing her to you or what?” 
Jericho asked as he saw something that caught his attention in the file.            “No, she is or will be traveling with a small group of people.  You are to join this group and keep a watchful eye on her and keep her safe until my associate is ready for her to be extracted from the group.”            “Tell me about the group.” He asked as the file disappeared into his trench coat.            “There are two other members at this time, one of the is a half demon.”  Zuul stated.            “And the other?”            “That you will have to find out for yourself.  Surely there will be more that join the group.  They are on a journey to find something that is believed to be lost, what that is, isn’t a concern of yours as you shouldn’t be with the group for that long.”            “So, how do you expect me to get myself into this little band of merry men?” 
Jericho asked.            “That I will leave up to you.”            “You know Zuul, sometimes you are as useless as tits on a bull.” 
Jericho said.  Zuul just smiled at him.            “When this is done, you and me are going to settle things.  I will have my daughter’s soul back and things will be done between us.”  Jericho said, and before Zuul had a chance to respond,
Jericho turned and walked towards the floating door. 

            Once the floating door closed and disappeared, Zuul tossed the box to the floor.  For a second it sat there, but then it shimmered and started to lose its shape.  Shapelessly it grew larger until it reformed into a female demon.            “He bought it.”  She said.            “Did you truly doubt me?”  Zuul asked.            “Why didn’t you use an illusion?”  The female demon asked ignoring Zuul’s question.            “Because I gave
Jericho his powers and one of them was to see through illusions.”            “Then how come he couldn’t see through mine?”  She asked.  Zuul sighed.            “Your illusion was created from your substance. Most illusions are tricks of the mind, nothing really there.”  The female demon looked at Zuul puzzled.  “Never mind.”  He sighed.            “Do you think he will succeed?”  The demon that handed
Jericho the file asked.            “It doesn’t really matter.  He is but a small pawn in the larger game.” 

            Shortly after leaving Zuul and the floating door behind,
Jericho entered his apartment and flopped down onto his couch.  It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.  A sleep that was restless and full of nightmares.

Chapter 7 by Helene Neale  

Sniff.  Sniff.  Tantalizing scent.  Damn this rain for hiding your scent you tantalizing morsel.  The large grey rat wondered around and through the rubble lining the edges of the ally searching for that that had tickled its fancy.  Clop.  Clop.  The rat freezes and looks around for the source of the noise.  It quickly spots the upright creature that is dripping dirty water and smells of wet wool.  The creature does not seem to notice him so thinking himself safe he continues on his way.Snap.  Something has grabbed him.  The rat struggles furtively within the grasp of his capturer, twisting and turning trying to bite the hand that restrains him.Crunch.  The lights slowly fade.Limped curls hang down her shoulders as she trudges along dripping water and oil in the light rain.  With practiced ease she navigates the alleyway avoiding all the garbage and puddles that would ruin her last pair of dress shoes.  With her home spun sweater, brown knee length skirt and light jacket she looks like a beggar that found some new clothes.  The rain drips off her mindless where it falls collecting whatever bits of oil and old makeup accumulated on the skin that it cleansed on its passing.Through the fall of rain she sees the myriad of wildlife that tends to inhabit these alleyways, from the hunting cat to the rats to the insectoids that hide under eaves and boxes to avoid the rain.  Most people who look upon the insectoids recoil at their almost human appearance.  Standing five to six inches tall they have chitinous skin multihued with the colours of the rainbow.  The frail translucent wings fold neatly along their backs.  They have thorny legs and grasping appendages, curly antenna and multifaceted eyes.  In the forests these creatures would feast on the forest debris and leave fungal spores behind.  In the city they eat organic matter of the vegetable variety that has seen better days. The fungal spores they leave behind grow into tiny shrooms that give off a sweet smelling pollen.  Addicts search out these shrooms to eat them for their unusual property of making the eater smaller.  Yet for all their diminutive properties they are highly addictive and loosen the bowels of those foolish enough to ingest them.Continuing on her way, she spots a rat that to its folly does not consider her a threat.  As it watches her approach it turns its head and continues searching for whatever caught its attention earlier.  Quick like a cat she grabs the rat. With practiced ease she calmly snaps its neck while it is struggling to escape.  Once she is certain it could no longer escape, she opens her bag and places it inside and continues on her way.  The only witnesses to the grisly murder a disappointed cat and a few insectoids.Reaching the end of the alley she comes to a crossroads, to the left the road to the Ministry, to the right a favorite drinking establishment of hers.  She looks at her watch and it’s 20 min before she has to be at work.  Figuring she has time for a drink or two before work she heads right.  The outside of the establishment looks pretty non-descript with old-fashioned shutters and an old sign bearing a picture of a cow churning cream and the name Creamery Goodness.  Opening the massive door to The Cream, as everyone calls it for short, she steps through the portal that can accommodate three men abreast.  While her eyes adjust to the bright interior she looks around.  There are few patrons in at this time, but within a half hour this place will be filled.  Tables lay scattered about the floor in whatever pattern the cleaning crew decided to leave them.  The bar itself is semicircular and nestled into the corner.  The wall behind the bar is a huge mirror reflecting everything it saw for all to see.  Bottles with various coloured fluids line the counter along this wall within easy reach for the not so common bartender.  Part of the draw of The Cream was its bartender Matilda.Matilda stood about six feet tall and had two thick legs that ended in hooves with large dark splotches that marred her pristine white hide.  A tail hung from her backside that would swing wildly when she was angry.  Her arms were like a man’s except longer and ended in three fingers and not five.  Her chest was flat except when the muscles bulged as she lifted something heavy.  Her face was attractive with her big cow eyes and gentle face.  Anyone new to The Cream fixated on the large udder that was suspended from Matilda’s waist.The dripping patron approaches the bar and takes her usual seat and smiles at Matilda.“Good eve Lacey.”“No not really, but hello Matilda.”“Would ye like the house special?”“No thanks, just the usual please, you know dairy makes me nauseous.”Noticing the black circles under Lacey’s eyes Matilda asks “you no sleep well?” while pouring a coconut rum for Lacey.Smirking Lacey replies, “Not a wink, every time I was almost asleep the nightmares would come.”“It bad you can’t have dairy, I’s know a cure for that, put you right out it would”Lacey finishes the drink with practiced ease and asks for another.“It’s just that since I lost Jared and little Amy, work no longer holds any interest for me, or life for that matter…but I am to much of a coward to end it.”  Fresh water burst forth from her already dry well of sorrow.  Lacey scrubs at her face with the back of her hand embarrassed by her outburst, then surprised at the grime detailing her delicate hands.  She looks into the mirror behind the bar and sees a face she doesn’t recognize.  Wet greasy locks hang limply around a small oval of a face.  The eyes are black rimmed from to little sleep and her usual bright green eyes shone back at her dully.  Her sweater had seen better days and there is a splotch of mud on her skirt, probably from the rat she caught earlier.  She gulps back her drink like a drowning victim then turns accusing eyes onto Matilda.“Why didn’t you tell me I looked like some shroom addict?”“I had sweetie but you would no listen.”The third drink was making itself felt as Lacey’s brain started to slow down and blur around the edges and the apathy set in once more.While having her forth drink something catches her dulled attention in the bottom of the glass.  Holding it up to the light she sees the blurred outline of a familiar figure but when she puts the glass down there is no one there.  Staring uncertainly at the spot the apparition made an appearance, the massive door opens and several Ministry employees enter, recently getting off shift.  Letting her hair fall forward to cover her face, Lacey sits there pretending to be invisible.  The last thing she needed was for one of the employees to report that they saw her drinking before a shift.  She had already been reprimanded for it already.Unknown to Lacey, the Ministry employees would not have recognized the sorry excuse for a human being she represented from the classy, popular Clemancy Forrestor that she was.  Digging into her bag, Lacey pulls out a handful of coins leaving them on the counter along with a few stray rat hairs, saying something non-committal to Matilda as she left.On her way to the ministry she feels eyes boring in to the back of her skull and looks around.  Seeing no one unusual she continues on thinking it is just her imagination.  As she approaches the ministry, images start to flash behind her eyes disorientating her, a man in a blue suit holding a paintbrush in a surreal landscape.  She stumbles.  Kaplin talking to two strange men and one looks as if he sees her, a beautiful chessboard that breaks in two. She falls to her knees holding her head and cursing her luck.  The visions continue, an old lady sitting at a piano missing a few keys, an image of a stylized rose and a pair of miniature talons gripping a lemon.  Realization came with the returning vision. This was the first time since the death of Jared and Amy that she had suffered these visions.  Shaking her head to clear the residual images swimming in her vision, she continues to the ministry feeling confused.            As she regains her composure she doesn’t notice the ministry guards approaching until they are almost on top of her.  Hastily she digs through her bag looking for her ID badge as she feels their menacing presence converging upon her.  Pulling it out triumphantly she waves it at the guards as only one inebriated can.  Looking her over they let her pass disappointed, taloned hands retreating back into their long sleeves.Sitting behind her desk in the Ministry of Ill Begots, a subdivision of the Ministry of Belongings, see starts to go through the stack of files heaped on her desk.  Her desk is located in a small dim room down a long corridor.  There are three other desks in the room each with their own operator, pale, skinny, wearing pants that are too short for them.  Each desk is accompanied by a squat purple filing cabinet that thinks it’s a head of the desk.  Seeing Lacey’s disheveled appearance, the operators look at each other and snicker.  Finding their jocularity to be tiring Lacey stops paying attention to them.  Hours pass and Lacey’s eye start to get heavy as she flips through file after file describing some illegal creature or substance seen.  The figures on the page start to blur together and the alcohol has long since gone to a better life with the other excrements that mortals tend to leave behind.  As she leans her head against the desk to help support it’s increasing weight, everything fades to black and the dreams come.The day began like any other.  Lacey kissed her husband and child before she walked out the door.  Today she was to fly to a small town call DuChamp located about 234km south of the Pinnacle.  She was on assignment and going to investigate reports of a captive dragonette.  The Ministry had strict rules about civilians owning magical creatures, as most were usually unpredictable.  Looking back at her two treasures, little blonde Amy held in Jared’s strong arms, she smiled fondly at them.  Sighing she heads out the door.  The Ministry was a good company to work for but they always had Lacey going out on assignment for days at a time and she was looking forward to having a little time with Jared and Amy.  But work calls, and it is never good practice to keep them waiting…bad things usually start to happen.Arriving at her desk in the Department of Ill Begots at the Ministry, Lacey greets her fellow associates, picks up the files she needs then heads out once more to the transport site.  One of the few perks of working for Ill Begots was you got to use the company transport…a very large dragon.  This was the third time Lacey used the transport and it still excited her.  Arriving at the transport site, she sees several other patrons already waiting to board.  As Lacey waits for her turn to board she looks around.  This dragon was a mottled dark earthy red colour and his hide shone in the morning light.  The scales around his muzzle and his belly were faded meaning he would be retired soon.  The dragon stood about 60 hands at the shoulder and he had a long graceful neck.  Perched between his ears a small man sits wearing regimental transport gear, tight white pants and a blue jacket with a golden dragon’s head embroidered along the back.  His eyes are completely clouded over and he seems to stare right through you.  He shares a telepathic link with the dragon and directs it where to go.  Rumor was that they infused the dragons blood into their systems to make the bond stronger.The other transport officer is a young woman also wearing the regimental transport gear, except her jacket is darker and embroidered with a spiral of silver stars instead of the dragon’s head.  She sits at the base of the dragon’s neck behind all the passengers.   She ensures the transport is safe and hidden from casual view.   

Approaching the woman, Lacey hands her travel papers.  The women being rather tall and lanky and vaguely familiar turns her hand over to reveal a device that looks like a large silver coin with a blue gem at its center.  It sits comfortably in her palm and is held in place by two bands that wrap around her thumb and pinky.  She passes it over the papers, then over Lacey’s ID badge.  Seconds pass, then the women nods and says, “Welcome aboard Sky High Transport Mrs. Forrestor.  Your dragon today is known as Wilmarishclove.  Enjoy your trip.”She shows Lacey to a saddle at the base of the dragon’s neck.  Double-checking the straps to make sure they are well fastened, Lacey watches as three other passengers are placed through the same scrutiny before being shown to seats.  Placed in front of her was a short portly woman with small hands and hooves.  She scowled at Lacey as soon as she noticed Lacey looking at her.  Behind her sat a gangly man with scaly hide and short spiky hair.  He grinned at Lacey, looking her up and down making her want to fasten up her coat a little more.  Getting comfortable she noticed a pair of scaly hands at her side and shuddered.  Trying to come up with a polite refusal for the gentleman she failed to notice the driver giving the signal to take off.  The dragon spread his immense wings and his powerful muscles propelled them into the air leaving Lacey’s stomach on the ground.The flight lasted about one hour and the small town of
DuChamp came into view.  Spiraling down towards the ground a small park came into focus amidst a city of houses.  Aiming for the park, the dragon landed delicately despite it’s bulk and Lacey unfastened her safety harness.  Climbing down she confirmed with the Driver the time of pickup and took several steps back to give the dragon room to take off without knocking her over.The park was small with well-maintained lawns and trees.  The paths were paved and red, orange and yellow leaves littered the ground.  The paths wound throughout the park in gray twisting lines.  Pulling out her GPS, a small hand held compass that pointed the direction to any location spoken to it, she stated her destination and headed off north checking her pockets to ensure everything is in place…the anti venom in particular in case things go badly.The house was located in a quiet neighborhood.  There was a small white picket fence out front that looked like it could use a new coat of paint.  Weeds had over grown the little flowerbed and the lawn desperately needed a mow.  Opening the gate produced a loud squeak.  Walking towards the front door she navigated through the jungle not to sure what could be hidden in the weeds.  The door was a faded bright blue and contained a brass knocker.  A set of wind chimes sang mournfully in the morning breeze.  Grasping the knocker, she gave it a good beating listening to the noise reverberate throughout the house.  While she waited for the owner to answer, she ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her clothes.  She knocked twice more without a response.  Looking into the little window she saw a neat foyer that lead into a kitchen.  There was a light on in the kitchen.  Trying the handle, it doesn’t budge.  “Damn, I hate breaking into places on assignment” she mutters to herself.  Pulling out a small disk shaped device that looks like a snake curled in on itself, she whispered the word Idoru.  Upon hearing this word the disk uncurled itself into a thin little snake like thing that slithered into the lock.  A few short seconds later there was an audible click and the door opened.  While in training, she asked her professor what Idoru meant.  He replied: “Clemancy, you are not the first to ask and probably not the last.  When I trained here my professor said it represented ‘open’ in Flemming.  Apparently they had a strange sense of humour.”Quickly reaching around the door, she caught the small disk as it fell out the other side of the lock.  Placing the disk back into her pocket, she pushed the door open and called hello.  Her words bounced hollowly off the walls.The inside of the house was in better repair then the outside yet sparsely decorated.  A small bench sat near the door with a small mirror hung above it.  As she explored the place she became aware of musk like odour that permeated the house.  The house was simply laid out with two bedrooms and a bathroom down the right hallway, a kitchen in front and the living room area to the left.  Entering the kitchen, she found the source of light, a heat lamp connected to a timer reflecting down on a small nest of eggs.  Cursing her luck she started looking overhead for the mother.  Turning to the right, she headed down the hall to check the two rooms, breathing shallowly as the fumes made her dizzy.  Peering into the first room she saw bolts of fabric, yarn and various other craft projects scattered about the room.  The room seemed unusually cluttered compared to the rest of the house.  Closing the door in case the mother was hiding in there, she continued down the hall to check the other room.  As she approached the door she noticed that the musk was significantly stronger.  Placing her ear to the door she listened not hearing anything.  Frowning she reached for the door handle and carefully opened the door.  Reeling from the overpowering fumes exiting the room, Lacey wiped her eyes to remove the tears and looked into the room holding her breath.  The room was relatively small and contained only three pieces of furniture, a bed, an armoire and bedside table.  Lying upon the bed were two bodies.  The two shared no resemblance to each other except for the fact that they are both very much dead.  One was a middle-aged women, the other a creature almost identical in appearance to the dragons used by the ministry.  The creature would have stood 18 inches tall.  It had clawed grasping appendages in the front and perched on its back legs.  A long whip like tail protruded from its posterior and it had poison glands located under its forked tongue.  The bedside table supported a small white doily atop of which sat an old fashioned lamp.  Resting against the lamp was a white envelope addressed to “Employee of the Ministry”.  The other occupant on the table was a small vial that used to contain a fluorescent green liquid.  Pocketing the envelope she picked up the vial with the doily and proceeded out of the room back towards the kitchen.  Taking a deep breath she exclaimed:“Of all the cursed luck…why in Carmine’s name do I get all these cursed assignments?  Could my day get any worse?”Back in the kitchen she placed the vial carefully on the table and started rummaging through the cupboards looking for a zip lock bag or something similar.  Finding some sandwich bags she grabbed one and carefully placed the empty vial into the bag ensuring she did not come into contact with any of the edges directly.  After tying the bag, she placed it on the table and pulled out her phone and called the Ministry.“Ministry hotline, how may I direct your call?”“Hello? Cleaners Department please.” Lacey replied.There was a slight pause while the call was transferred.“Cleaners Department.  Where we clean life’s little messes.  This is Borus Placek, how can I help you?” answered the voice on the other end of the line with a thick Russian accent.“Hi, this is agent Clemancy Forrester, badge number Angry Orange Vincent 19.  I need a clean up crew at

, DuChamp.  I have one human women and a female dragonette that need to be taken care of.”“Has the place been secured?”“Yes there appears to be no one else here.”“A crew will be sent to you.  They should arrive within an hour.  Let me confirm your information…Agent Forrester, badge AOV 19 needs clean up crew at

in DuChamp?”“That sounds correct.”“Thank you agent, the crew has been sent off.”  With that he hung up.She hung up the phone and sat at the table to examine the eggs while she waited for the cleaners to arrive.  There were 7 eggs within the nest, mottled blue with golden spots.  She poked at one to see how far along they were and noticed that the shells were very hard. The shells of the dragonette are soft when they are laid and get progressively harder as they near gestation.  Theses one were closer to hatching then she liked.  Lacey cursed again “This just get better and better.”While she waited, she recalled the letter and pulled it out of her pocket and took a closer look at it.  The writing was elegant and well written. Opening it up she reads: 

Dear Ministry Pawn, I know what I did was wrong, but I could not leave her all alone.  She has brought me much joy and I could not let you murder her.  So instead you will not get her, neither of us.  But I don’t have the heart to destroy her innocent brood so I will leave that grisly task to you.  Congratulations, you are now a murderer of innocents.So farewell and know that you can never hurt Allwin nor me again. 

Reading it over again she noticed the lack of a signature.  Lacey shook her head in disappointment.  The ministry has ways of learning what they need, even from the dead.  She did not agree with them but had no power to prevent it.“You foolish women, it would have been easier on you if you had just come along quietly” she commented in the direction of the dead women. Looking at her watch, she grabs her phone and calls the ministry again and asks for the transport department.“Transport department, where we take you there in style.  Patrick O’Reilly at your service” answered a chirping voice.“Hello, agent Clemancy Forrester, I need to reschedule my pick up time. It appears I will be detained till later this evening.  Can you fit me in there somewhere?”“When and where were you to be picked up?”“Pickup was for 2 at DuChamp park, but I have been detained so I will need a later time”“One moment please.”  The phone goes quiet for a moment then this jarring music started to play in the background as she waited on hold.A short while later the chirping voice that she presumed belonged to Mr O’Reilly came back on and gave her what she was looking for.“I contacted your flight and they will alter their route to pick you up at 6 in the

DuChamp
Park.”“Thanks” she replied meaning it and hung up the phone. While she waited she started to rummage through the cupboards and fridge looking for anything edible.  She figured she may as well as she was going to be here a while.  Finding enough pieces to make a sandwich she sits down to eat it watching the eggs.  There were rather pretty if you did not consider that they contained poisonous creatures.  Looking at the crumbs on her plate she realized she was still famished, which was odd as she had eaten earlier that day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.  While she waited she started to feel closed in, like the house was getting smaller and started to pace restlessly. ”Well may as well get you guys packed up, I am sure the personnel at the ministry are just itching to get their hands on you”. She grabbed a small container from the cupboard and started to transfer the eggs into it.  Positioning it just right to move the whole nest into the container at once she nearly jumps out of her skin as someone calls out. “Hello? Agent Forrester?” “In here” she called back, nearly dropping the nest in the process, saving it by putting her hip in the way to catch it.  Checking the nest she noticed that the eggs had shifted around but still seemed all accounted for.  She noticed one of the eggs was smaller then the others.“Odd I thought you were all the same size.”  She muttered to herself, shrugged and placed a cover of the container.“What’s odd agent?” asked a husky voice behind her.  Lacey almost jumps out of her skin for the second time.  A tall half-breed is standing behind her looking at the container.   “Odd, I am not sure.  I think I am just chasing shadows.  There is something about this place that has me on edge” she answers as she tries to regain her composure.“Very well agent.  Where are the two?“There are in the back room.  Careful the fumes are nasty”“Thank you sir, but we are familiar with our work” He turned and headed down the hall, three men trailing him carrying various stretchers and bags.   While the cleaners were taking care of the bodies, Lacey pulled out a granola bar from her purse and starts to pace again feeling even more confined and restless.  She grabbed the container with the nest, the letter and the vial and went to wait outside for the cleaners.  Taking several deep breaths of fresh air, she sits on the step and rubs at her temple. A hand reached over and touched her shoulder from behind.  She jumped and let out a small screech.  Turning around she saw the half-breed looking slightly amused.  She looked around and realized the time had passed and she never noticed.  Looking at her watch 2 hours passed without her knowledge.  Feeling slightly disorientated, she looks to the half-breed wondering what he wanted.“We are all done inside sir, I just need you to sign here and here please”She signed where he indicated and while doing so he asked:“Is everything all right, you’re looking a little pale?”“Yes fine, I am just a little tired is all…it has been a long day”The half-breed nodded and wished her a good day.  Gathering up his crew and the bodies he headed out.Lacey rubbed at her temples still feeling unusually constrained.  The feeling seemed almost alien in nature, but as she was not feeling well, she figured it was just a weird affect from the musk of the bodies in the house.  At the rendezvous site she took a seat on the little park bench waiting for the transport to arrive.  Without realizing it she fell asleep and was awoken with a start by a large gust of wind as the transport landed.  Quickly standing, she fished in her pockets for her papers cutting her finger.  Letting out another curse, she stuck her finger in her mouth and handed the papers over to the transport personnel.  The papers were quickly scanned and she climbed into place. 

Still feeling ravenous, she searched through her pockets avoiding the one she cut her finger on looking for something to eat.  Finding nothing she realized that she should not be hungry.  She got this slightly sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and promptly threw up.  After she wiped her mouth she looked at her cut finger and saw two little holes.  The sick feeling in her stomach climbed to her head and she slumped over unconscious as the dragon took to wing.              An undetermined amount of time later Lacey became aware of hands moving her and tried to stand up.“Hold still Lass or we might drop you.  It happens to some during transport, they are not used to the altitudes.  You just sit here for a bit and your senses will return in short order.”  Saying this Lacey gets placed on a padded bench just inside the transport office at the ministry.  Trying to clear her head she made sure all her things were in place forgetting about her cut finger for the time being.  Once the attendants were out of site she stood up and grabbed the chair as the world started to spin around her.  When everything settled back to some normalcy she headed towards her office.  One the way she dropped off the vial and letter at the evidence locker with a note to have the vial examined for contents.  She then dropped off the container of eggs to the Head of the Department of Ill Begots, Tolsen ‘Firelord’ Harris.  Ignoring his comments, she headed to her office not seeing Mr. Harris go a little red.  At her office she grabbed the most important paperwork and went home to spend time with Jared and Amy.Tolsen Harris was a little man whom she suspected did shrooms.  He was famous for his short temper, and you knew someone was in trouble when the fire alarms went off.  His hair would flare up like a brush fire and his face would turn beet red when he was in a temper that most called him Firelord behind his back.  Doing so to his face would have you cleaning the soot off his ceiling or other menial task he could find for you. Still feeling ravenous, she detoured to the lounge and grabbed a quick bite to eat.  Feeling time press on, she finished quickly then gathered her papers and headed home.Waking with a start Lacey lifts her head off the folders it was resting on and looks around still groggy from the dream.  Hearing a riotous laughter coming from down the hall, she tries to discern its source.  She sees Yuri walk by the office door still chuckling to himself carrying a keg over his shoulder.  Shaking her head at his antics of which she was sure she would hear about in great detail, she tries to clear the remnants of that bad dream. Seeing as she was not doing anything constructive, she grab the folders on her desk and headed out the door purposefully ignoring her office mates snide comments.Flipping through a file, she fails to realize where she’s going and walks right into a well-dressed gentleman.  Walking through him like he was a stonewall, the papers she was carrying flying all over, she lands not so delicately on her ass.  Quickly crawling around collecting her scattered papers and dignity, she mumbles apologies and does not see the wry grin on his face or Kaplin standing off to the side.  She stands using the offered hand, and finally looks into the face of the stoic figure that prevented her forward motion.  Blushing furiously and quickly retrieving her hand, she sees the dirt on his clean coat and realizes what a mess she is.  Trying to wipe away the offending dirt, he pushes her hand away.  A memory surfaces and she knows this man.  He was one of her mentors when she was training to become an agent.  He was what most new initiates tried to be, and her for that matter till she became disillusioned with the ministry.  Feeling even more distraught at having sullied this individual she fumbles in her pockets for a card and hands it to him.“I am so sorry. I did not see you there.  Here let me take care of the cleaning.  Just give me a call when you get it cleaned and I will pay for it.”Collecting the rest of her papers she hurries away not seeing the slightly raised eyebrow of the gentleman as he looked at her card.  The card she handed him was from the days when she was still a field agent, before the death of Jared and Amy. 

            Clemancy Forrester            Ministry of Ill Begots            Agent OAV 19 

On the card there is a slightly younger rather attractive picture of Lacey on the left side.  The words are blue emboss and there is an odd bar code at the bottom of the card that when rubbed will directly connect the cardholder to the person on the card.  The little picture will animate and will talk in reply to comments directed at it.  The old phone card theory before the new mobiles became popular.  Tucking the card into his pocket Matthew Lemon heads out of the ministry with Kaplin trailing behind carrying the Dawn’s package.

Chapter 6 by Jason Brandt 

            A man stood on a rocky escarpment looking down on the valley. He was of indeterminate age, his body fit, his hair untouched by grey. But his skin was tanned and creased from long exposure to the elements where it was visible under a canvas long coat and Tilly Endurables. The collar of his coat was turned up, brushing the bottom of his raggedly-cut sandy-blond hair. A strange bemused look was upon his face that did not reach his eyes, dark and flinty. They bore an unnatural red shade to the pupil. He straightened from his half-crouch and turned to speak to a shadow in a cleft of rock beside him.            "Soon. They shall be ready soon."            A voice of light timbre replied from the darkness.  "Careful you do not upset the balance, old friend. It would not survive another sundering."            The man's expression changed from bemused to enraged in an instant, but still it did not affect his cold and inhuman eyes.            "I care nothing," he ground out, "for the Ministry's precious Balance! Only victory."            The voice from the shadows sounded tired. "You should have a care, my friend. For what use is victory if all is nothing but sand and dross?"            The man spat. "Ahh. It will not come to that. The Ministry is too ingrained."            "Perhaps. But what you are planning has not been tried since-"            The man cut in, "Yes, I know. Which is why it will work."            "It did not the last time."            "Yes, but I have the benefit of my former master's errors."            "Your arrogance is amazing."            "Comes with the territory, my friend. Now, be off with you before you are seen where you should not be."            The voice conveyed amusement, "Where angels fear to tread."            The shadow seemed less dark with the departure of the voice. The man looked back into the valley and smiled his half-smile. 

                                                *                       *                       * 

            A few scattered beams of sunlight worked their way past the edges of the improvised blackout curtain to play with the dust motes in the air. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the blare of an alarm clock stuck somewhere between the music and buzz settings. A masculine arm worked it's way free of the mess of blankets and slapped down hard on the snooze button. It was far too early to be awake after a night of cross-dimensional partying. The room returned to stillness and quiet, the only movement the dust motes in the sun beams.            Time passed.            The alarm blared again and again the arm reached out to silence it. The arm started to withdraw and met a feminine arm half-way that drew it under the covers to a new location.             A sleepy soprano voice whispered, "We need to get up sooner or later. The Inspector is coming today."            "Several muffled resigned oaths in a plethora of languages, some not spoken for centuries, if at all, on Earth, cam from the covers and the sheets pulled back to reveal two heads. One faced the ceiling and belonged to a man in his late twenties to early thirties. He was reasonably handsome and sported a devilish looking black moustache and goatee. His eyes were closed as he responded to the younger looking woman beside him who's head was turned to the side, he lips at his ear.            "I know that, lust of my life. Doesn't mean I want to face her."            The woman, who's pixie cut hair framed her pace even after sleep, brushed her red hair back revealing slightly pointed ears, and responded, "What do you and your friends have to worry about? The station is up to spec."            The man sighed. "I know that. Bust one of these times Alex is going to say something he shouldn't and we'll be slapped with a sexual harrassment suit faster than you can say 'deus ex machina' and we'll be shut down. I don't want to go back to the work-a-day grind knowing nothing about the wider world. I don't want my Talent to be locked up inside again and go back to being Mute. And especially I don't want to lose you."            The woman smiled a nuzzled his ear before replying, "Alex isn't that dumb. And if you are going to lose me, let's make sure you don't forget me."            She rose half up in the bed and reached over him to turn the alarm clock completely off and then settled on top of him. 

                                    *                       *                       * 

            Some time later the man was sprawled on the couch in the living room in his bathrobe with the woman smiliarly attired in his lap. From the other end of the room there was a crash as Alex, a scottish bear of a man stumbled out his bedroom door and fell flat on his face as he tripped on his too long pajama pants.            "Morning, Alex," intoned the man.            Alex picked himself up with a chagrined look on his face. "Morning, Jamey, Jez."            "Don't bother. Dimitri's in the shower."            Alex turned and began making coffee instead. "You'd think we'd have more than one shower."            "We do," replied James with a grin.            "You know what I mean. Why couldn't you count, Jez?"            Jezebel smiled impishly at Alex. "When I'm here on business I do. But usually I'm here one ... pleasure."            "Not much if you're still sharing Jamey's bed."            Jezebel put on her best sultry smile as she replied, "You have no idea, Alex. No idea."            "And I don't really want to, believe me."            James jumped back into the conversation, "Still in denial, eh?"            "Shut up."            James just grinned.            The sound of the shower cut off in the background.            "You go first," James offered, "Gotta look good for the Inspector, don't you?"            "Shut up."            The door to the washroom opened and the three heard Dimitri walk down the hall and close the door to his room.            Alex walked past the couple and into the hallway.            James looked at Jezebel and said, "Off."            She arched an eyebrow at him and squirmed her bottom on his crotch.            "You want to get off again? Already?"            He slid a hand into her robe and caressed a breast.            "Always, Jez. But I meant get up so I can get the coffee. Which you understood perfectly."              She pouted and drew in her breath sharply as he flicked a sensitive spot. "Bad man," she breathed, but slid off him and away.             He stood and walked in to the kitchen.            "No, it's you who's a bad girl," came his voice from the kitchen.            "Only half bad," she replied.            A mug filled with coffee, cream, and sugar floated through the doorway and into her waiting hand, followed by another, black, that floated past her to the hallway and disappeared in the direction of Dimitri's room. James returned with a third mug of coffee in his hand.            "Was that really worth the effort?" Jez inquired.            "No," James replied with a smirk. "But even after two years it's still damned cool." 

                                                *                       *                       * 

            There was an authoritive rapping at the side door. James looked around the room and assured himself that both Dimitri, a tall gangly man, and Alex, were both reasonably attired and bore their Ministry pins right side up. Satisfied, he crossed to the door and opening it, revealing the imposing figure of the Inspector. She was tall for a woman and apparently in her late thirties. She would have been quite attractive if not for her severe business attire and her stern expression.            "Good afternoon, Operative 31747B-3," she snapped icily.            "Go- good afternoon, Inspector," James stammered in reply.            She brushed past him and into the foyer. There was a shimmering in the air as she crossed the threshold and foyer tripled in size and changed decor from a comfortable lived-in look to a spartan business-like appearance. The Inspector removed her rain coat and hung it on a hook that had not been there a moment before. She eyed the other two operatives with her steely gaze.            "Operatives 317417B-1 and 2. Your healths are within Ministry-approved norms?"            "Yes, ma'am."            "Yes, Inspector," replied Alex and Dimitri in unison.            "And you, 3?"            "I'm fine."            "Good. Glad to hear it." She made some marks on a clipboard that appeared in her hands. She then turned and stalked past them into what had been the living room and was now a government-style lounge. She made approving and disapproving noises as she made more marks. The three men scrambled to follow. Sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a Ministry Minder, the quarterly periodical of the organization, was Jezebel. She was dressed in a suit with a high cut skirt. She looked up as the others entered. When the Inspector finished making her marks she narrowed her eyes.            "The station was set to default when I entered. Which once are you sleeping with"            Jezebel met her gaze without flinching. "That's my business."            "It's mine as well, half-breed. Anything that could affect the operation of this station is under my perview."            James answered from behind the Inspector, "Me."            The woman made a note on her sheet. Then she looked Jezebel up and down.            "Jezebel Lemon. I saw your brother yesterday. When was the last time you did?"            Jez stretched langorously and replied, "I'm sure my family relations are none of your business."            "Perhaps not, but I'm curious."            Jezebel locked gazes with the Inspector.            "Bugger off," she said sweetly.            The men's jaws dropped in unison to hear someone have the nerve to speak to the Inspector that way.            But the sever woman just grimaced and replied, "Have it your way, spawn."            There was a hissing of indrawn breath that marked Jezebel's rage at the insult.            "Better than being a cog-lover."            The Inspector's arm snapped out, slapping Jezebel across the face in an open handed slap. At the chin, her long fingernails caught and scratched light furrows in Jezebel's skin. Blood welled immediately from he marks. Jamey's fists clenched, but Jezebel waved him off and stood, placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at the Inspector, unconcerned with the blood dripping off her jaw.            "You get one free one, Mathilda," she said slowly, deliberately. "But think carefully before trying again."            Jezebel reached to the side and tore reality in a vertical line with her fingernail. She put one foot through before turning to face Jamey.            "Later, lover." And then she stepped fully through leaving the dark tear that hung for a moment before disappearing between one blink and the next.            The Inspector rounded on the operatives. "Waystation 72431B passes muster."            The three sighed in relief.            "But," she continued, "317417B-3, you are reassigned. Report to the Ministry of People at 3:02am. 1 and 2, you will receive your replacement soon after. Good day, gentlemen."            The Inspector marched into the foyer, snatched up her coat and walked through the entrance door.            There was another shimmer and the station returned to its default setting.

Chapter 5 By William S 

Blinking what felt like sleep out of the way he opened his eyes to the most depressing sight he had ever witnessed. Before him stretched pristine white sand beaches glistening in the sun. Palm fronds fluttered in a tropical breeze, fluffy clouds without a hint of rain in them hung over the horizon. He shut his eyes tight, voiding the sights. The sound of surf pounded upon his ears. A lone albatross coasting on a thermal cawed a hello. Crabs, fat and greasy clicked and skittered about. He crushed his ears with rough skinned hands, deigning the sounds. The warm wind caressed his face. Sand, scratchy and clinging itched him. The heat of the sun wrapped him like a blanket. Back and forth he swayed in a hammock or woven rope.Mathew Lemon was in the South Pacific. He was back in Hell."A Dream. Nothing more then an afternoon's daydream. I'm still here, I'm still in my cell." Reality slammed itself home. The weight of the truth descended on him, crushed and pulverized him. None of it had been real. He had not been reprieved and freed, not been removed from this accursed paradise. White had not called for him. He had not seen a live friendly face or tasted the joy of living with others again. He was still here on his island with his palm tree garden, carved drift wood zoo and short stories written in his blood on rocks as desolate as he was.Lemon wept and cried for the cruel trick his imagination had played on him.Irrelevant time pasted. Days, nights, hours, years meant nothing here. Some were short, some long. Others repeated or played themselves out backwards. Here he had been since his sentencing and incarceration. Here he know in his heart of hearts he would remain, alone and forgotten. The world would pass on without him and he an agent of change would stay in a cell that was perfect and uncaring what he did to it.Lemon continued to weep and cry. He cursed his foolishness for letting his imagination play upon his desire to be elsewhere, anywhere then here.He needed not feed or wash. Sleep was a hobby, not a necessity. There was never a moment of exhaustion. No disease or predators, nor dangers outside of himself of any kind. He would age but never grow old. Life was eternal here, for what good is a prison you can escape from. He had drowned, bled, and bludgeoned himself. Strangulation was only good for an orgasmic high. He had swam for all his might to the distant line where the ocean and sky met, never looking back, only to come upon his island once more. He had fashioned weapons, ripped, torn, and gutted himself. Setting his trees on fire only meant they would grow back twice in size, and number, twice in mocking. Being burned hurts a lot more then your mind can imagine. Self-inflicted pain grew mentally tiresome. It was no more an enemy or friend. Death was reduced to a theory. Lemon sank inward into a black place deep beyond the most crippling of depressions. Here he sat, tears flowed no more. Feelings faded, existence dulled.It was no good he thought. It was no good just lying there and punishing himself for giving into what he wanted most. He tried to cherish the memories of his dream. Tried to remember the faces he had seen and conversations he had had. Rousing himself from one of the many hammocks he had made, each with a different view of things he knew every inch, and nuances of. He padded to the edge of the shore and stared deeply into the crystal water searching for a glimpse of his emotion worn face. His hat was in the way he removed it to get a better look.Wait. He was not jailed wearing a hat… Lemon stared in disbelief at his suit. This was not what he had been wearing? His dark green prison coveralls having long rotted off his body. He was still dreaming that must be it or had it happened, had the magic etched onto his once exposed skull bones given way and finally he was insane. At least he thought that would be a change. Something to do. Madness in its myriad forms to explore."Who are you called?" The voice came from everywhere and carried with it the taste of everything. Lemon could not help but blink and gap slack jawed and befuddled. The voice repeated. "Who are you called?""Lemon, I am Lemon." His voice was so tiny he could barely hear it."This is a lie. Who are you called?" Pain filled him. He dropped to his knees, seawater slopping, seeping and staining his trousers. His flesh on fire for his lie, tears once more burst from him."I am Mathew Lemon.""This is your second lie. Who are you called?" Swooning now with the pain of muscles melting and bones cracking he rolled to his side and feebly crawled into the surf in search of relief."I told you my name. It is all I have! Please the pain. Make the pain stop. I've been punished enough. I've learned my lesson. Please!" Flesh now dripping from him into the sea he crawled onward."Who are you called?""Seventeen… Experimental Diplomatic alternative Seventeen." His lips now gone formed the words unbidden. Physical pain vanished. Rage and shame washed over him, as did the sea. He had left that accursed title behind in the Ministry laboratories, lecture halls and torture chambers filled with white smocked, black lens doctors and executioners."What are you?""I told you I'm an experiment." He dragged himself to his feet, clad once more in his body and cloths, wet, but unharmed."This is a lie. "What are you?" His vision flared and faded. His sight gone, gone forever he knew it."I'm, I'm a weapon…""This is your second lie. What are you?" he stumbled and sagged as he ceased to feel the world around him. Taste disappeared. Well at least it was change, but what would his prison be like with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company? The truth must be told."I am a failed Agent of Change for Her Titanic Mysteries Special Service." The truth being the word failed. With that his hearing and smell vanished. He was caught from the reality he knew and drifted only in his mind. He may have screamed and wept, he could not tell."What are you?" his own voice spoke to him now."I'm not sure. I really am not. I can tell you what I would like to think of myself as being? Is that what you want to hear?" Silence. He answered anyways. "A hero. I'm a hero." His senses returned. Lemon sighed with relief and tried not to pee himself in delight."Why?" The voice of all sounded close, conspiratory.Lemon kept his mouth shut and thought long and hard. He returned to a hammock to sit a bit and recover. This was turning out to be a long day."Because I don't know how to be anything else." He whispered it to himself, but the reality heard him.Lemon yanked his face from the Basin. The gray-green sludge of security clearance level three evaporating from his flushed face. The half-breed clerk stared unabashedly at him making sure that the tell tail blue staining of the skin was not becoming visible. "Your clear sir." With deft hands and quick movements he cleaned the thermos and pen from the table. The basin he flipped over a shoulder to smash on the warehouse floor behind him. Lemon gave him as smile, smoothed back his grey hair and placed his hat firmly back on."Well I'm glad of that. Hate to walk out of here blue and dying of ink poisoning." He hoped his voice sounded solid to the clerk. The shock and terror of the security test was still playing havoc on his nerves."Who wouldn't be glad of that." The demon entered a note into his logbook and turned to fetch the package Lemon had come here to retrieve. Over his shoulder he offhand mentioned. "I've seen that level of security check done only twice. It doesn't seem that bad.""Have you ever been through it?" Lemon knew his voice was frosty as he said it; he tried to keep his look of disgust of his face."Nope.""Then don't say stupid things." The demon paused in his work and turned back. A sneer was there but it faded quickly at a stern look from Lemon."Are we going to be difficult to each other?""Don't worry about it. You never told me your name." Lemon accepted a small black Ops-like army duffle bag. "My name is Kaplin.""That's a good name. Nice to meet you." Mathew held out his right hand. The demon wiped a palm across his green hoodie and gave him a firm handshake."Likewise." They looked at each other not sure where to go with the conversation. They decided to busy themselves with tasks instead. Kaplin went back to making notes in the logbook. Lemon reached for the bag and gave it a rattle. No noise issued from within. He turned the bag over examining it from all angles till he found the most likely zipper keeping it closed. With a shrug he unzipped it and spilled out its contents onto the counter. Kaplin's eyes went wide with shock, and then narrowed as they looked at the contents. Scattering and clattering about were four ivory dominoes, yellowed with age; A cartoon style tarot card, the six of wands; A NVIDIA GeForce 4 MK400 video graphics card; half of a cracked marble chess board, split corner to corner, sixteen seashells of various types; A leather bound CD holder, but no CD's; Two brass candle stick holder slightly tarnished each with a bleeding yellow candle within; A deck of bumble bee playing cards; An Zippo lighter engraved with Johnny Black, Private 1st Class, Blue Squad; 2 Trojan Medium condoms, ribbed for her pleasure, with spermicidal lubricant; A well-thumbed hustler; A bullet holed civil war era tin tea pot, missing its handle with a minie ball rattling about within and a red Gortex fanny pack. Kaplin whistled softly, Lemon frowned and spoke his mind."What the hell is all this garbage for?" He hadn't meant to say that aloud but confusion made his mind slip. He picked the playing cards up and put them down, then the CD case followed by one of the dominos. The fanny pack caught his eye. Maybe the rest of the contents were a ruse and this is what White had sent him to this depressing place with its industrial green walls for. He snagged a strap. The bag growled. Kaplin blinked and looked over."Did that just growl?""I don't think so…" Lemon shrugged again and unzipped the fanny. It resisted, but he got it open. When he let go the zippers pull-tab, it zipped back up again. "Well now that's curious." He tried again, only to have the same thing happen. A third time and still he was stopped from see what was inside. In frustration he tossed the pack into the black bag. He piled all the other contents on top of it. Kaplin watched out of the corner of his eye while pretending to continue to make more log notes. Lemon gave him a parting smile and made ready to leave. Kaplin chewed his lower lip a little and then made his mind up."Wait…" He shock a little at his boldness."Yes? Did I forget something?" Lemon turned back and looked down at the bag, around the room and at the Clerk. "No, not really, well maybe.""Which is it?""I well. Look, um, take me with you?" Kaplin felt a touch silly for having said it, but there was no retreat. He couldn't stand the thought of spending another moment here. With it's fucking logbook, green walls and Yuri making a pigs ass of everything. There had to be something better to do."Pardon." Lemon wasn't expecting such a request, but never one to pass up an opportunity to let someone speak their mind he waited."Look. I can't fucking stand it here. This place is a prison. I want out, I want to be out there doing, not fucking standing back here counting, invoicing and logging." Kaplin spread his arms wide and asked Lemon to look about once more with his body language. "I'm a trained officer of the Ministry, I’ve got field qualification, I'm fucking good at it to. Shit I deserve to be out of here. You're a full agent you can vet and flag me. You're my ticket out. Just… fuck it. I need to escape this place. You know what I mean?”Lemon looked him over again. "Yes, yes I know what you mean." His voice trailed off as he looked over at the shards of the porcelain bowl, now clean of the evaporated security test. "But why? Why should I?""Shit, I got skills, talents, I know how to curb stomp with the best of them. Fuck I'll even carry you luggage just get me out of here.""Tell me one really useful thing you’re good for.""I'll give you two. I can drink anyone under the table and I know how to get anywhere in the Pinnacle.""Anywhere or anyone?""Fuck in some cases those words are interchangeable."Lemon didn't take long to decide. His mission was going to be difficult enough as it was. Dragging the half-breed along might help. If anything he could use him as a meat shield in a tussle. "Okay. You hired." He handed over the Dawn package and gave one of his ear lobes a tug. "Just remember if you screw the pooch I'm not whipping your remains up.""No biggy." Kaplin hopped the counter top and shouldered the bag. Without a backward glance he strolled through the transparent door after his new boss.Outside midway down the cracked concrete steps of the Department building the two of them stopped a moment. Lemon checked his handless watch. It was threatening to rain. "We need to find the Ministry of People. Is it still buried under
Times square?" "No they had to move it, too many rats. It's part of the Tatterdowns now.""What the hell is a Tatterdown?"“Its addendum world to the Pinnacle. It's difficult to explain, you sort of have to see it to believe it.""Must I?""Not really. I know some short cuts." Kaplin shrugged. Matthew frowned."Either way. We need to get there. I'm allowed a team to help me complete my mission. We're to pick them up from there.""Sure thing, all we need do is take the new subway there. This way." Kaplin walked the rest of the way down the steps, Lemon trailing. At the bottom they turned south and walked off into the distance.“A subway? That’s new. Convenient is it?”“The subway, fuck ya. Just finding it’s a bitch.”“Thrilling.”Fluttering overhead a little red robin darted after them.