Chapter 6 Goat beard and the Mustache

“Alex Cook, Private Eye. Son to one of the Army’s most notorious generals. Brother to Lee..Lii…Lee Cook The World’s best gamer. Brother Also to Debbie Cook whose endless research, quick camera snaps, and a can-do attitude has made her a big name in Journalism. Lastly, Brother to Laura Cook, self made millionaire and perhaps the first and last word in Art- and horsies. He was the guardian to all these people and yet was currently having problems turning on the TV,” Alex Cook narrated to himself. Finally after a good hour or so, Alex finally resigned himself to the fact that the taggle-vision was never going to turn on and went to get ice to store some Dr. Pepper in.
“But how did the brave Alex Cook get into such a cushy hotel?” Alex asked the world as he walked down the hallway daring someone to answer. A small child who was walking towards him promptly ran the other way and the sight of the muttering Alex. “Well it was simple. Denis hacked into the Tag-net accounts and took one credit from 85 people and placed them in a new account that she had created. Once in the new account they were changed the credits value and tag ID so they looked genuine if someone really examined the trace closely. Then Alex just used his credit card and BAM, he had a hotel room. Identity theft, it’s a br-,” Alex was cut off by a sweet looking red mustang out the window. Admittedly it had some rust patches and some wear and tear, but Alex was firm in his belief that all red mustangs looked sweet. Inside he saw a man with a very prominent bushy grey mustache. Alex stared at the man admiring not only the car, but also the ostentatious mustache the man was styling. He himself could only grow a few little beard hairs that looked rather a lot like a red goat beard. He turned away, proud to be in the same hotel as someone with a mustang AND a mustache. After filling up on ice and returning to his room, Alex decided to tackle the TV issue once and for. He reached for the phone and dial ‘0’ for the front desk.
“Hello?” The woman working the desk answered.

“A voice answered, barely discernable as male,” Alex said to himself.

“Er, Hello?”

“’Hello sir. I seem to be having trouble operating my TV’ I said to the man as politely as I could,” Commented Alex.

“That’s too bad sir!” the woman barked into the phone, her voice lowering in anger.
Click.
“Wow that guy has issues,” explained Alex to Denise who was now safely in his leg. “Well I was hoping to get some Buffy the Next Generation in before hitting the hay, but I guess it's snooze time. Good night Denise,” with that Alex drifted off into a deep sleep.

Morning came. As he lazily walked from his bed to his bathroom, Alex scratched himself in a less then polite manner. A quick bladder drain, a shower (the first one in weeks), and a Dr. Pepper, Alex loaded up and was ready to go. As he climbed in his van Alex took Denise out.
“Recall the course to D.C. Denise,” Alex said groggily.
“Denise, isn’t that the mustang I saw last night in the hall way?” Alex inquired after they got on the highway.
Denise replied with “Exit on the right.” Alex listened and took the exit much too late. He swerved into it, almost crashing another car. After a while of driving through a tiny little town Denise told him to get back on the Highway. When he re-emerged he found himself a few cars behind the mustang.
“Denise?” he asked. “What was that all about? We are exactly where we were when we started.”
“Just follow that mustang Alex,” she answered. “I did a quick scan on that car’s plates, it's registered to a Mr. Tulls, who happens to be employed by your mother. As a gardener.”
Alex listened.
“For a long time everything was going well, when the worst happened. I finished my last Dr. Pepper, and my bladder started to feel full again,” The P.I. said to himself. “However though the task was daunting and the stakes dire, I resolved not to stop for more drinks or potty break until I felt I followed long enough.”
The two cars kept moving forward down the highway with no change in pace.
“Oh yes, it required some quick maneuvering, but I managed to stay on his tale this long.”
The two cars just kept going straight.
“Some of the nearby passengers were surely impressed with my driving skills.”
I n the next lane a little girl ran her tongue out at Alex.
“The driving went on for hours, my bladder very sore.” Narrated Alex. He had been driving long enough to play more rounds of ‘ghost’ with Denise then he could count. She always won. As the day wore on Alex could feel the pain in his stomach worsening.
By nightfall Alex was reaching the outskirts of D.C. the two cars, bright red mustang and large van, drove inconspicuously through the streets. After Alex decided he had followed the mustang long enough. He had to check on his parents now. He could find out about Tulls later. Well Denise could.

As he pulled up next to the home his parents occupied, Alex placed Denise back in his leg. He decided to park in the alleyway in the back, in case of a quick get away. Slowly he walked to the back door and walked in. The door opened to a sun room. A nice cozy little room. The walls were decorated with a yellowish paint. It was very reminiscent of pop-corn. As he reached the kitchen, a large orange room, he saw a pile of papers on the island. Moving closer Alex noted that one of the envelopes wasn’t open. It was completely blank. Alex opened the envelope and removed the paper inside. It was covered in odd symbols.
“Denise, what language is this?” He asked.

“It appears to be Aztec and some form of Chinese. I cannot translate it.”

“Okay. That’s good and useless. Probably to some of dad’s foreign friends.”

Continuing to prod his way around, Alex began to suspect he wasn’t going to find anything here. When he turned the corner however he saw something that made his stomach turn. The dead body of middle aged man wearing shorts, sun hat, and gardening gloves was lying on the ground.
“It wasn’t the first dead body I’ve seen.” Narrated the repulsed Alex. It was true. He had seen one during his war time. He continued with “and it sure as hell won’t be the last.” This might not have been true. Alex was just taking a wild guess for the sake of his narration.
“Alex? I don’t think Mr. Tulls was in that mustang earlier,” said Denise. “We should get out of here.”
“I couldn’t have agreed with her more. First though, I needed to take care of some business.”
Alex ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, and he took care of business.
Before he knew it he was back in the van looking for another hotel. When he finally found one he was so tired that he didn’t notice a custodian walking down the hall by his room with a very grey mustache.
-Lee C. Cook Read more!

Chapter 5: Tea With Amil

Tea With Amil

Even before opening her eyes, Debbie was aware of something moving in front of her. Her mind raced. Where exactly was she? She was obviously lying down on something soft, with a pillow propped behind her head but she had no idea how she got there. Finally, and with a little trepidation, Debbie tentatively opened her eyes. She was in a small dark room, lit only by a small light coming in from the next room. The door was propped open, and swayed slightly. Someone had just left. Debbie propped herself up and realized she was on a small couch. She peered around the room, which was small but cozy, obviously in someone’s home. Her TagCam had been placed carefully on an end table. Debbie slid into a sitting position and rubbed her head. She still couldn’t remember how she’d ended up here. She remembered getting off the plane in Kuwait City, and the long ride on the desert road. Was this her driver’s house? Now she remembered the hole in the fence, and the fear she’d felt in the darkness. She reached for her TagCam. It should have some answers. Debbie hit the power button, and flicked her finger across the touchscreen. She displayed the last picture. It all came back to her. Just like she had the first time she’d seen it, she couldn’t help but scream.

Someone burst into the room, summoned by her voice. Debbie managed to tear her eyes away from the image in front of her to examine the man that had entered. He was tiny and ancient; Debbie guessed he had to be at least 90. He wore a robe and house slippers, and his white hair went in all directions and seemed to come from every single hole in his head. It was hard to tell where hair and beard ended, and nose and ear hairs began. The man was holding a tray with 2 mugs on it. Their eyes met, then he nodded at the TagCam’s screen.

“I see you met Clifford.” he said. Debbie’s eyes went back to her screen. A 3 headed dog sneered back at her, his fangs dripping with slobber. His 6 eyes were angry, his fur bright red. Debbie flicked the camera off. She returned her attention to her host, unsure of what to say.

“Clifford?!” she managed to utter, breathless. It was a start anyway. The old man set the tray down in front of her and pointed to it.

“I brought you tea.” he said.

“Um, thanks.” Debbie replied “But uh, where exactly am I? Who are you? And... CLIFFORD?!”

“Pardon my manners! It’s been so long since I’ve had a visitor!” the man grabbed the second mug of tea and moved to a chair across from the couch. “My name is Amil. Amil Hefferscheffer."

“You’re the one I was coming here to see!” she said, remembering her conversation with Jessie. “I’m Debbie Cook, with the LA Times.” Hefferscheffer fidgeted in his seat.

“Press... No press... it’s why I came. No people... no press.... alone... came to be alone...” Somewhere in there he’d simply started muttering to himself. Debbie waved to remind him she was still there.

“Relax,” she said “I’m not a reporter. Just a photographer. I’m doing a project on Freedomland but got a tip that I could find you here. You created The World. I just wanted your picture. Can we get back to Clifford please?”

“That park... they should’ve stayed away. Came to be alone! Dangerous! Deus ex machina. End of the world.” Debbie watched the poor old man mutter and felt sorry for him. He’d seemed pretty sane when he first showed up with the tea, but he obviously wasn’t used to visitors. She quietly spun the TagCam around, switched it to video mode, and focused on Hefferscheffer.

“Clifford.” she repeated. “How can something like that exist?” Hefferscheffer stopped muttering, looked at her, and seemed surprised that she was still there.

“Harmless.” he said. “A pet. A guard. This place isn’t safe.”

“Why not?” Debbie asked.
“Allah Engine. Zeus Device. The unreal is real. I was there from the beginning. Created the world, destroy the world.” Debbie sighed. She was losing him again.

“The World. You created it right? Virtual reality. It’s a game, not real.”

“Reality...” Hefferscheffer scoffed “What is reality? A storybook, a movie, a game. I created The World. Am I the Alpha? Am I the Omega?”

“The World isn’t real.” Debbie replied. “You’re in the real world now. You’re just another person here.”

“If only I were.” Hefferscheffer replied. He stood up. “Clifford protects me. I am his father. The Father. But my mind... it wanders. Things happen here. Life where there should not be. Somehow it stayed with me. I made The World, and it stayed with me. I need to be alone. Danger to everyone. Isolation is the way. You need to leave.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I must’ve passed out when I saw... Clifford. Thank you for bringing me in.”

“Helpful, courteous. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Show you the door. Abandon hope, all ye who enter.”

Debbie stood up, careful to keep the camera pointed at the crazy old man. His insane ramblings sent a chill up her spine, and she was more than happy to leave.

“If you could just direct me to the road, my driver should be waiting for me.” Hopefully, she thought. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been unconscious, but Shir seemed pretty committed to his job. She doubted he’d leave her out here. As long as he hadn’t tried to follow her and run into Clifford. She gulped at the thought.

“Show you the door. Apologies. Rude host... I’m a very rude host. Will show you to the road, but you must leave. For your own good.” Hefferscheffer shuffled to the corner of the room, and came back with Debbie’s shoes. He offered them to her.

“It’s ok.” Debbie said, taking her shoes. “You’ve been very kind.” She put on her shoes and followed Hefferscheffer into the hallway. He opened the front door, and shined a flashlight into the darkness. Then it was his turn to scream.

“NO NO NO!!! You brought them here! It’s over! A pale horse!” Hefferscheffer turned and fled back into the house. Debbie switched the on her TagCam’s light and looked outside. Once again, she was met with the sight of Clifford the big red 3 headed dog. He was lying a few feet from the front door. Each of his heads had a large hole in it. Blood and brains surrounded him. Debbie slammed the door shut. Unlike most of her siblings, Debbie wouldn’t be acquiring an animal sidekick today.

Inside the cabin, the old man was suddenly manic. He sprinted to the closet, yanked it open, and began rummaging around. Debbie watched him for a few seconds as he tossed random things from the closet over his shoulder. She needed the time to gather her words, to ask just the right questions. Finally, she gave it a go.

"Who?" she asked. "Why?"

"Very simple..." Hefferscheffer muttered, not looking up from his frantic digging "Just have to follow the rules... Leave me alone if I follow the rules... I tried... I put no other Amils before me... It's over now... they're here...God is dead..." Debbie nodded.

"That didn't answer any of my questions but DID make you sound pretty crazy. Thanks for that." Debbie walked over to the window and peered out into the darkness. Something or someone had just taken out a big 3 headed dog a few feet from the front door, but it looked perfectly peaceful and serene in the dark night. She squinted, trying to get her eyes to adjust. She thought maybe she saw something move in the distance, and practically pressed her face up against the glass trying to make it out. Suddenly, Hefferscheffer sprang from his position in front of the closet with surpising speed, knocking her to the floor.

"Away from the windows!" he seethed. "What're you, crazy?!" He rolled off of her and crawled back to the closet, again pulling off crazy moves for someone his age. Debbie pulled herself into a sitting position against the wall.

"Did you just accuse me of being crazy?" she asked. The doctor was already busy with his digging though. She snapped a few shots of him hunched over, slinging random things into a growing pile in the room. Finally, he straightened up.

"Aha!" he yelped excitedly. He shoved something into his pockets and turned to face her. For the first time, he locked eyes with Debbie directly. She stared into the old man's eyes, and the fear she had felt at the sight of Clifford's corpse grew. The ancient eyes, wide with panic and fear, betrayed one terrifying fact: Dr. Amil Hefferscheffer was perfectly sane. "Good... you've got your camera out." he said "Hang onto it. Things are about to get a little weird."

"Oh, thanks for the warning." Debbie replied. Her grip on the TagCam tightened. "Doctor... WHO is out there?"

"My babysitters." Hefferscheffer replied, moving carefully toward the window. He stood to the side of it and chanced a quick peek. "They keep me out of trouble... leave me alone if I follow the rules..."

"Rules?" Debbie asked.

"Rule number one... no visitors." he replied.

"Who are your babysitters? Some government group?" Debbie remembered that Jessie had said something about The World being linked to the US Government, despite Dr. Hefferscheffer being well known as the sole creator of it. "Their first instinct when someone wanders along is to start killing dogs? And about that 3 headed dog..."

"They never liked Clifford..." Hefferscheffer replied "Scared them... showed them they weren't masters of this world... things that can't exist do here... things that shouldn't be are. Because of me, you see? Now they can't let either of us leave. In the shadows... Just waiting for the order to strike."

"You have a plan to survive this?" Debbie asked, afraid of the answer. Hefferscheffer clutched his pocket. He looked at her one more time, a smile creasing his wrinkled face.

"Survive? No one can survive the end of the world." Debbie nodded. Crazy riddle-speak was indeed the answer she'd been afraid of.

"Yeah, that's what I figured. I think I might have one though. Are you, like, totally committed to dying tonight, or do you wanna give it a whirl?"

"Lucky to have made it this far..." the old man stared into the distance "If everyone's the beginning and the end, no one is... I knew the risks... I knew the rules... Omnipotent once... impotent at the end. I welcome what's next." Debbie sighed. Hefferscheffer really seemed ready to accept death. She looked up at him, and his face clouded. The wistful gaze had been replaced by steely resolve. "Then again..." He reached his hand into his pocket, feeling the object he'd unearthed from the closet. His fists tightened. "Then again, they did kill my dog." Debbie nodded, and rose to her feet.

"Turn off the lights." she said, looking over the room. "How much time you think we have?"

"Minutes, seconds, hours, days, weeks... what is time but the-"

"Sorry I asked. Please, just turn off the lights. And Doctor? Things are about to get a little weird."

"Base, this is Shue 6. We're in position. Awaiting strike order."

"Shue 6, Base. Copy that. Stand by for strike order."

"Base, Shue 6. Copy. Standing by for strike order. Shue 6 out. Shue 7, this is Shue 6."

"Go ahead Shue 6."

"Standing by for strike order from base, over."

"Roger, Shue 6."

"Shue 6 out."

"Shue 1, this is Shue 7, over."

"Shue 7, Shue 1."

"Copy last transmission, over?"

"Roger that Shue 7, awaiting strike order."

"Shue 7 out. Shue 2, this is Shue 7."

"Shue 7, 2."

"Roger Shue 2. Copy last?"

"Shue 2 Roger."

"Shue 7 out. Shue 3, Shue 7."

"Roger Shue 7."

"Shue 6, this is Base. Come in Shue 6."

"Base, Shue 6."

"Conduct radio check with squad, over."

"Loud and clear, Base."

"Base out."

"Shue 7, Shue 6. Radio check, respond in sequence over."

"Shue 6, this is Shue 7. Affirmative on the radio check, over."

"Shue 6 out."

"Shues 1 through 5, radio check, respond in sequence, over."

"Shue 1, loud and clear."

"Shue 2, got you lima charlie."

"Shue 3, roger."

"Shue 4, lickin' chicken."

"Shue 5.... shit- the lights just went out! Repeat, all the lights on the premises went out."

"Shue 6, Shue 7. Copy last from Shue 5?"

"Roger Shue 7. Base, this is Shue 6."

"Shoe 6, Base. Please maintain proper radio check protocol."

"Base, Shue 6. Repeat: premises has gone dark. They know we're here. Request permission to strike now."

"Shue 6, Base. Strike order will not be granted until all elements perform radio check. We've only got an affirmative on one through four."

"Base, Shue 6. Shue 5 called in lights out. Radio obviously functioning properly. Repeat... subjects aware of our presence."

"Shue 6, Base. COPY THAT. Strike order WILL be granted after proper radio check with squad. Copy?!"

"Base, this is Shue 6... copy that. Shue 7, Shue 6."

"Shue 6, this is Base."

"Shue 6, this is Shue 7."

"Base, Shue 6."

"Shue 6? This is Shue 7. You read me?"

"Shue 6, this is Base... instruct all elements to activate night vision sensors."

"SHUE 6, THIS IS SHUE 7. DO YOU READ?"

"SHUE 7, YES GOD DAMMIT! I'M TRYING TO TALK TO BASE! BASE, SHUE 6. ALL ELEMENTS HAVE NIGHT VISION ACTIVATED. IT IS VERY DARK OUT HERE BASE."

"Shue 6, Base. Affirmative on night vision activation. Please verify status of night vision during subsequent radio check. Base out."

"Piece of..." "Son of a..." "and turn it sideways..." "in the ear..."

"Shue 6, Base... repeat last transmission, over."

"Nothing Base. SHUE 6 OUT! ALL SHUE ELEMENTS NIGHT VISION STATUS AND RADIO CHECK GO!"

"Shue 1, Night vision go, radio go."

"Shue 2, green on night vision, loud and clear."

"Uhh... Shue 6, this is Shue 7."

"....and radio is a go."

"DAMMIT SEVEN! WHAT?!"

"....this is Shue 4..."

"Shue 6, Shue 7. Proper radio procedure dictates that-"

"with a monkey..." "3 times a day..." "in the back of a Volkwagon..."

"Shue 5?"

"Shue 6, Base."

"What..."

"Strike order granted. Move in now!"

"while wearing a clown wig..."

"Shue 6?"

"COPY BASE. All units, Shue 6. Strike order granted. Move in!"

"Shue 6, this is Shue 5... I think my batteries are dead. Anyone? Shue 5 here..."

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Debbie wasn't so sure it could work. They'd had to rearrange things a bit, shoving the couch and most of the furniture to one side of the room. On the opposite end of the room, she crouched in a small space behind a white sheet along with Dr. Hefferscheffer. The whole time they were setting up, she was sure Clifford's killers would burst in at any moment. Fortunately they seemed to be taking their time. She looked at the old man, who got her glance and grinned widely, looking crazier than ever. This was clearly an adventure to him.

The silence was shattered as the front door came crashing down. A moment later, something smashed through the window, filling the room with a bright flash that would've dazed them if they hadn't been cowering behind a sheet. Debbie tapped the tiny remote in her hand. TagCam was about to be put through its most rigorous test yet.

"MOVE MOVE MOVE!"

"ROOM CLEAR!"

"HOLD! 3, 4, 5... NEXT ROOM!"

"MOVING!"

"WHERE THE HELL IS FIVE?! DAMMIT, TWO! NEXT ROOM!" Another door smashed, and a few seconds later another cry of "CLEAR!"

"FIND THEM!" Sounds of furniture being thrown around. Someone ripped open the closet. They kicked the couch across the room. No one thought to look behind the large white sheet hanging on the opposite wall. Debbie smiled. It was actually working.

"THERE'S NO WAY THEY ESCAPED! TURN THIS PLACE UPSIDE DOWN!"

The smashing and stomping continued, with the voices growing angrier and more desperate as time passed. After a few minutes, it died down. The men were just standing around.

"Place is clear."

"Think they got Five?"

"No one got Five! They're in here somewhere!"

"DAMMIT!"

One of them fired his gun in frustration, and the bullets whizzed about a foot over Debbie's head. She gulped as everything in the room was dead silent for a second.

"What the hell..."

"Look at the wall..."

1 man's booted footsteps slowly approached the sheet. Above Debbie's head, a gloved finger poked through a bullet hole. Then a fist gently tested the sheet, which swayed under its pressure.

"What in the..."

The man standing in front of Debbie ripped at the sheet, revealing her hiding spot. She tapped her remote once more, and suddenly the TagCam, which had been projecting a 3D image of half an empty room onto the sheet, suddenly changed its display. Now a hulking image of a snarling Clifford stared down the men.

"I THOUGHT WE KILLED THAT THING!"

"OPEN FIRE!"

Debbie grabbed Hefferscheffer and dove to the ground as the soldiers all opened fire. She tapped the remote again and the image of Clifford started moving randomly across the room.

"IT'S COMING FOR ME!!"

"BULLETS AREN'T EVEN SLOWING IT DOWN!"

Debbie started crawling for the front door amidst the chaos, with Dr. Hefferscheffer a half step behind. Bullets whizzed in every direction, which wasn't exactly the outcome of a perfect plan, but with luck she thought they might make it out unscathed. She bumped into a soldier's leg, and looked up just in time to see him riddled with bullets from one of his panicked squad members. Hefferscheffer was right, Clifford really did scare them! They were practically to the door when the tiny TagCam remote in Debbie's clenched fist decided that she'd asked it to start cycling through pictures. The menacing beast charging in all directions suddenly became a tiny squirrel. Then a puppy. Then a turtle. Then two ducklings who looked like they were kissing. Then another puppy.

"IT'S A TRICK!" a soldier barked "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! IT'S A PROJECTION!" The shooting stopped, and what was once chaos was suddenly a quiet smoky room filled with bullets, a dead soldier on the ground, and 5 more staring at Debbie. So close. The closest one grabbed her by the hair and yanked her from the floor. He gave Hefferscheffer a boot to the back for good measure, and the old man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Various 3D animals floated around uselessly.

"It's some sort of fancy projector." One of the men said, grabbing the TagCam. The one who'd told them to stop firing, obviously the leader, took it from him.

"This yours?" he asked Debbie, still restrained. He watched the pictures appear and disappear at his feet. A kitten in a basket. A grinning camel. A Koala with its baby on its back. "You sure do have a lot of pictures of animals." Another soldier bent over and yanked Dr. Hefferscheffer to his feet. The old man was gasping and wheezing for air. The leader stepped up to him.

"Been waiting for this night a long time, old man. Who's the girl?" The old man could only gasp and sputter. "Doesn't matter... thanks to her, one of my men is dead." He turned to face Debbie.

"You don't even know who you're dealing with, do you?" he asked. "You don't just come waltzing in here. People notice. People you don't want to be noticed by. No amount of silly little projector tricks are gonna get you out of this one."

"It's not a projector." Debbie replied. "It's a camera."

"Oh excuse me! Remind me though... why should I care?"

"Because when you threw the flashbang in here, I had it recording." Debbie squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could and tapped the remote. A blinding light filled the room and the soldiers, each with perfectly functioning night vision, freaked out and started ripping at their headsets. Suddenly free from the man holding her, Debbie grabbed the TagCam with one hand and Dr. Hefferscheffer's arm with the other. They were out the door not a second later.

"Which way to the road?!" Debbie demanded, supporting Dr. Hefferscheffer, who seemed to have trouble walking. He mumbled and pointed to the right, so she shuffled as quickly as she could in that direction.

"Stop..." he muttered faintly.

"Can't! They'll be right behind us!"

"No... leave me..." Debbie shook her head and pushed on, but suddenly Hefferscheffer's grip on her arm tightened. She stopped. "Dead soon anyway... you'll make it without me..."

"I can't just..."

"FREEZE!" a soldier leapt out from behind a tree in front of them, his rifle up. "6, this is 5. I've got two suspects at gunpoint. 6? 7? Base? Anyone?"

"Go..." Hefferscheffer muttered once more. "I'll make my final stand... moment of redemption... die for my own sins... Take this..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, which he shoved into Debbie's hand. "Can't be a secret anymore... End of the world... Apocalypse soon...." The soldier was approaching them cautiously, gun still pointed.

"Umm... what are you planning on doing?" Debbie asked nervously. The old man smiled.

"Still don't believe... I was god once... you should believe... still have... a little juice left..." Hefferscheffer placed a reassuring hand on Debbie's arm, then shifted to stand without her support. "Might want to... step back a little..."

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!" ordered the soldier. Hefferscheffer straightened up completely, and stood rigid. A breeze picked up, sending his wild white hair in every direction. Debbie noticed she could see him perfectly despite the dark, and realized that he seemed to be glowing. The breeze turned into a wind, whipping around the three of them. Debbie took a step back. The soldier leveled his gun at Hefferscheffer's head. The wind grew. Thunder clapped in the distance. Hefferscheffer turned his head and smiled at Debbie.

"I was the Creator... that sticks with you..." he turned back to the soldier. "May not be god anymore..." Thunder boomed overhead "Just old man... with a lot of wrath." A blinding flash of lightning cracked right in front of them, frying the soldier. He slumped to the ground in a charred heap. The old man turned around to face his cabin, what had been his home, where the soldiers inside were starting to recover. He lifted his hands and the ground cracked in front of him. All around the cabin, the ground tore into shards. Earth swayed and shifted, engulfing the small cabin. It slid into a fault, and was soon buried under rock and dirt. Hefferscheffer relaxed, and immediately stopped glowing. Debbie caught him before he fell to the ground.

"You... umm..." she didn't know what to say "You could've told me you could do that before!"

"Didn't think... Still had it in me... haven't tried anything in years..." Again, Debbie had countless questions, and again, she struggled to articulate them.

"How?" she asked "Why?" The old man smiled and reached out to tap the wooden box he had given her.

"Take it... Land of the Free..."

"Take it to America?" Debbie asked. Hefferscheffer shook his head.

"Closer." he said. Then he died in her arms. Debbie laid him gently on the ground, and looked at the destruction around her. In a daze, she stumbled through the darkness in the direction of the road. After a few minutes of walking, she froze. A man stood alone in front of her. He was clearly looking for someone. She called up the flashbang video on the TagCam, but knew she wasn't up for another fight in her current state. Her only hope was that he wouldn't notice her. The man took a few steps in her direction and froze. Dismay filled her, she'd clearly been spotted. Finally, the man spoke.

"Ms. Debbie?! Ms. Debbie is that you?!"

"SHIR!" Debbie ran to her driver and embraced him.

"My apologies, Ms. Debbie. I tried to come looking for you but could not get through the fence. Then I saw lightning storm, and felt the earth move. Then I saw hole in fence. I swear it was not there before..."

"I believe you." Debbie said. "Let's get out of here."

A few minutes later, and Debbie was back in the rear seat of the cab. It felt like she hadn't been there in months; it felt like home to her. Shir climbed into the driver's seat.

"Shall I take you back to the hotel, Ms. Debbie?" She shook her head.

"No, Shir..." The sun was starting to come up now, the horizon glowed with a faint red light. "I think it's time we go where I was supposed to go in the first place.

"Freedomland?" Shir asked. "Now?" Debbie nodded.

"Freedomland. Now." She said. Shir started the car and they were on their way. Debbie set the TagCam aside, thinking briefly about all the wonderful things she had to say about it in her review, and examined the little wooden box Dr. Hefferscheffer had given her in his last minutes on earth. It was small and plain. Unpainted, unfinished wood with a small clasp on the front. She undid the clasp. In the distance, a giant Statue of Liberty jutted into the desert sky atop the world's largest roller coaster. Debbie opened the box.

Things were about to get a little weird.

"Shue 6, this is Base, come in Shue 6. Any Shue element, come in. Repeat, ANY Shue element, report! Over!"

A few miles away, in a secret underground bunker, underneath the world's tallest rollercoaster, a very angry radio operator slammed down his headset.

"Someone really needs to talk to these guys about conducting the proper radio checks!"

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Chapter 4- Chances

Chapter 4- Chances

On the first floor the Smiths were arguing yet again. Mrs. Smith hated his old leather La-Z-Boy and demanded that her husband remove it immediately from the apartment. “Damn it, woman, I’m moving as fast as I can!” whined Mr. Smith as he dragged his long beloved chaise from the apartment.

“Well the garbage truck comes this evening and I don’t want that thing sitting out front for a whole week!”

“Yeah, yeah” Mr. Smith grumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” His wife demanded shrewdly.

“I said…yes, dear.”

“That’s what I thought I heard. You’ll be glad to be rid of that thing,” she eyed it suspiciously “when we have more living room space. You’ll see. No need for that good for nothing piece of junk.” She watched him struggle out the door for a moment before returning inside.

Though it pained him to lose it (after all, the chair had been with him since his chummy college days), Mr. Smith had agreed to let his wife redecorate the living room after their last argument. He had not quite anticipated her demanding that he be rid of his favorite chair. He was pretty sure he could talk her into letting him get a new one; one that was not old and worn, and would match the new décor.

Having finally finagled it to the sidewalk, he stopped and leaned against it to catch his breath.

“LOOOOOOOOOOK OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUT!”

Mr. Smith glanced up and dove swiftly out of the way as young man whose sandy blond hair looked overgrown and disheveled (reminding Mr. Smith distinctly of one of the Beatles, except a less cool version) plummeted towards the concrete. A split moment later he heard a loud thud and hesitated to lift his eyes to the mangled mess he expected to find, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. There sat the scruffy kid in his old chair.

“Huh.” The young man glanced up at the window he’d just fallen from. “What are the chances of that happening?”

“Not huge.”

“Thanks, man!” The kid got up, shook his hand, and dashed down the street. Mr. Smith watched him go then lovingly shuffled his chair back towards his door. Good for nothing, his rear.

He closed the door just as two large menacing figures barreled outside, hot on the Beatle’s trail.

TEN MINUTES LATER

Lee thought he’d lost them. He dipped into a local shop for a refreshing can of “OrangeLee Glad I Didn’t Say Banana” and exited out the back alley to avoid being seen. As he sipped on his energetic and delicious beverage, he wondered what to do next. Who were Hammer and Nails, why did they want him, and how could Lee get himself to the NintendOlympics? His passport and other items were back at his place. Could he risk returning to retrieve them?

He might have to, but he’d need protection. It was one thing to take on thugs in The World, and another in real life. Where could he go to get help? He could think of numerous friends he could call on, but most of them had hair shaggier than his, so who could he trust? Great, thought Lee. What now?

He hurried down the alley, eager not to stay in one place to be caught. Just as he was turning the grimy corner onto a street that smelled like greasy Chinese food, Lee heard a rustling. It started faintly then grew louder and came from somewhere to his right. Lee spun around with his arms up ready to defend himself- he knew a good bit of Tai kwon do- but there was no one there. The rustling stopped. Unsure, Lee stepped forward again to leave the alley and heard the rustling once again. He tilted his head to listen; it was more of a scraping than a rustle. He looked again to his right and down to the ground and there amid a pile of garbage and old newspaper, saw a flash of red. “What the…” Lee bent and quickly snatched up the newspaper, ready for an attack.

On the ground, barely discernable through the filth, huddled a quivering creature just barely larger than the size of Lee’s callused fist. “Aw, hi there little buddy.” Lee crouched down and scooped the terrified creature into his hands. “This is no place for a cutie like you.” The animal beamed up at him with wide beady eyes, his orange and black fur a matted mess. “It’s ok, you’re not the only homeless one.” Lee told him, thinking back to his invaded apartment. “Come on,” he said, tucking the guinea pig safely in his oversized pockets. “I’ll call you Ike. Ike Kush. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

There was one friend Lee could trust to at least feed him and keep him for the night so he could plan his return to his apartment to retrieve his belongings. No way was he going to miss the NintendOlympics. He’d waited for it his whole life and a couple of pair of thugs with a convenient namesake wasn’t going to take it from him.

On the street again, Lee paid a kid ten bucks for the use of his skateboard and sped down the sidewalk towards his favorite guitar shop master, careful not to jostle Ike in his pocket. The animal was oddly calm, he though, for being stuffed into a large pocket and raced off on a skateboard. Lee knew his old Tae kwon do master would be at the guitar shop this time of day. They frequently met there to jam. If nothing else, they could play a couple tunes before the old man helped him devise a way to get safely to Tokyo.

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FOC

At baseball some dudes were talking about flight of the choncs and I totally pulled out the "I'm going to go see them" card. Read more!

Chapter 3: I'm tired.

Alex eyed the Dallas policeman in his rearview mirror as the cop walked up to the car window. He had some scruff on his chin, which always made Alex a little jealous; the only facial hair he could grow were tiny red hairs on the tip of his chin. The cop was pretty hefty-looking. He had a bit of a beer belly on him, but those meaty arms looked like they could definitely do some damage. This was clearly not a man one would want to mess with; unfortunately, Alex tended to unintentionally mess with people quite often. The cop knocked on the window. Alex rolled it down and looked up.

“Hi, sir. Howya doin?” he asked.

“Fine,” the cop replied indifferently. “License and registration, please.”

“Denise, if you would be so kind as to open the glove box, that’d be dandy.” Denise complied, and Alex grabbed the items. He handed them through the window to the looming cop. The cop examined them.

“Hmm…you realize why I’ve pulled you over, I assume,” he said.

“I glanced at the cop, trying to read what was underneath the unintelligent-looking exterior,” Alex self-narrated. “His tone of voice was forgiving enough. I knew if I played my cards right I might be able to weasel my way out of a ticket.” And then, “Yes sir, I ran over the curb. I’m sorry, I’m just in a big rush and made a mistake. It won’t happen again.” It was then that Alex noticed the officer’s nametag: Ericson. “As I looked at his nametag I found the name very fitting for this man. This guy looked like he could be some kind of Viking; kind of bulky and dumb-looking.”

The cop stared at Alex blankly.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

A little slower than last time, Alex repeated himself. “I said, it won’t happen again.” And then in self narration: “I realized this cop must be as dumb as he looked.” The cop continued to stare at Alex a moment longer, then glanced back at the license in his hand.

“Alex Cook, eh?” he asked.

“Yes sir, Alex Cook.”

The officer looked back at Alex in a strange way.

“Alright, I’ll let you go with a warning this time,” he said, and took one last glance at Alex. He then walked away without another word, and Alex watched him climb back into his police cruiser.

“It was a strange occurrence. I felt as if that cop had known something I didn’t. Although, I highly doubted that could be true, and decided to move on. I put my car into drive, and pulled onto the road.”

The next few hours on the long drive to DC went smoothly.

“Denise, find me the nearest Taco Bell, please,” he said at around seven as his stomach grumbled.

“Calculating route, Alex. Please take the next exit,” Denise replied.

“You’re the best, Denise. You always know how to take care of me.”

“You told me to find the Taco Bell, Alex. I was simply following orders.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Denise…can’t you just go along with- never mind. I just want some delicious tacos.”

Ten minutes later, the pulled up to the restaurant and squeezed into a spot next to some crappy-looking red mustang. Alex opened the glass door at the entrance and walked up to the counter to order his food.

“I walked up to the counter, where a largely obese woman stood. I ordered my usual and waited for the large woman to ask for my money.” The woman behind the cash register looked at Alex.

“I ain’t psychic, mister,” she said. “You better tell me your usual before my largely obese self kicks your skinny white butt outta here,” she told Alex in a tone dripping with attitude. The lady didn’t have many facial expressions; it appeared to Alex as if she hadn’t set foot outside of that Taco Bell for at least…thirty years or so.

“Right,” he started. “I’ll have one bean burrito, two tacos, and a small drink.” He had been trained growing up to only get small drinks at restaurants. His father always lectured his kids about how you can get just as much to drink with a small for a lower price than a large; it was free refills, after all. The rotund woman’s eyes shifted ever so slightly away from Alex as she shouted to someone in the back.

“Monica! You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it! You don’t need to be yellin’ in here with customers at the counter!” a voice unseen to Alex replied. The large lady’s eyes moved back to him.

“Four dollars, five cent,” she said.

Cents, Alex wanted to correct. For once, however, he held himself back. He felt he had very little wiggle room with this woman, and he needed his Taco Bell. He certainly did not want his skinny white butt kicked out before he got his food.

“I handed her the money, biting my tongue about her annoying grammar mistake,” he said. He looked at the obese lady’s face, and saw a very unamused look upon it. She grabbed the money from Alex’s outstretched hand and put it in the register without breaking eye contact. He smiled boyishly at her. She rolled her eyes and began waddling away.

“Crazy white boy comin’ in here trying to tell me how to talk,” she muttered under her breath, as she disappeared into the back. Alex reached over the counter and cautiously grabbed the small cup the portly woman had failed to hand to him. He walked to the drink fountain and filled his cup to the brim with Dr. Pepper. Then he turned around to find a place to sit. It was not a difficult task; there were only two other people there. One was a short blonde lady who sat reading a book as she ate her nachos. The other was a man of about forty who had a fluffy gray mustache. Just before Alex began contemplating his jealousy for that mustache, the man stood up, threw his trash away, and left. Alex sat a few seats away from where mustache man had been sitting and sipped on his drink. A few moments later bad grammar woman returned.

“Forty-three,” she said in that attitude-filled tone and returned to the back before verifying that someone heard her. Alex walked to the front and grabbed the tray filled with his dinner. He grabbed some fire sauce from a bucket on the way back to his chair. After sitting down and smothering his meal with the fire sauce, he ate it. After sitting for about ten minutes enjoying the satisfaction Taco Bell gave him, he stood up. He hiked his pants up a little and grabbed his drink. He refilled it, then dumped his tray into a big trash can which read “Thank You.” He left the Taco Bell and walked to his van, where he immediately spotted a large ding on its door. He sighed, frustrated. The crappy red mustang was gone, and the ding was speckled with red paint.

“I looked around for any sign of the culprit, but had no luck. I supposed it was time for a good night’s rest; my adventure was only beginning. I needed all the rest I could get for whatever difficult tasks lay ahead of me.” Alex cringed once as he looked at the ding again, and then climbed into the van. “Denise,” he said, “take me to the nearest Holiday Inn. I’d prefer it to be an Express. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” Denise began calculating the route for a Holiday Inn. “You really are always there for me, Denise.”

“But Alex-“

“No, no, Denise. No need to reply. Just take me to the hotel.” And so Denise did. As he pulled into the parking lot, Alex yawned and rubbed his tired eyes.

“It’s been an exhausting day of driving, wouldn’t you say?” he asked Denise.

“I suppose so, Alex,” she replied. “Would you like me to prepare a route for tomorrow?”

“Just stick to DC. We should be able to make it by tomorrow night if we drive all day.” Alex climbed out the van and walked around back to grab some clothes for the next day. He got what he needed, and groggily walked across the parking lot and into the hotel lobby to check in.

His grogginess was perhaps the reason he didn’t notice a crappy red mustang sitting a few rows away from his own vehicle. In that crappy red mustang sat a man with a bushy gray mustache.

I couldn't remember what you wanted us to do to post the chapters so I'm deciding to not really care. Also, I'm too tired to read through this so if there are any swill mistakes I'll fix em later. There ya go uggo...DONE my chapter.
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I got quite a bit of my chapter done during school today. Instead of doing actual school work...jerks.

I'm typin it up now and I'll post it once I finish the whole thing, which should be tomorrow.
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Blog title

I think you should change it. To A Novel Happening... eventually. Read more!

My heart weeps

Also my eyes. Thanks Debbie. Read more!

DROP EVERYTHING AND CHECK OUT THIS LINK NOW!

http://www.pinkcoyote.net/creativegrooming.html

T-Bowin better be a Ninja Turtle before my next visit. Read more!

Getting Huffy

For reals, Debbie, this ain't rocket science. You've already been accepted to the most prestigious university in Nagadoches, TX... time to let that schoolwork slide! How long do you think it took Lee to vomit up that series of words he calls a "chapter?!" Couldn't have been more than 5 minutes! HOP TO IT.

Oh, Laura, it is NOT kosher to kill someone, but then again we're not Jews.

Still, it'd be nice to keep the Cooklings alive. At least till the very end, so -SPOILER ALERT- Alex can sacrifice himself to save everyone.

That's just the way it's gotta be. Read more!

Killers

I couldn't think of a title and since i just returned home from a Killers concert I put it in there. I laughed about the phones, I didn't fume, I also laughed about the tree and the name of my story artquestrian school.

So there aren't any rules to follow in this thing? What if I should kill someone off? Is that kosher?

Alex is ugly.
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Brains

Well, Debbie ignored my simple instructions, deciding that she could simply choose which character to write for after I assigned her one. Then, to top it all off, she hasn't submitted one word anyway. Lee's grammar continues to degrade, and Laura is probably off fuming somewhere, muttering about how she doesn't destroy THAT many cellphones. Oh yes, things are coming right along.

I don't care though. Check it: This is why I need to live in Austin.

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/news/localnews/transportation/stories/013009dnmetzombies.1595f453.html Read more!

Ironically, i stepped on my phone and now the screen is cracked. Its a cruel world. Read more!

"You know, maybe Lee will post something saying "im wurkin on my chapre butt jest reelizzed im a trerible spellir!" or Laura will notify us that the talking tree in her chapter is symbolic of the changing of our times. I don't anticipate Debbie learning how to use this feature."

Jerk. More homework...think I ain't got enough on my plate as is?

But FINE, I'm writing about Lee.
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Dictators

It is the tradition in the world, that dictators rise and fall from power, Alex, do not try to over step you're bounds, or you will fall. That is my Promise.


plus we shoulda used our hootch names on here. Read more!

Spoke too soon.

Good work Lee. A hostage's life has been spared. Read more!

Assignments

At 7:30 this morning, in a quiet suburban home in Florida, the sound of a phone ringing pierced the sleepy silence. It was a call from the other side of the world; from a war. On the other end of the line, an angry self-proclaimed master and commander of an online e-story fumed. A deadline had been missed. There would be hell to pay.



Yeah, I called Lee from Afghanistan to wake him up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. I did this to ensure he gets to work on his chapter. Obviously, I'm not messin around here. Do not MAKE me go to Mom.

After talking with the lazy bugger, I have decided to dole out the assignments for everyones' first chapter. They will go as follows:

Chapter 2: by Lee. Starring Laura.
Chapter 3: by Debbie. Starring Alex.
Chapter 4: by Laura. Starring Lee.
Chapter 5: by Alex. Starring Debbie.

Upon completion of this first set, further instructions will be given.

I can't help but notice no one has pledged their undying loyalty and devotion to the cause. As of this post, someone still hasn't even registered their name. Troubling. Very troubling.

I will kill one hostage every hour on the hour until my demands are met.

Alex




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Chapter 2- Escape

Laura always knew she should've taken some form of self defense as a kid. Always she wanted to know the secrets behind the strong and glorious karate chop. Luckily for her, thanks to her brother Lee, or was he going by Lii these days, she learned all she needed from the Nintendo Wii video game system. She jumped around Reginald, striking her right arm up in the process, blocking the blades attack. As she got behind him, she took up a priceless vase, most likely 3rd Ming Dynasty, and crashed to over his head.

“Madame…I’m….I’m…sor-”, Reginald was a humpled mass on the floor.

Knowing that she couldn’t just leave him there to die, Laura grabbed Reginald, and dragged him out of the burning mansion. Lying on the ground trying to get her breathe Laura whistled. This whistle was of no human caliber, this whistle, some might say, could have issued from the mouth of the Goddess of Horses. The pinch was beautiful. The note- right on key. From the distance came running Snukims, Laura’s beautiful gold stallion. Snukims was the product of a Black Stallion and a pure white snow horse. She was truly the strongest and fastest alive. On Snukims’ saddle sat Laura’s true pride and joy, a tiny little fluff ball named Cleo. Cleo had a tendency to be skittish, but for Laura, she was the world’s best cat.

“Cleo…Snukims,” Laura greeted each animal, “something is afoot, I need to contact my father."

Laura mounted, put cleo in the Kitten Kary Kuddle Kart she had installed on Snukims’ saddle, and rode.

Incase of emergency Laura had a tiny locker filled with food, a cellphone, kitten treats, saddle grease, and clean clothes about an five acres from her mansion.

Laura had no idea what to say to her father. She wished she would’ve been able to call him earlier, but her cell phone, the eleventh one that week, had been swallowed by an eagle one day.

Arriving at her locker, Laura placed the most important things first.

"Oh no! Cleo baby? Why god why?! You have a slight ruffle in your fur,” Laura procured a cat brush from her jacket pocket. “There baby girl, all better”.

Once all the important business was taken care of, Laura grabbed a Cell phone from her locker to place a call.

ring, ring, ring, ring… We’re sorry but the number you have dialed is un able to answer at this time… please leave a message for jud cook after the beep…

Laura hung up, her face was hot, her cheeks were flushed, and tears were starting to come to her eyes, when it hit her. Who was the one guy that she could go to no matter what the cost, who would always be there for her?

Laura placed the call.

In a far off café by the coast, sat a man. This man had grey hair, that matched his beard perfectly. He knew he should be at home with his family, but decided he needed to get out for a while. His cell phone went off.

ring

“Hello?” answered the man

"Hodge?” came a sound from the other end. “Its Laura, can we talk?”

Lee C. Cook

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Chapter 1: Exposition

This isn’t a very realistic story. Let’s face it, the real world is boring. Fortunately for these characters, the authors, and hopefully the reader (you!), this is a work of fiction. At its core it’s a story about family, but not a very REALISTIC story about family. First of all, it takes place in the future. The characters are larger than life, the stakes dire, and the irony dramatic. It’s a story about the world and everything we believe to be true changing. It’s about the people who change it or try stop it from being changed or both. How to start such a tale? Where to begin? Obviously it’s important to grab the reader’s attention, set the tone, and hint at things to come.
He flipped the big yellow switch on the God Machine, and everything was different.
Not too shabby! What’s the God Machine, what does it do, who’s this mysterious “he,” and is the color of the switch really important? Still, maybe this doesn’t have quite enough zing to it. This story is an adventure. It has guns. And explosions.
He fired three rounds from his gun, causing a massive explosion.
Simple, straightforward, you know what you’re getting into. It still needs something a little spicier though, something to really hook you.
He fired three rounds from his gun. The first round zinged just past her chest, leaving her unscathed but destroying the clasp to her bra. The second round ricocheted off the back wall and nested into the radio with a thunk, instantly filling the room with the blaring beats of AC/DC. The third round, that’s what caused the explosion.
Now we’re writing a story! Things are going to happen. Crazy things that don’t usually happen. Good will face Evil, witty one-liners will be uttered, and the very nature of reality will be brought into question. At least, that’s what could happen. You see, there is one thing this story has in common with real life: it’s just kind of being made up as it goes along. Don’t forget about that yellow switch though. That’s totally going to be key later on.
Oh, and the first “he” was General Judson A. Cook of the U.S. Army. The second “he” was a man sent to kill him. The “she” was a 6 foot tall blond former swimsuit model. Let’s not worry about them right now.
Remember how this is a story about family? It says so right there, up at the top of the page. Pay attention. That wasn’t a lie, it is about family. Specifically, it’s about 2 brothers and 2 sisters with shockingly familiar names. As the story begins, they are spread out all over the earth living their own lives, but events beyond their control will surely bring them together. Probably. Who knows, really? It’s just being made up as it goes along.


The hatch burst open, causing an intense wind to whip through the cabin. Lii fell to the floor, struggling desperately for something to grab onto. A body flew past him and was violently yanked into the rushing wind. Lii got an armhold on a chair, and curled around it. There, he took stock of his current situation.
It wasn't exactly a good situation. He'd faced Hald’n’Cold countless times, and Burninator was no threat. But today they were working together. They had the amulet and the parachutes. Lee had nothing. He was a few feet from being tossed into the open sky, a good couple thousand feet above ground. If only that hatch hadn't been blown open. Of course, he was the one that blew it.
"You idiot!" screamed Hald’n’Cold over the rushing of the wind. Lii craned his neck to see his nemesis on the other side of the cabin. He was clutching the amulet close to his chest. "That move was epic fail! WE have the chutes, n00b!" Hald’n’Cold lept into the air, higher than any human should've been able to. He nimbly pointed himself into the wind, and practically flew out of the hatch and into the open sky. Lii groaned and turned his head toward Burninator, a hulking brute clinging somewhat clumsily to another chair.
"But Koreans HATE tulips!" The oafish man barked. He chuckled at his cleverness as Lii rolled his eyes. The moron was quoting a recent summer blockbuster, which had introduced America to the nonsensical catchphrase. Lee hated that.
"You really think Haldy's gonna share the amulet?" he growled from the floor. Burninator looked confused. "He's already halfway to the ground by now, genius."
Anger washed over Burninator’s meaty face. He let go of the chair and took a few determined steps toward the hatch. Finally, the wind proved too much for even his bulky frame, and he flew from the cabin. Now alone, Lii thought over his options.
There weren't exactly a lot of options. The plane was dropping fast, and he'd soon be a fiery ball of goo or a gooey ball of fire if he didn't do something fast. Of course, he didn't have a parachute, so leaping from the plane would be suicide. Lii shrugged. He'd killed himself lots of times. There was only one thing he could do.
"Zerg rush." Lii quipped to the empty cabin. Then he let go of the chair.


FIVE MINUTES LATER

"Winner… Lii! Now entering game lobby."
A little dramatic smoke wafted from the doors as they slid open and emitted a Star Trek sound effect. A lone figure stood in the doorway. Not a tall figure. In fact, it was scarcely over the mid-five foot range. As the smoke began to clear, the people in the lobby could see him better. His stance was cocky, his brown hair in his face. He wore a black leather jacket a few sizes too big, a vintage Super Mario t-shirt, and a Triforce medallion around his neck. He flicked his head back to brush the hair out of his face, and took a step into the lobby. Immediately, the reporters crowded around him and began rapid firing their questions way too fast for him to answer.
"Lee! How does it feel to have officially qualified for the NintendOlympics?"
"Lee! What were you thinking when you jumped from the plane?!"
"How did you deal with the alliance of your enemies?!"
"What is your training regime?"
"What do you drink after a match like that?”
"Mr. Cook- is it true you're afraid of the dark?!" Lee, who had been soaking in the praise, whirled around to pinpoint the reporter that had asked this question. He came face to face with a redheaded woman, late twenties probably, with a harsh glare. He glanced at her ztag, which was floating above her in neon letters.
"Jessie, is it? With the LA Times. Please, call me Lee."
"Please, Mr. Cook. Call me Ms. Lane. And answer the question, please."
"Am I afraid of the dark… of course not. Where did you hear such a… stupid lie." The truth was Lee had always been afraid of the dark. As a child, his older brother had a habit of making ghost and monster noises every time the lights went out. Now he refused to sleep without a nightlight, and swore he could still hear those voices coming from the walls sometimes when he was home alone. He didn't know how this reporter could know such a thing, but now that he was an official NintendOlympian contender, he couldn't let people find out such embarrassing details.
"Next question…." Lee scanned the floating ztags. "Bobby. From TaggleNet." Bobby was a more traditional game reporter, and Lee knew he could count on him to lob softballs.
"The NintendOlympics are in 2 weeks and buzz is high for you to take the gold. What do you have to say to your many fans?" the man asked. Good ol' Bobby.
"Well, Bobby, this is the moment I've been training for, y'know? I'm in it to win it. I'll Pwn em in Tokyo just like I Pwned Haldy and Burninator tonight. I'm a gamer. It's what I do." Lee winked, then remembered his endorsement deal. "Besides, with the new Nike Gauntlets of Sundering +12," Lee lifted his hands to show the shiny red leather gauntlets on his hands "It's not really much of a competish."
"Mr. Cook, what do you have to say about the accusations that your father is involved in illegal weapons testing for the U.S. government?" It was that Washington Times chick again. Lee tried to up the charmingness of his smile. According to the look she shot back at him, he failed.
"It's, uh… not really my place to talk about what my dad does. I'm… a gamer. It's what I do."
"Yes, I got that, Mr. Cook, but-"
"I will Pwn them in Tokyo!" Lee shouted, letting his anger get the best of him. What was the Washington Times doing here anyway?! He took a second to regain his composure, and smiled at the reporters once again.
"If you'll excuse me, ladies and germs, this NintendOlympian needs his beauty rest. It's a long road to Tokyo." He pushed his way through the crowd and toward the exit door. Halderman stood defiantly between him and freedom, apparently waiting for a confrontation.
"That win was B.S, n00b!" he growled. Lee smiled.
"Funny, that's not what the announcer said." He replied casually. "Besides, what was with the double-team, Haldy? I thought you hated Burns….y." Lee decided he'd better get some more variety in his nicknames.
"His kind's a blight on The World." Spat Halderman "Stupid jocks need to stay in realzies. But I did what I had to for a spot in the NintendOlympics."
"Turned out real well for ya too." Lee replied. "I'll send you a fish flavored soda or something from Tokyo."
"This isn't over, n00b!" cried Halderman.

"Please come back to visit The World soon." Announced a soothing lady’s voice as Lee removed his Taggle headset. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the natural light of his apartment. He had the latest gamer's Taggle setup, consisting of a giant translucent bubble he strapped himself into before entering The World. It only took the master gamer a minute to remove himself from the bubble and take a look around the apartment. It was filled with free products from his sponsors: piles of Nike clothing, sports drinks with his picture on them, and various Taggle accessories littered the apartment. Lee plopped down on the black leather couch and switched his Taggle to view mode. He grabbed a can of “StrawberrLee Rush” and cracked the top just a little bit open so that he could sip from it annoyingly slowly. Tokyo. Lee was the youngest person ever to make it to the NintendOlympics, and he knew he was the best. Nothing was gonna stop him from taking the gold. He took a victory sip and leaned back on the couch as his Taggle screen displayed a commercial for “Buffy: The Next Generation.” Yes, life was good for Lee Cook. WAS good.
“Lee Cook.” Lee jumped up from the couch. Yes, he occasionally heard scary ghost noises, but this was clear as day, and coming from right behind him. “Don’t turn around.” Said the voice. Lee whirled around instantly, and saw 2 men in dark suits in the middle of his apartment.
“What the… he just told you not to turn around!” one of them said. They didn’t appear to have weapons, but who knew what was underneath their dark suit jackets. Lee decided to play it cool.
“Umm, hello, scary guys in my apartment. Can I get you anything?” he gestured at the piles of energy drinks.
“No thanks. “ the first guy said.
“Well, if he’s offering, why not?” asked the second. They exchanged a look. “I’m just sayin, I’m thirsty and he’s obviously got plenty to spare.” The first man’s glare didn’t waver, so the second one sighed. “Nevermind, I guess I’m good.”
“Right. Mind if I ask why you broke into my place? Or who you are?”
“Why will become all too clear soon enough, Mr. Cook.” The first guy said. “As for who, well, let’s just say we’re necessary tools.”
“Tools? You said it, not me.” Lee offered. The first guy looked upset. The second spoke up.
“Great, you’ve ruined his little speech. He was building up to it. Can I just tell him who we are?”
“No, that’s my favorite part. Just shut up already. See, for every job, you need the right tools. This is true whether you’re building a birdhouse in your backyard or staging a military coup to annex a South American nation.”
“True story!” interjected the second man.
“Don’t interrupt!” demanded the first.
“Birdhouse?” Lee asked “That’s the example you use for your scary little speech? Really? You really are a tool, aren’t you.”
“I… tools…” the first man was obviously getting flustered.
“Hammer and Nails.” The second one blurted.
“Pardon?” Lee asked.
“THE SPEECH!” shouted the first man.
“He already ruined it. Maxwell Nails. That’s me. My partner’s Hammer.”
Hammer and Nails may have seemed meant for each other, but assembling a theme-named partnership of psychotic assassins for hire took a lot of work. Hammer always knew how cool his last name was, and decided at a young age that he’d better be some sort killer or performance artist. His propensity for torturing small woodland creatures made the decision easy. Coming up with an appropriately named partner was the hard part. Early in his career of kidnapping and murder, Hammer met up with a Theodore Arm. Together they became Arm and Hammer, the most fearsome hired guns in lower west Cleveland. Hammer tried instituting catchphrases amongst the pair, along the lines of “Let’s clean this place up!” The partnership was short-lived, however, due to Arm’s lack of ambition and refusal to use catchphrases. No one would ever find his body. Hammer then enjoyed a brief stint with a Mexican bounty hunter known only as MC, but after the 5th time a would-be victim laughed in the face of team MC Hammer, Hammer decided to cut MC loose. In the neck. Hammer spent several years working alone, while secretly looking for someone to complete his act. He decided it’d have to be a like-minded psycho, and Hammer’s name would need to come first. One fateful day, as he closed in on some banker in Seattle he’d been hired to kill, he ran into Maxwell Nails. Nails had been hired for the same job. He wore a dark suit and tie eerily similar to Hammer’s, and carried the same silenced pistol. Hammer knew this was fate, and the two joined forces and split the banker’s bounty 50/50. From that day on, they were Hammer and Nails... the tools needed to get the dirtiest of jobs done. Business was good, and Hammer couldn’t be happier with his new partner.
Nails knew he was a dead man if Hammer ever discovered he was a longtime fan of his partner’s work who changed his name a week before they met.
“Umm... hello?” Lee waved a hand in front of the trespassers’ faces. The 2 men blinked. Every time they introduced themselves, they took a minute to let their backstory unfold in their heads.
“Sorry about that.” Said Nails.
“Umm… no problem. So you guys want what exactly?”
“Mr. Cook, you need to come with us.” Replied Hammer.
“Why do I need to do that?” Lee asked.
“Because we have guns?” Nails said, pulling his jacket back to reveal a holstered Beretta. Lee nodded appreciatively.
“Ah. You do. Then I guess I need to go with you.”
“Glad you see it our way.” Hammer said with a smile.
“Can I grab some of my things?” Lee asked. Nails looked to Hammer, who nodded.
“Why not?” he said. For an answer, he received a can of “OrangeLee Glad I Didn’t Say Banana” in the face. He reeled back, clutching his face. His nose was bleeding. Nails whipped out his gun, but Lee had already ducked behind the couch. The would-be kidnappers stood between him and the door. Lee glanced at the window. Sure, he lived on the 22nd floor, but he’d jumped from an airplane a few minutes ago. He peaked over the couch.
“I’m gonna kill him!” yelled Hammer, pulling out his own gun.
“We’re supposed to keep him alive!” protested Nails.
“Don’t care! First he ruined my speech, then he starts flingin Red Bulls at me?! The little nerd dies!”
Lee rolled backward over his coffee table, and clutched a full case of “Berry Berry Lee.” He stood up, holding it in front of him.
“Red Bull? The EnergLee line provides twice the energy for half the calories and comes in 6 delicious fruit flavors!” He figured Hammer would appreciate the clarification. He was wrong. Hammer shot at Lee, hitting the case of drinks. Blue liquid spewed across the room, hitting Nails in the face.
“He’s right.” Nails said, licking his lips. “It is pretty good.” Hammer sneered and shot at Lee again, who cringed behind the case of drinks. Multiple cans were now busted, and blue liquid sprayed in every direction.
“Am I the only one who cares about getting paid?” asked Nails. “We could still take him alive.” Hammer may have considered listening to his partner’s logic, if a big blue liquid bomb didn’t careen into him a second later and knock him off his feet. He fired a few stray shots as he fell, one of which shattered the window. Lee broke into a dead sprint as Nails pointed his gun at him. “Hey… stop… wouldja?” He wouldn’t. He balled his hands into fists, and the leather Nike Gauntlets of Sundering +12 impacted the shattered glass. He dove out the window, and for the second time in the last 10 minutes, found himself in a freefall. As Lee watched the distance between himself and the ground grow smaller, a troubling thought occurred to him. He should have said “Zerg Rush” before leaping through the window. That would’ve been awesome, just like when he jumped out of the plane. The plane reminded him of another troubling thought.

10 MINUTES EARLIER

The wind whipped around Lii as he plummeted through The World’s sky. Burninator was a few feet below him, with Hald’n’Cold even lower. Neither had deployed their parachutes yet, so Lee had a chance to catch them. He had to get to Hald’n’Cold and the amulet before they reached the ground. Lii pointed himself at Burninator. Their bodies collided with a thud, and an awkward mid air wrestling match began. Burninator was bigger and stronger. In an era of virtual reality, jocks like him had invaded the previously nerd-filled territory of videogames, and Burninator was one of the biggest and meanest. Lii clutched at the parachute on his back. Burninator twisted away, thinking Lii was trying to take his ‘chute. He was wrong. Lii grabbed ahold of a strap and yanked it around Burninator a second before the giant man shoved himself free. Still plummeting, Lii turned his attention to Hald’n’Cold, who had just deployed his parachute. Lii dove directly into the thick white canvas, dooming them both to a freefall.
“IDIOT!” screamed Hald’n’Cold. “NOW WE’LL BOTH DIE!” Lii flipped over the canvas of the deflated parachute and found himself face-to-face with his opponent. “WITHOUT THE AMULET, THE LAST ONE ALIVE WINS! BURNINATOR’S GOING TO WIN!!” Lii looked up at the other man. Burninator laughed and pulled his ripcord. A sickening snapping sound filled the air as his parachute deployed. Lii had wrapped it around his neck, and the sudden pressure snapped it. Burninator went limp and lifeless, then disappeared from The World. He now had to sit in the lobby and wait out the match with the rest of the losers. Lii grinned. He ripped the amulet from Hald’n’Cold’s hands, punched him in the face for good measure, and flung himself onto the other man’s shoulders. He rode Hald’n’Cold to the ground, where they each splattered gloriously and were instantly killed. Lii, being slightly higher, died a fraction of a second later, and was in possession of the amulet. According to the rules of their match, he’d won the game.

NOW AGAIN
Lee’s heart sank as he fell from his apartment. This wasn’t The World, this was the real world. He wasn’t going to the gaming lobby after this. He hadn’t won. In a few seconds, he’d be a bloody mess on the ground. Life no longer looked so good for Lee Cook.

Debbie Cook slid the panel up on the window next to her seat and immediately pulled out her sunglasses. The Kuwait sun was beating down on the barren terrain below, and she felt hot just looking out there. Debbie had spent a year here as a teenager, when the trip from the US took considerably more than the 4 hours this jet had just taken to get her from her home in LA. Debbie was a photographer for the LA Times, and had recently been chosen for a special project. The publication was pushing Taggle content lately, and joined in a partnership with a few media corporations to represent real life locations in The World. Debbie was the lead photographer on the project, and had been given a new camera that could create 3D representations to be used in recreating places digitally. She didn’t understand the technical specifics, and didn’t really want to. She was just excited to be chosen to head such a unique and groundbreaking project, and ready to put her new camera to use. She thought about the millions of people who would end up visiting the Grand Canyon, the jungles of the Africa, or the top of Mount Everest, thanks to her photos. Unfortunately, the LA Times had a different idea about what locations would appeal to the masses. As the jet taxied, she thought about the conversation with her editor that led her here.
“Freedomland!” her editor exclaimed, excitedly sliding a brochure across his desk. She glanced at the glossy photo of the American-themed amusement park rising out of the desert.
“Freedomland?” she asked.
“Fastest growing amusement park in the world! Makes Disney look like… I dunno… an amusement park that isn’t all that good.” She opened the brochure and saw a big cartoony Uncle Sam mascot waving at her while a bunch of Middle Eastern people grinned and proudly displayed armfuls of greasy fast food.
“And this is the best way to test the TagCam?” she asked. “A theme park?”
“Think about it… a subscription service to visit the virtual park, with LA Times getting a cut every time someone logs on!” the editor exclaimed excitedly.
“Well, yeah, but couldn’t the new technology be used to capture places people wouldn’t otherwise be able to go? Maybe capture a lasting image of a rainforest before it disappears or…”
“Cook… you want on this project or not?” asked the editor.
“Of course, but I just think…”
“Freedomland first.” He said “There’ll be time for your sweeping majestic vistas later. We gotta show that we can make money with this first.” Debbie sighed.
“Ok, I got it.” She said, closing the brochure and hoisting it ironically above her head. “Freedomland!”
“Freedomland.” Nodded her editor.

Debbie moved quickly through the Kuwait City International Airport. All she had was a backpack with a few personal things, and her heavy-duty TagCam case. The population in the airport was a strange mix of traditional Middle Easterners- the men in robes and turbans and the women in burkas- and foreign tourists drawn to Kuwait’s newest, biggest attraction. Freedomland was a symbol of peace in the Middle East, mere miles from the Iraqi border. Near the airport’s exit, a young Kuwaiti man in an American style chauffeur’s uniform held a placard with her name on it. She greeted him.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Cook.” He said “My name is Shir and I will be your driver during your stay in Kuwait.”
“Please, you can call me Debbie.” She said, shaking his hand. Shir took her backpack, but she held on to the TagCam. There was no way she was letting that out of her sight: she’d seen the price tag.
“Very good, Miss Debbie.” Shir guided her outside to his car parked at the curb.
“No, just Debbie is fine.”
“Yes, Miss Debbie.” She sighed, and slid into the backseat of the car. It was clean, though it smelled a little funny. Shir climbed in the front driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. “Shall I take you to your hotel first, Miss Debbie?” he asked. Debbie almost nodded, then remembered another conversation she’d had at the office before her trip.

Debbie had just signed out the TagCam and was eager to take it home and test it out before flying the next day. She entered the elevator on her floor to head down to the lobby, then home. Another woman entered the elevator behind her.
“Hello, Debbie.” Said the woman. Debbie looked up from her new camera case and sighed.
“Hi Jessie.” She said. Jessie Lane was a young hotshot reporter who’d only been with the LA Times for a few months but was eager to make a name for herself already. Debbie had been on assignment with her a few times. The first time they met was on a Hollywood soundstage- Debbie had begged to be the photographer chosen to take photos for a piece on Buffy: The Next Generation, and Jessie had been forced to fill in for the usual entertainment writer. Jessie had ended up insulting the show’s creator, Joss Whedon, and gotten them both banned from the studio. Debbie hadn’t forgiven her.
“I hear you’ve got a hot assignment… Freedomland, huh.” Jessie said, spitting out the name of the park with disdain. Debbie shrugged.
“Yeah… well, it’s just the start of the Taggle project.” Debbie replied. Jessie looked stunned.
“YOU’RE the one they chose for that?!” She gasped “I mean… congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Debbie realized that this was the slowest elevator in existence. “Any hot new video game leads?”
“Ugh!” snorted Jessie “How do I keep getting stuck with such crap?!” Debbie thought about commenting that maybe she was the best person for the job when it came to crap, but held her tongue. “I’ve got to actually log in and cover some stupid game tomorrow.” Debbie nodded.
“I think my brother’s in that.” She said. Jessie snorted.
“Of course. Well, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve been doing some digging of my own and have found some VERY interesting things out about The World and your precious Taggle.”
“I bet you have.” Debbie said. Was this elevator even moving?
“Oh yeah… goes all the way up to D.C. National government.” Jessie whispered dramatically.
“I think my dad’s in that.” Debbie replied.
“Of course. Well since you seem to have family everywhere, I’m sure you already have other plans for Kuwait.”
“What do you mean?” asked Debbie.
“Oh… Guess you don’t know everything after all! Do you even know who created The World?”
“Some crazy old guy who disappeared afterward, right?” Debbie was annoyed, but kind of interested to see where this was headed.
“Right. Dr. Amil Hefferscheffer. I’ve been doing some digging. I know where he is.”
“Really.” Debbie replied, incredulous.
“Oh yeah.” Jessie nodded. “And I want you to get me his picture.”
“Why would I do that?” asked Debbie.
“Nobody’s seen him for years. You’ll have the exclusive photos, I’ll have the article. Win-win. Besides, you’ll practically be in his backyard.” Jessie reached out and patted the Freedomland pamphlet that Debbie had tucked into her TagCam case. The elevator doors swung open. Debbie didn’t move.

“Miss Debbie?” Shir politely repeated his question “Would you like to check into your hotel?” Debbie gazed out her window. She looked back at Shir and shook her head.
“You would like to visit Freedomland already?” he asked. Again, she shook her head. She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and passed it to the driver.
“Can you take me to this address?” she asked. Shir read it, looked concerned for a minute, then shrugged. It was his job to take the American wherever she wanted, and if she wanted to head out to a shack in the middle of the desert, then that’s where he would take her.

The drive took a little over 2 hours, most of which was spent on a desolate desert road. The sun was setting by the time they approached their destination. There was nothing but sand for miles in any direction, but they suddenly approached a sturdy chain link fence topped with barbed wire. Shir looked worried. Debbie was intrigued. If Hefferscheffer was really crazy and living on his own, he sure did care a lot about security. She’d seen enough to know that this was bigger than that though. This fence had to be military. Her trip to Kuwait just got a lot more interesting.
“I think we should turn around, Miss Debbie. The road is blocked.” Shir said as he pulled the car to a stop in front of the fence. Debbie removed the TagCam from its case.
“Wait here.” She said as she opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Miss Debbie!” Shir called out, rolling down his window. She turned to look at him. “It will be dark soon. Please take this.” He handed Debbie a flashlight. She thanked him and walked toward the fence.
Shir was right, it was already getting dark. Debbie flicked the flashlight on and examined the fence. It seemed to stretch forever in both directions. The chain link was thick, sturdy, and seemed pretty new. She ran her fingers across it and shook it. The barbed wire at the top shook slightly. Debbie walked along the length of the fence, running her hand across it as she walked. She walked 20 feet or so, changed her mind, and walked back to the road. Shir’s headlights were lighting up the road, and she passed through their beam to the darkness on the other side. She walked the length of the fence in the other direction for about 50 feet, but couldn’t see any point of entry. She shrugged and walked back to the car once more. Shir stuck his head out the window.
“Do you think we should be going now, Miss Debbie?” he asked. Debbie sighed
“Yeah, I guess. Looks like there’s no way in.” She opened the car’s back door, and glanced back at the fence one last time. She did a double take. “Ummm… Shir? Do you see that?” A large hole was in the fence, directly in the beam of the headlights. Debbie stepped away from the car.
“Miss Debbie, I don’t like this. I think we must go now.” Shir pleaded. He saw the hole too, and had no idea how he could’ve overlooked it before.
“Did this just appear?” asked Debbie. The hole was just big enough for a person to fit through, and directly in the middle of the road. There’s no way she could’ve missed it. She shined her light around nervously, looking for some evidence of whatever made the hole. There was nothing. She whipped out the TagCam and framed her shot. It made a whining noise for a second, filled the air with a bright purple flash, and beeped. She checked the display. Not the most exciting first use of the world’s first 3D camera, but that was a good looking hole in a fence. She turned back to Shir. “Wait here.” She said.
“Miss Debbie, please, this is very dangerous.” Shir said, his voice warbling. Debbie ignored him, and stepped through the hole.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” She said. She moved along the road into the darkness, her flashlight piercing the night, the car’s headlights on her back. Shir slumped in his seat and rubbed his temples wearily. He looked back up and saw that Debbie was no longer visible . He gulped at what else he saw. A complete, undamaged fence. There was no hole.
Debbie was a little nervous as she walked through the darkness, but knew that as long as she stayed on the road, she would be able to find her way back to the fence. She glanced back and saw Shir’s headlights in the distance. She moved forward, wondering what exactly it was she was hoping to find. The dark was all encompassing. The tiny beam of her flashlight pierced only a faint shaft ahead of her. Something fluttered by her head, and she spun around. No more headlights. Did Shir leave her here?! Another flutter, and she turned back. Her flashlight flickered and died.
Debbie had gone from a little nervous to pretty scared. She hit the flashlight a few times in desperation, then knelt down to feel the road beneath her. She should be able to follow it back to the fence, where hopefully Shir and the car still waited. She took a few steps, knelt to feel the road, took a few steps, knelt, and tried not to freak out too much. She had only walked for a few minutes, and should be back at the fence soon enough. Suddenly she froze. Something was next to her. She could hear it breathing. She hadn’t heard it approach, but she could hear it breathing. No longer pretty scared, Debbie was terrified. Her shaky hands went to the TagCam around her neck. She lifted it to her face, pointed it into the darkness, and clicked the shutter.
The bright purple flash blinded her, and she stumbled back a step. The camera beeped, and she looked at the display.
Then she screamed.

In rural Montana, miles away from the closest city, an opulent mansion sprang seemingly out of nowhere. The mansion sat on several acres of property, which also contained several horse stables, a few smaller houses, and a large warehouse. The mansion though, rose up like a monument from the Montana soil. It was an architect’s dream- 2 large columns flanked an ornate staircase that led to the front door. Medieval parapets rose from either end of the grand building. The roof giant domed roof glinted in the sun. Several different cultures and styles were incorporated into this grand building, but somehow when taken in as a whole it made complete sense. In front of this building, past the meticulously groomed shrubbery, sat a large engraved sign. It read: “Cleo Kitten Art School and Horsey Camp” The designer, owner, and inhabitant of the mansion was just walking in the front door. Her kindly old butler, Reginald, greeted her.
“Welcome home Madame.” Reginald said with a bow and a smile.
“Thank you Reginald.” Said the lady of the house, she looked around to take in the grand foyer. It was always good to come home. “How have things been?”
“The 2nd class just graduated, Madame. We held the ceremony this morning.”
“Shame… I would’ve liked to have been there. Some promising artquestrians in that group. No matter, at least I’ll get to see the opening ceremonies for the next class, yes?”
“Indeed, Madame. Plans for this evening?”
“Oh, I’ll be in for the night. I understand a package arrived for me?”
“Quite right, Madame. It has been positioned in the sub-lab. Will you be wanting refreshments?”
“Hmm. Just some tea for now, Reginald. I may be a bit peckish in a few hours time though.”
“I shall alert the kitchen staff. Anything else Madame?”
“No thank you Reginald. I suppose it’d be best not to keep my package waiting.”
“Very good.”
Laura Cook, owner, proprietor and headmaster of the Cleo Kitten Art School and Horsey Camp, strolled through her living room and stopped only to admire the latest piece above the mantel. She switched out famous and timeless paintings with some of her own work, but was currently displaying a project from one of the recent artquestrians, a 10 year old girl with a knack for water colors who was unfortunately terrified of horses and had to be sent home. Sometimes Laura thought of separating the art school and the horsey camp, as many of the children often preferred one or the other, but she remained committed to cultivating young ladies (for some reason boys rarely applied) in both areas. Those students special enough to fuse their love of horses with art were truly amazing, excepting of course for the young lady who constructed a life-size replica of David using only manure. Laura remembered how long it took the cleaning people to get rid of the smell and wrinkled her nose. She passed through the living room to a stairway in one of the parapets- a winding staircase that circled up and down. The sub-lab, where she studied older pieces, was in the basement. She also had a drafting room, a study full of books, and a studio, but the lab had the equipment she needed for this project. She descended the stairway, and swung open the heavy door at the bottom. The sub-lab was white and sterile, filled with gleaning machinery and equipment for studying ancient art and artifacts. She glanced at the far wall and smiled. A steaming cup of tea was already sitting in the dumbwaiter, waiting for her. Good old Reginald.
Laura took a sip, then turned her attention to the reason she came down here in the first place. A large shipping crate sat in the middle of the room. Her staff had already pried it open for her, but left the crate intact without looking inside. Those were there instructions whenever she received something marked “Priority.” Laura easily removed the top of the crate and peeled back the sides. Before her stood a large stone statue slightly taller than herself. It was dark as obsidian, and gleamed in the bright lights of the lab. Laura stood gazing at it for a few minutes, circled while sipping at her tea, then went to work. She donned a pair of gloves, and ran her hands along the smooth surface of the statue. It may have almost been shaped like a person, but the top was actually larger than the base, like an inverted Coke bottle. As she felt and examined it, she noticed tiny scratches in various spots along the surface. She examined them with a good old magnifying glass, and saw that they were words and symbols of some sort. She decided they were Aztec, though she’d never seen Aztecs carve anything like this. She grabbed a hand scanner and input the symbols into her lab’s computer, and continued working. She found more symbols, and froze.
“It can’t be…” she muttered to herself.
“Problem, Madame?” Reginald had walked in while she was working.
“Umm… this doesn’t make any sense.” Laura said, squinting at the new characters she’d found. “Come take a look at this, Reginald. What does it look like to you?” The old man stepped over and held up the magnifying glass.
“Well, Madame, these old eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I daresay we’re looking at Chinese figures.”
“Exactly what I thought! But look at this!” she grabbed a remote from the table and in a moment the computer was displaying the Aztec symbols on a large screen. Reginald squinted at them and rubbed his chin.
“On the same piece?” he asked. Laura nodded. “It must be a forgery.”
“Obviously, but the lab in D.C. sent it here. According to their paperwork, it checks out. This thing is over 500 years old.” Laura flicked the remote, and the screen showed the lab reports.
“Peculiar… very peculiar.” Reginald muttered, looking back at the statue. “Are there more?”
“I’m checking that now. Can you hand scan the Chinese ones for me?” Reginald nodded, donned a pair of gloves, and got to work.”
After about an hour of silent concentration, Laura was satisfied that she’d found all the symbols.
“Aztec, Chinese, Arabic, and…. Ancient Egyptian.” She said, as Reginald finished hand scanning them. “All on the same piece. And it’s not a forgery. How can that be?”
“Any ideas what the symbols mean?” Reginald asked.
“The computer’s processing them now.” Laura replied. “It had to Taggle with the database in D.C. for Egyptian, but I should have something soon.”
“In the meantime, might I suggest some supper, Madame? The dining room is prepared.” Reginald attempted to guide Laura toward the door, but she stepped back up to the statue.
“Not now Reginald… What IS this THING?”
“Might I bring something down for you?” Reginald asked. Laura sighed.
“Fine… thank you Reginald.” She said, running her hands over the Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Reginald nodded and backed out of the room, swinging the giant door shut behind him. Laura stood in front of the statue, gazing into its blackness. She focused on her reflection, then through it, her eyes unfocused and staring into infinity. She blinked suddenly, coming out of her trance. How long had she been standing there? Her computer was cooing at her, and she flicked her remote. The translations had come in. She put them on the big screen. “What the….?”
Before her was the translated text. The Aztec , Chinese, Arabic, and Ancient Egyptian symbols had been converted to plain English.
They described the end of the world.
They said it was soon.
Laura turned and ran to the door. She needed Reginald to take a look at this. The door wouldn’t budge, so she threw all her weight on it. It was stuck. She gripped the handle, and instantly yanked her hand away. It was red hot! Smoke was seeping in under the door. Laura realized that her mansion, her pride and joy, was burning to the ground.
“REGINALD!” she cried. “ANYONE!” She banged pointlessly on the door, coughing as the smoke continued to fill the room. She slammed against the door one more time, then slunk to the floor. She was trapped. She was going to suffocate to death in her own lab. And the secret of this statue, whatever it was, would die with her. Laura pulled herself to her feet. No, she wouldn’t, and it wouldn’t. She was going to get out of here, and she was going to figure this thing out. She lunged at the computer’s remote, and hit Print. Several pages slid out from beneath the giant screen: the original handscans, photos of the statue, and the translated text. She folded them up and put them in her pocket. Then she climbed in the dumbwaiter.
Laura barely fit in the tiny compartment, and it took all her strength to pull herself up the shaft. Smoke seemed to be coming from everywhere now, but she persisted. A few minutes later, she collapsed on the kitchen floor. Flames were everywhere. What had happened? How could this happen to her mansion? She grabbed the giant marble counter and pulled herself to her feet. She could see the dining room completely engulfed in frames. All her priceless art was being destroyed. A figure stumbled in from the living room, coughing and stumbling. Laura rushed to his aid.
“Reginald!” she cried. “What happened?!”
“Madame! You’re alive! I couldn’t get the door open, Madame! I tried! How are you alive!” Reginald seemed to be barely able to stay on his feet. Laura supported him.
“I climbed through the dumbwaiter.” She replied. “Listen, Reginald, we’ve gotta get out of here. The translations came in, and that statue says some truly amazing things. We’ve gotta get this to somebody.” Reginald’s body stiffened. He clutched the countertop, finally able to hold himself up. He coughed again, and spoke with eerily calm clarity.
“You got the translation?” he asked.
“Yes! I printed it out! It’s right here in my pocket! Let’s get-”
“I’m sorry Madame, but I can’t let you leave.” Reginald shoved Laura with his left arm, and she flew to the ground. She was shocked at the strength of the apparently decrepit old man, but more importantly, shocked at what he had just said. Reginald reached for the knife set on the countertop, and wielded a particularly large butcher knife.
“Reginald?! What are you DOING?!” demanded Laura.
“The secrets of the Alladele Stone must remain secret.” Reginald said. He took a step toward her, knife raised menacingly.
“You know what that thing is?!” she gasped “Reginald… you started the fire!”
“I am truly sorry. I hoped this day would never come. But I have a duty to perform.” Reginald took another step, and now stood directly over Laura. “Goodbye, Madame.” He thrust the knife.




“The Texas sun beat down on the streets, causing me to rethink the trenchcoat and fedora combo I wore over a tattered Dr Pepper t-shirt. I paused casually on the sidewalk to subtly take a quick whiff of my pits. Just as I suspected, I shoulda splurged on the extra strength deodorant. A woman passes by, giving me a glance I’ve become accustomed to. One of equal parts pity and fear. I give my left leg a nervous knock, comforted by the hollow sound of my fist on metal. I feel like they can all see it... The titanium rods and wireless diodes where flesh, blood, and bone should be. I feel like they’re all judging, though deep down I know my fake leg is completely unnoticeable beneath my stained blue jeans. Before entering the office, I take one last look at the Dallas street. Cars move quickly back and forth along the road, air conditioners undoubtedly blasting. The few others outside move slowly and lazily in the heat, but I know what brews just underneath the surface of this complacent block. This is my town. I’m Alex Cook.... Private Eye.”
Alex shuffled toward a large van, muttering his own narration as he went.
“Denise, my lovely assistant, buzzed me into the office. She was my rock. Unjudging, infinitely knowledgeable, my gal Friday in a world of Mondays. Ooh, I could really go for a chocolate Sundae. I stepped into the musky office and relaxed in my chair.”
Alex swung the van door closed.
“Good morning, Alex.” a female voice cooed.
“Denise. Lovely as always. What’s the haps?”
“Your 1:00 appointment canceled, Alex.”
“I punched my desk,” the van’s horn honked, startling a passerby, and Alex offered an apologetic wave “Seemed to be the way business was going lately. Much farther south, and I’d be in Antarctica.”
“Don’t be sad, Alex. You have one unheard message. Shall I play it for you?”
“Please,” Alex said, reclining back in the driver’s seat. The car’s stereo beeped, and a new voice could be heard.
“Mr. Cook... this is Kenneth Grays, an associate of Mr. Cortez, who I believe made use of your services several months ago.”
“Ah yes... Jose Cortez... the worst thing to happen to Dallas since Jessica Si-” Alex began narrating.
“Should I pause the message?” asked Denise. Alex sighed.
“No no, I’m done. Continue.”
“Mr. Cortez may be in need of your services once again. He’s offering double your usual fee, plus expenses. If you can deliver. He will meet you at 3:00 today. You know the place. Be there, or we will find someone else.” Another beep, and the message was complete.
“So... Jose Cortez... one of the local Mexican Mafia bigshots. I did some work for him awhile back. Took some pictures, recorded some conversations, tricked myself into thinking I caused no harm. I’d vowed never to work for him again. Still, I needed the money. I’d probably shower it all on Denise, but it was worth it. She kept me going, day in and day out. It took me about 5 seconds to make my decision. Denise. Set a course for the Taco Cabana on 8th street.”
“Course already set, Alex. Shall I start the ignition?”
“You’re too good to me babe. Let’s roll.”

Alex’s van/office only died once on the way to his meeting, which wasn’t bad compared to how it’d been performing lately. Alex didn’t exactly keep up with its maintenance, he scraped together barely enough to eat after upgrading Denise. Denise started out as a cellphone, but had grown and advanced over the years as Alex upgraded her. Her central mainframe was in the van, but she could be downloaded to a small box about the size of the phone she’d started out as, which Alex inserted into his fake leg. The leg was lined with extra memory and various other gadgets he’d splurged on over the years. Denise could connect via Taggle to the van’s mainframe, and communicate with computer systems wherever he went. She recorded audio at all times, unless Alex told her not to. She spoke to him through a tiny earpiece he hid in his left ear. And most importantly, she was filled with old movies and tv shows which Alex watched whenever he wasn’t on a case. And usually when he was. Denise wasn’t alive, but she was Alex’s best friend and had saved his life on numerous occasions.
“There it was… the Taco Cabana on 8th street. The old memories came rushing back like a clogged toilet that you hope will clear up if you keep flushing it over and over. Of course it doesn’t. And Cortez, it seemed, was a turd who always floated to the top. I steeled myself and looked around for some liquid courage. I found a Dr Pepper can on the floor, and a quick shake told me it wasn’t quite done. I sucked it dry and tossed it in the back. I was ready, or so I thought.”
Alex DID think he was ready, but found that foreshadowing his own narration made things more dramatic when he later played it back. It didn’t always make sense, of course, but in this case it was accurate. He popped Denise into his leg, locked the van, and walked into the restaurant.
“The smell of zesty yet affordable Mexicana cuisine hit me like a freight train, and I suddenly remembered that the last thing I ate was a Snickers bar yesterday morning. Cortez and his cronies were already seated. Kenneth Grays, the gringo of the group, waved me over. A thug sat to each side of him, and there was Cortez, glowering at me with his beady little eyes. Who knows what depraved scheme was passing through his little-”
“You still do that external monologue thing, huh?” asked Kenneth Grays, standing up to guide Alex to his seat. Alex blinked rapidly, confused about what he was saying. “You really should see someone about that. Come on, we already ordered you the fajita platter.”
“I slid into my seat and saw that there was indeed a pile of grilled steak and chicken, some tortillas, mixed veggies, and they’d even remembered to get me that green salsa I loved so much. Of course, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and I knew I’d have to listen to the garbage that was about to spew from Cortez’s fat mouth.”
“I’m right here.” Cortez said, glaring at Alex. “I can hear you.” Alex nodded and started preparing a fajita. He managed to shove the whole thing into his mouth at once.
“Mmmf mmm mmmf mmf mmmmf mmm mmffff,” he narrated. Cortez rubbed his temples.
“I forgot what a pain it is to deal with this guy.” He said. His cronies chuckled, and Grays just looked at Alex with pity.
“We need him, boss.” Grays said “He’s the only one who can give us what we need.” Cortez sighed.
“I know… I know.” Alex washed down the fajita with the giant Dr Pepper in front of him, and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his trenchcoat.
“Alright Cortez, let’s talk business.” He said lowering his head dramatically. “We’re both businessmen, what with the business and everything, so let’s get down to business. It’s business time.” Cortez shook his head sadly.
“Oh, Cook, you’re one messed up dude.” He said. “But you’re right, let’s talk business. It’s come to our attention that you have certain… talents that we may find extremely useful in the correct situation.”
“Talents?” Alex asked, then went right into his monologue. “I couldn’t believe I was even talking to this scumbag. He takes a bite of his burrito, and I’m reminded of a pig at feeding time. Every part of me tells me to get out of there, every part of me but my stomach, which is as empty as my wallet. I fix myself another tortilla”
“You gonna let him talk to you like that, boss?!” demanded a crony. Cortez motioned for him to back off.
“That’s right, talents. Tell me… how’s the leg?”
“I instinctively moved a hand to Denise, patted her on the head. Cortez was a brute, even for a Mexican. He went right for the throat. Er, the leg.” Again, Cortez had to hold one of his men back.
“How’d that happen again?” he asked. “War injury, right?”
Cortez was kind of right. Alex had served over 5 years in the army before deciding to become a private eye. On his way home from Afghanistan, just before being discharged, his airplane stopped in New York to refuel. As Alex shuffled through the line of soldiers debarking the plane, the portable stairway broke free from the plane. Alex happened to be on the top most step, and fell between the stairs and the plane. He managed to pull himself up, but an instant later some helpful soldiers at the bottom of the stairs shoved them back into place. Alex’s leg, stuck between two hunks of metal, was instantly severed.
Because he had left the war zone, but hadn’t yet set foot on American soil, a loophole kept Alex from receiving compensation for his injury. He’d had to spend another year as a soldier, as he endured physical therapy at the Fort Campbell hospital. When he was finally discharged, Alex got his Private Eye license from the DeVry Institute and hit the mean streets of Dallas. Alex didn’t feel like explaining all this right now.
“Right.” He said to Cortez “So how do my talents come into play again?”
“Last time you helped me out, you got through security at the docks no problem. Biometric stuff, state of the art. How’d you do that?”
“I chuckled. I wasn’t gonna tell this fat criminal a thing. Truth is, it wasn’t me that disabled that stuff at all. It was Denise. Always there for me, she managed to Taggle her way into most security systems.”
“Denise?” asked Grays.
“That little gadget in his leg.” Cortez replied. “I knew it. Listen, Cook, we’re gonna make use of Denise’s services one way or another. We’d like to go through you. If you make that impossible, well, we’ll just have to go through your leg. With a soldering iron.”
“Great, he was smarter than he looked, not that it’s saying much.”
“We know you need the money, Cook.”
“I’m not a criminal. I’m Alex Cook, Private Eye.” Alex stood up, grabbing the table’s bowl of nachos as he did so. “I’ll have to respectfully decline your offer, gentlemen. Have a good day.” He turned to leave with the nachos. This time Cortez didn’t hold back his goons. One of them slammed Alex down on the table, sending nachos flying everywhere. The other moved to the entrance and locked the door. Alex remembered now that Cortez owned this Taco Cabana.
“I remember now that Cortez owned this Taco Cabana.” Alex narrated while pressed flat against the table.
“Shut UP you psycho!” barked Cortez. “You’re not even staying in the same tense! Past or present! Pick one!” He waved his other goon over. “Take his leg.”
“I watched with horror as fat ugly smelly Cortez summoned his crony. He intended to take Denise from me, unfortunately for them, Denise has moxie. And I had one more trick up my sleeve. Well, my pant leg. Denise?”
“Yes Alex?” chirped Denise’s voice in his ear.
“Go go gadget leg!” Alex yelled. Denise responded as she was supposed to, causing Alex’s leg to whirl around and spasm uncontrollably. His false appendage was now essentially a whirling blunt hunk of titanium. It cracked the skull of the goon holding him down, and Alex hopped onto his flesh leg. He struggled to keep his balance as Denise tossed and turned his metal leg around. Cortez and the remaining thug stayed safely out of range, while Grays just watched and couldn’t help but smile. The leg smashed into the table, breaking it down the middle. It flung itself at the wall, and Alex had no choice but to follow. He crashed into the wall, but the leg wasn’t done. Hopping along on one foot, he struggled to keep up with it. The second goon attempted to lunge at him from behind, but the leg bent over Alex shoulder backwards in a way no normal leg could, and smacked him in the face. “Alright Denise, enough!” Alex yelped, still hopping to maintain his balance. The leg continued to freak the hell out.
“I’m sorry Alex, limb control doesn’t seem to be responding.” Came the reply in his ear. The leg lunged at the glass doorway, with Alex in tow. He crashed through it, and landed on the cement sidewalk outside. He yanked desperately at his pant leg while being dragged into the parking lot, and finally reached the removable box that was Denise. He yanked it free, and his leg thunked to the ground. He tapped Denise’s touch screen, and his van’s engine started up. He tapped again and the back door swung open. He managed to drag his petrified leg back to the van, and threw himself in the backseat. He slammed the door, and activated the driving controls on Denise. A tiny virtual steering wheel appeared, and he took control with his thumbs. Cortez sprinted out of the Taco Cabana just as the van squealed out of the parking lot. He had to dive out of its way, as Alex jumped the curb and slid into a lane. Now he was cruising safely through traffic.
“That was… Well…” Alex couldn’t think of the words necessary for his narration, so he just concentrated on driving with Denise. He pulled into a gas station when he’d decided he’d gotten far enough away, and tinkered with his leg. It reset itself, and began functioning like it was supposed to. Relieved, Alex climbed into the front seat and plugged Denise into her slot in the console. Immediately, her voice emanated from the stereo.
“Alex! Babysitter Protocol has gone offline!” A second ago, Alex was basking in what certainly felt like victory, even if it technically wasn’t. Now he froze. His brow furrowed. Babysitter Protocol was a little system he’d worked up to keep tabs on his family. In his post-military life, Alex had grown increasingly isolated and paranoid. He hadn’t spoken to his family for months now, but he intended to keep them safe the only way he knew how. He bugged their homes, and implanted each one of them with a tiny GPS tracking device. Because he loved them. If Babysitter Protocol had gone offline, that meant that someone’s chip had been deactivated. That wasn’t good.
“Which one?” Alex asked.
“What?” Denise sounded confused.
“Who has gone offline?!”
“All of them.”
Alex flicked Denise’s screen on, and accessed Babysitter Protocol. He displayed the cameras in Laura’s mansion. Nothing but static. It looked like the cameras had been destroyed. He switched to Debbie’s apartment, which was empty. Her chip had been in Kuwait an hour ago, but now wasn’t putting out a signal. He switched to Lee’s apartment in New York City. One of the windows was broken, and there was blue stuff everywhere. He activated the speakers he’d hidden throughout Lee’s apartment to scare him with spooky ghost sounds.
“Lee?! You in there?! LEE?!” he screamed into the microphone in the dashboard. No reply. He switched over to his parents house in Washington D.C. The front door was ajar, but he saw something move in the driveway. He switched angles just in time to see his mom, frail old lady that she was, being shoved into the back of a car by men in suits and shades. She tried to fight back, but was soon secure in the car, which quickly drove from view. Alex rewound and zoomed in on its license plate.
“Denise? You ready for a road trip?” he asked, firing up the van.
“Of course, Alex. Where are we going?”
“Looks like we’re heading to Washington D.C. I think Mom and Dad are overdue for a visit.”
“Plotting course.”
Alex glanced in his rearview mirror and straightened his fedora.
“I knew when I woke up this morning that today would be bad. Granted, I feel like that every morning, but this is bigger. My family’s in trouble… someone’s out to get them and I don’t know why. All I know is that I’m coming for them. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there, or how I’ll do it, but I’m coming for them. Someone out there is going to have to answer to me. Because I’m Alex Cook, Private Eye.”
Alex squealed his tires as he tore from the gas station, hopping another curb instead of entering traffic the old fashioned way. Unfortunately, a Dallas City Police squad car was passing through the intersection at that moment, and Alex’s rearview was soon filled with the red and blue of flashing lights.
“Oops.”

Elsewhere, the God Machine hummed methodically in the back of an armored car. It had been activated, and there was no way to turn off the God Machine, no matter how much you clicked its yellow switch back and forth. It was with different people now than it had been, these people had stolen it. They thought they owned it. They should’ve known that no one can own the God Machine. They would learn soon enough. Maybe. It’s just being made up as it goes along.

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