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.