AC/DC'S_LVR's stories

kinda long...i know

Ch. 2
Claire Redfield was starting to get nervous. She hadn’t heard from Carlos in hours and the sun was starting to set. Once again, she tried his radio.
“Carlos, this is Claire. Where the hell are you, man? It’s almost time to put up the sentries and it’s your turn tonight,” she said angrily, but then she had a change of heart, “Look Carlos, if you can hear me, please answer. We’re all getting pretty worried about you.”
But still, no reply. Outside the news truck she sat in, the sky turned from dull gray to a brilliant orange and red. She heard the children running to get their meals from Otto, the man who drove the school bus they had liberated a while back. He had a very unique gift of being able to tell you what was in the label-less cans of preserved food by simply shaking them. Behind him were Eric and Mikey, who were helping to unload the cans to the 40 something people of the convoy.

“Hey guys,” Claire said, “How’re we lookin’ food wise?”
“Well, we got just about what was left on the small stores’ shelves,” Otto said as he shook another can, “Some kind of fruit,” he said to Betty before picking up another one and turning back to Claire, “I simply refuse to go into the bigger stores. You never know what’s lurking around. Especially after that quake earlier.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said, “You haven’t5 heard from Carlos, have you?”
“Not since he went out on recon, “Mikey said from the back.
“Okay, thanks guys,” Claire said before turning away to return to her Hummer.
“Hey Claire!” Otto shouted as he ran up to her, “Green beans.”
“Gee thanks,” she said.
* * *
Carlos awoke with a start from the vision of a horde of Undead coming at him, ready to tear him limb from limb. When he looked around at his surroundings, he knew he wasn’t in the 8x8 like normal.
“Your awake,” a voice said from beside him.
Sitting on a chair by his makeshift bed was the woman he had rescued from the Undead. Was that yesterday? Or somewhere else in the recent past?
“Yes,” he said, “What happened?”
“A beam fell on us in the quake,” she replied in a calm voice.
That’s right, the quake. After shooting the Undead, a quake came out of nowhere and he had to pull her away from falling debris.
“I never thanked you for that,” she went on, “Or from saving me from the Undead.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, “My name is Carlos Olivera.”
“I know,” the woman said with a slight smile, “A person on the radio has been calling for you since you were knocked out. I just let it go so you could get some rest.”
“How long have I been out?” he asked.
“About a day now,” the woman said, looking out the only window in the room.
“And what is your name? If I might ask?” Carlos said with a smile.
“Kiriel Crosby. And don’t worry, I’ll find a way to repay you… someday,” she smiled even bigger.
The smile hit Carlos like a ton of bricks. Before he could recover, she stood from her chair and walked towards the door.
“We have dinner ready if you want to join us. Or I could just bring it up here,” she offered.
“No, I think I’ll join you,” he said standing up, “I need to stretch a bit.”
Her oceanic eyes widened ever so slightly when he stood up and pulled his arms above his head to stretch. She quickly turned away and headed out the door before she lost control. Outside, the sun was setting behind the palm trees casting a shadow on the spot where the rest of Kiriel’s family had set up camp.
The heat from the humid, Florida day was still present, but when Carlos stood close to Kiriel, he barely felt the heat at all. It was as if her skin was made of ice. Then her remembered when they were in the bank. Her skin had been icy to the touch but he had taken no mind to it as he was trying to save her.
“Well,” she spoke up once they reached the cars that formed a semi-circle around the entrance to the apartment building, “This is my family.”
“Hello there, Carlos,” a man said, “I’m Sidney Crosby, and I can’t thank you enough for saving my daughter.”
“Hi, I’m Kyrie Crosby, and like my husband said, we can’t thank you enough,” a woman, who looked just like Kiriel said.
“Hey there,” a younger woman said, she looked more like Sidney, so Carlos assumed this was Kiriel’s younger sister, “My name’s Kyra.”
“Name’s Sean,” a younger version of Sidney said, “And uh… thanks.”
“He was the one who helped me get you back here,” Kiriel whispered from beside him.
“Carlos. Carlos are you there?” came the voice of Claire Redfield on his radio.
“Claire?” Carlos asked.
“Finally! Where the hell have you been?” the woman asked in a frustrated tone.
“Apparently, knocked out for the past 24 hours. Why? Have you run into trouble?” he asked.
“No, we’re just a bit worried that’s all,” Claire said, which meant that she was worried sick and about to have a heart attack.
“Don’t worry Claire. I’m fine and will be on my way before long,” he said.
“Okay. You’d better hurry up though,” she said in a stern voice.
“You leaving?” Kiriel asked.
Carlos looked at her and saw the sadness she was trying to hide.
“Would you mind coming with me? You and your family I mean,” he asked.
“I’ll go ask,” she said in a soft, but happy voice.
About an hour after Claire finished talking to Carlos, she spotted him, along with 2 other cars behind him, driving down Sunset Avenue in the 8x8. The children ran to greet him as he climbed down from the large truck, followed by a woman with flowing, dark brown hair.
“There you are,” Claire said, “Where have you been, old-man? Picking up women?”
“Claire, this is Kiriel Crosby, and her family, Kiriel, this is Claire Redfield,” Carlos explained, “She’s the leader of this convoy.”
“Nice to meet you Claire,” Kiriel said, offering her hand to shake.
“They decided to tag along with us through Tallahassee,” he said.
“We’re trying to find survivors and help deter them to a safe haven we found way up north,” Kiriel explained.
“Wow,” Claire responded, “Good luck with that. Umm, Carlos? Can I speak with you?”
Once Claire felt they were out of range of Kiriel and her family, she turned on Carlos.
“How are we gonna take care of there people? We barely have enough food for our people as it is,” she asked, fierceness was apparent in her voice.
“Don’t worry, they’re Magicks, Claire,” Carlos said.
“What?” she asked, stunned.
“Yeah, they clone all their food. They’ve even offered to help us out with the food and ammo problem.”
“Wow… that’s… generous of them,” she said.
“Plus, Kiriel feels that she has to repay me for saving her, and I don’t want to let her down,” a soft look came to his deep brown eyes that Claire could never refuse.
“Alright, but they can’t stay for forever. We have a lot of people to take care of as it is,” Claire said, “And L.J.”
Carlos smiled in gratitude and left to give the news to the Crosby’s.
* * *
A few weeks later, the convoy was all set to move on westward, while the Crosby’s were going to continue on their journey through Florida. The Crosby’s were set to continue on through the state of Florida, but the convoy was going to move on Westward.
“Carlos…” Kiriel started the night before their departure, but she couldn’t finish her sentence.
They walked together through a run down neighborhood that used to be suburbia.
“Yes?” Carlos asked, sadness apparent in his brown eyes.
A look of pain entered her eyes and she moved forward to put her pale, frigid arms around his midsection. His arms, warm to Kiriel, embraced her to comfort her.
“I know,” he said in a low, pained voice, “I know. I’ll miss you, too.”
“I…” she began, but one of his fingers touched her lips to shush her.
“Don’t,” the pain becoming more apparent on his face, “I’d rather not rather not. It’d be too painful.”
“But if I don’t, I’ll never be able to say it to anyone else,” she said.
Carlos closed his eyes, remembering the short period of time they were able to spend together. She lifted a hand and stroked his face with her fingertips. The trail her cool fingers left behind on Carlos’ skin set his nerves on fire, as she reached his chin, her fingers touched his lower lip. Then he caught her hand before he lost control; he held her hand in both of his, warming her cold skin.
“I have something to tell you, Carlos,” she said, “My family and I… are vampires.”
“Well, I guess that explains a lot,” he said calmly.
“You don’t mind?” she asked incredulously.
“Not at all,” he smiled.
She threw both her arms around his neck and hugged him again.
“You know, it’s times like these that I wish I could cry,” she said softly into his ear.
“I love you, Kiriel,” Carlos whispered in return.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
He took her face in both of his hands and pressed his lips softly to hers. They both shivered in unison, but it wasn’t because of the cold that rolled through the streets. After minutes like this, they broke apart, somewhat relieved, but saddened at the same time. The convoy was already packed up and asleep when they got back, so Carlos and Kiriel went into the apartment complex that the convoy had set up by.
After some searching, they found a clean, and unoccupied, room to spend their last night together in. They lay on the bed and resumed kissing, moving in closer to each other as the minutes passed. For the both of them, this was the closest to another person they’d been in years, even years before the T-virus outbreak. With that in mind, they took full advantage of it.

Ch. 3
The next day, the Claire’s people and the Kiriel’s family parted ways, but not before Carlos and Kiriel had their final goodbyes. In the F150, Kiriel stayed quiet as her family chattered on over the “Crosby Network” (C.N.). After about 300 miles, Kyrie broke her from her reverie.
“Kiriel… Kiriel,” her mother repeated into her head, “KIRIEL AIRLIA CROSBY!!!”
“What?” she said with a start.
“You’ve been quiet this entire trip,” Kyrie said in a worried tone, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Mama,” she said, “Just fine,” she continued in a sad voice.
In the Chevy Avalanche her parents drove, Kyrie gave Sidney a worried look.
“It’s time,” he told her softly.
“I didn’t think it’d come so soon,” she said.
* * *
The convoy made it easily through Georgia and was able to cross in to the former state of Alabama before the sun started setting. In the past, sand and other such desert features were reserved for the far West, but when the T-virus wiped out most of the world’s population, the world started to wither, and the desert spread out Eastward. So even the state of Alabama, a usually sunny and green state, turned into the Mohave Desert.
Claire and Carlos did a recon of an outcropping of rocks that stood off the side of the road.
“Seems quiet,” Carlos commented.
“They usually do,” Claire responded, “You okay?”
“I will be,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll go check it out. Stay here in case I need you, alright?”
“Alright,” she said.
Carlos climbed off the top of the school bus and made his way over to the rocks. Once he entered their shadow, he drew his .45 and a flashlight. The atmosphere seemed different from that of the sunlit road they had been driving on for hours. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but he-
CRASH!
A group of rocks fell somewhere to the left of Carlos and made a clacking sound as they fell to the sandy ground. Looking up, he saw a Mountain Lion, far from its original habitat. But instead of a normal growl an animal of this size would normally give that off, an un-Earthly howl erupted from its torn away throat. The massive beast leapt down from its perch and onto Carlos.
The .45 that Carlos carried flew from his grip and under a rock, the flashlight in another direction, the beam casting some light on the creature’s eyes, illuminating them. With what Carlos thought were his last minutes alive, he thought of Kiriel.
Just as the Undead Lion poised itself to bring its jaws down on his jugular….
A wall of sand crashed into the side of the Mountain Lion, releasing Carlos from its grip. Looking up, he saw Kiriel standing in the setting sunlight, a look of pure determination on her face, and a fire alive in her Oceanic eyes that Carlos could see from his vantage point. She drew the large Elephant Gun she carried on her back and aimed at the Undead creature as it recovered from the blow and crouched to spring upon her.
Blood splattered the rocks as the report blew through the Lions head, shattering its skull and sending cranial matter everywhere. Kiriel hopped down from the rock she stood on and held out a hand to help Carlos up.
“If you keep this up,” she said, “I’ll never get to repay you properly,” she smiled a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the dark crevice they were in.
He returned her smile with gusto before taking her up in his arms and pressing his mouth to hers.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said when they broke apart.
“You aren’t the only one,” she said, “My parents had a little discussion and decided… I could be of more use to yn’s guys here, plus they said they trusted you enough to let us be together.”
Carlos’ smile grew before Claire started talking over the radio in his ear.
“Carlos, are you okay?” she shouted, “What was that gunshot?”
“I’m fine,” he said in a happy voice, “I just found a little help.”
They quickly finished their check of anymore Undead, animal or human, then called the rest of the convoy in. Kiriel retrieved her F150 and met them in the shaded area where the Lion had attacked Carlos. That night, they had a grad meal to celebrate Kiriel’s return to them. The children had especially taken a liking to her, but one in particular liked to stick around wherever she went.
“Kiriel, look at this rock I found!” little Aaron shouted from beside the bus.
She walked over to him and looked at the tiny pebble in his hand. When held in the sunlight, it changed colors as he moved it around.
“That’s not just a rock Aaron,” she said in a gentle voice, “It’s an opal. A precious stone that’s good luck for little boys and girls like you.”
His big hazel eyes widened when she said this, “Really?” he asked in awe.
“Yes,” she replied, “You’d better hold that close, it’ll give us all good luck.”
She ruffled his dusty red hair and sent him over to get his dinner from Otto. Then Carlos came up behind her and placed an arm around her slender shoulders.
“The kids seem to like you,” he said.
“Really?” she asked meeting his brown eyes stare, “I guess I get it from my parents. Both of them are really good with kids. Hence, my brother and sister.”
That night, they all sat around a large bonfire and shared stories about their pasts. As usual, the funniest, and sometimes the most adventurous, came from L.J. Kiriel and Carlos sat together off to one side when someone’s stomach growled.
“Someone’s got a tree frog in them,” she commented.
“How do you know what a tree frog sounds like?” the girl they called K-Mart asked.
Kiriel looked up from her beef stew and saw most of the convoy looking back.
“Well… uh-I’ve kinda traveled a lot in my past,” she explained, a little nervous to be in the spotlight, “And my Mama’s always been sort of a geek when it comes to most things. So when my siblings and I were little, she taught us all about animals, space, and the past. It kinda sticks to you after a while.”
“Like what?” K-Mart asked.
“Well… President Franklin D. Roosevelt, FDR to some of us older folks,” she smiled, “His middle name was Deleanor, his uncle, Teddy Roosevelt always said, ‘Speak softly but always carry a big stick.’ As well as, ‘When you play, play hard; but when you work, don’t play at all.’”
“Wow, can what else did you learn?” Aaron asked from beside K-Mart.
“A lot of things, hun,” she said with a wink, “And I didn’t just learn it from my Mama, my ‘aunts’ know a lot and they’re still teaching me stuff they either create or discover.”
“Can you teach us, Kiriel?” Aaron asked.
“I… well, you see…” she looked around at the convoy, whose full attention was now on her, “Okay. What do you wanna learn?”
And so began a nightly ritual that after dinner, the children would gather around Kiriel’s, who people had started calling Elly, F150 to learn something new. A lot of times, she’d tell them a story or two that pertained to the conversation, or give a little pop quiz about the previous nights discussion. Afterwards, when the kids were all tucked away on the bus, Elly climbed into the back of Carlos’ 8x8 to sleep with him on the cot.
“When are you gonna let me see you without all those weapons on again, hun?” she asked one night, after a lecture on deep-sea life.
“How about now?” he said, sitting up from his position on the cot.
She stood up and helped him to remove the gear he wore day in and day out. After he sat bare chested, she straddled his lap and removed her own shirt, before placing her lips over top of his. A fiery heat spread throughout her body, as an icy cold chill filled his. Normally, they would have spurned the opposing warmth and ice that filled them, but this was a different warmth, and a different icy cold chill that threatened to spill over form their beings.
Still kissing, they laid back on the dirty sheets of the cot and proceeded to undress each other until they were both naked in one an other’s arms. They rolled so that Carlos was on top of Elly and they pulled away. Their eyes met; again, opposing feeling ran though them from that stare.
Then she felt him….
And the world around her shattered into a billion pieces….

very nice

Preface
I have always had an excellent memory. I guess it came with the rest of my abilities, and it is one of the only things that the people have not been able to take away from me. The other thing was my mind. Ever since I could remember, I have been able to hear what people were thinking, but that isn’t the only thing my mind can do. I can move things at will, make people think they’ve heard something or seen something, and I can also create things. The things I can create vary from solid object to inanimate objects such as a gas or even sounds.

That’s one more thing they can’t ever take from me: sounds, but more importantly, music. They have muted my hearing by placing metal headphones that were stuffed with soundproof foam over my ears. But despite that, I can still produce the sounds I hear from other people inside my head. It’s not the same, the music I create, but it’s the only thing that keeps me sane as I lay, strapped to a gurney-like bed, my limbs and head all tied down and bound so I can’t move or use my Magick.

That is the reason I am here now. The reason I have been bound in this prison for most of my life; like a prisoner. Hell, I am a prisoner. A prisoner in my own head, in my own body, in my own existence. That is the reason I was abandoned as a child, barely old enough to talk, let alone walk. My family left me with the American government when I was only 3 years old, just learning to walk and talk to them. But I remember that I could make sounds, although I only did that on my own. For some reason, I knew that if others knew about my mind, they would only punish me.

I was almost right on the punishment part. They still punished me when I would use Magick, even though I couldn’t help it. My Magick came to me on instinct, it still does at times, that’s why they decided when I turned 10 to tie me down for good. At first, I fought against my bonds, attempting to escape my prison, but that made them hurt me more. So I came to the conclusion that if I keep it inside, I’ll be able to use my power to an even greater degree when I finally got out.

Then I discovered music. One of the janitors likes to listen to a device called an iPod that plays music. I was immediately captivated by the sound of what I came to learn was a guitar. That’s where I focused my energies, on trying to recreate what I heard, when I was completely alone of course. Luckily for me, I am in a completely secluded section of the Arctic based prison in the Northern most part of Alaska.

Then one day, a piece of news reached me in my small, broom closet-like cell….

They wanted to let me out….

Ch. 1

It was a bright and sunny fall day outside, according to my favorite janitor, the one with the iPod. He fantasized about going outside and doing yard-work instead of cleaning out a Magicks cell. The ‘suits,’ as Mr. Rodriguez, the janitor, referred to them as, were making their way down the long expanse of corridor that lead to my cell. From what they were thinking, I could tell they needed me for something, and they were both extremely reluctant to turn to me.

A small smile behind the gag that had held my mouth shut for many years now formed. It felt strange on my lips, but I liked it very much still. The way the muscles in my aching jaw responded felt nice, pleasant even. I kept that smile in place until I ‘heard’ them at my cell door. Hearing being the inappropriate word for how I knew they were there, but alas, it is the only word I have in my vocabulary to be able to describe the sensation of my inner ear vibrating from the inside out into my head to alert me to sound.

Their minds raced as to find a viable excuse to get themselves out of having to visit me and explain how the country needed my aid in a case.

“Are you sure there’s no other Magick that we can use in our investigation?” the one they called Michael Grant, a stout Asian man with tiny glasses he used to see his way around the outside world.

“Would you shut the hell up, Mike?” the other suit, named Alexander Bretnore, said in a whisper. This man was paler in comparison to Grant in just about every way. His hair was a shocking blond, his skin looked about as appealing as spoiled milk, and his eyes were a piercing blue.

That was the only thing I liked about people: their eyes. It seemed to make them uncomfortable when I looked them in the eye, but I enjoyed the pure emotion that their eyes betrayed as they darted around the room, trying not to look at me in my bound form.

Finally, the door opened to reveal the two agents that were in charge of escorting me to a building they called ‘The Pentagon’. As usual, the men looked at everything except me when they entered the tiny space my gurney took up. Although the men wore dark sunglasses, Grant’s being prescription, I could still see their eyes move too and fro in a sort of quest to not look me in the eye.

It was quite entertaining actually….

A nurse entered the room in order to plug microphones into the headphones I was forced to wear over my ears so I could hear the Special Agents speak.

“Subject 362436-BsB, also known as Kyrie Humphreys,” Bretnore began after clearing his throat a few times, “You have been summoned by the President of the United States of America to help the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. in an ongoing case regarding one of your own kind. Blink once if you understand.”

I obliged, a smile still fighting to reveal itself against my gag. After Bretnore finished his high and mighty act, Dr. Marschall walked through the door into our already cramped space to place a device into my bound hand. I recognized it by the feel of the small buttons that were essentially a miniaturized keyboard.

“Of course I understand Special Agents,” came the God-awful computer generated voice from the speakers the doctor had plugged into my bed.

“How did you know we were Special Agents?” Grant asked me.

‘Shit.’

“It’s quite obvious by not only your attire but your postures and voices that you are government agents,” I typed while attempting to keep my face as calm as the voice that emitted from the speakers on either side of my bed.

Grant narrowed his already tiny eyes at me before continuing, “The doctors overlooking you will prep you for transport to a private jet that will escort you to the White House for a debriefing on the case at hand.”

Once again, I blinked to acknowledge what he had said.

“Then we shall see you in Washington D.C. Miss. Humphreys,” Bretnore said before they left the cramped room to allow the team of doctors, nurses and security guards to ready me for transport.

As they moved about me in caution, that little smile still threatened against my gag. The President wanted my help. It was too funny to be true, I had already realized. But if this was an elaborate way for them to finally execute me, then I would happily play along. Anything was better than sitting in a broom closet for a room strapped to a gurney as the people around you feared you and hated you every second they breathed the same oxygen as you did.

Ch. 2
The flight from the Maximum Governmental Penitentiary I had come to call home for the past 17 years of my miserable existence was actually quite pleasant. For the first time I had many foods I had heard about in others minds. My favorite of the foods they offered me was coffee.

The subtle flavors that screamed to be noticed on my taste buds as I sipped them hit close to home, reminding me of myself. Trapped for 17 years in that cell, unable to move or speak. The taste of the hazel and coffee bean hit my tongue in a furious storm that scalded the inside of my mouth. Beside me, Agent Grant snickered a bit as my eyes widened at what he had perceived as pain. But quite the contrary, it was overwhelming joy and happiness that had widened my eyes at the first sip.

Luckily for him, I was both too passive to use my Magick on him in retaliation and still bound in a ‘Magick proof’ box that I had already found several flaws in, to destroy him. Carefully, I took another sip of my coffee and watched the view from my boxed in seat.

How I longed to fly outside this contraption along side the birds that rode the updraft the plane formed. I can fly and I remember doing so once as a child when I couldn’t reach my favorite toy when I first went to the Penitentiary. That earned me a severe lashing and my first trip to my little home away from society that, at the time, I had intended on not returning to.

Below us, I listened to the sounds of the forest that we flew over. The Rocky Mountains, the pilot had informed us as we began a three-hour diagonal flight over them. So many things I had never heard before came to my oversensitive ears that could hear beyond not only our plane of existence, but our planet and galaxy entirely.

Then Agent Bretnore’s nasally voice, one that I had not noticed until he greeted me upon entering the plane, interrupted my listening to the outside.

“When we reach the airport in D.C., you will immediately be placed on a gurney, bound and gagged as we transport you to the White House,” he said, his tone had an apologetic appeal to it, “We must insure that as you are outside of the Alaskan facility, you do not harm anyone we come into contact with.”

“Once inside the Oval Office, you will be placed in another box like the one you are in now, only much more secure,” Grant said, his beady eyes growing ever so slightly smaller as he spoke.

His voice carried a sense of fear and lack of willingness to be assigned to this case alongside me, I noted.

Many hours later, the plane landed and I was attended to as soon as the wheels touched the blacktop runway. As their hands slipped and slid the restraints over my limbs in protective gear, I contented myself to finding a radio station nearby to listen to my favorite band, the first music I heard. Rock ‘N Roll I quickly came to learn it was called, but more importantly, the band I loved the most, called AC/DC, was what I was tuning in to.

I closed my eyes to the world around me as everything became muted not only in sound, but also in taste and touch. As I felt the ground beneath me move, I internally sang along to the styling of Brian Johnson.

* * *
‘God almighty,’ Michael Grant thought to himself as he watched the team of doctors and security personnel wheel Kyrie off the plane and towards the truck they were using to move her in, ‘I can’t believe I am forced, not only into the same vehicle as a Magick for a duration of time, but the same case as the most dangerous Magick to ever be created.’

Like she looked dangerous. Gorgeous, maybe, but not dangerous. Strapped to that gurney like a diseased rat and forced to perform tests on her everyday of her life. Not that Michael felt remotely sorry for the Magick.

No. Far from it, really. He saw the markings on her arms when she moved them, marked forever by the Ivs and tubes that had run from arm and leg into various machines that surrounded her. The sight had disturbed him, but not as much as her moving around freely in an enclosed space right next to him.

It wasn’t right, she had no right. Not after his Mommy and Daddy lay in graves in his home country of Taiwan. The reason he had came to America and joined the F.B.I. was to escape and destroy those who killed his only family. Not work with one to bring another to justice.

Michael shivered slightly in the warm cabin of the truck he sat shotgun in.

This wasn’t right….

* * *
We waited patiently in the Oval Office for the President of the United States of America for about 2 more hours after we arrived at the White House. Finally, once the sun had set, President Barack Obama walked through the hidden door in the wall. Although he walked through my field of vision, I did not break my gaze from the window as I took in my first sunset.

Agents Bretnore and Grant stood and saluted the President as he entered the room, and I had intended on doing so myself, but the view of the sky outside was so spectacular, I refused to be distracted from it.

President Obama sat in his large chair behind the ornately carved wooden desk before addressing me.

“Miss. Humphreys,” he began in a gentle voice, “Let me welcome you to Washington D.C.”

I immediately heard the enraged voice that filled Grants small head as his President said this.

“Thank you very much Mr. President,” I said, speaking for the very first time in my life.

The sound of my voice pleased me somewhat, but I saw the shivers run through Agent Grant when the sound hit his ears. Fighting a smile, I kept my attention on the President. His dark eyes stayed with mine for longer than most peoples, but like everyone else, he averted his gaze from me after only a few seconds.

“I understand the circumstances in which you must live, but I am offering not only a brief visit to the outside world, but possibly complete freedom if you fully cooperate and solve the case,” Obama said.

This I had expected and so my facial expression never wavered.

“And you expect me to believe that you will keep that promise?” I asked calmly, “That’s a chance I cannot take, even if it does come from the most powerful person in the country.”

Obama looked at me as though he had just swallowed a bug while the Special Agents stood in backlash to my words.

“How dare you!” Grant shouted, the sound of his voice reverberating off the stone and steel walls that surrounded us.

“Sir, we will take her back to the Facility, I apologize for wasting your time,” Bretnore said quickly as he moved towards the door to summon the security force.

“No,” Obama said, “She speaks the truth. You have every right not to trust me, and so, I’ll give you a full pardon as soon as we end this conversation. It’ll be an official document that will verify your release from the Alaska Facility as soon as the Magick we are after if in custody.”

Finally, after holding it back for the duration of the trip, I smiled.

“I guess I can accept that,” I said, my words receiving scoffs from everyone in the room except the President and myself.
“Sir, you cannot let her have power in any way shape or form,” Bretnore said in a voice that seemed both demanding and pleading.

“Agent Bretnore, Agent Grant, I ask you kindly to step out of the room while I brief our contact on the situation we are under,” a strong note of authority, that reminded me of the bitterness of the coffee bean, that shouted to be heard and felt, colored President Obama’s voice.

Slowly, the F.B.I agents let the room, Grant’s eyes never leaving me as he left.

“Please, Kiriel,” Obama signaled for the doctors to release me from my PlastiGlass prison, “Might I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“I’d like a coffee if it’s not too much trouble,” I replied.

Ch. 3
We waited patiently in the Oval Office for the President of the United States of America for about 2 more hours after we arrived at the White House. Finally, once the sun had set, President Barack Obama walked through the hidden door in the wall. Although he walked through my field of vision, I did not break my gaze from the window as I took in my first sunset.

Agents Bretnore and Grant stood and saluted the President as he entered the room, and I had intended on doing so myself, but the view of the sky outside was so spectacular, I refused to be distracted from it.

President Obama sat in his large chair behind the ornately carved wooden desk before addressing me.

“Kiriel,” he began in a gentle voice, “Let me welcome you to Washington D.C.”

I immediately heard the enraged voice that filled Grants small head as his President said this.

“Thank you very much Mr. President,” I said, speaking for the very first time in my life to another person.

The sound of my voice pleased me somewhat, but I saw the shivers run through Agent Grant when the sound hit his ears. Fighting a smile, I kept my attention on the President. His dark eyes stayed with mine for longer than most peoples, but like everyone else, he averted his gaze from me after only a few seconds.

“I understand the circumstances in which you must live, but I am offering not only a brief visit to the outside world, but possibly complete freedom if you fully cooperate and solve the case,” Obama said.

This I had expected and so my facial expression never wavered.

“And you expect me to believe that you will keep that promise?” I asked calmly, “That’s a chance I cannot take, even if it does come from the most powerful person in the country.”

Obama looked at me as though he had just swallowed a bug while the Special Agents stood in backlash to my words.

“How dare you!” Grant shouted, the sound of his voice reverberating off the stone and steel walls that surrounded us.

“Sir, we will take her back to the Facility, I apologize for wasting your time,” Bretnore said quickly as he moved towards the door to summon the security force.

“No,” Obama said, “She speaks the truth. You have every right not to trust me, and so, I’ll give you a full pardon as soon as we end this conversation. It’ll be an official document that will verify your release from the Alaska Facility as soon as the Magick we are after if in custody.”

Finally, after holding it back for the duration of the trip, I smiled.

“I guess I can accept that,” I said, my words receiving scoffs from everyone in the room except the President and myself.

“Sir, you cannot let her have power in any way shape or form,” Bretnore said in a voice that seemed both demanding and pleading.

“Agent Bretnore, Agent Grant, I ask you kindly to step out of the room while I brief our contact on the situation we are under,” a strong note of authority, that reminded me of the bitterness of the coffee bean, shouting to be heard and felt, colored President Obama’s voice.

Slowly, the F.B.I agents let the room, Grant’s eyes never leaving me as he left.

“Please, Kiriel,” Obama signaled for the doctors to release me from my PlastiGlass prison, “Might I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“I’d like a coffee if it’s not too much trouble,” I replied.

A box made of glass infused with plastic that held back most Magicks powers, me unincluded.

Ch. 4
Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The President actually trusted that little daemon, wanted to offer her a full pardon from her sins. Although he was the President of the most powerful country in the world, he wasn’t God. He couldn’t forgive her sins. Not after what happened to his parents.

‘No, stop thinking that way. We have a bigger fish to fry,’ he told himself as he walked down the halls from the Oval Office.

Although she’s the most powerful Magick the world has ever seen, she wasn’t the most wanted. They had her in captivity… for now. Until the Presidential Pardon became valid, she was still theirs. They needed to kill her as soon as she fulfilled her end of the bargain, no… Michael needed to kill her. Taiwan is a hell on Earth thanks to her people. But first, he’d have to settle for killing Orenja Fantannast, the Magick who is their current, primary concern. As soon as he was eliminated, Mike promised that he would kill Kiriel.

* * *
The fresh air surrounded me when we left the stuffy office of the President, his Presidential Pardon to me was folded in the pocket of the jacket he let me have. Nice man… too bad he’s a human. Agents Bretnore and Grant held me by both arms in some form of restraint, even though the President ordered them not to harm me or restrain me in any way during my investigation.

As we walked down the private drive to the official looking black SUV, his words repeated themselves in my mind.

‘Orenja Fantannast is the most dangerous Magick besides you. At the moment, he is making his way around the country on a killing spree. He leaves a calling card the night previous to each killing. They vary from ordinary citizens to celebrities to highly respected officials. Why he is doing this, no one knows, but we do know that he is likely to be in Tampa Bay at the moment. Another Magick, not unlike yourself is stationed there as part an under cover operation. You are to meet him at 7:30 pm tomorrow at an out of the way cafe,’ the President had said, ‘Oh, and Kiriel, please, work cooperatively with my Agents and our contact to bring in Fantannast. We’re all counting on you.’

Big responsibility, but nothing I couldn’t handle really. On my way out, he wrote up the Pardon and handed it to me. His dark skin crawled as it came into contact with mine, cold and pale. In the back of the SUV, behind a PlastiGlass shield away from the Agents no less, I tuned back in to AC/DC. I then laid down and gave myself away to the voices of Brian Johnson and Bon Scott, and the sound of Angus Young on the guitar, while the rest of the band played alongside them.

I could feel him somewhere, it was in the Tampa Bay area, but not where the government thought he was. It was hard, of course, to pin him down; but I believe that if it was easy, they would doubt me and find a way to condemn me. So, just as I have been keeping my mind a secret from the rest of the world, I kept the fact that I knew the relative location to our little pilgrim.

It was another five hour trip from Washington D.C. to Tampa Bay on the same private jet from our trip from the Alaska Facility. I took the time to examine the Pardon and eat more food that I had only heard about.

Another favorite came to me as I stared out the darkened window into the space above the clouds we were in. Bacon. Although it dripped in grease and fat, it slid very nicely along my tongue and down my throat into my stomach. I ate bacon and drank coffee long after the Agents were asleep. I knew there would be consequences to my binge, but at the moment, I lived up the flavors that came with the coffee and bacon.

* * *
In Tampa Bay, Florida, Orenja Fantannast stood outside the St. Pete Times Forum watching people walk by. How idiotic they were, humans. They knew just about everything about his past and almost everything on his current location, and yet they had no idea who he was or what he looked like. He had already foreseen that someone would finally take him down, and soon at that, but for now, he relished in the idea of an entire country out for his head on a pole but not even knowing what he looked like.

With a slight smirk, he left his post to prepare himself for the next slaughter….

Ch. 5
A chuckle split the silent air of the darkened building. My senses were dulled by something in the air making it impossible to see or even hear the other planes. Then something crossed my vision, a figure dressed in white, his skin paler than the clothes he wore. As fast as he appeared, he disappeared into the ever thickening darkness. Frustrated, I took off in the relative direction I had seen him go.

Another chuckle hit my dulled senses; this time it was a woman’s. I turned slowly to see a ghost from my past staring me down… a malicious smile on her perfect face.

I awoke with a start in my seat. The sudden movement of me awakening sent me flying off the cushioned airline seat and onto the floor. After my fall, the pain hit me harder than the doctors had hit me as a child. The pain crippled me, so great it was, I knew that it couldn’t be from my feast last night. Then I picked out the low chuckles around me from my companions on the investigation of Orenja Fantannast, my little pilgrim.

Slowly, I picked myself up from the floor and sat easily back in the hard seat I was confined to, but not before closing the shades to the glaring sunlight outside.

‘Of course,’ I thought to myself, ‘The sun’s ten times brighter up here unfiltered through the clouds.’

It wasn’t until after I had returned to the safety of my seat that I noticed a file in front of me.

“Fantannast left another calling card last night. St. Pete Times Forum, a hockey arena,” Bretnore explained when I picked it up and opened.

I quickly read through the thin folder containing the report on the calling card, a store mannequin dressed up as a hockey player with Fantannast’s insignia spray-painted on the front of the jersey. The calling cards varied from location to location, the last one being the head from a previous victim with his insignia carved into the shaved head. It all seemed a very juvenile way of expressing his frustration towards the humans.

Sipping my coffee, I listened to the news my friends were watching. The only interesting topic was my release; a man named Dr. Phil was analyzing my personality and forming hypothetical scenarios to demonstrate why I should be re-incarcerated and finally executed. The look on this bristly mans face was priceless as he addressed the camera in an attempt to convince the U.S. government to not let me continue living freely after the case was closed.

Not too soon after the program wrapped up, the plane landed in the humid climate of Florida. Even from the controlled climate of the airplane, I could feel the heat that radiated from the clear sunlit skies and off the black paved runway of the airport.

“Remember Kiriel,” Bretnore’s nasally tone said to me as we walked down the heated runway, “You are to meet with our contact at….”

“7:30 pm at the Inspiration Café on Turtle Drive,” I looked up at him from over my darkened sunglasses, a gift given to me by a woman who felt I needed a proper wardrobe besides the prison garbs I had worn since being released, “Don’t worry Mr. Bretnore, I have an excellent memory,” I winked at him before returning my gaze to the path before me.

I could hear the neurons of his brain fire as he gulped when I had winked at him; on the other side of me, Grant gave a low grunt.

A small smile crossed my lips, ‘This is going to be way too easy.’

The journey through the streets of Tampa Bay was quite fun and liberating in many ways. An old woman almost fell into the streets, but I was able to move fast enough to save her from becoming tonight’s tragic story on the news, and still disappear before I joined her. Although I didn’t like the heat the Florida weather pounded onto my being, I enjoyed simply being out in the open air and being able to smell anything but the sterile environment of the Alaskan Penitentiary.

“Ah,” I said once spotting the Inspiration Café tucked in between a Borders book shop, I made a note of trying to visit that place some time, and a typical Floridian beach front supply shop, complete with mannequins displaying the current hottest trends in swimwear.

The café had the option of sitting inside in a fan controlled climate or under the eaves with gentle mists to keep you cool as you drank coffee, ate biscotti, another new favorite, and listen to local small time artists perform covers of famous songs or poems they turned into songs. Mainly the poetry was subjected to heartbreak and the woe that followed.

I sat for some time, I was about half an hour early for my appointment with our contact, and listened to the music selection. Some of it was, to my great pleasure, my favorite style of Rock ‘N Roll, but others were what the humans called ‘rap’ and it included explicit details of what the men wanted to do with women they knew or hoped to know.

“Hello, you must be Kiriel,” an angelic voice said from beside me.

Sitting before me was a demigod, carved straight from the marble the Olympians used in ancient times to depict their overlords.

“Yes,” I said, keeping calm in the presence of the God before me.

Of course, the first thing I noticed about him was his eyes; they were dark but held a fire in them that I knew could never be snuffed out and the brow that covered them was a hard line of determination. His skin looked the color of the caramel that topped my coffee, while his lips were full and soft looking.

“My name is Carlos Rodriguez,” he said again in that wonderful voice of his, “I believe I am your contact in the investigation of Orenja Fantannast.”

“I believe you are correct Mr. Rodriguez,” I smiled.

“Please, call me Carlos,” he said.

“Carlos,” I whispered his name, it felt wonderful on my lips as it rolled off my tongue.

“I noticed you do not have a last name,” he said when his coffee came to him, “might I inquire as to why?”

“I’d rather not talk about it in such a public place, Carlos,” I told him before taking a sip of the still piping hot coffee before me.

He looked around the room and saw the four agents who had followed me here, “Ah,” he began, “I see what you mean.”

“Yes,” I said with a small chuckle, “Apparently, if you have the ability to bend time and space at will with powers that no one but yourself and a dying or imprisoned race has, they never let you out of their sights.”

“And here this country was built on the notion of freedom and the rights of a citizen,” he said leaning forward.

I smelt the coffee on his breath as well as in the air, along with something else that clung to his skin, something oaky and woodsy. It reminded me of a time before my imprisonment. I leaned forward towards him, discreetly inhaling his scent.

“I think that the lines between freedom and equality have been blurred over the past century or so,” I said, tasting his breath on my tongue as he breathed only inches from my face.

“Shall we take our conversation somewhere more… private?” he asked, looking once again around the crowded room.
“Alright, I think they need our table anyway,” I said with a smile.

Ch. 6

A large crowd came into the already crowded café just as we packed cleaned up out table and headed out. The sky outside had turned dark, a healthy sea breeze wafted over us as we walked through the streets of Tampa Bay. Eventually, we ended up on Clearwater Beach. The pure white sands seemed to glow in the full moon’s light. We took our shoes off and walked the along the waters edge.

“It’s beautiful out here,” I said in a whisper, afraid that any loud noise would shatter the dream I was in, “I think this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to.”

“I know how you feel,” Carlos said, “But it’s definitely not the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”

Something in his accent was sly. A cool breeze flowed across the water, making me shiver. Once he caught sight of my frame shaking in the cold night, he shucked off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders. I looked up in confusion at Carlos, just as a bolt of lightning split the air with a sharp crack in the distance. He broke our gaze to watch the light dance across the salty water, illuminating the beach around us.

“Do you smell that?” he asked.

I took a whiff of the air around us; something lurked beneath the salt of the ocean.

“What is that?” I asked, “It seems so familiar.”

“Power, in its raw form,” he said, a dark look furrowed his brow line.”

“Should we see what it is?” I asked, ‘or whom?’

“Ladies first,” he smiled and gestured forward.

The signature left behind by the powerful entity led us toward the St. Pete Times Forum and through a service door that was hanging open. Before heading in, we looked at each other one last time and nodded. No need to involve the suits in Magick business.

Inside, the trail ended suddenly at the boards separating the crowd from the ice surface. Handprints on the glass suggested whoever we were chasing both stood here and looked out at the rink or….

I looked up to see a figure move across the shadows in the rafters.

“There,” I whispered pointing upwards subtly.

Carlos bent forward to whisper in my ear, “Go left and up the stairs, I’ll cover things down here.”

I nodded, a strange feeling stirring in my abdomen. I’d never really been around persons of the opposite sex in close contact unless they were beating me or strapping and sticking me with something or other. But this was different, I sensed no hate at all from him and when I talked, he actually looked me in the eye, not off somewhere else pretending that I’m just a little voice inside his head.

‘Shut up!’ I scolded myself, ‘We need to focus on getting Fantannast. Then I can go free and…’

And what?

I’ve never really thought about what to do once I got out. They don’t give you life lessons in the Penitentiary, nor do they give you any sort of education. The only reason I know so much was because I can read minds and I was able to receive information from the minds around me and in the outside world.

This was going to be a problem….

Ch. 7
“Sir, we have a problem,” said the undercover agent keeping an eye on Kiriel and the contact, Carlos Olivera.

“What now?” Bretnore asked his voice grating through the headphones like nails on a chalkboard.

“We lost them,” the agent said in an apologetic voice.

“Damn!!!” Bretnore shouted into the microphone, “Find them!”

“There’s a storm outside,” the agent said in a confused voice.

Bretnore and Grant looked outside to see the view over Tampa Bay was obscured by rain and lightning.

“Phone it in,” Grant said into his microphone, “We have a Code Red.”

* * *

A female’s voice whispered in my ear, “This way child.”

I whipped around to see who was there… only to find nothing. The voice moved, as did a scent, like the scent that clung to the air after a rain shower in the summer. It seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t place it. A report split through the air and the scent vanished.

“Who are you?” a cold voice said.

“I mean no harm,” I said, putting my hands up in surrender, “I was curious as to why the door to a secured building was wide open.”

“I don’t really think that’s any business of yours,” the voice said, the cold steel of a gun pressed into the lower of my back.

Then a scent crossed over me….

‘Carlos!’

He came from nowhere and knocked the gun from Fantannast’s hand and sent it flying somewhere into the darkness. I whipped around to strike him again, but he was gone.

“Shit! He’s a Teleporter !” I cried.

“We’d better leave, I found the bomb he was planting and got rid of it,” Carlos said pulling me towards the exit.

But I didn’t listen. I pulled myself from his grip and ran to where the gun was. The reports shattered the air with a thunderous crack in the confined space.

“Come back *******!!!” I screamed.

Strong arms encircled me and carried me away from the scene. Try as I might, Carlos’ grip was too strong for even me. He held onto me as he walked through the parking lot, the streets were filled with the lights of dozens of police cars. A bomb squad and a S.W.A.T. team were setting up to make their way into the sealed off building. By the time we had made our way back onto the beach, I had stopped struggling and was starring angrily out in front of me.

“We could have had him you know?” I said in an angry voice.

“If we kill him, the government will come after us,” he said calmly.

Not responding, I kept my eyes on the moon over the horizon; a round, full moon, its bottom almost touching the surface of the water.

“Besides,” Carlos went on, I smelled his skin as he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, “It wouldn’t be as much fun just letting him die so soon. We’ve only just met, don’t you think there should be a little more fun in finding our pilgrim,” he whispered.

“I guess so,” I said finally.

I turned around to face him, looking once again looking into his dark brown eyes. They were dark but in the moonlight, they shone somewhat, like the surface of coffee. The air in my lungs stopped, my breath catching sharply in my throat.

‘If only we didn’t have to worry about the ****in’ government, maybe we could escape,’ my mind said of it’s own accord, ‘If only we weren’t the most feared creatures on the planet.’

He let my shoulders go, looking over my shoulder.

“Well Kiriel,” he said, his voice caressing me in the darkness, “I had a lot of fun. Oh, and… here’s what I was able to dig up on our pilgrim,” he handed me a thick manila folder,” then he bent forward once more to whisper into my ear, “Along with a spare key to my room, if you ever want to discuss the case.”

I sensed something else lurking in his voice, but I couldn’t place it. As he let me go and stood to leave, his lips brushed against my neck, sending shivers through my body. When he was about fifty feet away, Agents Grant and Bretnore came up from behind me and tackled me to the ground.

“Agh!! Hey! What the **** are you doing?” I shouted.

“What did he dive you?!” Grants shout rang in my ear.

“Just the information he got on Fantannast! Let me up!” I yelled even louder.

“I don’t think so,” Bretnore said, “You ran from the Federal Agents that were tagging you. You’re going back to Alaska,” I felt the cold steel of handcuffs being locked around my wrists, followed by the burn of Mercury Oxide .

“I did not! I can’t help a crowd came in when we found a trail that led us to Fantannast,” I explained, hopping they didn’t find Carlos’ room key, “We didn’t run, I swear!”

“And you expect me to believe that, Witch ?” Grant snarled.

I felt the rage inside me grow until it was apparent on my face, but I didn’t act upon it so as to not give them more incentive to prosecute me with. Roughly, they pulled me off of the sand and steered me towards the black SUV waiting not too far down the beach. As they bound, gagged, and blinded me, I retreated into the farthest reaches of my mind to escape the hell I was in.

Ch. 8
Finally Grant had something legit to get the little Witch put away for good. Maybe even executed.

‘I'd pay money to see that,’ he thought happily, ‘A Mercury Oxide dip or injection.’

As Bretnore drove, Grant found himself fantasizing the best way to kill a Magick with Mo. In the back, the Witch sat in a catatonic state as they made their way through the streets of Tampa Bay waking up to a new day of work and manual labor.

‘Mo inhalation and injection,’ he finally decided, ‘Maximum pain and slowest death.’

* * *
‘****!’ Fantannast thought when he rematerialized in the small one bedroom apartment he had taken over.

He hadn’t counted on the big guy sneaking up behind him and stabbing him in the ribs. The knife slid out painfully and clattered to the floor of the bathroom. Fantannast staggered over to the bathtub and turned the hot water on full blast.

‘One pain to drown out another,’ he thought, remembering the teachings of his older brother back in Taiwan.

The scalding hot water blistered his skin as Fantannast lowered himself into the tub. Once the water hit the wound in his side, the water turned red with his blood.

“It’s the only way, little brother,” the voice of Shiroton Fantannast said into his ear.

* * *

The trip from Tampa Bay to the White House was a brief one. I didn’t sleep the entire way, but watched Grant prepare notes for his appeal to the President to execute me. I had already probed into his mind and saw why he has a personal vendetta against me, but I felt it didn’t excuse why he acted like I was a germ or nasty bug. In my back pocket, the key card to Carlos’ room still sat, the scent of his skin was still strong and it made my head swim, unable to concentrate on blocking out the humans beside me.

“Sir!” Grant’s voice cut through my mind like a sharp blade.

I looked around me, unaware that we had already landed and were now in the Oval Office. President Obama sat at his desk with a mask of rage on his features. His fist came down on the dark wood with a mighty crash.

“You have provoked my anger for the last time Agent Grant! You are now on suspension,” Obama bellowed with the force of a God, “As are you Agent Bretnore!”

“But Mr. President! She can’t be trusted on her own! She could just as well go on a killing spree as soon as you let her loose!” Bretnore protested.

“But she won’t,” the President insisted.

“I swear by the head of my most ancient ancestors the I shall do nothing to harm anybody Magick or Human in my quest to find and destroy Orenja Fantannast along with the help of Carlos Olivera. If I should go back on this oath, may all my Magick be purged from my body and be recycled into an innocent as I die a most horrific and painful death. Should you go back on your word and seek to destroy me, may the Gods grant me favor and set me free to never be bothered upon again. Once my mission is complete under the terms that the President of the United States of America, Mr. Barack Hussein Obama, has given me, I shall return to this spot immediately after to present my letter of Presidential Pardon. Afterwards, I shall disappear off the face of the public eye to never harm anyone or anything ever again,” I said so suddenly that everyone in the room jumped.

“So…” Obama said looking accusingly at the Agents before him, “You heard her. That was the Sacrum Oath . Every word must ring true otherwise she would have collapsed on the floor in agony. Are you tow satisfied?”

They said nothing but kept their eyes on my face in utter shock at how the words that had erupted from my vocal cords rang with an otherworldly presence.

“Now get out of my office before I call security to escort you out,” Obama said with finality in his voice.

Slowly, the C.I.A. Agents walked from the room through the hidden door. I watched Grant closely as his hands balled up into fists and a vein in his temple pulsed with his anger.

“Well then, Kiriel,” Obama said once the door had closed, “I am very impressed you would go to such an extreme to prove you are willing to cooperate.”

“I felt it was necessary to prove my worth more than my cooperation,” I said.

“Either way, the case is in your hands now,” he said, “Do your best to bring Fantannast in.”

“I shall sir,” I bowed to show my respect and understanding.

“Release her and give her the license to allow her to use all her abilities to bring in Fantannast,” Obama said to the security guards standing on either side if me.

The shackles of Mo fell from my wrist, ankles and torso in a heap at the floor before a man placed a card into my palm. On it was my picture along with all the information required if someone needed to check and double check the verification of my legality.

“Now go and do your job,” he said.

Ch. 14

Satan burst through the doors of the Weapons and Surveillance Center with Romanis on his heals. He/She looked around the room at the monitors and the weapons the scientists were working on. Romanis watched with a wary eye as his father walked around the room and surveyed they people as they worked. Then Satan walked over to the gigantic throne-like chair on one side of the room and sat in it as though he/she was taking over things.

‘I basically am,’ he thought with glee, ‘I knew my insolent son could never take on the task of ruling a world. He’s already ****ed it up and he isn’t even millennia old yet.’

The humans around in looked in confusion as a child sat in their ruler’s throne and looked ready to give orders. For a full minute, no one moved, they just all stared at their ruler with the expectation to throw the child before them out of the room and on to be executed. But that wasn’t going to happen.

“Well,” Satan’s voice said through the small girl in the huge chair, “Get back to work!”

Romanis walked slowly over to his Father and collapsed on the small steps leading up to his throne. Satan looked down at his weary son and made a face of utter disgust.

“Go back to the sick bay, son,” he/she said, “We don’t need you getting sick all over this delicate equipment.”

When he didn’t move, two guards came over to help their Lord.

“Leave him!” Satan said, “He must learn to walk on his own!”

Mumbling apologies, they retreated back to their work.

* * *
“Glenn, what does this look like to you?” Alex asked.

“It’s just a bit of spilled sealant,” Scythe said after only taking a quick glance at the spot Alex indicated.

“I thought so, too at first, but look what happens when I run the detector over it,” he said.

As he ran the thin metal rod over the blob of clear goop, it quivered slightly, as if alive.

“Oh shi-,” Glenn said a second before snatching up his communicator.

“All members of the Resistance report to the meeting hall immediately,” Scythe’s voice rang loud and clear through the passageways of the facility, “Kay! We have a Code Orange.”

Half an hour later, they were jam packed into the meeting room, in the center of the round table a small blob of what looked like gel was displayed on the HoloScreen. Anna, Faye, Kay, Brian, Angus and Sidney were all gathered along with Glenn and Alex in a far corner of the room. After some time, they finally broke their huddle and walked over to the table.

“Alright,” Anastasia said, rage was very much apparent in her angelic voice, “Whoever is responsible for this… come forth now or we will have to forced to take drastic measures.”

A cacophony of noises met their ears after she had finished her sentence.

“What do you mean?” Riley asked.
“What the **** is that thing?” Mike shouted from the other side of the table.

“Do we have a traitor or something?” Bruce asked.

“YES!” Kay said climbing up onto the table, “We have a traitor amongst us! And he or she had better step forward before we have to do individual interviews. And don’t think it’ll take a long time no…. It’ll go quickly I guarantee it. But this place will be on lock-down until the traitor is brought to justice!”

“Hey, where’s Slay?” Grey asked.

Everyone with the ability to do so listened to the sounds above and around them in order to find Slay. The sound that reached them was the sound of a truck’s engine warming up in the frigid climate of the storage room. Without a second thought, Kay was gone in a flash.

Ten stories above the meeting room, Slay sat in a truck filled up with enough supplies to get him to Paris in good time. But that didn’t mean immediately taking off without having to warm up the truck’s engine.

‘**** me,’ he said as another round of shivers rattled his teeth, ‘What is this? The 22nd Century.’

He hit a button and a hot blast of air smacked him in his face.

“Finally,” slay said, putting the truck into gear.

“Going somewhere?” Kay asked from the seat beside him.

“Oh shi-,” Slay said before the door beside him was ripped off and he was dragged out onto the cold hard floor.

“So then,” Sid’s voice said from somewhere on top of the truck cabin, “Did you really think we’d let you get away?”

“No but you’re stupid enough to fall for my act,” he smiled through blood that had appeared suddenly along with a pain in his jaw.

“Really? So all the, ‘I’m sorry. I never meant what I said to you online. All those insults were just a joke.’ That was all bullshit?” Kyrie asked, her eyes danced in a fiery rage.

“You really are daft aren’t you?” he asked.

“No just pissed,” she said before ripping his throat out.

great story Kay

just wrote this for a couple of my friends in school

Kayla Welling sat in the freshly cleaned apartment reading the assigned material for English 116. She had spent her entire Saturday morning cleaning the mess her roommate had accumulated over the past month and a half. Of course, there was one sanctum that she dared not to even think about entering: her roomie’s room. With a shudder, she remembered the last time she had to trek through the mess her roommate called a room. Then the sound Kayla had dreaded all morning seemed to screech throughout the apartment… a key turning in the lock.

Kirsten Harper had returned.

Was band over already? Or did she skip again?

“Hey roomie,” Kirsten’s voice floated through the cramped hallway and into the living room.

The sound of Kirsten’s trumpet case and book bag hitting the freshly washed hardwood floor sent another shiver down Kayla’s spine. The paperback book in her hands fell to the carpet as she saw the new mess Kirsten was dragging in.

In her hands Kirsten held a tattered McDonald’s bag, and in the other what looked like….

“Ummm Kirsten?” she said in a small voice as her roommate put her keys on the bookshelf.

“Yeah dood?” Kirsten stopped and gave Kayla her full attention.

“We’ve been friends for a long time right? We went to school together, we graduated high school together,” she stood up to keep from throwing something at her, “Can you answer me a question?”

“Sure dood, shoot,” Kirsten said plopping down on the just cleaned white Lazy Boy.

“When did you become such a slob?” she asked in a tense voice.

“I’ve always been like this,” Kirsten laughed, “Didn’t you ever see my locker?”

“Fortunately not,” she murmured.

“Well let me make it up to ya,” Kirsten said.

“You’ll clean that atrocious room of yours?” Kayla asked hopefully.

“No,” Kirsten laughed again, “I was gonna give you some of my fries.”

That was the breaking point. Kayla grabbed the book she dropped and threw it with all he might at Kirsten. The book flew straight and true from the tennis players hand and smacked the professional slacker in the head.

A look that said, “WTF?” crossed Kirsten’s face as the book fell to the floor once more.

“You wanna play it that way, B?” she asked as she set the McDonalds bag in the chair behind her.

“Bring it on,” Kayla said.

They flew at each other and began slapping one another in the face, arms and wherever else they could reach.

“Ow, quit it!” Kirsten cried.

“No!” Kayla disagreed.

Kirsten grabbed the flimsy book from the floor and began batting Kayla in the head with it. Kayla grabbed a pillow and retaliated. And so the battle went on around the apartment, they took whatever they could grab and slapped each other until someone pounded on the wall next door. The two girls collapsed on the floor in a heap, the formerly spotless apartment now a mess with food from the kitchen and clothes from the hamper in the bathroom.

“Truce dood?” Kirsten panted.

“Truce,” Kayla agreed.

“I think I’ll go clean my room,” Kirsten said.

“Before you pass out with Jon and Kate Plus 8 on?” Kayla asked.

“You got it!” Kirsten gave a thumb up.

Shaking her head, Kayla found the Windex and rubber gloves and began cleaning the pop that had exploded on the tiles in the kitchen.

‘Just another day in college for two friends I guess,’ she thought.

i like it Kay, keep it going

needs More intercourse

The Café

It was a cold and windy day outside.

‘Phew. Good thing I’m in here,’ Kirsten thought.

Inside the café, it was warmer than Texas in July, and the only time people actually enjoyed the climate Old Warner Bronson kept 24/7. The college students from all over the country sat in peace and sipped coffee as they talked or typed on laptops. Every so often someone would open the door to the frigid outdoors and the room would come alive with moans and curses.

At around 3:00 pm, the door opened once more and the room cursed the cold. Kayla walked through and apologized to everyone she passed as she made her way to the counter.

“What up roomie?” Kirsten said when Kayla passed, but she wither didn’t hear or ignored Kirsten.

Kayla spent little time at the counter to order her usual coffee, and then found the only seat available in the café. Right next to Kirsten….

‘Great,’ Kayla thought, ‘Just what I need when I’m trying to type up a paper.’

“So…,” Kirsten said as Kayla sat at the small, round table identical to all of the others, “What’s up?”

“Oh nothing,” she replied, “Just trying to get some work done.”

“Cool, cool,” Kirsten mumbled.

For some time, they sat in silence, the only sound that met their ears was the sound of fingers typing and coffee being drank. Then Kirsten, never being one to stay quiet for long, spoke in a whisper to her high school buddy.

“So how’s college treating you?” she whispered.

“Fine,” Kayla replied in a curt whisper.

She nodded and took a sip of her Beanaccino, “What are you working on?”’

“My English report,” she whispered, again speaking in a curt voice, “It’s due tomorrow so please, shhh.”

“Come on,” Kirsten said barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the other café patrons, “Can’t we talk?”
“To tell you the truth?” Kayla looked up from her work, “Not really.”

“Whatever,” Kirsten said in a dismissive voice.

“Do you wanna play it that way?” Kayla asked, her voice was no longer a whisper.

“Let’s do this, man,” Kirsten stood to prove her emphasis.

“What’ll it be this time then?” Kayla shut down her laptop with a smile.

“Guitar Hero *****,” Kirsten slapped the back of her right hand into her left palm, “Let’s do this.”

Two and a half hours later, the score was tied at 15.

“One more, one more!” Kirsten shouted as Kayla celebrated her victory after they played Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas, “Tie breaker, dood.”

“Last one, and when you loose, you loose,” she said as she scrolled through the set-list.

She settled on Ace of Spades by Metallica and they chose their respective settings. At first, the score was in Kirsten’s favor until….

“No not the lefty-flip!” Kirsten called out in agony over the thrashing guitar.

“Taste my wrath!” Kayla laughed.

“Argh!” and then it was too late, “Nooooooooooooooooo!!!!” Kirsten fell to the floor in defeat.

“Well?” Kayla said after shutting down the gaming system.

“Kayla Welling is the best there ever will be in Guitar Hero and I won’t bother her for the rest of the week,” Kirsten said.

“You forgot one more thing,” Kayla said pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

“Come on,” Kirsten said in a pleading tone.

“Nope,” Kayla shook her head, “You promised.”

“Okay,” Kirsten stood up from the carpeted floor, “Wanna go get some McDonald’s first?”

“No,” Kayla said with finality.

Wait, I actually pissed you off so much that you had to write a story about you brutally killing me?

Bit sad, innit?

Slay's too beautiful to die