Fallen Clan 2

The minister shuffled towards the great hall. From down the long passageway muffled giggles of harlots, the clinking of goblets, and riotous, intoxicated laughter echoed.

            He finally approached the entrance and laboriously pushed open the thick, towering doors. He was instantly hit by the full volume of the festivities that rocked the hall. The meeting of the Elite Imperial Guard to discuss issues of galactic security had erupted into excessive indulgence in temporal pleasures.

            The warriors of the Guard sat around the long table. The discussion of security issues which was the pretense for this meeting seemed to have been abandoned altogether. Instead they devoured rare delicacies and fornicated with young women openly at the table. The inflated stomachs upon which sat one or more harlots barely suited supposed fighting men and their careless crass conversations could hardly be expected from a corps historically renowned for courageousness and stoic calm when confronted with danger.

            These were not the warriors of legend like their forefathers, thought the minister. No, they were naught but corrupted, bloated embarrassments of their proud heritage. Yes, they were still feared. The power they held was still great, but, it was often abused. Now they were more renowned for the violence they visited upon inferiors who displeased them rather than the vanquishing of any foe.

Indeed, it seemed the Empire had ruled the galaxy for so long that it was unfathomable to even think anyone would challenge it.

It was for these reasons that the minister timidly walked by the table lined with the raucous warriors who blatantly ignored him and cautiously approached the man at the head of the table, Commander Kulp.

“What is it, Minister Froph?” Kulp said sternly without looking at him.

“Sir… my sincerest apologies for the interruption,” stuttered Froph, “hostile forces have been detected encroaching on Imperial Stellar Systems.”

“So? Carry on with standard procedure. Have the patrols destroy them if they refuse to cooperate.”

“We… tried. They annihilated the patrols.”

“Well then send more.”

“The regional commander tried… he claimed to have unsuccessfully confronted them with four full brigades. That was the last transmission we received from his fleet.”

Kulp finally turned to the minister, “Four brigades?”

“Y—yes, Master,” Froph flinched expecting reprisal for reporting such bad news.

Kulp retained a stern face towards Froph as he struggled to decide what to say next.     

“One more thing master,” winced Froph, “the hostile ships they bear… a symbol.”

“What symbol Froph? Spit it out.”

“That of the Shaka-Zum,”

“No…”

            

Fallen Clan

The lady sits impatiently on her throne. Her long robes fall down the steps gracefully. She is flanked by her veiled attendants who wait anxiously for an explanation for the delay. She looks ahead calmly. An imperial soldier enters from behind the curtains that decorate her chamber.

         “Deepest apologies for the delay, my lady. We have found the problem. We will be mobile again shortly.”

         “Carry on,” the lady replies calmly.

         The chamber lurches as if bumped by a giant. It throws the attendants to the floor and the soldier barely manages to keep his balance before running out of the chamber. The lady remains stoic. Her faces nothing more than slightly annoyed at the inconvenience, not struck with fear like that of her inferiors.

         As the attendants slowly pick themselves back up the soldier runs back into the chamber, the metallic buzz of the great steel guard door closing heard from behind the luxurious curtains.

         “Remain calm!” the soldier tries to shout bravely, “we are being attacked by an unknown foe!”

         “Obviously captain,” the lady sighs at the ineptitude, “this was not an engine malfunction. A malicious signal was broadcast into our navigation system to knock us out of superspeed. Now we are vulnerable to attack.”

         “…Pirates…” the soldier exhales, “In this quadrant of it could only be… Swarm.” Dread fills his eyes. The attendants gasp.

         Another blast rocks the chamber and the soldier focuses. Backing away from the door and readying his weapon.

         “They’ve boarded.” He quivers.

         The blast door to the chamber begins to reverberate.

         “They’ve already breached the auxiliary locks.” He squeaks. The attendants are grasping each other, shaking uncontrollably, trying not to cry in the presence of their Mistress, who looks sternly ahead, unfazed.

         Finally the door detonates, giving way to smoke and small arms fire. After a quick exchange the soldier is quickly vanquished. The firing dissipates.

         Two ruggedly outfitted men stomp through the smoke into the chamber their outfits made of mismatched armor and weapons from other raids. One wears a helmet stolen from an imperial guard the other a ragged handkerchief made from the priceless headdress of trade a guildsman. They check the room and fire a few extra shots into the body of the soldier. The attendants weep in fear but, the lady looks down on them with a superior smirk.

         “Enter now Lord Swarm,” one says.

         Through the doorway a figure looms. The attendants cautiously peer through their veils to look upon the mighty Swarm.

Finally stepping through the smoke a young girl appears.

         “Lord Swarm. Looks we have an imperial Lady.”

         Swarm is perhaps fourteen years old. Her youthful face would be sweet if not for the severe expression that scarred it, a glare baring a terrifying hate well beyond her years. She wore oversized ragtag armor and adorned herself with weapons and trophies of past victims.

         “Yes we do.” She hisses, “I don’t know what she’s smirking about. Seize her at once. Find out who she is a ransom her accordingly. Do what you want with her slaves.”

         The two brutes laugh and advance upon the throne.

         The lady is unafraid.

         With a gesture of her hand, like waving away a fly, the brutes collapse and begin convalescing.

         “Impressive.” Swarm puts her hands on her hips nonchalantly, then quickly draws out a pistol, but it turns to water in her hand.

         “I see you’ve become skilled,” says the lady, finally rising from her throne. “But a bit too uncouth for my taste.”

         The girl glares at her. “Who are you?” She spits.

         “You’ll remember in time,” the lady smiles, “but first you must come home."

Sergeant

The rapid explosion of machine gun shells echoed across the ruins. With every shot I heard the screams from the night before. Tracer ammunition illuminated a string from its firer to its victim, a faceless enemy hiding somewhere past the trenches and in the dark. Did they wonder what we looked like too? We told the rookie to remove those tracers rounds. It gave us away. We knew the plane had us in our sights but it was already too late. We deserved it. The rumble of the air to ground missile plunged me into darkness.

I woke up. I was on the train. The shrapnel still lodged in my side began to burn, as if reignited by the memories. The rumble of the subway made me uneasy. Oh well.

It was amazing that subway even still ran. Only two or three lines were needed. The provisional government needed them to get rations out to the distribution centers. There weren’t many. Most of those neighborhoods were empty now. Emptier even then before. There were no rations on the train today. Just me and my pain and a soldier, proudly wearing worn out fatigues a over-zealously giving me a suspicious look.

I got off at the end of the line and scrambled up the staircase to the surface. Scavengers wrapped in rags ignored me, hopelessly rummaging through piles of debris. Rations were a week behind. The sun was still up, not that it mattered much anymore. Nothing but a grey aura emanated. Ashes, swept across Jamaican Bay from Queens drifted through the air lazily looking to settle somewhere amongst the rubble that was once Rockaway Park. I wrapped my tattered jacket tightly around myself and I felt that old familiar hard steel press against my ribs. I continued the long walk down the peninsula. It was all decimated. After everything was over the storms hit us. They hit us hard. As if mother nature, not wanting to be upstaged by the destruction we inflicted upon ourselves, decided show us what destruction really was. Most of Rockaway Peninsula was leveled. The neighborhood of Breezy Point was completely washed to sea. I could hear the waves rise and fall along the beach like the breath of a sleeping beast.  

There it was. His house. Somehow it had survived. Just like us. It stood alone amongst piles of rubbles. A stubborn human growth. Like all of us.

I waded through the debris to the house and standing on the porch I looked through the window. He was sitting in an old armchair, facing away from me and out towards the ocean.

I creaked open the door and stood there. I clutched the cold steel in my pocket.

“I think we all shoulda died cause from that airstrike.”

He was silent. I went go on.

“We were the only ones who survived. Survived to keep suffering with what we’ve done and what we helped the world become. I still hear their screams, telling us to stop, while we urged on the men. We forced ourselves on those women. Who knows how old the girls were. War is war. But that…”

He was still silent. Angrily I grabbed the cold hard ugly thing in my pocket and shoved it in his face.

He’d beat me to it. Just like he always did. A bullet to the brain.

He always had a way to keep one step ahead of us.

I bit that hard steel myself, and followed his path, just like I always did.

The Story of Anetha Third Techno Templar from the Line of Nazaom

Despite the fine and punitive cerebral microshocks I knew my third consecutive tardy arrival to Professor Nuclom’s class would incur, I found myself going anyway, instead of skipping it altogether to avoid the penalty.

            “and so we get to Anetha, the third Techno Templar in the line of Nazaom—“ Dr. Nuclom’s lecture was interrupted as I opened

            Would you like me to administer the punitive microshock to your frontal lobe now or later?

            Please administer them later, Professor! I am quivering in anticipation to hear the rest of your lecture, as I am sure the rest of the students are, and I would hate to delay your recital of that history of

            Very well. Take a seat, but your punishment will be administer. 

Tommy is Bleeding

The balcony was empty, and he was still bleeding. Below him the screen flickered shadows on a scattering of spectators. He felt in his pockets. Out of cigarettes. Damn. His breathing was slowing. His eyes were getting heavy. Oh well.

There Tommy was. At the corner. Under the street light. Like every night.

Except he was bleeding.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. But now it seemed the street was empty except for the slimy puddle of red around him, and the lumps of clothing on the ground around him. He tried to get up but slipped on he fluid he was leaking. He called out to his friends around him, but it seemed they were gone. No, that was them, the piles of clothes. Their bodies collapsed and hidden under their baggy suits and long jackets. predicament as him. But worse. He called out but they

He struggled to remember. They were breaking bottles against the brick wall. Rudy and Phil were having a spitting contest. Paulie and Nick were arguing over who’s new jacket was most expensive.

He managed to sit up in the puddle of blood and while clutching his side with one arm fondled in his jacket pocket for his cigarette packet. He grabbed the last one out with his lips, threw the packet away fumbled for his lighter, snakingly igniting it.

            The spark of the lighter brought back the bangs that occurred a few moments before. The bangs sounded like tires popping, and from a big old Cadillac rolling by the flashes of conflagrating  gun powder pierced the darkness of the street.

            Those bastards.

            Tommy felt in his pocket. The steel had been warmed by his blood, but it was still there. The sirens had started in the distance. Late arrival of the cops as was customary in this neighborhood.

            He hobbled away around the corner. The shadow of the alley concealing him as turned the corner just as the cruisers pulled up.

After a long struggle he had made it up the fire escape to the window. There they were. Celebrating. The Black Daggers. He winced as reached into his pocket to take out his gun, but he lost his balance and fell in the window. After some crude exclamations the Daggers jumped for their weapons, but Tommy took two of them out from his back after his tumble, catching one of their girls in the cross fire. The pop of firing bullets and shrieks of women and breathing and grunting. Finally t was done and Tommy crawled to his feet and surveyed the carnage. Blood spattered walls and one downed, panting, Black Dagger. Tommy limped to where the casualty lay, stood over him, and fired one last shot to his head.

            He stumbled out the apartment door and shoved past the usher into movie theatre across the street. Now his eyes slowly closed, the movie flickering lights across his face.

Toto

I was lounging on the floor in the living room, bored. My master sat on the couch just staring at one of those packets of papers. So weird how they can just lie there for hours staring at those papers or watching that frame with the moving pictures. I was hoping we could go for walk soon. I had been sitting around at home all day. When master finally got home I was really excited. He gave me some hugs and stuff and some food too, but now he was just lying there and I was bored again. Couldn’t we go outside or something?

Suddenly I heard someone coming up the steps. I shot to my feet and ran to the door. Who could it be? It better be somebody we know. It better be. I hate when people we don’t know come up our walk. I was already at the front door jumping up and down and making a commotion when the visitor started knocking. My master finally got up off the couch. I could tell when he saw who it was that he was a bit nervous and this riled me up even more. Master kneeled down and stroked my head, gave me some hard pats and whispered to get me to calm down. I quieted a bit and sat, panting and wagging my tail eagerly waiting to see who the guest was. My master took a deep breath and opened the door. It was a big man with a dark beard and long hair. He and my master exchanged greeting in the customary ways humans do, shaking paws instead of sniffing each other’s butts. I don’t understand that. How can you smell who’s coming if you don’t get a good scent of their butt? I let out a bark the big man crouched down and gave me a few pats. I didn’t really like the way he smelled, (like smoke and car exhaust) but he gave me a good scratch behind my ears that I appreciated.

The two humans then continued to talk and I could feel the tensions between them escalate. The big man began getting louder and even waving his arms around. My master was beginning to get intimidated and this made me upset. I started barking louder and louder at the big man but it made no difference. My owner was motioning for me to quiet down but I was so upset that I just couldn’t.     

That was when the big man hit my owner in the face with his hand, toppling him to the ground. I got even louder and jumped on the big man’s leg. The big man shook me off and delivered a kick to my ribs that sent me flying down the hall and slamming into a wall.

My master was struggling to get up and uselessly blathering. He still thought he could convince the man not to hurt him. Clearly he couldn’t tell that the big man had no intention of stopping.

When my master finally got to his feet the big man pushed him up against the wall. I charged at them barking as loud as I could but I was too late. The big man took out one of those shiny claws that humans use to cut up food and held my master against the wall and plunged the claw into him over and over. I tore at the big man’s leg with my teeth but it had no effect, he repeatedly stuck it to my master. I furious ripping at his leg had no effect.

He finally tired and stepped back letting my master collapse to the floor before once again kicking me across the room. He took a deep breath before leaving and slamming the door behind him. I barked until I heard him drive off. I finally managed to scare him away, but I think it was too late. My master was collapsed on the ground and there was a lot of blood around him. I licked his face. He didn’t move. I tried again. Still nothing. I tried barking and howling but nothing would wake him.

After while I finally gave up. I lay down close and stared at him. I don’t think he was going to move ever again.

The American Way

The American stood triumphantly over the media pulpit with a bukake of microphones pointing at his face. One fist rested on his hip and he held up his hand to modestly deflect the praise and questions the gathered press heaped upon him in a chattering frenzy. He looked ever so slightly upwards to best expose the most flattering angle of his big square chin to the dozens of flashing and clicking cameras. His chest was puffed out proudly and his cape fluttered behind him in a light breeze (a hidden fan in the sound booth above projected the right amount of air in the just right direction to achieve this effect). His public relations posse stood around him emotionless in their suits. On display behind them sitting, shackled, and flanked by armed guards were the two men whose capture was the pretext for this gathering: Hammer and Sickle, the Brothers of Evil. The American stood triumphantly over the media pulpit with a bukake of microphones pointing at his face. A fist rested on his hip and he held up a hand to modestly deflect the praise and questions the gathered press heaped upon him in a chattering frenzy. He looked ever so slightly upwards to expose the most flattering angle of his big square chin to the dozens of flashing and clicking cameras. His chest was puffed out proudly and his cape fluttered behind him in a light breeze (a hidden fan in the sound booth above projected the right amount of air in the just right direction to achieve this effect). His public relations posse stood around him emotionless in their suits. On display behind them sitting shackled, and flanked by armed guards were the two men whose capture was the pretext for this gathering: Hammer and Sickle, the Brothers of Evil. They still wore their hooded red cloaks and black metallic masks and armour.  The center of their breastplates bared one of the eponymous tools that combined to become the Marxist logo.

            The American continued with his smug modesty, squinting through his wide smile as he tried to calm the chattering crowd of reporters

            “Just doing my job, folks, just doing my job. Now if you’d like to take your seats I’d be pleased to answer your questions in an orderly fashion.”

            They obediently quieted and sat down in the rows of folding chairs.

            The American pointed at a reporter in the front row, who stood to query the hero.

“Firstly I would like to thank you for all your years of service fighting for our lives and our freedom.”

“It’s my pleasure!” smiled The American.

“This is the thirty-seventh time you’ve apprehended Hammer and Sickle. How do you continually foil all of their evil plots?”

“Obviously I can’t disclose all my secrets but suffice to say catching these two fools has become second nature to me. Next?”

Another reporter piped up from the crowd, “There are rumors you’re leaving the League of Liberty? Do you confirm or deny these allegations?”

“As I’m sure you are all aware The Green Guardian and I had a very public disagreement. Fortunately we have consoled and any gossips of me abandoning the League are completely confabulated.”

He smiled and wagged his chin at a pretty young reporter. “Yes?”

“Sources have linked you romantically with The Amazonian. Could we see the world’s first public super couple?”

The American laughed “The Amazonian and I are colleagues first, friends second, and most definitely not lovers! Of course the truth doesn’t sell tabloids the way romantic fiction does. Anyway, after the way she dealt with the Obliterator I wouldn’t want to forget to take out the trash and end up on her bad-side!” The crowd laughed and another reporter raised his pen.

“Do you have any comments about your sponsor, Mikey Sports’ implications in child labor?”

“Those allegations are spurious at best. The free market is strange creature and even I can’t fight with the invisible hand. Anyway, I’ll need to see some solid evidence before I take off my Airborne Ones!  ” The crowd giggled once again and another reported stood.

“This is the thirty sixth time they have escaped from Providence Penitentiary. Are any new safeguards being put in place to prevent it from happening again?”

One of the PR men leaned to whisper into The American’s ear before he answered. “I’m assured that the fine staff at Providence are taking all of the proper precautions to prevent any future escapes. You will have to direct any further questions to their officials.” The reporter, spurred, took a seat.

            “Now if that is all I’d like to thank you for your time and excuse myself. I must take my lea—“

            He was interrupted by cackles that simultaneously escaped from Hammer and Sickle. The crowd became silent and stared at the men who they had almost forgotten was the reason for the gathering. The silence remained as they both stood and effortlessly broke the chains of their shackles. The armed guards immediately turned and pointed their rifles at them.

            “Why don’t you tell them the truth American?” They spoke in unison with deep mangled voices, producing a deep, eerie echo.

            “Lower your weapons,” commanded The American, “I’ll take care of this.”

            The press was transfixed, like an audience in a movie theatre, oblivious that the drama that unfolded in front of them was a potentially deadly danger.

            “You know they let us escape so you could catch us. You needed to distract the media from the League of Liberty. Your ‘public disagreements’ with the Green Guardian,” they scoffed, “you mean how your fighting leveled three blocks of Newtropolis? And you dare to call us villains!”

            “Enough.” The crowd took a deep breath of anticipation as The American wound up to deliver his famous right handed atomic power punch. It had smashed asteroids, leveled mountains, and even taken down the mighty Armageddatron. Sickle stood his ground unconcerned.

            His fist hit Sickle square in the jaw, the crowd gasped as instead of Sickle flying through the air and smashing through a wall it was The American who crumpled to his knees with a high-pitched, almost feminine yelp, and grasping his hand in pain.

            Deep maniacal laughter erupted from the Evil Brothers as they stood over The American. The crowd watched mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them. The guards raised their weapons to the Brothers, but Hammer motioned with and the guns disassembled in their hands.

            “Fools. The plot you apprehended us for was simply a diversion. We knew that your pompous media circus would bring us here so we conspired to plant highly radioactive Vertigrite at this site, which serves triply to weaken The American, power our exo-armor and poison the rest of you. Most of you here will suffer from some form of mortal radiation sickness!”

            The crowd looked on dumbfounded, as if they were watching a movie, not responding at all.

            Hammer and Sickle looked at eachother, not understanding the crowd’s lack of reaction.

            “Don’t you fool understand? You hero is powerless, and you’re all going to die slow painful deaths!”

            They still sat unimpressed.

“This isn’t as fun as I thought it would,” said Hammer.

“Yeah screw this said Sickle.”

Then they went home. And this writer killed himself because this ending sucks. Maybe i'll think of something good and revise it one day.

Tiffany 2

My breath drifted from my nostrils like wisps of smoke as I walked along the path. The park was quiet and empty. The dim street lamps made the snow the sparkle and a gentle wind shifted the limbs of the leafless trees. Sirens echoed in the distance. I felt the plastic bottle in my pocket with my mittened hand. I had let my companions go home early but my mind was restless and I knew I the night wasn’t over yet.

On the park bench I finally spotted what I had been searching for. A pair of boots poked out from a pile of ruffled newspapers. I stopped and looked down on the unconscious body with a tight lipped smile. He finally felt my glare and roused. A hand emerged from the pile to lift a flap of paper. A weathered old face was revealed. He sat up sending his makeshift blankets floating to the ground.

“You lost little girl?”

He rubbed his eyes with closed fists.

“Little girl like you shouldn’t be walking around on her own this late at ni—“

He sputtered as I squirted a thin line of fluid from the yellow bottle into his mouth and all over his face.

“What the hell you doin?”

 He clumsily tried to get up but tripped on himself and fell to the ground as I continued to cover him with the fluid. He rolled onto his back and looked at me. I smiled at him as I lit the childproof safety lighter. I held it to the spout of the bottle and squeezed streak of flame shot onto the man’s drenched face and ignited it. The flames frolicked around his body in a beautiful chaotic dance.  I watched gleefully and emptied the rest of bottle on him as he rolled around in a vain attempt to extinguish himself.

     He stopped moving a few minutes after I ran out of fluid. The smoke rising from his charred, twitching body was exaggerated by the cold, creating an eerie floating fog. In the bush nearby I discovered a hefty rock which I manage to carry over to his unconscious body. I dropped it on his skull, producing a satisfying crack.

     In the distance the sirens had not stopped. I smiled as I thought about the fire we had set growing beyond control.

     I continued on my walk, my mind finally at ease.