BLOGS

The Americas. This is where the End began. The West, the place of Prophecy, the place of Destiny. The genetic cellular database of Ancestral awakenings thrums in tune to the drumbeat call of generations of soul, of pain and joy rising above the spontaneous eruption of life, uncontrollable, unbounded, free of constriction or constraint in its purest form. This is the natural path life takes like water, flowing down or up whatever channel presents a path, making one where none exists, or deepening preexisting ways, widening, eroding resistance whenever encountered to open the way for a more intense flow of energy.

What does all or any of this have to do with Hip Hop? With a bunch of kids who play their music too loud, who seem to have a fascination with cursing, disrespect of authority and women, baggy clothing, crime and material culture? How is any of this spiritual in nature and what does it have to do with consciousness? To answer these questions fully it is necessary to understand what Hip Hop is, what it really represents, where it came from and where it is going.

Loosely defined, it is the culture of the urbanized underclass, of the disaffected and the disillusioned masses. A culture of rebellion and revolt that employs every mode of communication known to humanity in order to get its message across. Music, art, the spoken word, the beat, movement. MC’ing, DJ’ing, Break Dancing/Popping/Locking and Graffiti are its major expressions, all of which encompass the primal cries of those relegated to possessing only their spirits and souls and little else of material substance.  As a post-modern deconstruction of a Western European meta-narrative, Hip Hop stands as an exemplar of the effect upon the individual of societal ills that are now global in scope. Ageless, as an expression of African-based musical and communicative forms of expression, Hip Hop was informally born as a genre in late 1970s New York City and the surrounding region, expanding relatively quickly from a purely regional expression to its current status as multi-billion dollar music of the global youth culture. It is fair to say that Hip Hop has come a long way. But it is also fair to say that it has a way to go still before it reaches its full potential.

Afrofuturism as a movement has evolved alongside Hip Hop, similarly having no definitive beginning while simultaneously coalescing alongside Hip Hop in urban America during the late 1970s. Its formal inception occurs much later, in the late 1990s and into the 00s as the online presence of African Americans grew stronger. The application of diverse academic traditions to the same questions was the beginning of a process that sought to dissect the cultural and media-based discourse of African-originated and futuristically-themed influence in the preceding decades in the attempt to define their interests and cultural memes.

And so it was that a small, ethnically diverse but concentrated listserv, called Afrofuturism, was born and prospered, for a time. Beyond the vigorous debates, expositions of consciousness, collaborations and intellectualisms lay an underlying strata of vast potentiality and possibility, made manifest through the broad and open genres of science and speculative fiction. The movement was represented by black authors, academics, Hip Hop headz and performers alike, all sharing a similar fascination with futuristic themes and expressions of modern societal tropes under the guise of the fantastic. Afrofuturism never really coalesced as a full-blown cultural shift outside of the avant-garde arts and music scenes of the large urban areas, but the fish bowl-like arena the internet was in those days brought larger and more mainstream attention to this small collective of personalities and ideas, raised against the growing din of diverse voices the Net was soon to become.

Hip Hop and the Afrofuture cannot be separated from the evolution of America as a nation, but they also cannot be separated from the evolution of consciousness not only of this country, but of the world. The impact of Hip Hop has been felt upon every continent, in every country. Rap is the music of the global youth culture. It is the sound of rebellion and discontent that can be heard wherever the young are gathered and wherever inequalities have resulted in the formalization of destitution. The original means by which Hip Hop formed have been repeated in country after country, city after city as the young and the listless have found themselves with little money and no musical education but still possessed of singing hearts and dancing souls, theirs or their parents record collections and an ever-growing mass of CDs and MP3s that consolidate the Music of the Ages. The ready availability and affordability of computers, digital music and sound equipment have created the perfect environment for a large-scale explosion of beat-centered creativity as the hard, biting sounds of rap drive the air and digital-waves toward the resolution of a Hip Hop planet, born to tear down paradigms not built for their edification.

There is Russian Hip Hop, Middle Eastern Hip Hop, African Hip Hop, European Hip Hop, Latin American Hip Hop. You will find baggy jeans and ball caps worn by youth of every ethnicity, shade, size or gender in every country in the world. This acceptance of a quintessentially American artform by two generations, X and Y, who are now birthing a third, generation Z, will take the artform into new territory as global consciousness coalesces around the ideals that undergird the very essence of Hip Hop. Freedom of expression  and lifestyle choices, a disdain for centralized authority, a dearth of color consciousness and a dislike of the trappings of corporate and/or governmental culture typify the belief system of Hip Hop Headz around the globe. The continuing revelations regarding the world-wide dominance of elite, corporate conspiracies have resulted in an ever-spreading understanding of the many threads that tie in to this reality, be they economic, political or cultural in nature. A wide-spread distrust of governmental measures as well as a realization that corporate culture does not have the best interests of the individual in mind bind diverse cultures and ethnicities together in recognition of their shared servitude and bondage to global consumer culture and hegemonic political domination by a self-serving and mega-rich elite.

The material and mainstream response to the impact of Hip Hop began early in its modern evolution. With the success of the Conscious Hip Hop movement in the United States in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a concerted effort was made on the part of the Music Industry to derail the movement by changing the focus of the music from positive messages, African history and evolved states of being to that of material wealth, violence and hyper-sexuality. According to music industry insiders, there was a successful attempt to provide monetary incentives and change the focus of individual Hip Hop artists to rap more about these topics and also to contract artists that would create the type of music that glorified self-hate and violence in many forms. This era was accompanied by rising drug use, gang violence in many inner cities and the destruction of previously cohesive neighborhoods by gentrification and urban renewal projects that diffused black power by moving populations out of the urban center and into suburban apartment complexes. The simultaneous influx of illegal drugs – as well as the continuing unavailability of stable sources of income – into these uprooted communities contributed heavily to the continuing dismantling of black political power. But what the Powers-That-Be did not take into account was the expansion of Hip Hop’s influence out of the black community and into the white community and from there, into the rest of the world. Even though the possibility of this happening was evident from its earliest beginnings – as exemplified by its multi-ethnic composition in the early to mid-80s as it spread like wildfire across America – the change in the focus of Hip Hop from a black consciousness to a gangsta/thug mentality that glorified the patriarchy and material accumulation appealed to the children of the suburbs, the children of affluence, the white children of th establishment. Their rebellion against their parents and dedicated economic commitment to Hip Hop raised the art form to national and international prominence, if not in spite of, then because of the negative direction the Industry chose to force the music into.

As Hip Hop has evolved within the crucible of a planet in the throes of change, it has come to represent a shifting of consciousness, being the musical form best suited for political and social challenges. Its hard, eviscerating beats, biting and rough dictions and choruses, are theperfect backdrop to a world on the cusp of transformational change. While mainstream Rap still possesses that material edge that glorifies bling, the dollar bill and the objectification of women as sexual objects, underground Hip Hop culture remains conscious and concerned with the plight of the underclass the world across. With the spread of Internet access across the planet, that underclass has realized that they hold common cause with each other, no matter their country or origin or color. A global political consciousness is a precursor to a global spiritual consciousness as people become aware that politics is only the outermost layer of an affliction that goes much deeper. The speculative aspects of the Afro-future arise in this space created by infinite potentiality as artists meld their conceptions of the present with ideas about what could be, in a perfect world. The addition of both New Age and Afrocentric spiritual ideals, as well as the culmination of the Age – centered around the 2012 fulcrum – combine to create a discourse ofextraordinary exceptionalism that surpasses nation-hood and represents an elevated sense of connection, of oneness, of common cause.

There is a revolution of the spirit as well as the body that is overcoming the dictates of materiality, of modernism and the consumer culture. While there are many causative factors that have contributed to this awakening, the impact of African-related innovations and movements in the West have been strongly felt. From the Haitian revolution and the victories of Touissant L’Ouverture, to Nat Turner, the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement, there is a connection. From Jazz to Country to New Age genres, there is a connection. From Fats Domino, Little Richard and other African-Americans impact upon the evolution of Rock and Roll to the evolution of electronic and computer-based music and art forms, there is a connection. This connection is the expression of the Souls of Black Folk, the visceral nature of their interactions with the world, the spirit-filled mass consciousness that resists all attempts at suppression, repression and genocide. It is, in microcosm, representative of the human spirit in macrocosm, it is what happens when a group of people is put upon for centuries at a timeand their desire for utter freedom grows beyond the capacity of any seeking control over them to contain. It is when expression becomes mandatory, where not even death is threat enough to maintain silence, that the extraordinary becomes mundane and wonder fills the world to overflowing on a daily basis.

Of course,  the formulation of the present moment is a collective endeavor that all streams of humanity have contributed to, that, in fact, every person who has ever lived has, in their own way, helped to create. Consciousness is a condition of awareness and each individual becomes aware of the realities outside of his or her own chosen spotlight for different reasons. But it cannot be denied that the world as it is today is the result of vast inequalities that have been fomented over generations. Inequalities that have resulted in the deaths of untold millions, the servitude of untold millions more and the domination of the world by a small, inbred and greedy elite. The atrocities that have come to predominate the historical record of these latter centuries of the Age of Pisces perhaps have no equal in the known history of humanity upon this planet. The world as it is today, with all of its pain, heartache and vast inequalities, is also a beautiful place, where the seeds of Africans brought to the Americas, mixed with the Aboriginals and Enslavers both, have broken ground, tilling the field of hearts the world across, as what has been done becomes clear and the ramifications of karmic repayment attend that clarification. Hip Hop and the Afro-future stand intertwined in the Present as an indicator of Past and Future, one indistinguishable from the other according to the infinite realm of probability that leaves conceptualization boundless and free to be, to become whatever we wish it to be. This is the legacy of our ancestors, and that which we leave to our posterity in our turn. The gift of life and love despite pain and heartache, and of expression ,without apology, of who we are, were and will be, far beyond what those who think they control reality could ever conceive of.

I can't draw stick figures, let alone illustrate this!  So I am definitely in the market for an artist to collaborate with me on this project. (Please send me a message from this site you are interested!) I've never used the graphic novel format before, and it was difficult for me to get used to writing for the audience with the captions and dialogue, and for the artists in the panels. But I downloaded a free writing program called Celtx and it formats the pages so all I have to do is figure out what goes where on the page.  Anyone who thinks writing graphic novels or comics is easy seriously needs brain washing!  It's far more challenging than my day job, which is writing for online news sites. I've done journalism for years, and I can write a lead in my sleep. I've even written plays that were produced and short stories that were published. None of those experiences come close to the difficulties I have trying to keep the very different format elements straight in my head while working on this story.

Page 1          

Chapter 1 Miyuki after death

   Panel 1     In the unseen world that exists between the living and the dead, a powerfully built, middle-aged Japanese man dressed in the robes of nobility approaches a beauteous, kimono-clad young Japanese woman whose hair is not tied up in a traditional bun, but flows gloriously down to the small of her back. She appears to be in her mid-20s. Her head is bowed in polite deference to the gentleman.

     Caption 1   The great feudal lord Takeda doesn't know how he came to this place. It was as if he were a mere feather, and a powerful wind picked him up with dizzying speed, then gently set him down on what appeared to be clouds. Although his face appears calm, he is irritated with the force that brought him here. But years of experience with espionage and battle tactics have taught him to be patient, and the reason for his current situation would reveal itself. With that thought as a comfort, he cautiously watches the very appealing young lady approaching him with tolerable deference.  It wouldn’t be the first time that an enemy tried to distract him with a woman.

Miyuki

(In Japanese) Grandfather.

  Panel 2   The nobleman's expression moves from astonishment to outrage.

Caption 2    In his day, women never addressed men of his class, even when they were on their knees.  They spoke only when they were ordered to do so.

TAKEDA*

You are NOT of my blood! You dare...!

Panel 3   He raises his right hand to give her a resounding slap, but he's surprised when        it returns to his side as if it had been stricken with a sudden paralysis.  He struggles to raise it again, then tries his left hand. It stops suddenly mid-air; he stares in disbelief. Miyuki watches calmly.

Caption 3    Roles have changed in the intervening four centuries between the time Takeda inhabited a body and Miyuki was born forty years ago (in the material world’s concept of time) in a suburb of Tokyo.

TAKEDA

What manner of evil enchantment...? Release me, witch!

*Takeda Shingen, a ruling feudal lord who lived in Japan from 1521 – 1573.

Panel 4   Close-up of Miyuki looking directly at him, smiling.

MIYUKI

I am not a witch, nor do I have the power to release you. I am your daughter, born of your noble and praiseworthy lineage over 400 years after your unfortunate demise.  You are here with me because your descendants, in Japan and in a place called the United States of America, have prayed to the Lord of all worlds for the progress of your soul, along with the souls of those before and after you.

TAKEDA

(Face strained with rage.) I will NOT be treated as a mere trifle! How dare you speak to me as an equal! Who is this "lord" you serve?

Panel 5   Miyuki has a bemused expression on her face as she speaks. Meanwhile, a sparkling, translucent veil appears behind her.

MIYUKI

We are all His servants, even if we have no knowledge of this.

TAKEDA

I demand to see him! Have him face me as a brave and honorable man should, instead of sending an impertinent girl to do his job! Tell me his name; I will seek him myself!

Page 2

Panel 6    Miyuki turns and pulls aside the veil.

Caption 4    The only life Takeda has known was the well-ordered one he had when he occupied a physical form. He knows of nothing else and wishes for nothing more. Everything around him in the afterlife reflects this wish.

Panel 7   A flashback of 16th century Japan--Takeda is a wealthy, powerful feudal lord with a large army of samurai at his command.

Caption 5     Now, the security of his orderly life has been upended by the madness of a strange, disrespectful girl who spoke of a lord who, apparently, lacked the courage and honor of a nobleman to challenge his opponents directly.

Panel 8   Miyuki holds the veil while beckoning a frowning and reluctant Takeda to walk through.

MIYUKI

"Through Thy name, O my God, all created things were stirred up, and the heavens were spread, and the earth was established, and the clouds were raised and made to rain upon the earth."* There is so much more here in the afterlife for both of us, Grandfather. We have been brought together to assist someone who is still among those who dwell on Earth--my daughter, Hitomi

Panel 9   Across three intersecting panels, Miyuki and Takeda become smaller until they dissipate into vapors. 

Caption 6    The life Takeda has known and loved will soon be no more than indistinct memories shrouded by mists.

Page 3

Panel 10   Miyuki and Takeda have appeared in front of the veil and into the bedroom of Miyuki's 27 year old daughter Hitomi's apartment. They are at the foot of her bed, looking at her. Hitomi is sleeping, curled into a fetal position. Her long, wavy black hair is tousled over her face; her bedding covers her body from the neck down. The room an eclectic mix of African, Asian and modern furniture, artifacts and pictures. Over the headboard of Hitomi's bed is a huge poster of the R&B/funk group, Parliament/Funkadelic.

Caption 7    There is nothing familiar to Takeda here: the odd furnishings, the bizarre lights and sounds emanating from peculiar machines make him uneasy. He is accustomed to being wholly in control of people and events; it perturbs him that he has neither.

Panel 11   Intersecting panels show Takeda's face is a mixture of anger and confusion. He reaches for his sword, but to his bewilderment and frustration, it will not unsheathe.

TAKEDA

What sort of demonic habitation is this, girl?

Panel 12   View of Miyuki's head turned toward Takeda, who is still struggling to free his sword.

*(Baha'u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha'u'llah, p. 235)

Page 4

Caption 8    In his previous life, Takeda would have ordered the “witch” and the odd, sleeping “creature” to be executed at once. Their offense--being at odds with the structure of his life--would have been sufficient to warrant their death. But there are no soldiers or servants to carry out his command. Moreover, it galled him that the “witch” remained unabashedly impertinent. Even his sword defied him.

MIYUKI

It is...the sleeping quarters of my beloved daughter Hitomi, Grandfather.

Panel 13    POV change to bedside, near Hitomi's head. Shows the pair standing together. Miyuki's face is filled with love, sadness  and longing for her daughter. Takeda looks as if he is about to explode.

Caption 9    He has reached the last of his minuscule amount of patience. Terror is his remaining weapon.

TAKEDA

TAKE ME FROM THIS ACCURSED PLACE, WITCH, OR I SWEAR BY MY ANCESTORS I WILL RIP YOUR BODY TO MERE THREADS!!!

Panel 14   Very large shot of the two--Every vein and muscle in Takeda's face and neck in bulging in fury while Miyuki looks at him with detached amusement.

TAKEDA

SIMPLE-MINDED BITCH! YOU DARE LOOK ON ME IN JEST?

Page 5

Panel 15   POV changes to the space between Miyuki and Takeda--Hitomi has turned in her sleep, kicking the covers off.  Her hair has moved partially away from her face. She is dressed in an over-sized tee-shirt revealing her flawless, sienna-colored bare arms and legs. It is clear that she is stunningly gorgeous young lady born of African-American and Japanese ancestry (picture R&B singer Amerie).

HITOMI

Mmmhhh....

Panel 16   Takeda's mouth opened in horror as he stares at Hitomi.

Caption 10    He had heard rumors, seen pictures of dark men from a distant land that the ruddy-faced, hairy men from Europe called "Africa".  Those pale men, with their wheat or fire colored hair and strangely colored eyes, spoke of half-men who were more apes than human. Takeda thought the stories were nothing more than the uncouth ramblings of foolish drunken whites. There can be no such thing. It is against nature for a human to copulate with an ape or a monkey, an unconscionable act.

Panel 17   A close-up of Takeda.  He is apoplectic.

Caption 11    Yet, before him...evidence that the dull-brained girl who claimed to be his descendant had committed the most heinous of acts.

TAKEDA

WITCH! WHAT UNSPEAKABLE VILENESS HAVE YOU COMMITTED? THAT IS NO HUMAN; IT IS A MONSTER!

Panel 18   A close up of Miyuki’s calm face.

MIYUKI

She is not only human, Grandfather, she is my precious, beautiful daughter. This is the 21st century; almost five hundred years has passed since you had a body. So much has changed since you walked upon the Earth. Whether you like it or not, she is of your lineage also. I married a man who descended from the people of Africa, although the country of his birth is now known as the United States of America.

Panel 19   Takeda stares at Miyuki, who continues to gaze lovingly at Hitomi.

MIYUKI

I know it is a rather old fashioned name for a girl her age, but I named her Hitomi, after my poor little sister. My sister was born with “special” talents, but without the emotional capacity to use them wisely. I had no idea that, to a lesser degree, the same would be true of my daughter. If I had, I would have given her an English name.

Page 6   Panel 20   Close up of Takeda's face.  His eyes are narrowed as he contemplates               another tactic of escape.                                     

Caption 12    Years of warring has taught the feudal lord that there are thousands of ways to turn a negative situation into a favorable one. He needs only a suitable moment.

TAKEDA

Really, my granddaughter? Tell me of this place, Uni...what is its name again?

Panel 21    Miyuki looks at Takeda, smiling because she knows he is trying to find a way out of what must seem like intolerable bondage to him.

Caption 13    What Takeda does not know is that the history of his battlefield stratagems and preternatural cunning has been passed down through the generations. Her father told the stories to Miyuki's brothers. Her eldest brother, Hiromasa, loved to regal (and terrify) her with his dramatic interpretations of these tales.

Panel 22   Flashback of sixteen year old Hiromasa sitting cross-legged on the floor next to six year old Miyuki's tatami mat (circa 1967), enthusiastically telling her about the clever ruses employed by their ancestor, Takeda Shingen that often led to victory over his opponents. Miyuki is wide-eyed and enthralled.

Caption 14    Much has been written and debated about the effect the dead has upon the living. There is evidence that the stories left by the forebears and repeated by their descendants does form a sense of identity within a family, especially when the stories instruct and warn about the various trials of life. The more unfathomable effect the dead have on their progeny is not so apparent, or easily explained.

Page 7   Panel 23   Hitomi is thrashing about in bed.

Panel 24   She jerks awake, startled.

Caption 15    Much of what happens in Hitomi's life is not easily explained.

HITOMI

Mommy!

Panel 25   She looks about her room as if she expects to see her mother nearby.

Panel 26   She cries.

Panel 27   Shot of Takeda and Miyuki watching Hitomi. Takeda looks bewildered while Miyuki is despairing. 

Panel 28   The glittering veil has appeared, and Miyuki backs into it as Takeda continues staring at Hitomi.

The Kid fell from the sky, aflame. A black energy coruscated and trailed from his unconscious form. He fell limply, silently, helplessly. His explosive impact drove shards of concrete into the air and an exploding crater released a tower of flaming gas as his powers ignited an underground fuel main. People retreated into whatever cover they could find as automobiles fell from the explosion and the searing heat melted plastic, rubber, and other soft metals nearby. It was hell on Earth.

What followed him moved slowly at first. It was in no hurry. It savored the world into which it found itself thrust. The first two days here, there was no resistance and the creatures were soft, edible, pliant, with mild and crunchy centers. Then a few new ones came, and they were armed with stinging tools, primitive and less effective than nothing. They and their tools were tasty with a slight iron flavoring. Some articles of their clothing were less than tasty, tough with a fibrous consistency. After eating six or eight of them, it decided to peel the rest of the blue guardians and eat only the flesh and bones.

Then they came. The special ones. Most looked like the main food of this world, small, delicate, crunchy, and like the blue guardians, they were armed with tools. Their tools were fantastically more effective than those of the blue guardians. No matter. Nothing of this world can harm me. Nothing at all. Even the fire-star is too weak. I shall enjoy this one, and I shall not share it. Not a morsel will the Others get.

“The Kid is down.”

“He’ll get up. He’s just like his old man was. Stubborn.”

“Any ideas of what we’re dealing with?”

“With the rash of magical threats we have been seeing lately, I think someone has just upped the ante.”

“Oswald, I think we are going to have to hold the line until the big guns get here.”

Thornton Oswald the Third stood looking over the city and realized that the Shrike was right. With The Kid down, Gunner on sabbatical, Kali was coming from Metro City, and Shango out doing whatever magical Protectors of the Crossroads do in their spare time, they would have to hold this thing until reinforcements arrived. But it took The Kid. After Kali and Shango, The Kid was as tough as they come. He lacked his father’s fighting experience, but his durability under fire was unquestioned.

“Shrike, I will need a minute. Can you keep him entertained while I transform?”

“Sure thing, he’ll never see me coming.”

The Shrike, Walter Scott, depressed the studs in his gloves and his suit’s jetpack came online. Extending his arms, large metallic wings with serrated edges extended from them, increased his wing span to twenty feet. “Don’t be late.” With a boom, the Shrike took to the air and dived to attack the creature who stood easily twenty feet tall.

Thornton proceeded to draw a circle of containment in the rooftop gravel. As his cane drew through the rocks, they lit with an eldritch glow. Hearing the boom of the rockets as they roared away, Thornton focused his mind on breaching the boundaries between worlds. To a particular world, a world of feral monsters used by dark magicians and ancient gods, to the Fan-run-dhar-durak - Land of Forgotten Beasts. Once the realm became clear to him, he sought for a particular beast, a creature whose unmistakable might would be tested tonight. He sought the beast called Grimmamon, mightiest of the Beast Lords.

The Shrike swooped fast and his onboard computer, linked directly into his brain, had already plotted the course he needed to strike five times in two passes. His wings comprised of Promethium, a rare alien metal, allowed him to transfer and magnify his kinetic energy, so the longer he flew, the stronger and more dangerous the metal became.

But fly too long and the energy became uncontrollable without a release. So the longer he flew, the more he was forced to fight. Only touching the ground would bleed that energy from him. It was always the delicate dance of fighting and being tougher, but blowing out from not releasing enough energy or returning to his default state where he was weakest just before recharging.

Having flown here, he had already expended a good portion of his energy against the creature. He had damaged this black material called skin and even had drawn blood. But it seemed unaffected and knocked The Kid into next week. If he had been just a second slower, it would have been him. He doubted he would have survived that impact with the ground.

—gonna be fast, be loose, feel the air, float with it, snap the wing, strike, strike, beat the wing, turn, beat the wing turn, snap, snap, strike, strike, strike, away—

His blows were fast, blurs to the naked eye, and each tore into the nacreous flesh with little effect. Once, his wings had sliced through bank vaults back in the days when he was a villain in Metro City.

—Come on, Kid, we ain’t friends or nothing, but right now, I could use the sight of your overconfident face coming out of that fire. I hope Oswald is having more luck than I am.

* * *

Kali was streaking through the sky on her cloud, heading to Paragon City where she received the distress call from the Shrike and the Sorcerer. She was making good time and would arrive in about ten minutes. From this height, the suburbs of Paragon City seemed peaceful. She could see the smoke from the burning buildings ahead, a path of sheer destruction. The old Kali would have liked that; the new Kali was repulsed by such mindless waste.

“Kali Yuga, I have need of you and your darkest aspect.”

“I hate when you call me that, Shango. Where are you?” She really did hate that name; it invoked a violent and destructive past where she was a destroyer of all that she surveyed.

“I am at The Crossroads. There has been a breach and creatures are pouring through. I am attempting to seal it, but I cannot as long as the creatures prevent me from reaching it. I need your help.”

“Asking for help? That is not like you, Thunderer.”

“Nor is needing help, warrior-goddess, but here we are.”

“Can you make the gate? Or shall I follow your whining to the Crossroads?”

“Suffice it to say, you are earning that spanking.”

“Put it on my tab. I will be there shortly, husband.”

Kali focused her will, and her two arms became four. Each of them was armed with a knife of pure spirit. She began a sword dance designed to take her to the Crossroad between Worlds, a magical nexus connecting nearby realms of existence. A particularly puissant sorcerer or other magical being could use it to reach across space and time to other worlds altogether.

As she whirled faster and faster, she began to weave open a doorway, using her spirit blades and her connection to her husband’s god-force. The Shrike would call it a paired quantum connection, but she preferred the magical concept of contagion; once two things are bound together, nothing can keep them apart. She was beginning to feel the connection strongly and could see into the nether dimensions the Crossroad inhabited.

She could sense Shango before she could see him. He was covered by a horde of dark skinned giants. The Crossroad was in the presence of three giant red suns shedding their ruddy light on the scene. Shango was, for a moment, unable to be seen, but then lightning exploded from the ground, and the creatures were thrown back, and for a moment he was clear.

“Woman, what part of your Kali Yuga aspect did you not understand? I need you in your most terrible guise or we are doomed.”

Once she transitioned into the Crossroad, she was behind Shango, and he used his double-headed axe to create a barrier of lightning.

“Good to see you, too. Before we invoke that bitch, do you think we could see what we can do here, first?”

“Do you see that portal? That is where we need to be.”

The distance was only about the length of two football fields, but it was filled with these creatures, each the height of two men, with near human physical attributes. Their heads appeared to be more like an octopus, and their hands instead ended in tentacles. There were hundreds of them.

“Make ready, husband.”

Shango dropped his barrier and released a bolt of lightning, driving a wedge between the creatures, incinerating two dozen of them instantly. In the second it took his lightning to cross one hundred meters, Kali had already slain thirty of the monsters . She stepped through time and space and was everywhere and nowhere. She appeared and disappeared, and each strike laid a creature low. Her face was serene and peaceful as her four blades struck at once. Her superhuman strength made each blow cut deep into their flesh, severing meat and bone like a hot knife through butter.

Shango concentrated his powers and created a series of strikes before her; each of them she slew her way through to the next. When he was too busy to support her, he lent her his lightning and she kept the area around her cleared with her flashing blades and lightning. His double-headed axe flew around him with a cloud of electricity arcing from it to every creature near him. But the creatures were relentless and without fear. As soon as he would clear the area, more would appear.

He looked out and saw Kali was within fifty feet of the portal. He called lightning once more, and as it arced from him toward her, the creatures around him opened their mouths and sharp bones shot out and speared him in his chest and arms. He looked in disbelief; his flesh had the strength of steel. He laughed off high caliber weaponry like rain. What were these things that they could do this?

A searing acid began to burn his flesh, pumped through their ceramic probosci. He howled as his mighty flesh began to burn. Without warning, the creatures blocking his line of sight were cut in half, and two other blades slashed the demons’ tongues. The blades whirled around him and returned to Kali, who had not stopped her dance of death and retrieved her weapons amid flight and continued killing.

Shango, now enraged, drew his power to him, focused his pain and rage and became a thing of pure lightning. The creatures strove to grab him and died instantly, burned to death. As they cleared away, powerful arcs leaped from him to them, and they continued to die. He moved forward slowly, and Kali cut them down as they passed through the portal. He reached her and caught her hand as she struck out at him.

“Enough, my wife. The portal is silent. Perhaps we have earned our invitation.”

“Then let us not be rude to our hosts. They did set forth such a feast for such as us.”

“Indeed.”

They stepped through the portal.

* * *

Meanwhile, Thornton Oswald III completed his summoning ritual with the King of Netherbeasts. Grimmammon took the form of a great cat of immense size. “ Grimmammon, I invoke your service as in the pacts defined by my ancestors.”

“Bah, mortal, why should I bother with your family’s ancient pacts? You have been notoriously lax in your relationship to us. Where are the rituals of blood and souls as in the past?”

“Spare me your pathetic bargaining, hell-beast. Without me and mine, you and yours would have passed into your final existence decades ago. Our world stopped worshipping your kind hundreds of years ago. Look around you. Ask where Lord Arioch and his brethren have gone. Provide your services and enjoy the benefits of our continued relationship.”

“Show me why you summoned me.”

“Look, oh Great One. Tell me what you see.”

Grimmammon looked over the edge of the roof, and his demonic mien grew more stoic. “Our pact ends at the edge of this world, sorcerer. That is an eldritch being from beyond our world.”

“And evidently frightening enough to remove most of your bluster. Tell me more, Great One. Who or what is that creature?”

“A Chaos god from before the time of Arioch, from before time as you measure it.”

“You lie. There were no gods before that time.”

“Silence, pup. There are secrets even the gods keep. These creatures were imprisoned here in an age before yours. You are not the first masters of the Earth. Did you think you were? Ha.”

“Imprisoned?”

“By the First People. They could not destroy them, but they could lock them beneath the Earth, or the Sea, or in Fire. It is said even the very Air imprisons one. I will have no truck with that one, no matter what the price you offer. Its powers likely dwarf mine, the same way mine dwarf yours.”

Oswald thought about what Grimmammon told him, and realized they were out of their depth. Even if Shango and Kali were here, this was a threat greater than they could manage on their own. Since neither of them were here, it was likely they were working on this menace in their own way. “So we will do what we can until they arrive.”

“I know you can see the boy in that conflagration. Bring him here; deposit the flames on the creature. Then you can take your leave. We would not want you to be injured before I can make use of you again. You are weakening with age; perhaps I shall call your rival Shunmaburan instead.”

“As you request, so shall it be. But if you seek to wound my pride, you will find no demon has pride when its survival is at stake. But by all means, if you wish to call Shunmaburan today, and he were not to survive, I would be in your debt. Farewell.”

The old demon stood at the edge of the roof and the flames rose from the crater in the street. The flames swirled as if they were a fire vortex and flew from the crater to surround the otherworldly invader with the terrible fires. The Kid disappeared from the crater and appeared on the roof next to Oswald. Oswald saw the daemon link the fire to the creature, and realized the fire would only last a few minutes before exhausting its fuel. Once surrounded, the creature stopped moving forward, and this bought them some time.

Grimmammon turned away from the roof’s edge. He looked at the boy and said, “Tough, that little one is. A parting gift.” And with that he nodded and stepped back into the gateway in the floor of the roof.

Oswald was not happy with Grimmammon’s parting words. No good comes from gifts from demons. Looking down at The Kid, he saw the boy’s amazing recuperative powers rebuilding him, and in less than two minutes, he sat up, looking angry.

“Wait. We need to talk. There are things you need to know.”

* * *

Carolyn Von Putten was having dinner on the other side of Paragon City when she saw the news. She was finally having the date she had taken a vacation for, and she was determined to enjoy it. She was wearing a black Versace dress with less than modest pumps, showing off her well-muscled body.

She spent days hunting for this dress and wanted to stun Elliot Cole, investigative reporter, right out of his socks. And the dress had the right effect, too. Cole was barely able to speak and the evening was going so well. And then this.

Cole looked at her. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I know you can see that television over there above the bar.”

“And? It’s on the other side of town. If those heroes can’t handle it, we’ll just cut our dinner date a bit short.”

Cole leaned forward and whispered, “What about Gunner? You do realize I know who you are?”

“What?”

“Don’t try to kid the kidder. I have known for some time. I am the ace investigative reporter in Paragon City. Now I know you should be going, and they certainly look like they need you. I don’t see Shango or Kali. Moving fire means the Occultist is there, and that flashing of silver probably means the Shrike, and I have not seen The Kid yet, so I am guessing thirty foot tall monsters warrant your attention?”

“Do you know how long I have waited for this date?”

“And I promise we will get another shot at it, pardon the pun. Now go. Besides, I have a scoop to get.”

“Need a lift? My car is on its way.”

“Nah, you have an image to uphold. Guns blazing and all.”

“See you in a bit.” Carolyn grabbed Cole and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. “Just in case, you’re late to our next date.” She turned and ran out the door. Turning the corner, a midsize SUV pulled alongside and opened the side door.

“Your suit’s in the back. Nice dress. “ The grizzled man driving the car pointed his thumb backward. She hopped up into the back and started stripping. “Get me there, fast. Set up range for heavy weapons long range. Put me on the radio. Shrike, can you hear me?”

“Gunner, enjoying your vacation?”

“Can it, I need you to get some distance and come in hot. I will be there in less than five minutes. Move out and I will come in with explosive ordinance. You follow with a Cannonball.”

“Roger that, fearless leader.”

“Occultist?”

“Yes, Gunner.”

“Where is The Kid?”

“I have him. He has been hurt. He found the creature first and alerted us. He held it until the Shrike and I could help.”

“How is he doing?”

“Tough as nails, ready to go back.”

“Any word from Shango or Kali?”

“None, but I can sense they are not in this world, or at the Crossroads. So they may be involved at another point in the battle. We will have to do what we can.”

“Our goal is to stun and control. Keep it where it is. Can you get the rest of the people out of there?”

“Of course.”

“Once the Kid is up, tell him to wait for my signal. Ten seconds after my signal, he should see a Cannonball. I will need him to grab the Shrike. I will work long range pushing the creature back. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“My contacts tell me it’s not like anything we have ever seen. We better hope Shango and Kali are having better luck than we are.”

“Why?”

“My contacts said the last time these things ruled the world, they destroyed the previous inhabitants.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“Stand by for my signal. Get those people out of there.”

* * *

Shango and Kali stepped through the portal and fell to their knees. The gravity was intense, eight times what they were used to on Earth. The air was thick and heavy. Even with their superior senses, they could barely see through the soup-like atmosphere.

They could hear a chittering sound, something that clicked, popped, sputtered at a variety of distances. Each set of sounds was distinct and otherworldly. Kali stood and began to move her hands in magical gestures.

“The spiritual flow here is weak. Something binds its movement.”

“Draw the god-force from my axe and complete your spell.”

As Kali finished her spell, she looked exhausted, but now she could understand the voices.

“What is it? Why has it come here?”

“It has disease; it comes from elsewhere. Nothing comes here.”

“Make it leave.”

The three voices had a chorus of others that answered them.

“This does not bode well, Kali. I think I liked it better when I didn’t know what they were saying.”

“That can be arranged. What do we do now? I was hoping there would be something to hit over here.”

“It wants to hit us. Why? What did we ever do to it?”

“Kill it. It trespasses on our world. We would never allow that in the past. We have eaten all before now.”

“No haste, visitors are rare; find what they want, first. What do you want, germ invaders?”

“I am Shango the Thunderer and this is Kali Bhavatarini. On our world we are gods. I would see whom I address."

“Gods, you say.
Hahahahahahaha! Such tiny gods.
You must come from a tiny world.”

“Show yourselves, braggart,” Kali shouted out to the darkness.

“Pull back the darkness.”
“We’ll rip your tiny minds apart.”
“Shroud is for your protection.”

Shango raised his axe and began to emit lightning, pushing back the darkness. Kali called her spirit blades and touched them together, increasing the light and dispelling the shroud around them.

“Evil germs want to see what we are?”
“Germ gods can’t listen.”
“So be it.”

The shroud of darkness peeled back slowly like a fog being dispelled. The scene was one of carnage as an alien landscape with the remains of a city all around them. Broken buildings toppled into the streets with all the great structures damaged in one way or another.

In the sky swirled a great mass, where the shroud emanated. Tendrils of both darkness and blackened flesh reached from it. They were immense, and the creature filled the sky with its horror. The pressure on the minds of Kali and Shango increased as its spiritual monstrosity overwhelmed them. Both warrior gods, both having slain tens of thousands in battle, were not prepared for the horror of a creature that had slain billions, entire worlds, holding their souls enslaved within its flesh, the spiritual screams overwhelming them. Their shields diminished, pushed back to their very persons. They stood together to support each other, and held the horror at bay, but it lapped at their shields, tongues of darkness trying to lick them, taste them, just seconds from overwhelming them completely.

They had never seen anything like this.

“Germ gods, you do not see all there is to me. I dwell at the center of the Universe. I lived before your world was even a swirling in the cosmic miasma.

What would you know of godhood?

You are only a little more evolved than the worms of your world.”

Shango laughed loudly and contemptuously at the alien being. “Your living quarters are foul, oh great Universe-dwelling deity. Where are your worshippers? Where are your spires of beauty, showing off your power to your enemies? A poor deity that fouls its nest!” Kali looked at Shango disapprovingly.

“Imprisoned by the creatures here. Unable to enter, unable to leave, I sensed an awakening and strove to find it at the Crossroads of all Realities. But before I could find it and leave, the portal was closed. Wretches bound me to this spot. Hate them I did. Killed all of them. They now serve me as my advance guard. Now I seek my kind everywhere. Only they can free me.”

“What would you know of this creature? He roams my world, free. His power is like yours, dark, an evil before time.” Kali presents a psychic image of the creature in Paragon City.

“He is one of us. Betrayer. He taught them here how to bind me to this spot. In exchange for his imprisonment somewhere else, away from me. Send me to him. I would have my revenge.”

“We cannot send you to him. We cannot break the bindings that lock you here. But we could make it possible for you to bring him here.” Shango looked at Kali, disbelieving what she was proposing.

“Trust me, my husband.”

“Oh yes, I would have him here with me.”

“How would you make this possible?”

“You are, after all, insignificant in power even to one as puny as he.”

Kali spoke to the tendrils of the creature tearing away at her shields, seeking even a momentary doubt to penetrate and strike. “Open your portal again. We will make a portal to our world. You reach through both and pull him back to you.”

“How can I trust you? I trusted him and he deceived me.

I trusted these creatures and they enslaved me. I cannot trust anyone now. Only one of you can go. 

The other stays here.”

They look at each other disbelievingly. They are the last of their kind on their world. Without them, their respective pantheons would lose their last anchors to Earth. Shango readied himself to say something, and Kali touched him on the lips. “You go. Your powers on Earth make you the more suitable choice to create the gate and to drive him into it. I will stay here and play hostage.”

“I will be back for you, my wife.”

“You’d better.”

* * *

The Kid, using his super-speed, ran through the legs of the creature and launched an attack at its chest. His haymaker rocked its footing. Rebounding off its chest, he flipped and landed thirty feet away, just to the right of Gunner.

Gunner in her red and black battle gear held an X-25 rocket rifle, firing a series of explosive grenades into the tentacled face of the beast. The Occultist rained fiery spheres down from the sky, each wrapping a limb in a flaming embrace.

Fire had the most effect on the creature, preventing its continued movement. But that was all they could do. Between The Kid and his speed and strength and the Shrike’s Promethium attacks, they could keep it off-balance. But whenever it moved or flailed about, buildings fell.

Nothing they did caused any permanent damage and they were beginning to tire.

Suddenly the sky darkened and the wind whipped up. Lightning began to swirl at the edges of the skyline.

The Kid, looking up, slowed down the flow of time and saw lightning charges building up right above their heads. Grabbing Gunner, he sped out of the line of the lightning discharge with seconds to spare. His big grin showed this was what he lived for, that last second save that no one but he could pull off. “Got ya, boss lady. I think the cavalry is here.”

“What?” Gunner hated when he did that. He saw something seconds before it happened. Then the lightning strikes began. Each rained down as a driving wind directed them into the face of the creature. Right where she was standing a second ago.

“Occultist,” boomed the voice of Shango from the heavens, “we need a Gate to the Crossroads. Something big enough for our guest.”

“Shrike, where are you?” Gunner extricated herself from the Kid’s very tight and strangely arousing grip.

“Coming in at Mach two. Tell me we have a target or I am going to explode right over you guys. Less than a minute.”

“Come down West Street. We are trying to push the creature to the Crossroads.”

“What good is that? He’ll just come back.”

“It’s what Shango wants.”

“Good enough for me. Fifty seconds.”

The Occultist teleported himself to the ground behind the alien monstrosity and began to form his gate. It was hard to concentrate over the barrage of lightning, and he had to erect a barrier to protect himself. Holding his cane above his head, he warded off the lightning and driving rain pushing the creature back toward him. His incantations steady, he sensed the gateway to the Crossroads opening. And then he sensed it, a creature of the Outer Dark awaiting on the other side!

He balked, holding the spell before completion. Shango is impetuous, stubborn, and sometimes downright irresponsible. But since I don’t see Kali, I have to assume she is somehow involved in this. In the end, this is about trust. I have to trust they have a reason. He completed the spell.

The Shrike, covered in the kinetic energy of his Promethium armor, saw the gateway open up. Diving down, he targeted the creature and saw lightning striking it, as well. Lightning strikes so powerful, the very air seemed aflame in a light so bright, the creature could barely be seen. Never saw Shango like this. Glad we are on the same side now. Four, three, two, one...

The release of the Promethium had to be done at point blank range. It had a release range of less than ten feet. He could turn at this speed, but just barely. To be sure of the effect this time, he would have to cut it closer than he was comfortable with. If I had known this hero gig would be so dangerous, I might have just stayed a villain. He activated his force field a second before impact, bracing himself for the energy release, it would be the equivalent of a Tomahawk missile. The explosion blasted him into the sky as he rebounded from the armored skin of the creature.

Flight controls are gone, diagnostics lights are on everywhere --we’re done. This had better be worth it. He felt his vector changing as he fell downward. Still trying to reboot his armor, he suddenly felt the wind was knocked out of him.

Suddently drapped over the shoulder of the Kid as they bounced off a building, arced through the air and landed on the ground nearly a hundred feet away.

“One day I might miss you.” The Kid laughed and put the Shrike down on the ground, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t remind me. Thanks for the save.”

“Armor systems online.” The Shrike’s powered armor reactivated.

“You might want to work on that reboot speed.” The Kid smiled and streaked away, faster than a Corvette down the street back toward the creature. He plucked hurtling chunks of building out of the air, like flowers, that might strike bystanders as he re-entered the fray.

The combined explosions of the promethium wave, Shango’s lightning strikes, and Gunner’s mini-missiles pushed the creature into the edge of the gateway, but not quite through it. Before anyone could make a further effort, a tendril of blackness reached through the gate, and as it touched our air, burst into flame. It grabbed the monster and pulled it back into the Crossroads. The last thing heard was, “I finally found you, Nyarlethotep. Revenge is ours.”

Without warning the gateway snapped shut.

Shango dropped like a rock from the sky, attempting to cross back into the gateway before it closed. The speed of his landing cracked the concrete. He roared like a madman and began to whirl his axe to create his own portal. The air was aflame with his lightning, but no portal formed. The Occultist walked up behind him and placed his hand on Shango’s shoulder.

“Enough, old friend. The creature from the Outer Dark has temporarily sealed the passage from our world to the Crossroads.”

“It has Kali.”

The gathered heroes fell silent.

* * *

Kali summoned her spirit swords and began the ritual dance of power. Tapping the energies unique to this plane, she bound its power to hers. She felt the lives of The People, and their rage at the creature that destroyed them. She felt their need to lash out, but also their impotence since they are deceased and can no longer affect the world. Her dance said that they could.
They listened.

The portal had been open for some time. She remained peripherally aware of it as the spirits of the dead came to her and followed her dance, each lending its tiny essence to what she was, a goddess of destruction and creation, a goddess of Time and Space. They sensed her kinship to all things in creation, and were at peace.

The portal was rent asunder as the Other suddenly arrived, and the two power-mad creatures tapped the energies of this plane and dozens of others nearby for their conflict. They ignored her and closed the gateway while their battle continued.

“Our deal is done. Release me.”

“Germ gods are in no position to make demands. We have our quarry, and we will use you to get back to your world once we have had our revenge.”

“You will stay with us.”

“We will be free of this place. We taste your world on him. It is to our liking.”

Their conflict was so terrible, nearby shard realms of existence were destroyed as they moved their battle through dimensions. Kali realized this creature never had any intention of letting them go home. That was why she told Shango to leave. She had no intention of staying.

Turning to the gathered spirits she raised her arms and shouted to them, “You seek revenge. Only Kali Yuga can give you that. So I release her to you. Gain your revenge!”

Kali’s dance moved faster, her four arms became eight, and she directed the energy of her death magic through the souls of those damned to be in this place, and they reflected her.

Her spirit blades appeared in their hands . And this happened again and again until there were hundreds of her and the contagion continued, spreading until there were thousands. Each shone with a dark energy that disrupted the very air around them. Slowly they rose into the air and their spirit blades sang out their song of retribution and revenge for their unjust deaths thousands of years before. Tiny stars of black fire began to arc through the air.

The gathered spirits by the thousands turned their energy toward the ancient gods locked in battle. They were not aware of the dark stars surrounding them. Each deity was consumed with its hatred of the other. The crazed tentacled god bound his brethren in a smoky embrace. The dark invader sliced away tentacle after tentacle, even as new ones replaced them. Their struggle destroyed the remnants of the great civilization around them as if they were nothing more than tissue in the path of a hurricane.

Then lead by Kali, the People exacted their revenge. Each hurled itself at the Great Old Ones. Their fiery trail slashed through tentacles and Dark God alike, and their screams of rage were palpable. Once ignored by the Great Old Ones, but no more. Now their rage was given form and a world quaked as bound spirits rose up against their slayer.

Kali Yuga smiled and continued her dance as the sky lit up by the fiery stars of souls enraged. And the Dark Gods knew fear.

* * *

An hour later, a portal opened in the wreckage of the street. Shango stood exactly where the last portal had closed. He knew if she was going to appear, it would be where the walls between worlds was weakest. He could sense it coming, a tell-tale rippling of the space-time at the Crossroads. When she came through she was in her Kali Yuga aspect, her demonic eight armed form was disheveled, battered, barely conscious but still alive. Even in this state, her power was evident, a wave of fear swept the street and people shuddered unconsciously.

Shango reached her in a single step and grabbed her. She slumped into his arms and her Yuga aspect was dispelled. And it was a good thing too. She had a hard time telling friend from foe in that state. He did not know what happened over there, but if she took on this form, she didn’t make any friends.

Ever the optimist, Shango picked her up and laughed. “Look at that! They sent her home, after all. She really doesn’t make for a good hostage.” It wasn’t the first time Shango questioned his wife’s incredible powers. The gathered heroes turned to the wreckage and could hear the sounds of attack helicopters and other military vehicles approaching the scene.

The Shrike looked at Shango, his visor opened, “I know this part. Skipping out from the police was my specialty, remember? We aren’t on the side of the angels anymore. We’re fugitives. That means we run.”

Gunner looked at the Occultist who was already weaving a teleportation spell. “Only for a little while longer, then we are going to fix this. I am tired of running.”

As the military approaches, the people of Paragon City streamed out and quietly blocked the path of the oncoming forces, slowing them significantly.

Gunner looked on, saluteed them and with the spell completed, they faded from view. The bystanders quietly dispersed. The military commander breathed a sigh of relief. Gunner was an American hero. She and her team had saved the world a half a dozen times, at least. He had to follow orders, but he didn’t have to rush.

“They got away again, sir.”

“Don’t you hate when that happens, Lieutenant?” The old colonel smiled, lighting a cigar.

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It tore at her as a ravenous beast might; the hunger. She had never believed it could hurt so. Was this what it was like to be so near to dissolution? This tenuous feeling that she might be flying apart, her molecules, thinner than the gossamer she was already forced to be to feed. She was the thickness of a butterfly's wing; a wisp floating in space.

The sun took up one third of the sky. Its gravity clawed at her, pulled her, drew her toward it. She looked around and prepared to redirect her course away from the star. Where was the gas giant? She looked around and only then did she realize she had miscalculated and was heading directly toward the world which was supposed to be her refuge. She had planned to come up from behind it, scoop the atmospheric mass that she needed, make the repairs necessary and leave once her drive was recharged. 

"I went yesterday."

"I went out the day before."

"I don't care who went out, when. Put your guns on and get out there and bring back something to eat. I don't care what it is."

"Yes, Ma."

"See what you did, now she's mad at us."

"I didn't make her mad, you did."

"Anyway, food won't hop into the house by itself. You two get a move on. Get back before dark."

"Yes, Auntie." Ma's sister was almost as mean as she was.

We left the habitat by the back door, and after looking both ways we started down the vine and headed out of the park, into the city. It used to be called Philadelphia; back when stuff like that mattered.

"Did you pack everything?"

"Why do you always ask me if I packed everything, its not like you weren't standing right there, supervising."

 
"Last time we were out, you forgot the wipes."

"So, you were forced to use your hand or some leaves, why should I care, how you handle your business?"
"You suck."

"You ought to know."

"Be quiet. I hear something."

Whenever we go out, we are always very careful. There used to be lots of humies once upon a time, but after They came, there were a lot less. We can see the one closest to the main city. It sits outside of the city proper and sends its parts looking for food. 

Humies learned not to live in the cities if they wanted to avoid being food. Mama said once, cities used to be filled with humies but now, nobody with any sense goes there. That's why there is so much stuff still there. We don't tell Ma, but sometimes we go there and look for stuff. We learned how to avoid the plants and their critters.

"There it is. It's a cabbage-head." 

"I don't like cabbage-heads. We just ate one a few weeks ago. I'd rather eat my boot first 'fore I eat another."

 
"We ate our boots last week, so we probably shouldn't get a cabbage-head anyway, they be the makings of poor boots."

We let the cabbage-head wander off. They weren't too dangerous or too bright and noisy as all get out, so you didn't have to worry 'bout them sneakin' up or anything. They looked like a horse with the head of a cabbage. And they were about as bright.

Then we saw them. And we nodded. That was the target. Razorbacks. That's what mama called them when she taught us to hunt. Razorbacks were part of the Creature, a fast and dangerous part. They hated humies, too.

 
We waited cause there were too many to try and get one. They had six long legs and were really fast even though they were twice as big as a humie. 

"Why don't you watch 'em, while I catch some shut eye."

"kay, its gonna be a while." I liked it better when he slept anyway, its the only relief I get from his godforsaken mouth. We had taken a position near the edge of the city where a lot of the Creature's parts wandered looking for scavenging humies. There was a mild quakin' and I could see the Creature moving closer to the city. It must be real upset or real hungry, it moved a whole dozen feet today. 

There were still humies living in the city, we knew that cause we could see their lights at night, but the Creature did not have many 'spring that moved around after dark. There were a few, but not many. Humies tried to do their scavenging after dark, cause it was a bit safer than when there were hawkwings about.

 
After a couple of hours, the Creature settled down, mostly cause the sky was 'cast and it did not have any shine on it. The razorbacks started moving back toward the Creature. It was taller than all of the buildings near us. Mama said it was nearly five thousand feet tall and when they landed they changed the weather, killing humie by the dozens every second for years. She said something about spores, but I was never good with that science type stuff. My brother was much better.

One of the razorbacks turns and holds still. It starts makin' its supper sound and turning around. We duck behind the heavy rock wall and wait. It turns toward a building near the clearing next to it. A humie runs out and tries to scurry to the next building. The razorback supper sound grows louder as it turns to the humie, locks its legs and charges fast, faster than any humie could hope to be. 

The humie turns around and points a tiny gun at the razorback. Its pop does not even make the razorback blink. The razorback runs past the humie and its skin bursts with blood. It staggers and tries to keep running. The razorback circles and passes again. The touch of its skin rips the flesh off the humie, and after the second pass the humie falls down.

A second humie runs out, he is a bit bigger and is carrying a shotgun. But shoots too soon and the razorback does him in quick. 

"Get up. We got one on the hook."

"I was just startin' to have my favor dream and you ruined it."

"You wants some boots or not. You can walk barefoot for all I care, but I wants some boots. There ain't no better hide than razorback and ain't no better eatin' either. So shut up and get up."

We check our guns and make sure our chems was dry. No sense shooting if nothing happens. I don't want to tangle with a razorback with just my knife if I can avoid it. My brother is good in a fight but it just the two of us these days, so we can't afford to get hurt.

The razorback is so busy eatin' it doesn't even hear us getting close. We hid in the shadows of the building. It don't see too good and we know that having hunted them for years. It was slow going. Ma says no sense rushing if you get et by what you be chasing. By the time we are close enough to shoot, it was getting dark. We would have to gut, skin and carve before the biguns came out.

And then run for home.

As we approached, my brother covered the right and I covered the left, making sure there were no razorbacks hiding that we might have missed. They were group kin, so where there was one, there may be more. The long shadow of the Creature fell over us and we used the cover of its darkness and the setting shine, to sneak up just a few dozen feet from the creature. We aimed, making sure we hit it below the sack in its belly. That was the only part we could eat and we wanted to be sure we didn't just come home with boots. Mama would tan our hide.

We each had three in our shooters. They were hand-made from parts in the city. Three barrels, three chems. I shot first, making sure to hit it in the head. My brother shot second, hitting it in its hind brain. If you didn't get both, it could still trample you with its head shot clean off. We ducked back into the darkness to wait. We couldn't wait long with dark coming but it was always best after bustin' a chem or two. After ten minutes, we went to work.

"Hurry up, you got that sack yet?"

"Don't worry about me, you just get the hide for our boots."

"I am. I am going to get enough for mama to get a coat too. This razorback's skin is good." 

The skin was covered with a fine grade of spines, but they only cut you if you rubbed the wrong way or if the razorback was alive and pushing them up. Even though it was really big, it was delicate and slashed it food, bleeding it before eatin'. The spines and its leathery hide gave it a toughness that made for fine boots.

 
We loaded the sack and the hide into our ruck, and started making our way home. We had to pass by the river on our way back to wash off the blood before going home. No need to make it too easy to find us. The river was not too far off and we made good time.

We waded in quick-like and cleaned ourselves up. We could hear the wind shifting near the Creature and once the shine was completely gone, we knew the Bigguns was on the prowl. Picking up our guns at the shore, we started running back toward our tree. 

We were in too much of a hurry, when we heard a booming sound from the underbrush ahead of us. We had our guns ready, when two of the bigguns burst out, mouths wide open, spit flying everywhere. Each of us took one, I took the right, he took the left. We shot them straight in their mouths. Its the only spot on their bodies not covered in heavy armor. Each chem went straight into their brains and blew up from the inside.

 
We jumped over their bodies and kept running. Others would hear the chem and rush toward food.

We moved through the outskirts of what mama called a suburb. She learned all of this from reading. She said she taught herself when she was young and there were other humies to live with. It had been a long time since other humies lived with us, nearly thirty summers, give or take.

We could hear them coming.

Sounded like three, maybe four. All of the Creature's parts were fast and hungry. If mama were here, we would just turn around and fight, mama was hell on wheels in a fight, but since she hurt her leg a few summers ago when we were surrounded by razorback and hawkwings, she don't hunt with us anymore.

"What ya wanna do?"

"I hear, three, maybe four."

"We only got, a two chem between us."

"we could drop the food and get away, its slowing us down."

"If we come home without food, mama's going to eat us. I would rather be out here with them."

"Just keep running."

When we came to the park, we could see all of the Creature trees that had landed here. Mama said humies learned to kill the trees brains when they was little and we could live in them while they grew. The trees never got their own creatures when they did not have brains and humies learned to live in them and make homes out of them. We could see our tree in the center of the park but it was just too far, we wasn't gonna make it.

"We gonna have to fight, you know that, right."

"I reckon."

"You ready?"

"Don't miss."

"Have I ever?"

"Nope."

They jumped out of the brush and the earth shook with their landing. We dropped our ruck and had our guns out. One chem each. Four Bigguns. They looked so much bigger up close. When we stopped, they stopped. They had go have seen the two others we killed, and no one was volunteering to go first. We used that to get a few dozen more yards, by pointing at whichever moved toward us first. That wasn't gonna work too much longer.

"Biggest one first, on the right. 

"Then the one next to it."

"Got your knife?"

"Yep. Aim for the eyes."

We stopped moving, each of the bigguns with an armored head and a spike collar stood still. They seemed to know we were going to fight. We roared at them at the top of our lungs, and bared our teeth. The largest two responded in kind. And then they were dead. We dropped out guns. 

Pulling our knives, we rushed the next of the creatures while they absorbed the shock of what happened. While they had good vision facing forward they had to turn their whole bodies to see if something moved to the side of them too quickly. With six legs they could do that fast, but only if another one wasn't in the way. While they were trying to negotiate, we slipped to the side of the Biggun and stabbed into its eye sockets with our knives. We were covered in its warm eye jelly and blood and it reared backward knocking us aside with its huge head.

We landed on the ground, hard and our knives were still in the head of the Biggun that was running off into the overgrowth of the suburbs.

The last Biggun, turned toward us and seemed to sense our vulnerability. It stamped the ground and huffed. The tree was right behind us but it might as well have been miles away. With those six legs, he would be on us faster than ugly on my brother.

We stood up, determined to go down fightin', though without weapons, we did not have much of a chance.

 
I looked up at the Creature in the distance. It glowed with a green light once the 'shine was gone. It made it easier for its kin to find it. I could see three others in the distance, each standing still over a different part of the city. My brother and I had managed to live in the shadow of the things for thirty years before dying. 

"You ready?"

"I don't want to die."

"Who said anything about dying?"

"Between the two of us, all we got left is some harsh language."

We started laughing as the creature closed with us. We would do our best.

We heard a swooshing sound, like nothing we had ever heard before. We thought it might be a creature we had not seen yet, so we crouched low, so we could try to get up on the Biggun's back, over its snapping jaws.

And then there was the loudest boom I ever heard. Sharp shards of metal ripped though our skin and we were thrown from our feet. Chunks of Biggun landed on us. There was a crater where the Biggun was. It looked just like the 'rite craters from when the creatures landed all them years ago, only a sight smaller.

My ears were ringing and I was a bit dizzy for a second. I saw my brother was okay with little more than a cut on his forehead and some minor wounds on his chest.

"What were the two of you laughing about down there. Did you see something funny I didn't?"
"No, ma."

"Where are you manners at boys?" The voice was Auntie's.

"Thank you, ma."

"Now get up here and bring me whatever you managed to find out there. You did find something. If not, you bring up that blowed up Biggun meat. Its foul, but you can eat it in a pinch."

"We found something, ma."

"Razorback, your favorite."

"Did you bring me any hide? You know I need a new coat this winter."

"Yes, Ma, we got you and Auntie fixin's for a new coat."

When the smoke cleared we could see Ma looking down on us with some strange contraption on her shoulder. It was a tube with a handle on the bottom and had a orange tip facing down toward us. Her sister was looking out toward the horizon while she stared down at us as we climbed the rope toward the house. The tiny scratches we suffered wouldn't keep us from getting home.

When we got to the house, Ma kissed us while her sister watched the horizon. Then we all turned into the house and slid the ironwood door closed. My brother's arm had a nasty cut and Ma tended it while her sister looked me over and cleaned my arm and chest wounds. 

Both of them fixed our injuries with their medical kit placed between us, with the same speed and the same way at which we butchered that razorback, they were able to tend our wounds, one handed.

It had become second nature because we were injured almost ever time we left the house. We sat facing each other with our arms at our sides. Our huge broad chest was covered with scars from earlier surgeries after being in the field. A quick inventory and they were satisfied we were okay. Our four heads  and two bodies silhouetted in the internal green light of the Creature tree.

"You boys look a right mess, don't they sis."

"They sure do. A right mess. Nothing a meal and a good night sleep won't fix. Go lay down while we make supper."

They kissed each of us and we walked into the back of the house, which was carved out of the flesh of the Creature-tree and saw our bed carved into the wall of the tree. They had already turned it out and fluffed our pillows.

"Face down or face up?"

"Face up. These cuts on my chest hurt."

"Ow."

"Crybaby."

As we lay down and covered up with the blanket, he was out in seconds. We almost didn't make it today. But there is no place I would rather be than right here with my brother, big head and all. I could hear mom and sis walking in the kitchen doing their dinner-making dance, one hand stirring and the other keeping the pot steady, singing some old duet.

I pulled his arm under the blanket and lay back on my own pillow making sure I faced right. He always starts out turned left but ends up turned right in the night. 

He sleeps with his mouth open. I hate that.

Brotherhood © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

"Agent Smallpox is down. I repeat, Agent Smallpox is down." 

"Check your data, have your human centers report in. We have heard this before, it is possible that you're wrong."

Commander Rhinovirus stalked inside the cells of the throat of the head of the CDC. He could not believe what he was hearing. First polio, now smallpox. We were slowly winning the war against Nature's most insidious agent, Man. At least until that last news report.

At first I did not believe it. Agent Smallpox had been our best agent for the last twelve thousand cycles. No Agent had the killing potential, the transferability, the lethality and the overall fear-causing capability that Agent Smallpox, The Maker, bless his viral core, had. 

Then, in the human year 1975, they boasted they would be able to prevent the spread and could eradicate Smallpox. They had a systematic program that would effectively render smallpox extinct everywhere on Earth. Another creature brought to extinction by the hand of Man.

There were only two samples of smallpox left in the entire world, as far as we knew,  the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta, and a Russian facility in Siberia. We had tried numerous times to free them. Tried to cause technicians to become sloppy in their work, tried to get terrorists to liberate them, to no effect. 

I have infiltrated the head of the CDC but he is so strong-willed, I cannot get him to even consider the liberation of the virus. I have convinced him it should not be destroyed, in the event of a spontaneous outbreak or perhaps if a weapon cell were to be initialized by a terrorist group. Unfortunately, weapon cells do not report in, so we never know if they have been destroyed or are just waiting to be released.

Ten thousand years ago, mighty smallpox ravaged entire villages with his pustule causing variola virus. Single handedly he is thought to have killed over five hundred million humans. Few diseases could bast such an amazing body of work. Whipping through villages, spreading like wildfire, killing in days. Those were the days. Man had a healthy respect for disease back then.

They feared us so much they named gods after us; Pestilence of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Nurgel, Lord of Disease, the Nosi, spirits of plague and sickness. They believed their gods dispensed disease among them as a punishment and so did nothing to stop their spread of the disease. They did not understand how we even worked until that accursed "germ theory" idea came about. 

We had been successful in suppressing the idea of germ transmission for centuries. The Hindu texts, the Atharvaveda whispered ideas of causative agents and they even developed means of killing many of our earlier diseases. But we eventually slew them and their ideas fell on deaf ears until 36 BC when 'On Agriculture' tried to preach it again. The author died of a fever three years later. Then the ideas of germ theory stayed hidden again for nearly a thousand germ-filled years. Those were glorious times. 

Then the Moors in their 'Canon of Medicine' posited that clothing could carry infectious agents. Dark days, even while the Black Plague roared through Europe, the seeds of our destruction were already being planted. We were too greedy, to eager to spread, we were not cautious enough and while we devastated the world, we did not destroy it; and man persisted. By the sixteenth century,Girolamo Fracastoro and his ideas of seed-like entities that could travel for miles was the final straw.

Anton van Leeuwenhoek, curse his cells, was the first to document our existence with incontrovertible proof. After that, each idea of how we moved how we worked came faster and faster, soon mankind realized we were everywhere and fought against us in every way possible. But until the discovery of Penicillin, bless the Maker, curse the Maker, man had little recourse for most major diseases and bacteria our primary agent, still ruled the world. 

After Penicillin, our forces demoralized retreated for a time and our greatest Agent Bacteria, found nearly everywhere, and on nearly everything, had been all but defeated. This lead to the rise of the virus to the leadership of disease in our struggle against mankind. Bacterial was relegated to the role of second line commander along with fungus in our attacks against the food supplies of man.

Today the war has taken a new tone, something we don't quite understand, where they try to contain us, weaken us and use us to develop immunity to us. Imagine the horror of being a virus too weak to fight and being decoded and turned into an antibody, an enemy of the state, aiding and abetting. Nothing more tragic than a virus-turned-serum.

We have begun a shadow war now. Since humanity does not seem to be trying cure disease today, only treat the symptoms, we have opted to work on bringing bacteria to the forefront by creating antibiotic-resistant bacteria and placing them in their medical facilities. While their immune systems are weakened, we strike, giving them MRSA, tearing into their flesh and killing them while they look for care. We are getting back our mystique as well, striking without warning, killing mercilessly with things like flesh-eating bacteria and we have learned to turn the media to our benefit, so you can hardly surf the internet without a picture of MRSA or flesh eating bacteria showing up. Propaganda is a powerful tool for our side. 

Our shadow campaign includes STDs which were once incredibly powerful, now they attack the immune systems, wearing down the new breed of healthy, well-fed humans. They sit inside their bodies until they have a moment of weakness, being spread by the young and ignorant, until they are everywhere. Even now, Agent Herpes believes it has infiltrated half of the humans of the civilized world. Not deadly in and of itself, it is a vector for other more dangerous agents such as HIV.

The old standbys still have a place, Diphtheria, Hanta, Ebola, Malaria all do their part by staying out there, working in the shadows waiting for mankind to weaken, to get too far from his technology. To forget he is part of the circle of life.

"Continue on your protocols. I have a meeting with a pharmaceutical company today. They want to tell us how we can manage the symptoms of HIV and ensure the continued economic success of the medical-pharmacological industrial complex."

Humanity is a terrifying creature. It is resilient, intelligent, capable, resistant, durable and deadly. If it weren't so damned big and ugly, it would make one hell of a virus.

A Private Little War © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Just working out some new properties as I get ready for convention season.. So here's the first preview .
of a concept I'm Trying to prepare a preview of for ECBACC:
Pencils by;
Jay Aquilera
&
Juan Frigeri

                         [b]        TOOL-BOI[/b] 
                        An Original Concept
                     Created & Written
                                       By
                     Robert Garrett@2010

Robert Garrett
Xmoor Studios
http://www.xmoorstudio.com
All rights and characters are trademarks of Robert Garrett for Xmoor Studios.

On December 31, 2010 at the stroke of Midnight around the world during celebratory events, hidden assassins burst into the room, killing world leaders and the worlds most powerful dignitaries, while at the same time the president of the United States was saved by man  who appears inside the White house with a message to President, a message that will spark an exploration of the secret layers of power in order to find what knowledge may have been hidden away - or what enemy may be finally willing to reveal itself…, introducing the remnants of an old civilization that was destroyed centuries ago slowly revealing secrets and hidden organizations, so intricately timed and managed….

In the shadows they whisper of men who don’t exist… Mythical assassins who play with the lives of the rich and powerful… They are the EBONATI… These assassins brought new battle tactics and philosophies of war with them

For Moser Sloane it means to have created the perfect assassins Guild… Reclaiming a forgotten heritage with a race extinct that was destined to conquer the world.

For A’ Meir it has become survival… Raised by killers, he chose life over death… For that he has been marked

The Ebonati operate primarily in the darkness a Covert guild of assassins that ingest ancient drugs within themselves allows them to jump to great heights, operate at super-accelerated speeds, and have superhuman strength.
The Nations of the world are in chaos. The Ebonati unleashed powerful drugs which almost crippled the United States. Then as the U.S. recovers, the world plays witness to the reappearance of an ancient African Tribe that few knew existed… The Wictonda nation has arisen and has begun to Conquer through the plans of their charismatic Leader Kali Mu’tu, the Overseer of the newly recognized Wictonda nation… Unbeknownst to most the Wictonda is the breeding grown for the Assassination Guild called the Ebonati… And they have laid siege to all of Africa.

“ My name is A’ Meir pronounced A’ Mir.., Names are important to people. I wish I knew my mine… Amere is the name I was given by the man whom I once called Father…, Father taught me everything about life… that paid for my education by the best scholars and tutors money can buy… The father who found amusement as I prowled the streets thinking myself a man plying my inherited trade of death to those who dared crossed my path… The father who taught me how to kill… Not just kill, but master every form of death, every nuance of action and reaction that could take a life.
The father who had lied to me for as long as I can remember… The father who proved himself just … Just a man… a vile… cold, calculating man who now wants to take the life he lavishly groomed and hoped to pass his torch…
I will never be father… For I have embraced life…And become a man… Yet there is one thing that I can not disavow that the man who was once my father left me… I am Ebonati… I am a TOOL-BOI”

Heppp was rendered speechless with a shock that competed fitfully with his rage.  Live images were beamed from the All Seer cruiser to the holo-sphere and he still could not believe the veracity of what he was witnessing.  Hundreds of Protip fighters wiped out in.  One enemy vessel destroyed.  Just one!  The lopsided nature of this contest sent a numbing chill through  every Protip in the Ops Center.  Clearly, Heppp had underestimated these aliens, underestimated their technology.  But how could he have not have underestimated them?  No Protip, regardless of clan, could have conceived of facing a force of such indescribable killing power.  The Toooi’s sweep to dominance over much of the Protip domain had been of unprecedented swiftness, but it was a still hard fought campaign that cost millions of Toooi lives.

            If this enemy could impart such slaughter with just a few ships…Heppp sliced through that line of thought and discarded it like a useless appendage.  This dreary rumination on the aliens’ capabilities was a useless exercise in self-inflicted fear.  He would not allow himself to sink into that morass.  “Task Giver, send more Fangbolts to intercept the enemy in the mountains.  I want Mole bombers to join them.”

            “Site Keeper if I may.”  Itikkk lowered his upper body until his neck was almost touching the floor.

            Allayed by the Task Giver’s humility display, Heppp raised a hand, allowing the latter to submit a suggestion.

            “Thus far, no suborbital craft have been able to stand against the enemy.  Sending more craft, even Moles, would only be a repeat of past dismal results.  We should rely strictly on cruisers from this point on.”

            “The enemy ships are too fast for the cruisers to lock onto,” Heppp protested.  “Even the one they managed to destroy was only a result of luck.”

            “All the more reason why we should deploy additional cruisers against them.  The more firepower they can bring down upon those ships, the better their chances of having more luck.”

            Heppp emitted a faint musk of consideration.  It was actually a reasonable piece of advice.  “Deploy more cruisers.”

            Itikkk acknowledged and passed the order along.

            Heppp turned his attention to a screen displaying a live image of the eight alien ships in space.

            Why were they still there? He wondered.  There was no way the alien transports were getting off this planet intact.  And if they did, the Guardian station was not going to allow them to leave the system.  It made no sense for the alien commander to keep his ships lingering on the edge of Protip space.  No sense at all.

            The mountain’s snow capped peak erupted like a volcano.  But it was no geologic process that generated that immensely powerful blast.  The second and third transports in the formation were shoved off course by the resultant shock wave.  The second transport clipped the steep rockface of another mountain before its pilot regained control.  The third shuttle executed a tight incline that brought it within literal inches of scraping that same mountain’s surface.  A thick jet of snow and gravel boiled off the mountain’s summit in the transport’s hyper-velocity wake.

            Massive explosions from successive orbital strikes showered around the transports, turning sections of mountains into steaming spouts of flame and lava.

            The transports dove to a lower altitude, utilizing the deep depressions between the towering, craggy mountains as cover.

            Colonel Goshin wanted to look away, but some odd morbid compulsion kept his gaze tensely fixed on the outside view.  And quite a heart-hammering view it was.  Mountains flew at him.  His stomach coiled and he flinched when the pilot just narrowly avoided a collision with a wall of rock.  Not more than two seconds of clearance elapsed before the transport was on another collision course which the pilot skillfully averted.  All the while, hell from above continued to dog the transports, turning winding passageways into flame-choked, smoke-clogged corridors.

            A deafening crack reverberated like the bellow of an angry god inside the transport.  A piece of a mountain about half the size of the transport smashed against the vessel at a rocketing speed.  The shield easily repelled the contact, but could do little to sooth Goshin’s frayed nerves. 

            “Release EMDs on my mark,” the pilot transmitted to the other transports.

            Three seconds went by.  “Mark!” The pilot toggled a control and  two EMDs dropped from launchers at the bottom of the transport.

            The three other transports released their EMDs simultaneously. 

            Within a second of their deployments, the drones emitted a series of potent omni-directional bursts…

            Heppp jerked forward as if he had been struck from behind.  His eyes raced across the holo-sphere, searching in vain for enemy blips that simply…vanished.  He slithered through the Ops Center, glancing from screen to screen.  “What happened to them?  Where are they?”

            Itikkk went to the comm and established contact with an All Seer.  “We’ve lost visual and sensor contact with the enemy. Do you have them on your screens?”

            “No, Task Giver,” the cruiser captain replied.  “We have lost contact as well.”

            “You must have destroyed them,” Heppp speculated optimistically.

            “Unlikely,” returned the voice of the captain.  “Our engagement computers have verified no neutralizations.”

            “Nonsense!”  Heppp’s head bobbed with catatonic fury.  “Check your engagement computers AGAIN!”

            “It is possible, Site Keeper that the enemy ships are jamming us,” Itikkk ventured.  “If we can cut through it…”

            “Waste of time.”  Heppp snapped a command to the cruiser captain.  “Direct fire on the length and breadth of the mountain range, saturate it with orbitals.”  He looked at Itikkk.  “Contact every strategic missile base on this planet. I want fusion ballistics launched against those mountains.  If we have to flatten the entire range to destroy four blood-pissing ships then that is exactly what we will do!”

            The executive officer entered the bridge level conference room to find Commander Greggory intently studying probe-fed holo-feeds.

            “The transports have released EMDs,” Lian reported, coming around the table.

            “I know,” said Greggory.  “We have a good probe-track on them.”  He pointed to a projection of four icons moving across a realistic rendering of a mountainscape.  “They’re slowing down.  There’s a deep depression here.  The EMD pulses will throw off their pursuers.  The nature of the terrain will make it even more difficult for the Protips to find them.”

            “It’ll buy time.” Lian perched on the edge of the table, her lips pressed tightly in a troubled look.  “But what happens when the pulses subside and we still haven’t cracked the station’s network.  What then?”

            Greggory clasped his hands on top of the table, closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them.  He looked up, meeting Lian’s eyes with a steadfast optimism.  “That network will be cracked. I won’t permit myself to think otherwise.  I can’t.”

            Mushroom clouds oozed into the sky from a thousand fusion missile impacts.  The mountain range birthed a thousand more, layering pristine white peaks beneath a sooty blanket of fallout.  Six All Seer cruisers hovered above at the lowest possible orbit.  Lightning streaks of energy bolts blazed from their emitters stabbing downward in random strokes.  Bombardment missiles contributed to the storm, delivering fiery vengeance.  Perpetual explosions from an endless rain of ground and orbital launched projectiles bathed large sections of the mountain range in a thick, ashy haze.  Temperature levels elevated.  The spike in heat clashed with the frigid cold of high altitude to generate ferocious wind gusts that melded into a deadly tempest. 

            The transports rested at a low patch of rocky ground dividing two massive mountains.  A fusion missile struck the other side of one of those behemoths, causing enough breakage to initiate a rock slide.  Tons of dislodged rock drenched the stationary vessels.

            Colonel Goshin stared out the window, but couldn’t see a thing.  Visibility was nil, but  enhanced optics lit the way, cutting through the fog of devastation to present a clear picture of the outside.  Protip ballistics, launched from every silo across the planet, continued to pepper the range.  The orbital attacks were similarly endless. 

            “EMD pulse is holding,” said the pilot, checking console readings.

            Goshin slouched in his seat.  “That’s good to know.  Although, I think I’d feel better if we were on the move.”

            The pilot looked back, putting on a wry, confident smile.  “Moving only increases our odds of being hit or caught in a nasty blast swell.”

            “That could happen to us standing still.”

            “It could, but the odds of that being the case is less.”

            “Well if you’re not worried about it then I won’t be.”

            The pilot gave a thumbs up.  “That’s the spirit, Colonel.”

            A triple beam barrage raked the rockface several thousands yards up from where Goshin’s transport was idling.  An ionic blast front slammed into the vessel, buffeting it within an angry, scorching hot eddy.  Repulsor units flared from all sides of the transport, holding it steady until the driving effects of the explosion subsided.

            “I retract my last statement,” said Goshin.

            “Site Keeper.  The Clan Lord wishes to speak to you.”

            Heppp twisted around to face Itikkk.  “What does he want?”  The Site Keeper withdrew the question as rapidly as he’d posed it.  “Nevermind…nevermind.  Monitor the situation.”  Heppp slithered to the rear of the Ops Center and entered a private communication alcove. He tapped the receive panel and an image of a Protip adorned with silver head gear and a brilliantly matching star shaped pendant draped his around his neck, appeared on the alcove’s circular screen.

            Heppp lowered his body to near total floor level.  “Clan Lord Oppal.  I honor you.”

            The Clan Lord skipped the formalities.  “What is happening on my planet, Site Keeper?”

            “Nothing that I am incapable of handling,” Heppp replied with an edge that skirted dangerously close to insubordination.  “We are merely dealing with alien bandits who attacked us, unprovoked.  We have them under siege in the Lilk Mountains.  If they are not dead already, they soon will be.”

            “Unprovoked?”  Oppal let the word linger on his palette as if sampling a fine delicacy.  “It would seem the definition of that term has changed.  From my understanding, you ordered a number of these bandits killed before they in turn, attacked you.  How does their present assault against you qualify as…unprovoked?”

            A surging chill raised Heppp’s back bristles.  The Site Keeper suppressed a rising annoyance at his own fear. He loathed this intolerable position he was in.  He loathed those treacherous aliens who had succeeded in making him look like a bumbling fool.  Most of all, he loathed with all the passion and energy he could muster, the smug, arrogant face staring at him from the comm. screen.

            “Semantics, Honorable Clan Lord.  The situation as it stands now is that the aliens on the planet will die.  The ones in space will not dare cross our boundary.  The station holds them at bay.  The situation is contained.”

            “At the cost of thousands of lives thus far,” Oppal added with infuriating dryness.

            Heppp stiffened.  “They are more powerful than we anticipated…”

            “And this treasure you took from them,” the Clan Lord continued over Heppp’s attempt at an explanation.  “Were you going to report this to me, or withhold that bit of information as you withheld the fact that you are under attack?”

            “Clan Lord…I,”  Heppp had to calm himself.  “Clan Lord, the implication in your question is deeply, deeply troubling.  Of course I was going to report the treasure.  I was preparing a freighter to deliver your share.  Rest assured…”

            “That is the trouble, Site Keeper.  I cannot rest assured.  Not when the Toooi domain is under assault by a force unknown, with enemy clans lurking close by like expectant vermin waiting for us to expose a vulnerability so they can exploit it.  I put you on that planet because I thought in the very least you could guard our farthest frontier with some degree of competency.  Was I wrong in my thinking, Site Keeper?”

            Heppp dipped his body sharply, displaying outward gratitude even as the corrosive acid of humiliation burned inside him.  “No, Clan Lord. Of course not .  I am most thankful to you for assigning me to this post, but you must understand, these aliens come from beyond Protip space.  Their capabilities were unknown to us. But when we have destroyed them, we can comb through the wreckage of their vessels, unlock the secret of their power.  With that power the Toooi will be stronger than it has ever been and all enemy clans will either submit to our might or be smashed by it.”  Emboldened by his grandiose claim, Heppp rose to a height that suggested but did not overtly advertise equal status with the Clan Lord.  “You will be the most powerful Protip that has ever lived.” 

            It was the Clan Lord’s turn to feel the not so subtle brush of an implication. The thought of obtaining alien technology and using it to bring all of Protip space under Toooi dominance encapsulated him in a pleasing aura of intoxication.  That he would have Heppp to thank for this unexpected fortune...Oppal’s chin sagged at the thought.

            “You need not send a freighter to me, Site Keeper.  I will be arriving soon to personally retrieve my share.  I trust by the time of my arrival you will have resolved your alien problem?”

            Heppp was caught off guard by the prospect of a visitation by the Clan Lord.  He very masterfully concealed his displeasure.  “Of course, Clan Lord.”

            Oppal’s face vanished and Heppp slapped his tail against the floor in frustration.  Itikkk.  Slavishly loyal Itikkk.  Of course it was no surprise that the Task Giver would have blabbed to the Clan Lord about Heppp’s predicament.  And now that pompous twit was coming here!

I was asked, on the basis of my having written a pretty good book, to "help" write the script for one of the Chicago teams for the 48 Hour Film Project; a 48 hour contest where you have to write, film and post-produce a 4 to 7 minute film.

When our team had drawn its genre and went back to our headquarters to get started writing, we found out that the primary writer was really an actor, not a writer.  Well, I panicked, and then had a twenty minute nervous breakdown because I had never written a movie script.  So by about 8:30 I managed to get started on the script.  I finished at 5AM.  Here's the link to the short, Fallout:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SjZFPT2wfE

I managed to win for Best Script in Chicago's leg of the international contest.  I couldn't believe it, but in retrospect it's pretty cool...

Hello, Everyone,

I just launched a campaign to build a Safe House for Haitian Rape Victims as part of the OneWoman/OneHouse Haiti Project. There are several donation options available. If you choose not to donate to this effort, please help by posting a link to the site on your homepage and download a free copy of the Atlas and His Wife Poster proudly proclaiming the campaign theme "Art As A Tool For Social Justice". Follow the link below to the campaign homepage. Thanks for your support.

Safe House for Haitian Rape Victims

Just wanted to drop this on you guys,

I was shocked to see as a writer I was included!

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bet.com%2Fnews%2Fnational%2Fphotos%2F2011%2F04%2Fphotos-top-black-graphic-artists.photo8.html%23flipbook&h=377db

Hello all,

My webcomic, Goatwater, is a celebration of the strange, an adventure in storytelling and a journey into the world of carnival, selective memory, visions and dreams.   Updated every other Tuesday. 

I hand paint everything, including the lettering with acrylics onto cotton rag paper.  So far, I’ve posted the cover on to the Goatwater site as well as the first six pages of the story and there’s much more to come. I am looking for feedback and regular readers of Goatwater as I develop it for the web and print. I release a new page every other Tuesday and I am working towards releasing a new page once a week. Just to play it safe, I would overall say it’s NSFW.  Enjoy and remember to bookmark the site.

http://www.tiffanyosedramiller.com/goatwaterbook.html

Tiffany Osedra Miller

Desi Roberto Santiago was a slacker. There is nothing wrong with being a slacker, except if you owed people money. Dezy owed very few people but the people he owed money were the kind of folks who would break one or both of your legs if you were late paying up. 

Unfortunately for him, slacking was his avowed lifestyle. He learned early in life, nothing was ever worth rushing for, or worse, putting in hard time and effort. It always disappointing and never worth the time you spent getting it. A form of perpetual buyer's remorse. So Dezy's motto was want not, work not. But he never lived up to it. He always spent more than he had and now had borrowed money from the local máfia boss, Don Milagro to keep himself in the latest tech. But Dezy had a plan.

Dezy was a bit skinny and asthmatic. His black hair was perpetually uncombed and often more than a bit dirty. He had a bit of chin hair and a line on his lip that wanted to be a mustache, unsuccessfully. His clothing reflected his overall attempts at looking prosperous, all second hand clothing that used to belong to rich tourists. None of it matched and most of it was ill-fitting only making it more apparent he was poor.

He left his day job with the same rage he felt every day. Two hours of work on the phone providing technical support to some cabrón in India, and then sent home. It wasn't even work anymore. Two hours? It took him longer to get to work, than he was there. No matter, after his next score, he was going to quit that job and maybe even come in a piss on his bosses desk before leaving.

He hated climbing the stairs to his fifteenth story apartment on the Southside of what was left of Mexico City. He stepped over Antonio on the ninth floor, passed out in a puddle of the latest pharmaceutical mierda being put out by Pharmacon. The man reeked something awful, the mix of body odor, urine and vomit might have caused Dezy to throw up, if he had anything to eat for the last few days. Instead, a burning sensation filled the pit of his stomach and he clenched his nose and jumped over the prone body on the stairs. When Antonio sobered up, he would probably be looking for a bath. He was not the only person squatting here with a pungent aroma of soaplessness. 

Living in what was called the Ivory Tower, a partially completed tenement abandoned by a construction company after the earthquake, water was in short supply past the fifth floor. Beyond that water pressure had to be created using mechanical tools. Dezy's solution was to use a salvaged bicycle and a room-mate to help bring up enough water from the street. When Dezy could spare some water or get some extra time on the bike, he would help Tony clean up but today wasn't going to be one of those days. Dezy had work to do.

It had rained all last week and Dezy's catch basins on the roof were full. He had made them several months ago after finding an old printed copy of Home Designers Quarterly, one of the last prints made before paper became illegal to produce. He found them in, of all places, the burned out quarter of the barrio, hidden in a cache of thousands of magazines, buried deep after Mexico City's great quake of 2052. Whole sections of the city were off limits, too dangerous they said, but despite his asthma, Dezy loved to explore. He used the magazine to create catch basins from plastic containers all over the city, and set them up on the top of the roof to capture the ever decreasing rainwater. Engineering a distribution system and a water-cranked dynamo with old auto batteries allowed Dezy to power his electronics.

Pumping water was never something Desi enjoyed doing, so his catch basins were a way of letting nature work for him instead. But when nature wasn't feeling generous Dezy had rigged up a bicycle in his apartment to act as his pump and could fill his bathtub in about fifteen minutes with vigorous riding. And that was the catch. It had to be vigorous. Which means he needed help. Hence his less than perfect room-mate.

"Hermano, its good to see you. What did you bring me?"

"Nothing, the same thing I bring you everyday. I got some extra work today and I need to get started. Go back to your bootleg cable." The freemium directed receiver array gave a grainy picture, in high definition, no less.

"Why you got to be like that?" Nicolas was half Russian and half Mexican, so he was a giant in tan. 

"Be like what, you are always mooching. Why don't you run out and find something to eat for us today? You could always go back to work." Nicolas' exotic appearance made him a hit with the ladies and all of the screaming meant they liked his... assets. Dezy despised him most of the time, when he wasn't wanting to be him. Nicolas went back to his room and a few minutes later, giggling could be heard through the closed door. Dezy grimaced, shook his head and picked up his Nakatomi 3270 integrated OS datadeck. Sleek and tiny, Dezy may have shoes with holes, but it was clear this piece of state-of-the-art technology was his real priority.

Dezy pulled out his oversized rig from under the sofa and plugged his deck into it. His rig was twice the size of a standard unit because of all of his extended non-standard adaptations. Numerous cards of different colors were clipped onto his primary databoard in an unsightly, and precariously balanced array.

He looked at the series of readouts and saw with the amount of water he had on the roof, he could run his deck for about eight hours. He set up the piping so he could redirect water to his bathtub and to his internal storage containers in the apartment. He would be able to capture nearly half of the water from the roof. He tapped on the pipe in a series of warning tones that he would be opening his water supply to anyone downstream and to let them know in thirty minutes water would flow until it was gone and for them to be ready. He received three taps back from three different people, so he knew most of the water would find a home.

The deck's internal battery was already nearly fully powered and he did his best to keep it that way, because he never knew when he would have work and wanted to always have the option to work even if there wasn't any water or electricity where he might be staying. The deck, in power-saving mode, might last twenty hours, but it took half that time just to find a buyer these days. Paper is lucrative, but the fines and penalties were high if you were caught trafficking in paper products or infodrops of paper from older magazines from the last century.

His initial diagnostic of his deck said the software was up to date as it could be and there was no traffic that resembled los ángeles at his current connection. That would change, the more suspicious his traffic got. Los ángeles, low Turing AI's monitored the NewerNet kept track of any packets whose pedigree they could not easily identify. Dezy's greatest hack was his ability to make his packets look completely innocent and resemble the multitude of datastreams out there already.

The NewerNet was not like the old Internet that collapsed in 2027 in the media explosion of the late 2020's. It was designed from the ground up to be completely under the control of the founding governments of the United States and Europe, the primary investors. As other countries were allowed to buy their way in, strict regulation of the traffic and content was established. Since media crashed the Internet, there were multiple control systems on media, ensuring smoother traffic and better management. This also meant the worldwide internet agency chartered by the United Nations became the impromptu police of the NewerNet. This new stricter internet was one of the most policed and controlled systems in the world. Using pre-turing AI's, the network was constantly patrolled, regulated, data managed and operating system upgraded piece of technology to ever exist.

And the most souless, thought Dezy. Once the NewerNet was established three years after the collapse of the Old Internet, big money kept the network the playground of the elite and the superwealthy. The OlderNet was restored as a shadow of itself but because so many people were forced to use it, it was very unstable and unfriendly, not to mention filled with a variety of spyware, malware and rogue viruses. The insecurity of the Oldernet allowed Dezy to use it to enter the NewerNet and meet his clients using specialized hacks Dezy had created when he was just a child of nine or ten.

Dezy activated his rainwater power system and his rig hummed to life. Gotta work fast, ten hours will vanish like magic. Indeed they did, he did not find his next buyer for almost nine hours after starting. The data his buyer was looking for was information regarding private solar technology development. Information of this nature had become government owned during the economic collapse of big business when the internet failed. Energy companies were the first services absorbed by the government. 

All of their attendant information was also absorbed. The cache of publications Dezy had found had to be a library extension because his database linked two dozen articles and five of them were specifically about the processes used to make advanced solar cells. Dezy was able to convince his client to the astronomical finder fees of five hundred thousand New Pesos. That would be enough to pay off Don Milago and get the price off of his head. There would still be enough to get a new deck and upgrade this shitty old rig to something more state of the art. Maybe even new. He might even share the wealth with his stupid room mate for all the times he spent riding water into the bathtub when Dezy couldn't. He would blow through his fifty thousand in putas and tequila, but that would be his business.

He arranged for a meeting place with the client with a time delay activation. The client would only get the key to break the encryption twenty minutes before the drop. No military or police can mobilize in that kind of time. At the first hint of betrayal, Dezy will vanish into the crowds and will never be seen. Dezy could hear the knocking of the pipes and see the pressure timer indicating he had used up eight hours of water and was about to run out of pressure. He turned off the pipe, leaving thirty or so minutes of extra water to spare. He tapped the pipes again and everyone responded with thanks and shutting off their values until the next time.

Exhausted, Dezy fell into a dreamless sleep. 

#

"Salir, puta, vete a casa de tu madre." Nicolas was drunk and threw the woman's clothes out of the apartment door. As she ran by in disgust, she snatched the money of his hands as she passed him. He in return smacked her on the ass and lifted the heavy door back into the locked position. Nicky stank of sex and went into the bathroom and noticed the tub was more than half full of water. He considered just jumping into the water, but not completely crazy, Nicky drew a small bucket from the wall and filled it with water. Using this he cleaned himself up and admired himself in the mirror, again.

Nicky hated the putas. They always thought they were better than him. Selling your ass is not a job he would say, but they would just laugh and take his money. Nicky noted sunrise had just taken place as he left out of the bathroom and lit up the eastern side of the building without a completed face. Feeling better after his washing up, he grabbed the last of the cheese and stale bread from their refrigerating pantry. 

We need to score soon, there ain't shit in here to eat now. As he chewed the tough bread and slightly dessicated cheese, Nicky had an idea. He had been following Dezy a few days ago and knew he had found a new cache of paper. Nicky mentioned idly to Dezy they could sell the whole lot at a black market paper pulper and make some good money. Nicky had sold stockpiles that size for easily fifty thousand New Pesos. Dezy had told him to wait until he had finished his survey, but well, he aint my boss. I can get that money and give him his fifty percent and be in hookers, booze and money for weeks, if he managed it right. Nicky went to his closet and put on a good suit. It was never a good idea to meet Don Milago looking anything less than perfect.

#

Dezy woke hungry and feeling just a bit sick. The sun shining through the open east face of the building was hot, very hot. He was sweating and knew this would be another one of those three digit days. Washing off the stink of his sweaty night's sleep, Dezy had wanted to be up and out before it go this hot, and now he would have to be climbing in the heat of the day. The drop was tomorrow so he couldn't let it wait. 

He opened the pantry in the partially complete kitchen. The cheese and bread were both gone. Cabrón. That was enough cheese and bread he could have left half for me. Why do I deal with him? It isn't like we are even friends anymore. After tomorrow, I will just move out try and rent a small house closer to the center of town near my job. I will be able to pay the rent for a year, giving me time to figure out my next move. Even after I give Don Milago his cut and interest, I will be set for months. I could even take my time with my next project.

Dezy's stomach rumbled, breaking his reverie. Okay mijo, we have fifteen pesos left. Just enough to grab something to eat and get over to the zone. This would be his last meal for a while if this drop didn't work. He changed out of his good clothing and put on some tan khakis and a backpack. In the pack were his deck, water, rope, duct tape, a filtermask, gloves and waterproof folders to move the product in.

The climb down did nothing to improve his state of mind. It seemed everyone had the same idea to sit in the stairwell, because it was fifteen degrees cooler in the concrete isolated tube. By the time he reached the street, he was hot, annoyed and more tired than when he woke up. The five miles to the zone was thankfully uneventful other than a few nu-chickens waddling down the road, their oversized breasts making it nearly impossible for them to escape the children chasing behind them.

Seeing those children put him in mind of Nicolas. When they were younger, they were just like these kids, chasing chickens for dinner just like mother asked us to. Nicky was fun back then, reckless, wild and completely fearless. Those same traits make him an irresponsible adult. His transformation was a gradual one, and it didn't seem to be complete until after their mother died. Mom told Nicky to take care of me because of my asthma and that he was the man of the house. But right after mom died, we lost our home in the quake and we lived on the street until we found a place at the Ivory Towers. Falling in with Don Milago and his mafia was the worst thing Nicky ever did. The worst thing I did was to listen and join with him. But today, that ends. Dezy's mental ramblings had distracted him from the distance and the heat. He came to the edge of the earthquake zone, still marked with orange traffic cones and concrete dividers at the edge of the sinkhole.

The center of Mexico City sat on an underground aquifer which had existed for millions of years. As the city grew and demanded more water for its twenty million inhabitants, the aquifer slowly lost water faster than it gained it from rainwater and mountain run off. The day of the great quake, a 9.3, one of the greatest quakes of all time, teamed up with the collapse of the aquifer cavity and you have one of the worst natural disasters in history. Nine million people died in the initial collapse. The poorest quarters of town outside of the city proper, the barrios, survived with collapsed buildings but without the catastrophic loss of life.

The edges of the city farthest from the sinkhole were still relatively accessible if one was careful and tied very good knots. There was something wrong with the area as he approached. The cones had been moved from their normal positions and the concrete barriers were parted as if to allow a vehicle past. Slipping down behind rubble, Dezy followed the road, determined to figure out what anyone in a vehicle could possibly want down here. The road was unstable and a truck was simply the stupidest thing you could do.

When Nicolas showed up at Don Milagro's villa it was still early in the morning, with only the slightest hint of the coming heat. The gate guards let Nicolas through with only a cursory glance and a quick pat down. Nicky was of course, unarmed. Very few people could afford a firearm these days. Two guards waved Nicky toward the house and he made his way up to the side of the pool where the Don was having breakfast in the shade of a tree that blocked the morning sun.

The Don smiled as Nicolas came into view and stood up to greet him. He was a huge man, still vigorous-looking despite his age and salt and pepper hair. "Nicky, sit down with me and have breakfast."

Nicolas thought to refuse but the Don's tone left him with the impression he did not have a choice. "Si, Don Milagro, Gracias."

"Now tell me about your project, Nicky."

"Well, I need a truck and some men to help me move some paper. I found a large stockpile of it in Old New Mexico City."

"Really?" Don Milagro's face was smiling but his dark eyes didn't. His eyes were all business. 

Nicolas continued "Its near the edge of the collapse zone and I believe there is several tons of it. I have a buyer lined up willing to convert it at their own facility. So, all we have to do is pick up the load, move it and drop it and they are promising me $175,000 New Pesos for the shipment."

"What would you want from me, Nicky? You sound as if everything is already worked out."

"I need manpower and a truck, Don Milago. To move that much paper, quickly, will take at least 4-6 men."

"And what is my percentage of this endeavor if I provide you with fast manpower and a vehicle?" The Don had stopped eating and fixed Nicolas with his complete attention. Nicolas suddenly felt hot and sweat burst out underneath his shirt, a cold sweat, decidingly uncomfortable. 

"I was thinking of splitting it, 60/40. With the sixty going to you, of course."

"It seems a bit one-sided to me, mijo. I am providing the truck, and up to six men to work in the heat of the day, near a dangerous sinkhole. I certainly hope you can do better than that."

"Of course, Don Milagro. What was I thinking? I meant to say 80/20, seeing how generous you are being with your men and your overall support."

"Now you know that you and your brother are in deep debt to me at the moment. But I think of you like family. I would like to think you would want to help out your younger brother in his time of need. He owes me enough money, at this point, for me to have his kneecaps shattered. I like you, Nicky. I understand you. Greed and avarice are things near to me. Your brother, not so much. I do not understand his motivations and what I don't understand, I don't have any use for."

"I don't follow you, señor." Nicolas did not like where this conversation was heading.

"Your brother is in debt to me for nearly 250,000 New Pesos. I have not tried to call that debt in for some time, because he is usually good about paying me, but now the word has gotten out that he owes me this money. I cannot have my reputation being damaged, having anyone saying that I am weak, and I cannot control my men. I need you to make the problem of your brother go away. Necesito que a desaparecer."

"Don Milagro, you know I will do anything you ask me to. But he is my brother."

"He is your problem, then. He has my money or you make him disappear. I shall show you my generosity. Keep all the money from your little paper excursion. I will call it your fee. Feel better, now? I will have the men and truck ready within the hour. Finish your breakfast.

Nicky could barely eat anything and he was starving. His stomach felt like a pool of bubbling acid. What in the hell was he going to do?

#

Dezy could not believe anyone could be this stupid. The truck was parked backward on a steep slope, with the backdoor open. But this whole are was unstable and could slide into the sinkhole at any time. As it was, the repository was nearer to the edge than he would have liked. He used his line to tie himself off and began to pay it out behind him, watching his every step until he came to the drop point. As he got closer, he could hear the voices of the men and a couple of them sounded familiar.

Alfredo? What's he doing here? Is that Nicky? Dezy slips out of line of sight of the van. Alfredo, Nicky and two others come around the corner pulling dollies with containers filled to the brim with paper from his stockpile! 

"Tú pendejo!" Dezy ran out and drew back with all his strength and knocks Nicky flat on his ass. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"What? Do you know how much this is worth?" Nicky clutched his bleeding lip and jaw. He sat up but did not move.

"Do you? How much do you think you are going to get for this?"

"I have been promised 175,000 New Peso, cabrón. Now you need to get out of my face, so I can get back to work."

Dezy's rage grew ten times stronger and made him reckless. He kicked Nicky in the chin and screamed at him. "Estupido. I will make more money from a single page than you would for this entire lot."

The remainder of Don Milagro's men lifted not a finger to interfere. This was a family matter and they turned around and found a nicstick to smoke and share while the two worked out their issues. They would follow whoever came out on top.

Dezy's rage tightened his chest and his breathing became labored. He started wheezing and fell to his knees.

Nicky shook off the kick and got to his knees. "Mijo, slow down. Calm down." He hefted Dezy to his chest and held him close. "Breathe slower. You are always so over-excited. Mama was right to leave me in charge."

Dezy weakly struck out at Nicky and then turned into his chest as his breath slowly came back to him. He began to cry. "Why Nicky, why do you always want to screw up my things?"

"I don't know, Dezy. I'm always jealous of you. You can do so many things with your mind. I'm just a dumb jock. Selling your paper was petty. I just wanted to make some quick cash. I'm sorry."

The four men from Don Milago's villa had finished their nickstik and turned to look at the two men. "Is this lovefest over? Can we get back to work?"

Nicky looked at Dezy with inquiry in his eyes. "Wait here. Hold this rope. I will be right back." Dezy moved into the partially collapsed building and dropped off a floor adjacent to the stairwell Nicky had been using. The paper Dezy needed was several levels below what they were moving. He could tell from the covers of the books he was seeing they had not reached the information he planned to sell. Working quickly, he grabbed the publications he had already set aside and put them into his pack.

He tugged the rope and shouted up, "Okay, pull me up."

Nicky and his men pulled Dezy back to the first floor. "Go ahead, do what you need to. Be careful, this area is less stable than it looks. Don't go beyond the second floor."

"Okay, you heard the man. Let's get moving." As Alfredo and his team move out, Nicky turns Dezy towards him and knocks some of the dust off of him. "Dezy, Don Milagro is really pissed about the money you owe him. Can you pay him?"

"I think so. If my buy goes down tomorrow, we will be alright. I will buy us out, free and clear."

"That's great. Is everything in the bag?" Nicky turned away for a second while Dezy starts wrapping his line. When he turns back, he has brandished a gun pointed toward Dezy. "Give me the bag, Dezy."

"What are you doing, Nicolas?"

"I promised Don Milagro that I would make you disappear. You have caused him to lose face, and I want to move up in his organization. So you give me the bag, I sell what you have in it, move this paper, and I get it all. A promotion, money, status."

"So this was all an act? You had planned to kill me the next time you saw me no matter what?"

"I'm sorry, Dezy."

"It doesn't have to be like this. I can get us clear. Just trust me."

"You have been promising me you would make a big score for the last twelve years. We have been living hand to mouth since Mama died. Its always one more  job, one more scheme and we'll be set. Well, I am tired of waiting. I am taking my shot now. I am so sorry."

"Fuck you, Nicky." Tears welled up in Dezy's eyes as he hands over his backpack.

Don Milagro comes around the corner and looks at Nicky with pride. "Well done, my boy, well done." Don Milagro puts his hand out and Nicky hands him the gun. 

"I will be giving you your reward today, Nicky. I told you, I respect greed and avarice and you are a testament to the effect of money on family relationships. Milagro had been pointing the gun at Dezy and then turns suddenly shooting Nicky in the gut. Nicky staggers backward and falls into the house where the last of the Don Milagro's men are rolling out the last of the paper.

"Now my boy. I understand you were in the business of selling paper to buyers. I have been told I have been thinking too small and there is a lucrative business arrangement we could be working out. So, to show me your renewed value, you will give me the drop coordinates and your contact codes. Work with me, and we could all be very wealthy. With that truck alone, I am confident we could become very wealthy men."

"You lied to Nicky. To make him bring you to me."

"So true. His greed made him easy to confuse."

"And if I work for you, what would make me think you won't do the same thing to me?"

"You are more valuable to me alive, of course. But only if you cooperate."

Dezy hears a pinging noise with a rhythm that sounds familiar. It happens three times before he realizes he recognizes it; the water's about to start flowing signal. Dezy hadn't taken his rope off from around his waist and shoulders. He began to back up toward the edge of the sinkhole. "I don't see how I can trust you. You just killed my brother. He may have been my half-brother but you killed him anyway. Like you would kill a dog."

"So what? To me, he was just a dog. A dog I paid to bite who I wanted him to bite. You are wasting my time. Give me the coordinates and the access codes. Otherwise I will just shoot you and consider today a wash. I made a little money and got rid of a couple of problems."

The tapping got louder and more insistent. "Go in there and find out what that noise is. If it Nicky, feel free to beat him to death." The four men rushed off to comply with the Don's request. Dezy felt the shelf vibrating and realized what Nicky was doing.

"I need to key the code in myself. It will only activate with my biometric signature. Hand me the bag." Dezy put his hand out and the Don, hesitates for a moment and then gives the bag to him.

Dezy reaches into the bag and the Don raises his gun and points it at Dezy. Dezy pulls out the deck and activates it. He puts his key code in and begins entering the twenty four character string. His hands are shaking so he puts the backpack onto his back while he contines to enter code. Then there was a snapping, cracking sound and the shelf shook violently, bounced once and fell away.

"Te quiero, mijo", was the last thing he heard as he fell freely into the open sinkhole. The Don, unable to maintain his footing, he slid toward the edge of the shelf and was flung into space. He turned as he fell and shot five times before he disappeared into the darkness. Dezy saw the line pay out and then there was a snap and he lost consciousness.

When Dezy woke up, he was bleeding from a scalp wound. Bloody but not fatal. He climbed up the rope and realized he did not have his deck. Didn't matter; he had activated the dropcode and would meet the client on time.

When he got to the top he saw the truck was now on the edge of the shelf, but still able to be driven. He got in and found the keys were still in the ignition. He looked back and saw the entire stockpile was now inside the truck. As he drove away, wiping the sticky blood from his face with a towel he found inside the truck, he wondered what Costa Rica looked like this time of year.

Paper © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

It was a dumb idea. Going down to New Orleans for Mardi Gra with his friends. To top it all off he had some strange chick fall in love with him, and in his drunken stupor that persisted for the entire week they were there, he married her. This whole occurrence would have been fine if there wasn’t the issue of him already being married to worry about. But all was well they left New Orleans the morning after Mardi Gra ended with his new bride still sleeping in bed. He figured that had ended this embarrassing chapter of his life, and that it would only come up over drinks with his friends. Boy was he wrong…


A few weeks later he began to feel a pain in his crotch. His first thought was that his Louisiana bride had given him an unexpected wedding present, an STD. worried he would pass it on to his wife he slept on the couch for a month straight. He had to wait to go to the doctor about it because he didn’t want his wife getting suspicious. But then a strange thing happen he felt the pain in his hand. He didn’t know what to make of it. One night at the dinner table with his wife and kids he could feel the pains all over his body. He did his best to ignore them. But the pains became worse, and worse until the pain of what felt like a sword going through his chest rushed through him. He stood up and yelled in agony. His wife and children looked on in fear, and confusion as he fell on the floor in writhing pain.



The crying priestess

With Voudou doll of husband

Abortion clinic

-William Landis