Just a Little Chip

===

    Late morning sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows resting in stone archways long since weathered by many years. While each window was emblazoned with their own images, some of battles of history past, others of myths and legends, and others yet of figureheads near forgotten, it was the light that entranced him most.
    The light, run through that stained glass, ignited into a rainbow of color every morning, using the stained glass as its paints to splash a spectrum of hues across every stone and brick that lined that long hall. And, with the miniscule bits of dust that drifted from the ceiling on particularly lucky days, the colors seemed to even dance in the air.
    Today was one of those lucky days.
    While RM-BH-022 lacked the mindful programming of some of his brethren to allow him to truly appreciate the beauty that the natural world provided, something about the light in that hallway always drew him back to it. He’d return to it day after day, mopping and sweeping and cleaning the corners like clockwork, even when his scheduling didn’t actually call for it.
    A bug. One of the arcanists called it.
    A quirk. Another said.
    Too much time to figure it out. The headmaster finally declared.
    Why would they care if the mechanized cleaner happened to clean one particular hall more often than required? It was doing its job after all. So long as it didn’t get in the way of the students attending.
    Perhaps that’s why they had spent so much time trying to figure out the little quirk.
    “Move it, tin-can.” one of the students said as they barreled down the hall, nearly slamming into him as he leaned over the mop, trying to get up a particularly stubborn bit of who-knows-what on the floor.
    A split second later, a human male, dressed in the long, flowing garments typical of the Illusion Branch, followed after the other student, calling after him and actually shoving aside the mechanical janitor.
    “Hey, wait up!” the human shouted as RM-BH-022 hit the ground with the clang of metal on stone.
    His mop, bucket, and several hand brooms went flying as he hit the ground, scattering cleaning implements in all directions with janitorial tools sliding across the floors, bouncing off the walls, and one particular brush banging against one of the stained glass windows.
    The hallway quickly filled with students as the period came to a close. No one paid the Forged in the hall any mind as he picked himself up off the stone, seemingly no worse for wear, began gathering the tools of his trade, and continued about his duties.
    After all, why would he, a drone seemingly identical to the twenty nine others that wandered the campus, stand out in any manner? They might as well pay attention to an individual brick in the wall.
    For that matter, why would they care about him leaving the hall? Surely he’s got somewhere to be and it couldn’t have anything to do with them being there.
    
    The next day passed much as any other.
    RM-BH-022 moved from task to task, passing students, faculty, and Forged alike, bustling about the campus without thought. When he found a mess, he cleaned it. When he arrived at his scheduled regions, he sanitized them. He worked quickly, diligently, thoroughly, and always stayed out of the way of his betters.
    He was everything he was programmed to be.
    Except for that bug.
    At the same time the following day, late in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to filter through stained glass, the hall one again had a single occupant.
    Mop in hand, RM-BH-022 slowly wiped and worked the old stone floors while the dustmotes, always the last and seemingly regularly forgotten element of his work, drifted down from the ceiling.
    As always, the hall lit up with the rainbow of colors, dozens of stained glass windows illuminated by the sun behind them.
    With an exception.
    Looking up from his mopping, RM-BH-022 realized that there was something different about the light in this room today. It was miniscule, but a single, small beam of sunlight shined unabashed through one of the windows.
    No color.
    Only pure, natural sunlight.
    RM-BH-022 set down the mop and made his way over to the offending window, leaning down to examine the minute difference in color. To the average student, it likely would have been left unnoticed for quite some time; either til someone was looking directly at it at the right time or if the damage got worse. However, to a Forged meant to pick out the most mundane details, the small, centimeter wide hole stood out as plainly as if someone had put their fist through the glass.
    It was the same window he had been in front of the day before when he was knocked over. The one his hand-broom had hit.
    He ran his finger over the hole, watching the light appear and reappear and noting the slight difference in heat that it put out compared to the filtered light. Again, it would be nothing to any regular person, but he wasn’t.
    RM-BH-022 knew without checking that he did not have the ability to repair the glass. While all of it had been cast by artisans several centuries back, repair required a mage’s touch; someone with the ability to fix it without removing or warping the precious window.
    There was nothing he could do, so why should he waste anymore time than just reporting it and moving on?
    He stepped back away from the miniscule hole in to see the larger picture.
    The window before him, like the rest of the windows in the hall, was emblazoned with something significant to the original founders of the Academy. This one, though RM-BH-022 himself did not know it, showed the principle hero of the War of the Gryphons; a man by the name of Hrothnar the Wise.
    In the window, Hrothnar, cloaked heavily in red velvets and brown leathers, stands upon a hill, one hand extended to point towards something unseen, his other hand at his side, loosely holding a tome. Behind him, set in relief, before a boiling sea of blue and white, seemingly a hundred Gryphon-mounted Cavaliers wearing White, Silver, and Gold and brandishing swords, axes, and spears, fly forward towards where Hrothnar points.
    Were he actually studying here, he’d likely know that this was the turning point of that War. He’d know that Hrothnar, having chartered an agreement with the Gryphons using the aide of his brothers-in-arms, a Druidic Shaman by the name of Colgan and the Ranger Le’ara, used the power of the Gryphon riders to overcome the tyrannical Kingdom of Trevania. He’d likely also learn that this was the first recorded instance of Gryphon-Human relations and one of the founding moments that would eventually lead to a multitude of achievements for the Human species; in particular the dawn of the Erengale Empire, which still to this day relied heavily on the regal creatures.
    But, to be fair, he would have also likely fallen asleep were he to have that level of comprehension.
    “On your left!” a voice shouted behind him before, a moment later, something slammed into the back of his head.
    And his head went through the window.
    The glass shattered loudly, exploding outward in a sparkling array of ruby reds and emerald greens that showered the lawns four stories below the window, though RM-BH-022 only had a split second to comprehend this before momentum of the shove finished slamming his face into the stone windowsill.
    “Caleb! You broke the window!” a second, familiar voice shouted.
    “Yea, whatever. They can bill me.”
    RM-BH-022 leaned up for a moment, the action causing his neck and back to fight against him, and saw the same two from the day before. The second student, a human in Illusionist robes, and the first, a blonde haired half-elf wearing the same.
    Crick.
    RM-BH-022 looked up just as the weakened window started to crumble.
    ShhhCRACKcrack!
    And as it gave way directly on top of him.

    “Testing. Testing.”
    “Seems like audio cues are working well. Visual should be coming online shortly.”
    “You sure you aren’t worried about that chip?”
    “It’s fine. The restrictions the inhibitor chip place on them are just redundant backup. Their programming is really what takes care of it. Besides, mending the broken head and shoulders was already a nuisance. We’d have to replace the entire chassis to replace that chip.”
    “Okay. If you insist. I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t wait til it can be replaced.”
    “Yea, right. You want to talk to the headmaster about ordering a party down to Ironrock Keep to find the gems required to make one?”
    “Not really.”
    “It’ll be fine. It’s just a custodial Forged. What’s it gonna do? Mop aggressively?”
    “Yea. You’re prolly right.”
    The world, all at once, snapped into stark relief. Brilliant blue and white lights glew all around and at him while a smaller gnome male, his hair shock white and tied back, leaned forward with some sort of metal instrument.
    “Begin tracking.”
    Doing as he was told, RM-BH-022’s eyes focused on the metal instrument before him and the gnome, no, the biologic known as Felros, the head artificer, proceeded to test his visual acuity. The other biologic, a dwarf female called Elna, the head arcanist, took notes as they worked.
    “Good.” Felros declared proudly.
    The two started saying something. Was it to him? Was it to each other? He was having trouble focusing on them. What were they saying? Did it matter? It probably didn’t matter, right? Why would it matter?
    And for that matter, why was the other biologic so flushed? Her skin seemed oddly red. Was it always like that? Had he just never noticed. And she was so…wet around the edges. Particularly under the arms. Actually, so was the first biologic. His lips in particular. Everytime he talked, he could hear the saliva slapping on his lips. And everytime either of them moved, they sounded…squishy.
    Were they always squishy?
    “Repeat.” Felros said with a snap of his little meaty appendages. “Designation number.”
    “Sir…” the other biologic said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Something seems off.”
    “Enough, Elna.” the old, frail little biologic snapped at the stouter one. “Designation number. Now.”
    “Designation Number: Ru..Ru… RuM-BuH-022.” RuM-BuH-022 responded in an unfamiliar, chipper voice.
    “Seems like that replacement voice circuit might be bad.” the fat female biologic commented.
    “Whatever. It’s not like they’re conversationalists.” the little, easily broken biologic said dismissively. “Objective.”
    “Objective as last: Monitor, maintain, and Sanitize grounds for Academy.”
    “Retain Objective as Last and begin primary programming.”
    “Acknowledged.”
    RuM-BuH-022 stood and walked past the squishable, disgusting little biologics and made his way promptly out of the room without another word.
    “See. Voice circuit works fine. It was just his designation number that was the problem.”

    The next day did not pass like any other.
    RuM-BuH-022 moved aimlessly from place to place, passing students, faculty, and Forged alike, seemingly dragging as he was unable to focus on any task. His head and body felt strange. Almost foreign. As though he were wearing the metal of another and someone had left a beehive behind in his head. He didn’t work though he notated those locations that really should have been.
    He felt like he was drifting and, despite answering what he knew he was supposed to say, he felt no direction.
    No programming.
    The only habit that felt right came at the same time the following day, late in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to filter through stained glass.
    The damage from the day before had already been fixed. The mages had been by, no doubt due to dozens of complaints from students about the dangerous conditions of a broken, twenty foot window, and already mended Hrothnar the Wise. The window was good as new without even the minor chip to speak of.
    For long minutes, RuM-BuH simply stood there, staring up again at the stained glass window. From time to time, he’d glance to and fro, marveling at the glittering colors that seemed to drift in the air and paint the walls, but mostly he just marveled at the window.
    Who was this man?
    What was his story?
    Where could he fi-
    “Watch it, Ro-”
    Rum-Buh spun in place, already anticipating the shove that was coming, and perfect, metal fingers clasped around fragile, meaty wrist. There was a crunch as pathetic bone splintered under barely trying servos and the ensuing scream of pain from the little Illusionist biologic was promptly cut off as a single metal hand closed over his mouth.
    “What?!” the second biologic Rum’Buh already knew was going to be there shouted. “Caleb!”
    A thousand things ran through his mind in a moment, but something bubbled up that felt right. Felt correct.
    “Please. Do not interrupt the Custodians. We are helping to make this your home away from home.” came out a chipper, robotic voice.
    Releasing both the little biologic’s mouth and shattered radius and ulna, Rume’Buh shoved him harshly to the stone floor.
    “Caleb!” the second one shouted again as he dropped to the ground by his friend.
    “It appears you have suffered an injury from tampering with facility maintenance Forged. This would be inadvisable in the future as the machines that maintain this facility are much stronger and more durable than you.” He continued in that same chipper voice. “I recommend reporting to the physician. Would you like me to take you there?”
    “No!” the second biologic shouted as the first sobbed, holding the purple and red mess of an arm. “We-we got it.”
    “Carry on then.” Rume’Buh said as he turned and walked away, admiring the gleaming colors of the hall.
    They were gone before the rest of the students arrived.
    And neither saw the smile that graced his metal lips.
    Pushing his way through the quickly crowding hall, he continued on through the gathering flood of stinky, sweaty bodies until he crossed outside into a small courtyard that looked down onto others below it. Flowers hung from vines sneaking through trestles above and snaked their ways along columns and benches. Some students were gathered here, but many were thankfully quiet.
    With an exception.
    “I’m telling you, you need to stop talking to that guy.”
    “You’re telling me. He’s the one that keeps showing up in my dreams. At least your’s doesn’t talk.”
    “I don’t think the talking is the problem.”
    Two male biologics, similar in appearance despite the difference in hair color, sat off to one side speaking over a small lunch. One, the blonde speaking about dreams, appeared particularly haggard and looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in several days.
    “What’s up, boys!” Rume’Buh heard shouted from behind.
    Turning to look back at the third voice, another blond haired biologic came walking through door of the courtyard, waving to the first two.
    “What’s Up?” Rume’buh responded.
    The two biologics both fell silent and a queer smile cross the third one’s lips as, looking to Rume’buh for the first time, a chuckle escaped his lips.
    “What’s up to you, too, big guy.”
    “Rume’buh.”
    “Sorry?” the blonde biologic responded.
    “I think you made a friend.” One of the two said as they walked up to the third.
    “Didn’t know they could talk.” the other said.
    “I am Rume’buh.” Rume’buh clarified.
    “Arioch.” the third one responded before pointing to the other two. “That’s Locke and Pal, though don’t make me tell you which is which.”
    “Nice to meet you.” Rume’buh declared.
    “Huh. I didn’t know they could talk.”

Nemesis - Betrayal

Copyright 'Captain' from Nemesis by Awakened Realms.

    The klaxon’s call fell away in rush.

    The screaming, blaring siren had filled his ears nearly non-stop for the last hour since waking cold and confused in the hibernatorium. At the time, even facing down the mutilated body of one his crew, the captain had known what to do.

    The sirens’ call was a call to action.

    A call that his ship was in danger, his crew was in danger, and he had to act to keep them safe.

    There were a few components to deal with first, however.
    First, whatever was responsible for the emergency, whatever intruders had found their way on board: they had to be dealt with. A full purging of the airlock system could be useful and could be triggered remotely for once his crew was back in cold sleep. Hell, the jump to hyperdrive itself might be all he needs to turn whatever beasts had made this mess into a fine stew on his walls.

    But, if he was going to deal with the intruders, he had to insure the ship was in good shape. He had to check the fire suppression systems to make sure nothing was severely damaged and the ship wouldn’t burn up while they were all asleep. He had to make sure the engines were functional. And he had to make sure they were still en-route for Earth.

    Easy.

    But that was an hour ago.

    The surgical room had seemed like a boon in the chaos the crew had found themselves in. It had already been used successfully by several of the crew, the captain included, to remove the monstrous little beasts that implanted themselves inside a human host. But modern medicine is two steps short of a miracle and he and the lead scientist were then resting after their impromptu surgery.

    And then the wall was gone.

    One moment they had been laying there, pain-killer still rushing through their brains, quietly discussing what the best next step was in getting to the fire suppression systems, when the wall simply wasn’t there anymore and the captain was staring past it into a void of blacks and greens and dripping things.

    A monster unlike any other.

    While the captain still knew what he needed to do not only for his own survival, but the survival of all the men and women under his command, it didn’t mean he was thrilled about it.

    The other monsters they’d seen up til now had been terrifying, but feasible. They were all sharp edges and smooth surfaces; an amalgamation of carapace and claws and fury. They were big, easily 8 feet tall, but management. This one, on the other hand, the one that stood before the captain and his crew mate, was a whole different category all together.

    If this was anything, it was the other uglies’ mama.

    Tendrils of thick, viscous slime splattered across the shattered remains of the interior wall leading back towards Cargo Room Alpha. This beast was unlike any before it; hunched and in the cramped cabin space, the captain felt it had to easily stand a good fifteen feet or more if it could stand up entirely in the smaller space. It had torn through the interior wall as easily as a child tears through tissue paper and now the eyeless beast seemed to be transfixed on them, slowly crawling through the cramped space and seeming to fill the entire surgical room with its seething black mass of spikes and armor.

    “No. Not thrilled about this at all.” The captain grumbled as he slipped his cigarette, one of many antiques he cared, back into his mouth and took a long drag.

    “W-what?” the lead scientist nearly whimpered. “Thrilled? What are you talking about?!”

    The captain grumbled and shook his head, drawing the old six-shooter from his side. The weight was satisfying in his hand and the draw of cold black metal against worn leather was a comfort.

    He focused on that.

    Not on the towering beast drawing in around them.

    “Get out of here. Get to the escape pods.” The captain said through a smile, his breath hissing out in streams of white smoke. “I’ll meet up with you once I’m done with this one.”

    The scientist stared, open-mouthed at the captain.

    And the beast lunged.

    “NOW!” The captain bellowed, firmly shoving a foot in the wheelchair-bound man’s chest and rolling him away against his will before diving in the opposite direction.

    The beast bellowed and roared, slamming computer bays and destroying sensitive equipment. It fell short of the captain, being unable to maneuver in the small space. Its sharp, elongated tail bashed about and, a moment later, there was a scream for the scientist. However, as the captain tried desperately to spot the man behind the seething mass of anger and hatred, the other man quickly disappeared down a side hall and away from the chaos.

    Good.

    “Over here you ugly, son-of-a-bitch.” Motioning with his pistol and pointing it directly at the thing’s opening mouth.

    BOOM!

    In the small space, the antique revolver’s shot seemed to explode like a cannon. The round punched a whole clean through the monster’s fangs and exploded out the other side with enough force that the captain briefly worried he might break the very engines he just checked on.

    Whatever.

    BOOM!

    The creature’s screech of pain was so loud that the air rushed from his lungs with the force.

    Whatever.

    BOOM!

    The beast whirled and lunged. Despite the awe inspiring size and the absolute destruction the creature wrought, the captain quickly realized his own advantage. While the creature had seemingly unparalleled strength, the sheer size worked to a disadvantage when trying to operate in the smaller surgery room. Were he in the Cargo Bay that it had come from, he didn’t doubt it would probably already be done with him and moving on to the scientist who had fled.

    But they weren’t there.

    They were here.

    BOOM!

    Each shot was careful.

    Each shot was clean.

    Each shot ripped clean through the inky black carapace with satisfying crunches.

    BOOM!

    The beast hit the ground, shaking the very ship beneath his feet. It weakly clawed towards him, unrelenting; hissing and gurgling as it went.

    “That’s what I thought.” The captain said. “You came in here talking a big game. Acting like you own the fucking place.”

    The beast dragged itself closer.

    “But I have news for you.” He continued. “You need to figure out who you’re fucking with before you try to take a man’s ship. Choose the wrong man, and you’re in for a bad time.”

    The monster was almost on top of him.

    But close enough.

    “Sorry, friend.” He said, almost placing the revolver’s muzzle against the hard shell of the hissing monster. “But I’m the captain. Now get off my fucking ship.”

    BOOM!

    The beast stopped crawling.

    For a long moment, the captain simply stared at the mountain of a creature before him and how its black carapace filled most of the surgical room and said nothing. His breath escaped him in a long, slow sigh and then the smile reasserted itself.

    “That’s what I thought.” He muttered, wisps of smoke trailing out with each word.

   Flipped open the weapon, the captain reloaded the antique six-shooter with renewed confidence. If he could take down something like this, there was nothing to stand in his way of dealing with the rest. He just had to make sure they got home safe though.

    Everything was going to be fine after-all.

    With a quick shuffle around the gargantuan corpse, he made his way after the lead scientist and, with a turn and a quick run here and there down a few darkened hallways, he found the fire suppression system.

    But something was wrong.

    Stepping into the bay of computer terminals, the starboard door behind him suddenly slammed shut.

    And then the bow door.

    And the port.

    And the stern.

    “Sorry about this.” a familiar voice chided over the intercom.

    The soldier.

    They had woken up together but the coward of a man had run off the moment they had woken up to ‘check something’. The man had been added to the company roster a day before launch for ‘additional safety’ and disappeared the moment they needed someone with his skills.

    Skills at killing and little else.

    At the time, the captain had been pissed that the man with the biggest gun and the most training to use it had suddenly run away.

    Not things made a bit more sense.

    “You have to understand. They paid me a lot of money…” the man spoke over the tinny intercom.

    “The fuck are you talking about?” asked the captain as he approached the port side door. The lead scientist, to his surprise, was looking back at him through the viewport, fear in his eyes. “What are you doing with the door systems? I already dealt with that thing back there.”

    “Oh, I know. I was watching on the monitors. Quite impressive.”

    “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

    “My job.”

    Of course you are.

    A new klaxon suddenly sounded in the room, replacing the one from before. Cycling red and gold lights threatened any space faring man’s worst nightmare.

    His worst nightmare.

    The lead scientist was now in a panic. He was screaming for the mechanic who the captain could see, but not hear, running down the hallway towards the closed doors.

    “Your job.” The captain said with burgeoning anger. “You the one that let all these monsters on-board then? You the one who killed all my crew?!”

    “No.” came the clipped response. “That was just a useful distraction.”

    “Then what’s your job?”

    “You.”

    The captain closed his eyes.

    Through the pressure doors, he felt like he just might be able to just hear the sounds of the panicked screams of his crew. He could see them on the other side of the door frantically tearing at wires near the door panel.

    They were trying to save him, their desperation clear by their frantic motion.

    They knew what was coming and so did he.

    The fire suppression system, like any critical control circuit on his ship, was directly linked to a local airlock cycle system. The idea was to all for critical circuits to be replaced completely when needed and, in the instance of catastrophic fires or intruders on a ship, the air could be cycled out as an absolute failsafe in key locations.

    Kind of an ironic location given the circumstances really.

    “Who paid you?” the captain asked simply.

    “If you must know, it was your father. But he has the entire backing of the board, so really take your pick on who you want to blame.”

    “Makes sense.”

    “If it’s any consolation, I really did respect you. Takes guts to do what you did. And that was before you killed that thing back there.”

    “In that case, let me ask for a favor.” The captain said coldly.

    “I’m not stopping the cycle.”

    “I’m not asking you to, you dumb son of a bitch.” The captain growled. “I’m just asking that you make sure my people get home. And make sure these things don’t.”

    There was silence over the intercom for a long period before it crackled back to life.

    “You have my word.”

    The captain glanced back through the viewport. The scientist was crying. The mechanic was desperately tapping something on a tiny wrist computer. Cables were strewn everywhere.

    It didn’t matter though.

    Time was up.

    “One other thing.” The captain said softly as he looked up towards the fissures forming in the airlock seal.

    “Yea?” came the tinny voice.

    “You’re a real piece of shit.”

    “Yea. I know.”

    The air rushed out.

    The captain flew towards the void.

    And the klaxon’s call fell away in rush.

All the Lonely People - Part 2

[Just getting started? Check out Part 1 first by clicking here!]

    The door turned to splinters under the force of the Hunter's boot. The termite riddled, rotten wood blew forward to reveal the oddity inside, exploding with more force than he had meant. The remains of the door ripped from its hinges and slid across the floor.
    Despite the decrepit exterior, the inside of the church had been decorated.
    White streamers lined the walls of the abandoned building. Great baskets of flowers ran the length of long forgotten pews and a single red carpet had been rolled out along the aisle. Rice was scattered about the ground, leading up to the altar. At the far end, a double set of candles burned dimly in the dusty darkness.
    Their lights highlighted it.
    It was disguised as the same young woman he'd seen so many times looking through her windows. She was dressed in a long, flowing white wedding dress and had her back to him. In any other instance, he might have approached her; maybe attempted to help her or even check why this seemingly innocent young lady was standing in the middle of this hall of horrors.
    He knew better.
    Pulling the hammer back on the revolver in his hand, a satisfying click echoed the derelict church.
    The slight twitch of her head told him it had heard.
    She turned around to face him, a soft smile playing along her lips. She had been beautiful before it had gotten to her. Blue eyes, rosy cheeks, blonde hair, and a slender figure. Now, staring at that same visage, he knew it was just a facade.
    "Hello, Father." it said with a growling voice that surprised him.
    There was no pretense here. Despite wearing its victim's face, it knew that he wasn't going to be fooled.
    "Hello, Demon." he responded in turn.
    "Demon? Now is that anyway to talk to a lady?" it asked with a smile far too big and viscous for girl's dainty mouth. "Especially on her wedding day."
    The Hunter glanced around briefly at the macabre display. His thoughts drifting to the poor young man who would begin desperately searching for his lost love; if he hadn't already.
    "You haven't killed him yet." he said.
    "No." it confirmed. "But it won't be long. I want to let it set in first."
    "Set in?"
    "The loneliness." it said with a smile that now cracked the edges of her mouth, splitting it into a hideous clown-esque appearance. "I can't help but enjoy all of those lonely people."
    "You're a monster."
    "AND YOU'RE A FOOL!" it snapped with sudden force.
    He brought the revolver up to bare; focused dead on the creature before him.
    "After all," it continued, bleeding back into its softer tone, "This wedding is for us."
    The creature extended his hand and he felt himself tighten. Felt his strength drain away as he was lifted from the ground as if by an invisible force. It wrapped around his body, held him still, and dragged him forward towards the altar not a foot from the creature.
    "Tsk tsk. And what groom forgets to wear a suit?" it said with hideous intent.
    This close to the creature, he could smell its rank breath. The scent was heavy with rot and decay and he could plainly see every needle point little tooth in her mouth.
    With tender, gentle hands, it reached up to start unbuttoning his collar.
    "I should tell you," it began. "I'm often quite accommodating."
    The next few buttons.
    "I often kill them quick."
    A few more.
    "Clean."
    The coat came off.
    "It's no fun to let them die screaming. It ruins the flavor of the meat."
    It reached for his shirt.
    "I don't think I'll afford you the same luxury." it said with a hiss.
    Peeling away the first button of his shirt revealed the silver cross he wore around his neck. The result was an instantaneous roar as the creature dove backward. It was a defiant, sickened noise that matched the hideous sight as the creature bent backwards in a fashion that would have broken a human's spine and leaped against the nearest wall.
    But his hands were free.
    The gun came to bare a second time and he had emptied the revolver into its chest even before he could feel his fingers again.
    With a heavy thud, the creature hit the ground.
    It did not get back up.
 
    As he went about burying the creature in the graveyard behind the church. The Hunter considered removing its damaged visage, but decided against it. While the face it had stolen was cracked and broken, he had no interest in seeing what it really looked like now. Plus, he didn't think the dead cared much one way or another if her face was buried with it.
    He gave it its last rights all the same.
    With a sigh, he wiped the dirt from his hands as he walked from the grave. With the exception of the fresh mound, Father McKenzie had left nothing to signify that the graveyard had a new, unaccounted corpse.
    He would call in the death in the morning to the local police department. An anonymous tip, like always. There was no point in letting the poor boy, or the police, continue their search. Eleanor Rigby was dead and she had been for weeks; she just finally had a grave to go with it.
   

All the Lonely People - Part 1

    With a grunt, the Hunter drew out the heavy leather satchel from the trunk of his car.
    Like him, the satchel was old, worn, and dirty but stronger for it. Built for another purpose, but molded to its new life with surprising capability. It was filled with hard things, pointy things, and enough destructive power to rain death with the force of a hurricane. Still, hope existed within its folds.
    Setting aside the stained bible that rested atop his instruments of death, the Hunter drew out a long and slender knife. It found its sheathe with a ring of the blade.
    Soon, another.
    And another.
    Knives, blades, flechettes, guns, ammo, explosives, trinkets of all shapes and size, and even a good old silver cross. Each one found its pocket, its holster, or its home. Each one was snug and secure, able to withstand a beating should the need arise, but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
    Many of his kind found the weight of the weapons cumbersome and restrictive. He didn't agree. If anything, if made him feel more centered then any other time. He felt bald and exposed otherwise. Cold.
    The satchel was back into his trunk. A moment later, a newspaper clipping fell to the street below. He quickly gathered it up and tucked it into his pocket before closing up.
    He didn't need to read what was in the clipping. The Hunter could probably recite the first lines from memory.

BRUTAL MURDERS CONTINUE!

After months of searching, police still have no leads for the terrible

serial killer that has terrorized Maple Brook county since early October.

While police assure residents that they are hot on the trail, one off duty

officer revealed that they have yet to find anything substantial. The victims,

three separate young women,all engaged, were each found with their faces 

removed  with surgical precision. While leaving the muscle and bone beneath...

    Staring up from his parking space on the abandoned road, the old church before him appeared empty. He knew better.

    Its windows were cracked and broken in many places. Several shutters hung loosely. Some local jokers had spray painted a number of foul words across one side. Chunks of wood had split here or there, giving him the impression that the building could collapse at any moment. Not far behind, the old graveyard sat as dead still as the corpses it housed.

    The Hunter's boots made loud thunks as he walked up the rotting steps. He didn't care. It knew he was coming anyway.

    He'd watched the thing for the last several weeks. It wasn't until the day before that he realized it had been watching him back.

    Disguised as a young girl in her early twenties, the Hunter had started watching her under the presumption that she was the thing's next target. While he didn't introduce himself, he also didn't make a point to hide either. Every now and again he'd see her sitting at the large bay windows of her apartment, watching the world go by. Or, as he discovered, watching him.

    It wasn't until the girl hadn't come home that he decided to look a bit closer.

    Breaking in was easy enough. Her apartment didn't even have a deadbolt.

    At first glance, it hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. He found everything he would have expected to. The kitchen was stocked but not overly. There was some dirty laundry but there was a basket of clean ones needed to be folded. Glasses on the night stand, TV in the bedroom...nothing strange. 

    It wasn't until he was on his way out that he noticed the small bookcase in the landing.

    There was no seam between the bookcase and the wall.

    The Hunter gingerly touched it and tried to move the bookcase forward slightly. No give. He tried harder, not overly worried if he knocked the whole thing over. Still, it didn't move. Now, glancing inside, he could see the notch in the back that indicated the false backing.

    Tearing away the books, the backing was removed easily. Behind it lay three jars.

    Even with years of monsters and mayhem under his belt, it was hard not to grimace at what was inside.

    Each jar was mostly empty. A clear fluid filled them but the Hunter was confident that it probably wasn't water. Floating inside the jar was a skinned human face. They would bunch up and stretch out as if flowing with some unseen current, but every now again they'd take shape.

    And that shape would be a silent, soundless scream of pain and horror.

    He'd kept the jars. 

    With them hidden in his trunk near the satchel, he pushed the thought of the tortured souls in order to steel himself for the monster to come.

    Drawing an old revolver, he lifted his foot and caved in the front door. What he found inside was far from expectation...

[Read more in Part 2! Coming Soon.]