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rocket punks versus cybertech

by doctor_jones Monday, Feb. 28, 2005 at 5:56 AM

this is a bit of short fiction loosely based on reality. please: taking it as news willonly confuse. it's moe like a parable about he travails of generation x. -jones

rocket punks versus ...
secret_hereos.gif, image/gif, 1224x684

Ten Shadows: CITY TALES


Dedicated to


A Writer.

“I, You, We, go down.”


hey! you can't be a poet. you don't have a license. uh, oh, it's the elemental plane of bullshit! climb onto your cock rockets, faggots, it's time to blasst off to Planet Poop.

Welcome to Ten Shadows.

There is no such place as Ten City.

There is no such place as Shadow City.

Like Superman and other fictional beings – these characters do NOT EXIST.

None of them are the slightest bit real – they come from the place writers get ideas.

That being said welcome to a world of strange powers and bizarre stories where the unexpected is often expected. Welcome to a huge multiverse contained in two sister cities that, yes, are analogues for New York and Boston – but aside from that are simply settings for fictional characters to do what fictional characters can do – the utterly impossible.


Some have called this genre “Science Fiction.” The Author would like to cryptically neither confirm or deny these rumors, wink sagely, and dedicate the whole work to the late Douglas Adams.

You live on in the hearts of those of us who got the deepest jokes. And we appreciate the apology. See you at Milliways, perhaps.

M. Marques Howard

October, 2004

I remain TOTALLY conscious of child abuse. The United States: the child abuser of the fucking world. Cold, harsh policies of blanketing death.

All under the pretence of a Christianity that is far more beautiful and graceful than the American has aloowed it to manifest – almost at all – in its more than two hundred years of Constitutional existence. This pattern of child abuse is common – so common…

The abused child learns to become insane as a result of being abused repeatedly by the one who says they love them.

The African slave at the end of the civil war says “we want our masters back” because they have been disassociated from what they once knew – a connection to the land.

The native American drowns in a bottle because there was a way of life so close to perfect – and everywhere they look are those who conquered and what recourse have they? It mnay in fact be better in the bottle when we consider what the environmental situation of 1619 might have been compared to the environmental situation of 2016 – if this goes on.

The battered wife insists that her husband’s continual slaps punches kicks bites and burn marks are proof of her love until the day she snaps and defends herself. Then the man is dead and the woman goes to prison – for life. All because theUnited States of America has INSTITUTIONALISED abuse. Can you disprove this? Can you look back through history and disprove the existence

-Of the whipped and beaten African (they had it coming, says the Patriarchal Dictator model.)

-Of the native American

-Of the abused wife imprisoned for finally lashing out?

-Of the Japanese descendant of those who were in internment camps who bitterly remembers and buries the grief, almost dehumanizing racist anguish, somewhere deep inside?

And beneath it all, the child. the child, without whom there is no future. Without attention to the true sufferings of the child -- the child --

When the same chronic patterns of social malaise take place year after year and there seem to be no major improvements – we can see that there is a chronic problem – the American family is not in a crucible – the HUMAN family is in a crucible on automatic meltdown.

The girl was smart. She was intelligent at a very young age and showing it. Look at the pictures of the smile becoming less and less vibrant and real, more and more buried under bitter frown lines, twisted grief of being alone. And they fed her. To shut her up. Her name? Freedom. Fairness. Compassion. Love. These are all the things that he patriarchalist’s model of domination must suppress via mental or physical violence.

And these qualities are sewn, frozen into something we are deceived into thinking we must be proud of. How many times you pledege aliiegiance to the republic which the American flag is said to epresent – well….look.

Now you have a fully fledged police state that has tendrils in every nation in the world --


The Adventures of Major Malfunction and Captain Suicide

04:33 am - the adventure begins


We are the agents of STAT.

STAT: Security, Tyranny, Aggression and Terror.

Our mission: to go out into the world and find peaceful people and make their lives an utter hell.

We are trained professionals. Little children, puppy dogs and kittens, grandmothers -- no one is immune to our STAT-tactics, STAT-strategy and overall campaign to control humanity and maintain a mentality of utter brooding panic.

We are STAT.

Since the 1960s we have worked in secret. You've never heard of us until now and well, now it doesn't matter because we have been infiltrated and all our plans, all our hard work has come to utter ruin.

My comrades in arms are dead in a horrible trail of blood behind me. I am the last one alive and i am running for my life because i know HE is coming to finish me.

I watched them all die from inside our special STAT combat vehicle provided by the secret Shadow Government of Earth. I watched the screen as one by one they all died.

It was HIM.

No one knows where he came from: an elusive man without a past. Agent twelve was the first to go. HE cut Twelve down in the mens' room: it was horrible and I watched from remote cameras. our entire organization has been compromised and I have quit running. I don't know where he is but I can feel him coming for me so I had to make this report. I have no way of knowing if anyone will see it. I am certain that HE will go after our superiors next. I can feel death coming to take me away...

we have a system of sophisticated and top secret mind influencing devices in bases all over the world: in Stockholm, Las Vegas and Argentina.

With these special bases we control the minds of billions of people who have no way of knowing they are being influenced to do our bidding. it has been the job of STAT to secure these bases and see to their maintanance. since 1969 we have been successful.

one man took down my whole team and --

it was horrible as i watched Agent Forty-Two die in an alley. the fight was over so quickly i couldn't believe it.

as the shock registered on Forty-Two's face his eyes opened wide.


The black man smiled.

"I am Major Malfunction."

I watched them like a hawk.

For years these bastards have been doing a number on the people of Earth and that number is 666.

Their goal: total domination of all people on earth via sophisticated, cunning energy based technology that numbs the human being's natural urge to resist tyranny. I knew what i had to do but I watched them carefully.

through the 1970s and 1980s i watched as they - the STAT - did whatever they could to maintain total invisibility while setting up their system of mind control technology bases aided by grim hostile extraterrestrials.

But I knew I was immune. what was it about me? I became an army of billions in the body of one man: i was determined to liberate the people of earth from what they were programmed not to believe existed: the evil mind machines of STAT.

I was determined.

I trained.

I trained and outfitted myself to the teeth and the gills with all the tools I would need to take these bastards out.

It is a war I may never win.

They are easily killed but numerous and they are insidious.

lately i have begun to see signs.

From my radio call in talk show on the world wide web called Live On Line (LOL) I carefully troll my callers and make note when they begin to show signs of breaking free from the mind control.

And lately I have begun to see and hear signs of hope.

I have killed thousands of the secret agents of STAT. I have demolished their secret bases: wherever I travel all over the world I do what I can to slip in; kill as many agents as I can and wreck the mind controlling transmitters.

STAT serve no nation: they are determined to do nothing short of control the entire globe. I alone heard the gigantic saucers hovering over the cities of earth on July 5, 1998, when their insidious Conspiracy began in earnest. I had been monitoring their actions and terminating their agents whenever I could

But the aliens were a new wrinkle. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

i knew that there were extradimensionals and extraterrestials involved in world takeover plans and I knew that they did not have good human interest. But the idea that gigantic space crafts could be hovering over Every major city on theglobe, invisible and inaudible to all humans made me panic, if but momentarily.

I was scared for maybe five minutes and then from deep inside myself a voice said ALL OUT ULTIMATE ASS KICK!

It was time for Major Malfunction to go into all out Avenger mode.

the ships are huge and i always hear their massive hum. the wavelength their camoflage generates on is practically undetectible to "Normal" human senses -- it is the same basis as the secret 'bases' they control and use to manipulate humanity.

05:12 am


i press the button and the electric door gives HIM -- oh, it has to be HIM -- a seventythousand watt jolt. but i know it's futile.

i look at the camera. he is laying there, smoking, not moving.


i push open the door and --


"Well that was easy." i step over him, he has a brand new bindi now, with blood coming out. Nice shot, Major.

When you are in an army of one you have to congratulate yourself.

i sit down at the controls. It only takes a little while to look over the schematics of their mission here.

hmm...here in Ten City their plans included using telephone and clock towers to broadcast subconscious messages of race hatred to sow tension and misery. unsuprising: the STAT Secret Heirarchy has been fomenting disunity between races since the 1880s.

i send them a really nasty virus (note on viruses: all viruses are really nasty. No such thing as a nice happy sweet sugary loving virus. Nonetheless in this case I mean a REALLY NASTY virus. So think of all the really nasty things you know. Times tow. That’s what the fuckers deserved and by God that is what they FUCKING got. Shitheads.) and then leave a friendly package of plastique in the van. No one is nearby because these missions are always like this. these STAT agents practically INVENTED the art of manipulation of millions with bullshit. i think their computers will be running scared for a little while: it's a drop in a pretty deep bucket but it's a drop. little by little...



DUMBO JUMBO: the Elephant Killed by a MOUSE

i don't enjoy killing but the non-earthers have made these humans puppets. they can't be reasoned with: and they have lost any humanity they may have once had: programmed enforcers for alien beings with a world dominating agenda.

as i leave the van behind i am thinking: I wish i could get up to that ship. Insane? You think I’m insane for wanting to do exactly that? Do you KNOW what I am talking about

Things that would have horrified H. P. Lovecraft into self willed nocommunicative illiteracy. BAD. No good in it. They HATE the eath and everything she’s produced!

one day they will come after me: it's been three years and i am yet to be hassled.

of course i am always hassled. I mean directly. Their very existence is a hassle to me.

the van explodes as i am looking up into the sky at the gigantic saucer. what is that color? it is like a black rainbow, or like coruscating black light. intensely creepy. but one more STAT team has bitten the dust.

as i leave the area i am still freaked out by the deep knowledge that NO ONE BUT ME and of course, the hypnotized STAT agents i have been killing off, can see the alien vessels.

it's always the same.

now i am on the el heading towards city hall. i have some light demolition to do involving STAT mind machine beam transmission towers that I am rather looking forward to – but I am looking forward to this like something one really has had to do for a long time – looking forward to it like a desperate need to evac the bowel rather than a birthday party or a wedding.

TOWERS. Grrr... it's always the same. i am never dealing with obvious federal agents: and if i did i would -- well all i can say is it's never "Suits" like the Feds, never badges. always these STAT guys in their black suits. i have one now too: the guy I tool it from will never ever need clothes again. It’s a nice suit too. Yeah. You got it. A Black suit. But I am telling you these guys were…not…feddies.

They died though. Oh yeah.

but it's CREEPY. I just must be sort of...naturally resistant.

as time was approaching I asked myself all sorts of questions.

isn't killing always wrong?

i still think it's wrong.

i feel sickened with what I have done – I mean, I have a trail of dead STAT agents behind me like most people have – ugh. I basically feel corrupt now, but maybe, just maybe if people can wake up -- if i can disrupt enough of their --

I am listening to the radio here on the train. Underground. It's a decent radio to pick up from all the way down here. World news, wars and rumors of wars. Same old shit.

05:39 pm:

the God of Killing Evil Stupid Things

So i am at the cafe with Marc Z.

now this part is sort of hard to follow because, well I will put it this way. My name is Mark. Major Malfunction. I’ve been telling you the story of my life up til now This guy who I am introducing to you hear hangs out at this café we frequent called Shock. His name is MARC as in Marcus.

He’s…well his name sounds the same when you say it --- and sometimes – actually at the café when someone is calling him – I don’t know, k sounds just like ‘c’ on the end of a name – nonetheless when someone yells out for him I know not to turn, and when someone is calling me he knows it’s someone calling my name. is it because he’s a Republican and I’m a Democrat?

Anyway --

"Really...the whole thing's obvious. And it all makes sense."

"what do you mean?" Marc is jaded. Drinks way too much coffee.

"Well, someone has to be in charge. Logically if the government was actually a Democracy; nothing would get accomplished. Constitutional Republic simply makes it so the wheels of society run smoothly and the trains run on time. It's really just academic: that whole ‘vox populi vox Dei’ shit was never meant to be taken seriously. It was Bread and Circuses -- it was throwing the ‘proles a bone so they would bend over and get ruled. There's no Democracy. Democracy is impossible, but as long as people BELIEVE that there is, they will show up and vote. Which is to say, as I said before, bend over and get ruled. Makes the world a better place.”

"It really doesn't matter who gets elected--"

We both smoke a lot. Chains.

"--the point is that the people aren't in charge. The presidents aren't in charge, the veeps aren't in charge, the secretaries aren't in charge: the Constitutional Republic is in charge. If anyone rules the world, it's Plato."

"Ruling from the underworld with skeletal hands...we are all the prisoners of his centuries - old setup."

Marc cocked an eyebrow.

"You make it sound as if it's a bad thing. humans are apes, Mark, they need to be controlled by people who know what has to be done -- they need to be controlled and simply put, Plato was a genius, ahead of his time. Hell,” added Marc, sucking his cigaret end and staring directly at me from behind his russet locks, “if he were born today he would still be a man among men, in front of the pack. A leader, a king, even."

I explain my theory that the famous syndicated Conservative talk show host is the reincarnation of Plato. Marc smirks and then he snorts. "Well even if the whole idea of reincarnation were not a load of absolute rubbish that would be absurd. That guy is nowhere near on the level of Plato."

"But he's the foremost speaker -- the most potent proponent of Republicanism that there is!"

"Bull! And the GOP doesn't need proponents. It is what it is, basically the only way to do business. Wait: I'll trade you my Sentra for the bone in your nose. I know it has some sort of hoodoo - voodoo shamanic value to you."

I don't have a bone in my nose: Marc is trying to be funny.

Strictly speaking Marc is not my friend.

I just know him and don’t despise him. He has value—for all his cynicism he has worth, he’s cynical and snide and if I ever let on that I knew that all that coldness is just to protect his damaged and sugary heart – his deep down mommy-loving niceness – well I won’t let on cause then he would act even meaner to cover up and it would ruin the conversations.

Being a mercenary vigilante is really boring.

No one really understands – Marc has no idea – anyway, he’s someone to talk to about philosophy.

And that’s that. Just someone to talk to. He's totally under the influence of STAT tech and so in discussion here at the cafe I dance around the subject with him.

We discuss world politics, and of course for him business is booming. He doesn't see a thing wrong.

I am often put in the position of wondering what life on Earth would be like without the ships, without the beam weapons, without STAT and the Shadow Government. Would Marc STILL be an asshole? I wonder -- he might lighten up and actually begin to like people.

This is only part of why I must fight. It is like I was made to kill them. The times I have screwed up totally and walked away – it makes me think that some God of Killing Evil Stupid Things is watching over me.

All the secret work i do -- all the lives i have taken --- the foregone conclusion is that the hold on the earth of these horrible beings can be broken and that humans will blink a bit --

holy shit!

There is a feeling like the air pressure around my head has dropped: like my eardrums are collapsing. It doesn't hurt but there is something very strange going on. I look at Marc and at that moment he says "I REALLY have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

That's okay with me -- people who are under the influence get on my nerves and EVERYONE is under the influence.

Here in Ten City the situation is using the beams to create race hatred and blind jingo patriotism. why was i born this way? i wonder.

it has gone beyond paranoia. The paranoids -- i know them. i stopped hanging out with them because they SUSPECT that something is going on. But they don’t BELIEVE it – they think – well they almost think – they almost believe it but they think they are crazy to believe it and so they are relegated to the position of useless self shackling paranoids who say “well this might not be real but –“

it’s a waste of time to deal with them and I learned pretty quick.

Being a quick learner has saved my life.

But I can see the ships: i have dealt with STAT who slither in the shadows. i have actually done things: i feel like shit -- i feel like my heart is covered in actual shit but i do things. And in truth it is really just particulate soot…

i tap a little note into my journal about the wave i had just felt. It is no fun.

The paranoids spend their time trying to convince others (who are totally enslaved and CAN'T admit it) that there is a conspiracy and a cover up. but they themselves are working on intuition – nothing wrong with intuition but they WON’T BACK UP THEIR RESEARCH! they repeatedly get their feelings hurt and end up becoming wrecks, maybe even telling themselves that they felt nothing. I have pretty much given up trying with them and that is why I kill STAT agents and wreck their bases, wreck their fucking transmitters.

I HATE doing this. I love people – believe it or not – I know it sounds like a total contradiction but l love people –

It ISN’T a contradiction Grrr…are they getting to me too? This is sick and they have twsted and perverted the minds of – this is nightmare in the waking day.

That’s why I do this. That is why my hands are stained with their blood – because I love the people who they pervert with their evil technology.

STAT. I will kill them and kill them until they are no more. I will remain –

Major Malfunction.

It’s boring but I get a lot of free stuff. They get – from where I have few ideas – all kinds of whacky tech shit and every time I kill a carload of these fuckwads that I am convinced are ET puppets I get more bonuses, premiums, night vision goggles--- I have a side thing going on where I give away computers to punk rock kids – just leave the shit there where they will take it – clean it out, make it untraceable they think there’s a computer fairy but it’s just little old me, Major Malfunction, creating a little balance in this fucking invisible war that the good guys – of which there are damn few and nigh awning ankh aging amino by the GODS what I'd be doing if this weren't necessary --

-- Almost everyone is a lurching slave and they smile blankly. no one has been able to talk to me about it --

there are a few different faces.

face one is my face which is studied and calm. i smile at the right moment but i am never happy. happy? i was happy when i was...four...five...

another face is the fake smile of 'everything is just fine.’

i have seen it on all sorts of faces and well, it's not a real smile but it wants you to believe in it. i work overtime because, well, i don't know what these aliens are about but I have a hard time thinking they want to usher us into Utopia. if they were pals they would show themselves.

there are other faces...

but people are paralyzed. the weapons work too efficently.

i ask myself how i manage to resist, to be the only one who knows and will fight back. all those agents -- where do they get those guys. i have met with suits. they don't know what i am up to which is why i work right here in Ten City.

badges...it's never badges. at least not yet. i mean, i have to believe in God, every day.

a god bigger than the religions, a god too big to keep in any book. a god wiser than any man, a God that has a good heart and cares about us.

maybe we are being tested, maybe this is the wheat being separated from the chaff. i don't know what it is but i know i walk through a hypnotized world. i am the only one.

all alone.

Marc comes back out, pays for his coffee and leaves without comment.

this is a nightmare. i pray for the next generations: i pray for the children of tomorrow and the years to come because this conspiracy is BAD and they must have a world to live in where they can grow up free and innocent.

i won't conceive a child in this world. people go on breeding...there MUST be a free world for tomorrow. there MUST be a tomorrow.

and it can't be like this. this is a nightmare.

i am cool inside. as if my mind is utterly set. i have to fight evil and win, i must break through and break down the machine so that people can see and become free.

i think about moses every day.

moses lived to free people from tyranny and was successful but he didn't get to enter the sacred tabernacle. and i feel as if i have become corrupt from this struggle.

I AM Major Malfunction.

Nazi Fatso had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me. Even though I had fought a good fight -- i finally found myself overwhemeld by the venal and sneering weird mental powers of the hideously bloated and deformed evil mutant known as Nazi Fatso -- a complete bastard that i had been ready to bring down. The tables were turned though and he had be in his clutches.

"tell me how you like it, my sweet littel jackelope..." i could smell the liquor and jizz on his breath. He worle a form fitting track suit which was distasteful because he was bloated in the belly -- but he wanted to show off his massive BULGE -- i was scared. he head an erection and I had been sedated -- he'd shot me with some sort of mind numbing "bolt" -- a device that filled me with weird poison. I could almost hear the tiny chmical compounds telling my body to go limp, not to resist...

I was sufficiently traumatized for Nazi Fatso'splans. as I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and caught, Nazi Fatso was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged deer, Major Malfunction. Your journey ends here, unscuceessful and in failure. You were never anything you little shit and now i amgonna do you in the ass until you die. i have done it before and i will do it forever and when i go theres someone esllse -- do you get me, BOY? never mock me! i am nazi Fatso and now i will send your intestines a deadly letter with my cock. see it!?" he hauled out his gigantic member. i shuddered. It was bloated and veinous.

"Or I could stuff you with this right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"

Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood unable to think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind,"Nazi Fatsocoaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. "You don't get a choice, anyway. I make up your mind for you. That's why you're here. For me to make you a mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I'm going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."

The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further along in my programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming. At last, when I could speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please use your bathroom? i mean I would rather piss in your EYE, fatso -- but --"

Nazi Fatso's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my throat, choking me while applying pressure to the carotid artery in my neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you don't mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you -- Kill you -- with my bare hands. You're not the first and you won't be the last. I'll kill you any time I goddamn well please." He flung me on the cot-type bed on my stomach Oh MY GOD, i realised -- I am gonna be KILLFUCKED FROM BEHIND by a a NAZI ILLUMINIST As i felt the savage pain of being violated i realised that it was all over...the ripping --- i screamed and the last things i heard were his laughter-- . There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually as i died.

"You NEVER HAD A CHANCE BOY! WHEN WE'RE DONE! WE'RE GONNA DO WORSE TO YOUR PRECIOUS MRS CLINTON!" He said, venally rap[ing me as the life ebbed -- thankfully -- from my body and i felt consciousness solowly fading. "WHAT'S TO SAY WE HAVEN'T ALREADY! HA HA HA HA HA! SATAN RULETH!"

(last show of this series.)


The heroes face the dilemmas of life or death – protect or destroy – how much?

Are we judgemental? Do we understand? Have we taken too much into our own hands? Have we stood back and doen nothing for too long?

Because they are precisely not quite real – they live in flatland but only somewhat – the lies and delusions of the real world where costumed heroes do not fly and save the day serve as a philosophical backdrop – what happens to the liar who knows they are lying to hurt abother the way they have been hurt?

What happens when individual free will is denied in the name of emergency – or even love?

We venture, following the fantastical heroes of the two weird cities

LFS NOTE: This is actually a slightly disguised Blade (from Marvel™ and Static (from Detective Comics ™)


Bug and Werewolf

--a love story


”--couch more magnificent.”

--- from ThanaTopsis, William Cullen Bryant, 1794-1878

i was watching teevee with him the first night the attacks got televised on channel 19.

it was some ugly shit.

basically punks walk into a seven eleven and just start tearing into the people there. ripping throats and shit. killed like five people. and 'acted' like vampires. it was nothing like any movie where the vampires are cool. they just basically robbed a seven eleven.

"why did they take the cash, too?'

"cause they're poseurs, dude. No such thing as vampires, man."

"but, finn..."

marc stared at the screen, i guess like a lot of other people all over shadow city were staring at their screens in various states of panic, denial and blood terror. 'those...those are vampires, right there."

'bull...they’re poseurs. They’re killers...are they cannibals?'

and we watched the tape. (yeah he taped it. marc is a freak and that's why this shit gets so fucking sad late on.) 'No. Cannibals eat to feed themselves -- these guys just are using their -- they -- look! They’re actually drinking -- they are sucking the BLOOD out of the clerk, they are ripping throats...it's like some ‘lost boys’ shit.'

'look. there aren't any real vampires, okay? Yo, son, you need to find something else to do with your time. i don't like where this is heading, man...it ain't rational.'

first off i had never seen marc do any exercise besides the mosh pit or riding around town on his bicycle.

but since i had arrived he had done like -- a hundred push ups -- i watched him and he was all serious. the way his eyes were in his head there were just --

'look, fin, you can be in denial about this if you want to… did you see what the fuck just happened?'

'fuck being in denial, man, let the cops worry about those fucking -- what EVER they are. They ain't my friends. you are and you act like you are about to get yourself into some shit that is too much for you to deal with.'

'yeah...well i don't know, fin.'

he went down to the floor and started doing diamond cutter push ups. it was kind of impressive actually -- he did it like there was nothing to it and all the time his voice was slow and calm. i put my head in my hands and though about how yellow the half moon was in the window as he said the following words to me.

'this is real shit man. and the cops? They will be baffled. i have seen this shit happen before.

'it's real but its so fucking incredible that no one will believe it. and the cops will consistently fail to find them cause they will be looking for what you are talking about -- real people doing real crimes. they don't BELIEVE in the supernatural. they don't believe it is possible and the truth will elude them. it's more than what you say. but that's cool. i finally have something to do with all that master michael taught me.'

i didn't look up.

marc has told me stories before about someone he just calls 'master michael' who allegedly taught him some sort of martial arts technique. Long ago when he was young.

and i have watched him take punches and smile at people before -- get hit over and over again and not fight back.

'this is what it’s about, fin. martial arts wasn't meant for people to use it against the untrained and basically defenseless...especially not mo-li ch'uan. mo-li ch'uan was meant to guard those who really are out of their league- it was meant to take it to those who would attack the utterly defenseless with unfair advantages. this is literally --'

and i watched him stop doing pushups as if he weren't tired and go to some sort of gut crunches -- 'roman chair.' he said to me as if he were reading my mind --

'this is literally where i come in.'

'you're making me really nervous, man.'

'well why don't you go down to the Hollywood and get us a couple of foties?'

'oh. yeah, that sounds good, man.'

'money's by the door, ace. you still got your key?'


i walked down the street to the hollywood bar. this ain't hollywood by a longshot. It’s fucking shadow city outskirts.

i sure as fuck got that malt likker though.

i got it and walked back. the streets were dark and bright -- there was a sort of fog and the streetlights caught it.

when it gets really humid here, sticky like it does in august -- it is like living inside a cloud.


when i came back dude was doing something with a fucking CROSSBOW. i shit you not.

and i could see that he had a new tattoo. a pentacle. on his chest. like -- 'dude...what the fuck?'

'no shit dude. Tonight’s the fucking NIGHT. yo gimme that panther piss.'

i stared at him.

'those are some nice pants, dude.'

'oh, yeah, i met a shaman out west when i was out there this last three weeks. he gave me them -- i traded for that guitar. you know, the metal guitar?'

'oh, so that's what happened to it?'

'yeah. hey...let's go out back

'wait a minute, wait a minute-- what the fuck is that?'

'oh, it's a crossbow. i got that out west too.'

'wild wild west, huh. Shit is big! so like, you know i think you are crazy, right?'

'yeah, but i know you aren't. that is why you are taking pictures.'

we went outside into his huge backyard. 'there is no fucking way i am going anywhere with you tonight, dude. you're fucking buggin.'

'true. but i have to do something right now. so you won't come take pictures...?'

inwardly i decided to. 'no way man. i'm going to the titty bar. you can do what you want.'

marc seemed calm yet wired. ' yeah...that's a good choice too!' he drank. we both drank, the moon jaundiced across the sky and we drank and smoked camels and for a few minutes didn't say anything.

i arrive at the lair. they are sitting there. The one punk is still wearing the same fucking clothes he was wearing on my tape and that's how i recognize him and his friends. that and the fact that, well it's the spiderweb tattoos on both his elbows. sunglasses at night.

he looks sort of surprised as a crossbow bolt comes out of the shadows across the street from him and nail him to his fucking squat wall. his buddies look surprised too. he's too dead to look any different. they start screaming and coming my way.

but i have been practicing and this is a bomb ass crossbow. it has night scope attachment. and the fake poseur vampires are coming my way and dying as they try to cross the street.

after i drop three of the lousy fuckers they start getting a little cautions. they shout out and start scattering.

i climb up a fire escape. bad move!

i am gonna have to get off of this roof, get across the street and get into their little digs.

i hear feet and shouting. far away at like nintyseventh street i hear sirens but that is like some other stuff. it is all about me alone versus these fake vampires.


well i get across the street. and look. there's fin hiding in the alley with his camera. good...but not a good liar.

and here comes lucky contestant number one.

'so what are you?' he's got a knife in his hand for the half second it takes me to see it.

'Buffy,' i smile at him.

"But I am the kristy Swanson Buffy..so this is gonna hurt for a long time."

He stares stupidly, and then he tries to punch me. it connects and doesn't hurt. I end up basically beating his ass.

as i am positively whaling on him in the alley i recognize his face from the video from channel nineteen. i think of the cute girl and the clerk that they brutally slaughtered in that seven eleven.

I tell his neck bones a short story about Jean-Claude van Damme and he falls to the ground in a useless heap that will never kill anyone else.

then i am at the back door.

heart beating, hard.


The vampires were caught off guard. the lower class vampires anyway. but they had been Thralls from the beginning, they were being controlled by masters, The self-appointed Northern Masters.

The three Northern Masters were winging their way south to shadow city from their little base in the tunnels of sewer connected to train beneath the Ten City sprawl. They were winging, naturally, on bat wings, leathery and black. In the sky with swiftness.

No radar detected them, as they had for centuries they had chosen not to be seen.

Morgoth had been around since the time of the American revolution. He was wroth with power and eager to feast on an upstart slayer.

The call had come on the cell phone. The lieuteneant he had slightly empowered was out of his mind with fear and frustration and had described the scene,

it would take minutes for the threesome to arrive in shadow city. But Morgoth, who smiled as he flew, his bat wings flapping, thought of the words -- "...a Slayer? You didn't tell us a Slayer was coming! you tell us everything, Morgoth! Why have you forsaken us? I thought we were your children?'

"We will be arriving shortly," was all he had said before pocketing his cell phone and alerting Morgius and Malekith, his lieutenants, and taking flight to visit the stronghold they were beginning.

Morgoth knew there were no Slayers. He was certain of that much.

His kind had extinguished the line of Slayers a hundred years previous and relaxed, then, to rule from the shadows over their cattle, the humans.

He was actually curious.

"Nothing like this has happened before, Malekith," said Morgoth to his wingman.

The vampire smiled and said, "EVERYTHING has happened before."

Morgoth had no comment. But strange feelings stirred in the place that in a human being would have held a heart...feelings that stirred his daily cold arrogance from centuries of feeding on human fears.

In a human being it would have been cold panic.


there was a knock at the back door. the vampires froze.

"you get it."

"you got my back, right?"

the vampire showed his teammate the gleam of cold gunmetal. "yeah. open it. we're gonna slay the slayer.” he sneered.

The other nodded. once he had had a name but the mind control of the Masters had made him forget anything except a taste for blood...and death...

He opened the door. a crack.

"Hi! I'm from Allah's Witnesses! Can I take a few moments of your time to talk to you about our God, Allah, the compassionate and merciful?"

there was a stifled laugh from the darkness.

"didn't think so."

seconds before the sound of the gunshot werewolf seemed to vanish. "too obvious, kids!" then a wet gurgle.

"gee, a gun! thanks."

a rather loud explosion like a bomb going off right in front of me. the vampire who opened the door died easily.

Werewolf listened and could hear scrabbling noises upstairs like baby buffaloes stampeding around second floor. He put the gun away and -- then he thought better. examined, unloaded it. dropped it. 'no glove no love', he thought to himself. it took fifteen seconds.

he drew the katana.

for a second he wished he had taken some music to listen to. damn, he thought as he inspected the inside of the rotted out rowhouse – the future’s uncertain and the end is always….

--i am not taking this very seriously. Allah’s witnesses? where did THAT come from? come on, focus.

so what, he said to himself, would you want to listen to right now if you had some music?

oh, no doubt, the man you fear. manson. or else personal jesus.

but the original.

i don't really like manson.

'hello monsters. werewolf fumigators to see you.'

he found the stairs and could SMELL the filthy poseurs up stairs scuttling. DAMN.


one quick fight: it feels like a girl it is finding my gorget and feeling real confused.

my sword is in its guts. it is slumping to the ground.

it's dead.


another quick fight. there are two of them.

DAMN. "obviously this is the fucking bathroom."

"DIE NIGGER," the poseur vampire screams. then something about gurgle. it is eating cold steel and dying. that's so nice. poor little thing.

the big one got a run all the way down the hall. if i hadn't heard it coming i would have been hurt. as it is my body ducks. i am glad i have it.

my body ducks and somehow the wakizashi comes out and, well damn, that's a bloody spectacle.

vampire poseurs: zero. werewolf: three? four? oh well. there is action down the hall.


this is a little weird. This one is cowering in the corner?

Maybe she isn't one. 'Holy jesus!' it floats in the air!


"i really don't want to fight."


Bug is what i call myself.

I was made...god it's boring...i was made into a vampire in the year 1776 by the one who once called himself Benjamin Franklin and now calls himself Morgoth the Damned. His real name is Benjamin Franklin but he likes irony...and for the last few years has enjoyed calling himself "more Goth than anyone you know." God I don't like him!

There are stories about our kind...I have never wanted to be a vampire and don't enjoy it. i forget my real name a long time ago. Bug will do.

I learned how to live without killing for blood a long time ago. i practically never have to do it now.

Actually sort have learned to enjoy thinning the heard...finding the poorly made and disposing of them. All over the world.

And God gave me these powers. by proxy, i tell myself because Morgoth is the opposite of God if i have known it. But...well it’s a long story and i don't know where it begins or ends.

that's basically it. i am a vampire not by choice. I have chosen not to feast on the powerless...except when i catch them at it.

keeps my claws sharp. astrological sign Cancer. birthday july Eighth. some year...anyway...Oh, well.

I hovered. In the corner. "You...you're not a real slayer. But..."

he drew a mean looking Japanese longsword and in his other hand was a meaner looking dagger. "let's get this over with right now, bloodsucker. You are obviously the leader."

I fluttered nervously.

This is a high ceiling but he could get me from here.

"Look...i don't know what you're thinking but...those guys aren't my friends. They don't even like me."

he took a step and that did it. my body just takes over.

these butterfly wings move me really fast. i got him in my hands, under his armpits. i got him up against the wall. with my feet i pinned his hands again that wall and said "i told you i don't wanna fight!"

he looks scared now.

"and i don't. or want to kill you. at all."

rabbit in the headlights.

"i heard about you. you're calling yourself werewolf? you should leave now. You are in danger."

"what are you?"

"i am everything the punks you disestablished were not. everything they wish they were and...look. They have Masters and they are coming. leave now. you can't stand against them."

"I could take you." he said without blinking. wherever the headlight rabbit came from, it's gone now.


Oh, i felt him try to move. "adrenaline junkie. do you know what you have stumbled on here?"

he looked suprised. i waited a couple of seconds while he used all his strength to try and move my feet from where they were pinning his biceps to the wall.

"i mean you are strong for a normal human but...well..."

"is this it? is this where we stop speaking and you --"

"Not a bit. I told you i didn't want to fight you. i don't. "

"You know that's a cool breeze from your wings there."

"Kid, do you know the score? The fakes that you did away with have Masters and they KNOW that you are here. you should try to get scared."


"I'm going to let you down. We don't have time to fuck around right now."

Inwardly I thought -- this kid can DUEL. He’s no match for me but -- well he made it through those kids without a scratch. "Do you want to live through tonight?"

He appraised me, his weapons still in his hands.

"What is time? So relative."


"But I came here to do something. Your friends --"

"Not! I really don't like them...look, kid. i won't fight against you but I am not afraid to fight and yeah, i can sort of read your mind. althogh i don't have to. and i know what you are about to face."

"yeah...i guess you do."

"so we work together. it's your only choice."


"Only real choice. because you have attracted the worst kind of attention...oh, my sweet lord, the worst kind of attention."

"How did you get those wings? Your friends didn't have wings."

"Do i have to tell you again? They were NOT my friends. And these wings...they popped out of my back when Morgoth bit me and made me his slave, more than two - hundred years ago."

"oh, forget it. If you're a slave there's no WAY."

"How could you get this far and know NOTHING about vampires? i am not a slave anymore and i would like nothing so much as to kill him."

"That's so fucking typical. This is right before you betray me, right?"

"You have a really trained stance, little samurai. Listen to me."


She gently lowered herself to the floor.

in the Victorian era house there was a huge old bed -- looking dusty and mildewed -- with a huge mirror behind it.

Marc sucked in his breath for a second at the beauteous features of the vampire as he got a full view of her front and backside from the mirror. "Thanks. Anyway...you and I, we work together or I am out of here."

"There's no way I am working with you."

She smiled and showed her fangs. "Pleasure!" and before Marc could prepare an attack she was fluttering out the window.

"What can you do about it, dog food?"

Marc rushed to the window to see -- well basically a girl with butterfly wings hovering like Tinker Bell outside the window. With a pixie grin.

"wait-- wait. don't...don't go. Please."

"are you inviting me back in?" the pixie grin again.

"what -- that's a joke isn't it?"

"yes. move already?"

Marc yanked his jawbone off of his collarbone and stepped back through the window. The vampire flew inside and landed gently, curtseying. "Please call me Bug."


”The others are very close. We should stick together. Morgoth is mine, do you understand?

"what's a Morgoth?"

”A greasy old snake of a vampire with the strength of an elephant and the brains of a politician. He will break you in two, make no mistake if you try to take him on. His henchmen, Morgious and Malekith are also coming...this will be more like a war than anything you have faced tonight. Oh, by the way, that was really funny. 'Allah's Witnesses'? I would have died if i could do such a thing."

"You can't die?"

"Well, there is the sunlight allergy. That would do me in. You see...that is why the Northern Masters made drones who were basically human and behaved like vampires. It's actually a fairly new technique -- they are utterly non-magical - "

"Oh," said Marc, dully. "So it's magic that makes you the way you are?"

"That's what I call it.” Bug yawned prettily and Marc naturally stared with interest at the rows of white teeth. The fang teeth reminded him of, well a cat’s fang teeth in placement and structure. “No other has ever had any explanation for me."

"Wait...so you are some sort of noble bloodsucker or something?"

"Basically. As soon as I learned there was a way to survive without feasting on the innocent and helpless I took to it. In France they call us 'au naturel' and well..."

"Au naturel. you're...not lying...wow."

Marc also thought that he was looking at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. in his life.

Bug flushed prettily. "Do you know how long it has been since I had an intelligent conversation about anything with ANYONE? Two hundred years. Look -- we have to stick together because all three who are coming know and despise me." she sat on the floor, crossing her legs.

" shouldn't we prepare...?"

"we ARE preparing, Slayer. You know...you aren't like the other Slayers... I used to assist them."

"The other Slayers?"

the vampire smiled as if she were seeing a reflection of things long past and forgotten. "Yes, the Van Helsings. they were a lineage created to destroy vampires. and of course there were some asian priestesses as well but they stopped coming to this continent...Heaven knows why. At least they stopped coming here to slay demons."


"Oh, yes, make no mistake...Morgoth, Morgius and Malekith are all demons. and they are coming here to kill you and reclaim me into their fold as their slave."

"did you have a weird M-name as well?"

"Morgaine. Morgaine the Seducer of Men is the tag they laid on me."

"Is that your real name?"

"What is reality?" she smiled and Marc thought -- this girl, she's really nice? This is weird. I feel like I am at Love That Bar talking to the nicest girl I ever met.

"You are sooo sweet! I could just eat you up."

Marc grasped the sword nervously. "Oh, relax. we've had this out. It's all becoming real to you, isn't it? You thought you were just gonna deal with some devilpunx and got caught up in all this. You’ve been set up and now…"

Marc thought. "It's true, actually."

"That is how they do things, sadly. Morgius and I have fought before. Pathetic worm…he has one eye. Here!"

She skipped to a closet. "Time to get ready!"

She produced a wooden stake.

"Use this instead of your dagger!"

She produced a black cloak made of satin, ratted at the hem. “Put this on quickly. Morgoth can control minds but this is hexed against him. As am I," she added with a smile.

"You sure do smile a lot."

"Well...it's defensive. But also I am basically a happy person at heart. Okay. Kill Morgius. Kill Malekith if possible. I thought I killed him once before but I wasn't careful enough. And do it QUICKLY."

Marc took the stake and was mildly suprised to feel what felt like a blue wind rushing in his skull.

"Oh, the wand likes you. I made it myself."

"To kill vampires?"

"Oh, not just any old vampires. For those my bare hands and my teeth are sufficient. That stake is specifically for killing Malekith and Morgius."


Marc spanned the wakizashi into its sheath and felt the power in the wooden stake.

"Right in the heart, Werewolf. They fear its power...the ease of use should surprise you. Meanwhile i wait to dance with my former master for the last time.' She closed the closet door and looked at the window somewhat nervously.

"Cigaret?" She produced a red and white packet and offered him one. he took it and they began smoking.

Marc looked out the window. Looked in the alley across the street.

Fin crouched in the alley. Also smoking. Looking up.

He can't see me, marc thought to himself.

"I know that you are good from three things. If you were set upon your coure we would have fought. Plus your friend loves you certainly and came all this way."

"How do you know this?"

She tapped her temple with two fingers. "Also your technique with swords is practically Medieval. You taught yourself, I know that much as well."

She coughed. "Well I don't need to tell you that slavery was once legal here in this part of the States. Well, Benjamin -- or Morgoth as he has been calling himself -- he was behind that, as well as a few others."

"The Revolution...demonic vampires...you know, I was almost ready for this sort of thing...but to hear it spoken of out loud...whoa."

"Well, don't lose heart now cause they are almost here."

and Marc's heart jumped in its cage of bones as he heard the sound of the door opening and closing downstairs...

"Honey, I'm home..."

"So what," replied Bug. "we broke up, limp dick."

Marc boggled. "i hope you're ready to fight, Mister Wolf. here come the bad guys."


One long fight:

Bug stared at the vampire.

Batwings versus fairy wings.

"At last! the elusive Morgaine. and i see you still live up to your old name, slovenly bitch of a whore."

I had never seen a person fly before that night. I felt sort of bad for Fin who was across the street hiding in the alley. he came here to take pictures.

I watched with my swords gone as Bug flew like an arrow right at the giant blond vampire who was flapping his bat wings and leering. Damn, I thought. real fucking vampires.

Damn, i thought next. She is fucking him up. Badly.

Blood was everywhere. it was a mess.

she ripped and tore at him and they ably rolled away. it was only seconds. i didn't see the other two. Then i saw it.

it was a flash of light from the fence. no shit.

Fin and his camera.

i was looking at the world as if everything was slowed down. both Bug and the one she called Malekith, the blond one, looked up as if caught off guard. I saw blood coming in gouts from the neck of the big Blond. Bug looked okay.

I didn't waste too much time thinking.i just dove forward with all i had with teh stake she'd given me in my hand.

i felt it.

it was weird feeling the stake slide between the big blond vampires ribs, kind of like a hot knife through butter...or sex. it felt like sex...

Malekith wasn't looking too thrilled. in fact he looked like someone had driven a stake into his heart.

And Bug Giggled!

Giggled as i watched what basically amounted to suddenly the pale face of the vampire started to burn before my eyes, as if the sun was on him right there. i watched as his skin turned from pale almost white to grey, grey like stones, like asphalt or cigarette ash...

and it died, it fell back away from my hand and the stake, still in my fist, and fell to the ground. it was all ashes and WHUFF!

there was a cloud.

"and to dust return." said a voice from behind us.

I was in hyper mode then. And before i knew what I was doing or had done I had hacked off a black leathery wing.

"Arrghh..." the thing looked horrified. it stared into my eyes --

-- and for just a moment i caught a vision of its thoughts. i saw entrails beaing eaten by fanged mouths, i saw --

--then i felt the softest hands in life gently relieve me of the stake i had been holding in my left hands.

"Goodbye forever, dear Morgious."

The same thing, This time with Bug delivering the telling blow to the heart as if she had done it so many times before...skillful.

whoa, i thought to myself, as i watched the white skin fade to asphalt grey and the thing fell to the ground.

"and little lambs eat ivy, fucker," said Bug, looking pleased.

I haven't described what bug looks like to you.

She has Japanese eyes and well, i mentioned the butterfly wings. also she is short, i am six foot even and she is maybe five four? But i told you how she held me motionless in mid air.

she has high cheekbones, high and wide. her nose is long and thin. her hair...well whatever color it once was, it is dyed, it was either red or black at one time --

--well who's to say? there are streaks of both colors.

"It's not over yet, sport. Not by a longshot. there is one more major problem."

"right. Lord il Palazzo."

"You guessed it! and i know he is nearby. i can smell him." she actually sniffed the air.

"In the house."

3:55 a. m.

Intrepidly they marched back into the house.

"So, um, Werewolf...got a girlfriend?"

"You, I guess..."

"Aw, you're so sweet! But seriously."

"Not that complicated..we just hang out sometimes. she has her own life."

"Really? I would think a man like yourself would be inseperable from his lover."

"Khalil Gibran says differently."

"Really? He wrote 'the Prophet', didn't he..." Bug seemed almost too calm.

Marc picked up on the smalltalk vibe quickly. "yes...he said that those who love shouldn't live on top of each other all the time...i forget the words exactly, something to the effect of -- lovers benefit from their own space."

Then a loud voice -- from in front of them.

Marc started suddenly. "the porch?"

"No, the front door, cretins. i can't take your pathetic attempts at philosophy any longer. You must DIE."

marc felt the -- presence -- of Morgoth before he actually saw him.

then he sew him in the shadowy light streaming in from the street.


--then there--

then right on top of them and he saw the long face, saw the fang teeth -- and saw the bat wings flapping strongly behind huge shoulders.

Bug was swept off of her feet and through the ouse, out the back door. The Master Vampire had grabbed Bug and flown out the back door with speed greater than the young samurai could muster.

he stared as the bat wings flapped once -- he sw the butterfly wings beating with hummingbird feriocity -- he heard something to the effect of curses and GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME --

then they were gone, up, straight up.

Marc ran into the back yard to see several flashes of light. Fin! Forgot about fin. Snapping photos.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Fin wanted to know.

"Yo, dude, whassup! ow was the titty bar?"

"Look, Blade Junior -- what the fuck is going on?"

"Well...there are some vampires here."

"OH. I thought it was like just like a bitchin-ass party and you just didn't feel like telling me."

Both smiled for maybe a second. "hey...i'm a littel scared."

" i told your ass about this shit? I gots to go!"

"where are you going?" Marc asked.

"Oh, i'm gonna hide in the bushes and..i don't know, take a shit maybe. look dude, you're the fighter. Those dudes...maybe it was all real. i sure as hell aint seen no flying shit on Action News."

"i'm going back inside."

"hey wait..." Fin took a quick picture.

"There ya go. incase i never see your ass again."

"Don't be like --" Marc considered the statement carefully.

"thanks, Fin. see you in heaven. hey -- remember -- dreams don't die!"

Fin stared uncerrtainly as Marc ran back, katana gleaming bright, into the ruined rowhouse.


All alone.

his mind full of thoughts. His heart scored by the saddest atale he ever heard, the most beautiful THING he'd ever seen, the butterfly wings -- the white papery gossamer wings like a moth, the colored spots -- the pattern almost like a rainbow, faded, the eyes, the eyes, and her breath, sweet, like she'd been drinking honey --

Then he heard the sound. if there were such a thing as laser sound then 6that would have been the intensity of the sound of boots ofn the roof.

Marc froze and began to pray.

he also listened. the sound of a creaking trap door.

"Good morning, Lunch!"

sick... "Got a sense of humor, don't you Morgoth?"

"A devilish one, you could say. aren't YOU the clever one...storming our lair. you are quite ready to die, aren't you?

"No, actually."

"that's all right...no one is...well i suppose the old 'join me or die' won't sit to well with you will it, young swordsman?'

marc heard the boots come down the stairs...he walks like a lightweight...can i take him? where's Bug?

"oh, yes...you know i thought of killing our vengeful friend Morgaine...instead i remembered how easily she becomes dizzy. Would you like to know what i did to her?

But Marc was crouching in a corner with his katana in one hand and the vampire slaying stake in the other. Slowing his breathing.

"I spun her around and around and around really fast. it was so very much fun. and then i flung her. She'll be disoriented for quite some time. You get to die alone, little weakling."

marc listened to the sound of the Boss Vampire heading down the stairs.

For a second he started remembering his training with master Michael, the karate instructor who had taught him ewhat were the roots of what he had developed with training form other teachers.. then he stopped.

It was toomuch like his life flashing before his eyes...and he was determined to live, if not win this fight. hey, I've got an idea..."I don't wnat to fight you, Benjamin."

"Oh, we're not going to fight, silly child. i'm going to kill you. you won't be doing anything silly like hitting me back or killing me with that pathetic little pig-sticker. A fight is when both persons have a chance...such as it would have been had i dueled with Morgaine. the Seductor of men! and you didn't let her turn you? What a fool. You could have lived forever as we do."

Marc couldn't help it. "Better to serve in heaven than reign in hell like you, shithead."

heavy feet touched the floor.

Morgoth watched as Marc tumbled out of the darnkened corner into the huge master bedroom with the giant mirror and closed the door behind him. he smirked and bellowed, "there IS NO HEAVEN, little upstart! no heaven and no one to save you. Amazing."

Marc felt the urge to urinate as the boots came down the hall. for a moment he thought of his father and the leather belt.

"No heaven at all, lunchmeat? But you..you're soo arrogant!"

Marc thought about the pot calling the kettle black.

"So arrogant my little blackamoor. the Van Helsings were at least of a noble extraction, their bloodline spanned the centuries. Wiped them all out myself, I did. And YOU think that you can step up and take out the eldest of the eldest monsters to walk this planet our ours? Little fool...you are about to be killed. Wet yourself yet?

marc thought blearily: this must ne some sort of ancient kind fofear i am feeling -- it's like I'm not even afraid -- like he's TELLING me that I am afraid. "No, not yet...mind if I, um, step outside and use the facilities?"

"No, child. i am about to break your spine. The i am going out to the back yard to eat your little friend. At least HE has respect. and people whp respect our kind," here he let out an unctiously grim and malicious sounding laugh -- taste so very good."

Marc screamed. "Fin! get the fuck out of here1 game over!

he was going to kick the door open -- he was going to leap across the bed and take advantage of the cramped hallway to perhaps minimize the -- his mind was whirling and CERTAIN DOOM kept rolling to the front of the --

the door burst open.

Marc stared at the long glossy brown hair. The facial expression of something that ate humans--it looked like a smile but it had no happiness or love in it. and the long pointed ears that stretched up towards heaven. and the skin so white that it glowed.

he screamed and assumed an attack stance. "Come on!"

he was brave but...he didn't have much of a chance. No, not much. Morgoth grabbed him by the arm and lifted him up --

Marc saw the ceiling really close --

then there was an excruciating pain. Morgoth brought Marc doen across his thigh with amazing force. Marc's spine broke in almost as many places as it had places. He made a sound like love dying, cheated--

"You were never really anything. Kristy Swanson, indeed."

He tossed marc's broken body to the wall. Marc lay there, dying.

"Wait, wait, don'

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LUNATIC FANBOY SCIENCE is (C) 2005 Kevin Smith

by doctor_jones Monday, Feb. 28, 2005 at 5:56 AM

indy_go.gif, image/png, 564x580

enjoy! remeber -- the governent will never be stronger than independent hinkers who stay awake when they tell you to go to sleep.


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Listed below are the 10 latest comments of 2 posted about this article.
These comments are anonymously submitted by the website visitors.
- you are quite ready to die- Ironhand Monday, Feb. 28, 2005 at 6:22 AM
the already dead doctor_jones Monday, Mar. 14, 2005 at 8:07 AM

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