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Writing One Shot Thread. [Open to all - Warning might contain blood, violence, gore, bad jokes, poems etc etc.]


Professional Stalker
Staff member
Key Holders
Mar 7, 2018
Ice Ice Baby ~
Ever felt in the mood to write out one of your characters murdering the heck out of some poor NPC? Or are you in a spontaneous mood to write out some seriously kinky and dark smut but either don't have an active thread or are currently nowhere near that kind of a place in any existing threads? Maybe you want to write an elaborate poem about shoving a pineapple up someone's bum. Or maybe you just want to write a full on huge post of jokes and silliness in the form of a twisted story.

Then this is the place for you! *throws confetti*

I was chatting with the adorable Cheese @Knight about how bad my mood was. And he suggested this brilliant idea of making a one shot thread for people to post in when they feel like it! This is not a place to vent about real life problems or write a story about your whole life and how much it blows while using a fake name instead of your own. (Plz don't). It's more so a place for you to get an outlet for a moment's urge for smut, violence, jokes, silliness, craziness - anything of that sort. Like with me, when I have my moods, I just want to write a short story where I'm murdering a small nation with various tools - and that's when I'd be coming in here and letting all that craziness out in one post.

So! You can write here as often as you want and when you want to, but this wont be a thread where anyone is replying or trying to make a story with you. Also this is not a place for anyone to comment on the stories or have any OOC chat. If you do post here, you're writing something creative. Your post can be as small or big as you want. Doesn't matter. This is a one shot thread. Nobody is judging. Go crazy.

The only rules to remember are:

1. Follow the site rules. Always.
2. Don't use real people's names here.
3. Don't refer to anyone specific on the site - UNLESS you have their consent (they'll need to PM me and tell me themselves).
4. One post per story.
5. This is not a place for suicidal thoughts or serious real life problems.
6. No OOC talk or comments about stories. You can use PM's for that.
7. Abuse the Like button.

8. Have fun. <3


Court Jester and Paragon of Truth
Staff member
Key Holders
Mar 7, 2018
Wolfe was dropped onto another world, too late to save it, yet again. He wished he could say he had lost count of the number of worlds he had purged and the number of souls he had extinguished with them. But that would be a lie. He couldn't forget the count. He had nothing else to keep track of the passage of time. Jumping between parallel worlds, each moving at it's own pace and time having diverged from the others a long time ago, left him unable to figure out how he should measure the time that he had spent in captivity of the Valkyries.

The cursed wizard raised a hand and opened his palm in front of him. A bright glowing ball of light appeared floating over his hand. Most of it was red and dark, showing the state of the nameless world he was on. But there were pockets of bright spots - pure souls that had yet to be corrupted. He gulped as the task at hand weighed heavy on his mind as he watched the light and the dark battle each other in the palm of his hand. The young female Valkyrie, Io, stepped into the plane of existence beside him.

"Why do you do it... every time? It would be easier if you just do as you are told."

Wolfe watched the orb for a while as he determined the count of souls that he was supposed to extinguish before he closed his fist abruptly, the projection of the planet disappearing.

"It's not supposed to be easy. It shouldn't be easy for you."

Io smiled at her prisoner and closed her slender, delicate looking fingers and a bright white chain appeared out of thin air in her hands. It lead to the mortal standing next to him. He visibly cringed as his bonds made made their presence known all over his body.

"You are going to argue morality with me, devilspawn? I am going to find a way to muzzle you... permanently. Get on with it. The air hurts my lungs."

Wolfe didn't even bother reacting to the insults. He simply looked up at the sky and took a deep breath as he confirmed his orders.

"Full purge?"

Io nodded before taking a step back and disappearing into the wind as quickly as she had appeared. He finally looked behind him and clenched his jaw visibly before closing his eyes. He reached out to the millions of souls that still fought the losing battle against the army of hell. Their world was overrun and they knew there was no victory. But one thing all these worlds shared... the mortals never gave in. They fought until the last soul was extinguished by the demons. Or they would have had the light not given up on their world. He spoke to each of them even though it would have been easier not to feel the loss of hope a million times over recoiling off each of them. He told them that their fight was over and that he was here to end their world. And then he made them the same promise he didn't know if he could keep.

"I will find a way to honor you."

With those parting words, Wolfe opened his eyes and his appearance changed drastically. It didn't matter than that little display of power had summoned the strongest demons of this world to him like moths to fire. They charged at him and hit him with everything they had. Nothing seemed to affect him as he spawned large dark wings. His eyes turned completely black as he slammed his open palm down on the cracked ground. The demons could do nothing but watch from the protective bubble around this powerful wizard that they couldn't get near or harm. A huge pillar of energy erupted below him, shooting him up into the air. He punctured through the layer of dark, ash filled clouds as the beam grew and widened, obliterating everything it came in contact with. For a brief moment, Wolfe got to channel his anger and the beam intensified and blew a hole through the planet. It took seconds for the whole planet to be consumed by the destructive beam as he wiped everything from existence. There were no light for the souls to flee to. Heaven and the Valkyries had abandoned those pure souls. The battle between heaven and hell had already occurred. And the demons had won. He was just here to wipe the slate clean so the immortals could start a new game.

Suddenly there was absolute silence as the beam died down. Wolfe clenched his jaws again. Io always left him there drifting in absolute silence for a few moments. She didn't have to. He felt a tug on the chains and was pulled out of existence by invisible forces. Wolfe reappeared on solid ground and looked around again.

Another world, too late to save it, yet again.


Mechanical Master
Staff member
King Of The Bedroom
Feb 28, 2018
"Again, Fyla?" Sif sneered at his pet as he circled them, footsteps echoing very slightly in the sterile, white room. The pet hissed at him, blood dribbling from their lips and down their chin, their body writhing within the constraints of the rope that bound their arms, legs and pulled their head forward in a prayer-like pose. Sif let the cane fly, reveling in the yelps of pain and drawn out groan afterwards.

Fyla slowly squirmed on the floor, involuntarily pulling at the ropes as they rode the waves of pleasure. It was almost tangible, their ecstasy and Sif drank it in like fine wine. Fyla's body was covered in bruises and a couple of shallow lacerations; they were never satisfied unless blood was shed in this room. A leather hood covered their head, eyes and wrapped itself around their neck, a softer leather collar locking the hood in place. A sheen of sweat was mingling with the blood now, several diluted drops winding down Fyla's chest, between their breasts and falling on the cage they had been locked into earlier. Sif could see their body fighting to free itself with every panting breath. He smiled and brought the cane down again on their back, aiming for areas where bruises were already forming. The shriek that followed was exquisite and he had to pause a moment, soak it in before he could continue.

whistle whap!

Over and over, the cane was brought down, the strength he was putting behind each strike increasing as the pet beneath him cried out, shook and squirmed within the ropes. Fyla was really straining against their bonds now, reaching their limit mentally and physically with the cane. They bit their bottom lip, moaning continuously as they tried to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through them. Sif knew they were quickly reaching the point of no return and switched tactics.

He discarded the cane and picked up a long stainless steel bar, about half an inch in diameter and one and a half feet long. It was cold from sitting on the floor and when he pressed it lightly between Fyla's shoulder blades they tensed up and sucked in their breath through saliva-slick teeth. Their body remained rigid, awkwardly trying to get away from the bar as it traced down their spine, lightly prodding the bruised skin and producing crescendoing whimpers. Sif undulated the bar, moving from one side of the pet's back to the other as he continued to trace downward, drawing it out as much as he could. When the cool metal reached the small of their back, their breath hastened, sounding like they had just run a marathon and the whimpers became tiny squeaks of submission.

He lifted the bar up, allowing a small reprieve and then quickly spread Fyla's legs with it and pressed it against their taint, producing more delicious sounds of pleasured agony from the cold steel. Deftly, Sif angled the bar so that it was gently pressing between their ass cheeks and out of habit more than anything, they tensed their muscles around it, holding it in place.

He leaned down, firmly grasping the back of their neck and bringing his mouth next to their right ear. In a low murmur he said, "Last one, make it count," and was pleased to see Fyla brace and nod gently.

Straightening up, he walked over to the cane and picked it up once more. "Good pet, Fyla," he said with a smile and brought the cane down for the final time, taking care not to hit the steel bar.

The screams of pleasure and agony filled the room before the pet slumped over with a satisfied groan. Sif knelt in front of them, heart racing from the adrenaline rush and the feeling of power and strength.

"Good pet," he murmured again.


[Monotone Screaming]
Mar 7, 2018
(I don't often get to write this character, so I had lots of fun with this!)

Run. Just run. Don’t think about how much your lungs ache. Don’t think about how much these stitched-on legs hurt. Don’t think about the rocks tripping you or the thorns tearing at you.

Instead, think about what he’s going to do if he catches you.

The Hedge was rarely a quiet, peaceful place. It had its own life, albeit the kind that would be utterly alien to a mundane human, but it was life nonetheless. At that moment, however, along that thin trod deep within the thorns, the only sign of life was the desperate, ragged breaths of the changeling running for her life upon cloven hooves. That--and the airborne black cloud gaining ground on her.

The beasts of the Hedge had retreated into the shadows and the shelter of the thorns as it billowed overhead, their hackles rising at the sound of thousands of croaking, raucous voices. The faun may as well have been a beast herself at the moment for the way her mindless terror twisted her appearance. At times, she could have passed for human, at least in the face, but not now. Yellow eyes, set in a nearly-animalistic visage, were wide with fear, and auburn fur was creeping its way down from her spine to encompass her scrawny body. She whimpered at the distant cries, stumbling through and over patches of briars that left long, bloody scratches down her limbs and stained her fur crimson. Faun paid the marks no heed, only clenching her jaw in pain whenever the thorns tore at her. Those wounds paled in comparison to the things her Keeper could inflict.

She didn’t know where she was running, beyond away. She had managed to make it to the edges of her master’s realm before she saw the darkness growing on the horizon, a distant black thread spiraling out from the keep of stone and flesh the Good Doctor inhabited. Carrion crows, thousands upon thousands, the Doctor’s eyes and ears outside his lair. That head start had been enough to get her deep into the anarchal wilds of the Hedge, but now the flock was rapidly bearing down on her. They swarmed through the twisting branches and vines overhead, their shadows darkening the ground around her as she fled. The chorus of caws was nearly deafening now, forcing her tufted ears to flatten themselves against her skull. Each bounding stride carried her forward at a speed unexpected of such a gangly form, but against her master’s flock, there was no hope. She couldn’t run forever, nor could she hide from their thousands of eyes. Even now her breathing was beginning to flag, and as she vaulted a fallen tree laying across the path, she only just managed to clear the rough-barked trunk. The faun landed heavily on the opposite side, stumbling for a moment before scrambling to her feet. Before she could get any further, however, the birds were upon her.

A whirling cyclone of black feathers encompassed her, claws tearing at her fur, beaks pecking at her face. Driven to her knees, she cowered with arms thrown over her head, trying to shield herself from their onslaught. Their rasping cries rang in her ears, and under the caws, she could almost make out the voices of the people they had once been. Accusations of “Coward!” and “Beast!” were thrown upon her, the words stinging almost as much as the rending talons that tore savagely into her.

“Please!” she tried to scream, cowering into the dirt, “I’m sorry!” But her voice was lost among theirs, a wave of fury and scorn that blocked out all other sound. She couldn’t stand or run, only tremble there like a beaten cur and accept her punishment.

Then, at some unheard command, they dispersed.

All at once, there were no hooked beaks seeking to pierce her flesh or croaking calls drowning out her very thoughts. The quivering, bloodied mess of fur sat crouched in the dirt for a moment longer before daring to look up. The crows were perched on the boughs and briars all about the changeling, every beady eye locked to her. Watching. Waiting. With a choked sob, she dropped her head again, knowing that her attempt at escape had utterly failed.

Soft steps, the rustle of fabric, and now there were black boots in the upper edge of her vision. She cringed at the soft, disapproving click of a tongue. “Faun, Faun, Faun…” He never sounded angry, only mildly disappointed. And yet that soft, grandfatherly voice terrified her more than the crows ever could. The end of a polished black cane slipped under her chin and tilted her head upwards, forcing her to look at her Keeper.

Tall and thin, clad head to toe in black robes that shifted and swam before her eyes, he could have almost been one of the crows that accompanied him. In place of a face, however, there was only that horrible mask--a bone-white mockery of an avian visage, with pitch-black eyeplates that reflected no light at all. To lock eyes with the Good Doctor was like gazing into an abyss. He tut-tutted again, shaking his head sadly.

“Dear girl, I thought we were past this.”

Here ... We ... Go!

Infernal Revenant
Mar 7, 2018
((Tried my hand at a quick interrogation style scene, first time so bear with me :LOL:))

“I’ll ask ye once more, where did ye set the shard?” The voice was hard, rough as the dull, stone walls surrounding them. “Yere Boris as identified by yere own standard, yet ye refuse teh even give us ye name, so at least say that, work with me mate and I can work with ye, but this silence? Yere forcing my hand, and why I don’t like this it’s what I have to do to keep me from sitting where ye are yeah?” Whoever the voice belonged to was unseen by the hooded person, a frail looking thing in the dark leather bonds that held her… Or him… With the bad lighting there wasn’t much to tell.

“I’m going to unhood ye, and ye’ll tell me yere name alright?” A gaunt, deathly white hand, little more than mere bone, inched forward slowly drawing back the hood and setting it to the side. The first thing that’d leap to a viewer's mind were the long bloody gashes crossing the elf’s once gentle face, the ragged remnants of one ear, the hunks where hair had been pulled out. Rashes from where foul plants had been drawn across bare skin, although the grey-green eyes still blazed defiantly, although his torturer’s knowing smile told the elf that both knew how close to breaking he was.

“I am Boris, and thus you know my reputation, and my honor. I’ll never give a word to scum like you, so take you, your accursed Citadel of Light, and your false goddess to Hel, where you all belong.” When he spoke it was slurred, and one would notice a few teeth missing as well, bloody gaping holes. Once able to make women and men alike blush with but a look, now his face was a ruined mask, and if anything might make others discreetly look away, not wanting to show how much it offended them, but not able to face it either. His face was thrown aside by the blow that met his words, the torturer’s wraithlike figure deceiving, making one think the blow must’ve come from some other, hidden source.

“Don’t disgrace Everu with your unworthy tongue, rat.” The voice had gone from a gentle friendly yet remorseful tone to a seething hatred. Suddenly the face moved forward, leaving the shadows, a stark white skull with small bits of desiccated flesh futilely hanging onto it, eyes long gone, vacant black holes. Yes, the Citadel of Light was just as harsh and cruel as blinding white light could be, legions of animated dead, bound by foul sorcery, most against their will, the more powerful by choice.

“Rat? Says the one who defies nature for the cruel mockery before me? Rats gnaw at everything around them, spreading pestilence in their wake. The Yevenir will be here, and cleanse your foul…” The rest of Boris’s rant was cut off, another blow snapping his head to the side, head hanging limply, blood running down his chin and mixing with the drool from his lip, dripping off in long, sticky strands.

“No, we made sure there’ll be no rescue for you. You’re mine.” It was the last words to filter through to Boris’s mind before another blow sent him reeling into the dark recesses of his unconscious.


Professional Stalker
Staff member
Key Holders
Mar 7, 2018
Ice Ice Baby ~
A merry tune was hummed underneath her breath as Emma was busying herself with preparing the delicious potato salad. Everything had to be perfect for this night. David would be coming soon, and she wanted him to be pleasantly surprised by how well she'd prepared everything. The cabin was absolutely spotless, a nice playlist had been selected on the Ipod. A smile curved her mouth as she thought of his surprised expression. She was just done cleaning everything up when the lights from the car were reflected in the kitchen window. Grinning playfully, she took off the apron and brushed her hands over the white blouse and black jeans. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor as she finished setting the table and then waited with a hand on her hip. He was not going to be disappointed... The door opened and closed, she heard how he hesitated before starting to take off his jacket.

"Lily? Hon?"

"In the kitchen!"

Another obvious moment of hesitation, before she heard him walking quickly in her direction. Once the tall man stopped in the doorway and his wide eyes took in the scenery, Emma spread out her arms and giggled.

"Tadaaaa~ Surprised?"

"Wh-what... w-who are you?"

He blinked once, twice, his complexion paling with each passing second. Almost painfully slowly, he dragged his stunned gaze from the short woman that was occupying the kitchen in his cabin, and towards the rather horrific scene. Surrounding the small table were five chairs. Two of them were empty. Three were occupied. One by his wife, the other two his parents-in-law. Each of them had their mouths covered with a thick layer of duct tape. Their hands and feet were secured with rope against the chairs.

"What do you mean who am I? It's me! You're so funny, sweetie. Go take a seat. I'm just about to serve the potato salad."

"What the fuck is going on here?!"

Emma hesitated with the large bowl in her hands. Her large, dark blue eyes looked at the man as he stalked into the kitchen and for a moment seemed to hesitate over what to do. Finally, he got the to decision to try and free his wife first, his hands pulling and ripping at the rope that was holding her in place. That was a bad move. Perhaps in his shock he had forgotten about the fact that there was a very unstable woman in the small kitchen with him. A small but very determined woman with a large and heavy bowl of potato salad in her hands.

When his eyes opened again, he was seated in a chair next to his wife. His head hurt like someone had... well, broken something on it. Blood was still trickling down the back of his neck, and he was completely covered in mayo and various other ingredients. His dazed eyes scanned the kitchen, settling on a very pissed off looking young woman with a hand on her hip and the other holding a knife that was pressed against his mother in law's throat.

"Well Christ! Thanks for ruining that for me! I spent a good half an hour preparing that damn salad!"

"W-what? Who are you?"

"Daaaave~ This is not the time to be acting up. Just tell me, ok? Tell me that you love me. They need to hear it also. Because they said I was lying. But you'll tell them, right? You'll tell them."

Her singsong voice caused chills to run down the man's spine. He swallowed hard while staring helplessly at his family. His dark brown eyes were already glazing over with unshed tears. That big and strong man looked so utterly hopeless and vulnerable, it was starting to turn her on.

"Please. Just, please let them go. I don't know what I've ever done to you. Just p-please."

"Oh, baby. You're really disappointing me. As much as I like your little games, then I'm getting veeeeery tired of this."

A muffled groan came from behind the duct tape as the older woman jumped a little in her seat when the blade of the knife pressed harder against her throat. A trickle of blood painted her pale skin.

"Wait! Wait wait wait! I-I'm sorry. Yes, of course I love you."

Dark sapphire eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I don't believe you. You aren't even looking at me."

An unhappy scowl twisted her beautiful face. As effortlessly as if she was simply carving into a loaf of bread, she slit his mother-in-law's throat. The woman's eyes rolled up in her head as a sickening gurgling sound was heard. The blood was flowing like a beautiful, pure river. A few droplets had ended up on Emma's hand. But her eyes never left David's as he screamed out and fought against the restraints. The rest of the desperate sounds in there were muffled behind duct tape, but there was a definite screeching of the feet of the chairs as they were wriggled and twisted harshly across the floor while they all fought to break free.

"Lewis. Dear Lewis. I am so sorry I had to kill your wife. But I just hate it when David keeps playing these games with me. Like... it's just... it's like he doesn't even understand how it messes with my head."

Emma laughed out while rubbing her forehead. She circled the older man, noticed the tears that were running down his weathered cheeks.

"Awww, see this is what I call a good way to express some deep feelings! See how he's looking at Samantha here? This love, this anguish. Oh I love it. Bravo Lewis! You really do love your wife!"

Her small hand reached out and patted onto the bald spot on his head, ignoring completely how the man thrashed around while screaming underneath the duct tape.

"Why... why..."

"Why? WHY? You know why, David. It's because you just had to marry this slut here. Has she even taken proper care of you? Has she? No, she only focuses on her work. I bet she's like a cold, dead fish in the bed. This stupid, fucking bitch. I can't believe you picked her over me. Why did you do it? Why didn't you wait for me?! I thought you'd wait!"

Emma's strident voice caused a panicked whimper and a sob to escape the 'bitch' in question. Which of course, had poor little David whimpering out in fear.

"I- I'm sorry Emma, please. Forgive me. I- I should have known b-better."

"Hmph, yes you should have. Can't believe you're acting this hard to get. After all the damn trouble I went through! And you pretending like you can't remember who I am! Emma Grant! Always sitting behind you in chemistry and math! You told me I had a nice smile! But maybe that was a lie as well! And on graduation day, you actually hugged me! But then you just moved away?!"

With a ferocious shriek, she grabbed and flung glasses and plates to the floor. Smashing them one after another, while the bound victims cried and fought against their restraints. Emma's hair was in a crazy mess, hanging down in her face and partially covering her eyes, as she finally stopped with a soft little pant. Straightening her blouse a bit before combing her hair with slender fingers, she drew in a deep breath and smiled.

"But that's alright. Now I've found you. Things will be good now."

"I - I do remember. Y-you were always s-so nice and y-you r-really had a b-b-eautiful smile."

David tried for a small smile, which looked only like a wobbly grimace. But the effects weren't long in the waiting as Emma's face lit up and she clapped her hands together.

"Oh, you mean that?! I knew it... honeeeyyyy! Aren't you happy? Now we can finally start our own family and be together forever. We just need to... get rid of these outsiders that think they know you."

Her hand disappeared into the pocket of her jeans, returning again with a small, sharp ended potato peeler.

"Wait wait wait. W-what do you mean?? Please don't, Emma, please!?"

"But sweetie... how else are we going to be happy?"

Smiling gently to the desperate man, the brunette sauntered towards his father in law. For a moment, the older man raised his head and exchanged meaningful glances with first his daughter, then his son in law. Then his eyes closed as he waited for what would happen. Emma placed her hand gently against Lewis's forehead, and while watching David closely, brought up her hand with the weapon.


The sick, sort of squishy wet sound of the peeler driving into Lewis's right eye caused Lily to shriek only briefly behind the duct tape before she promptly passed out. David however vomited over himself and the table as he desperately tried to look away from the writhing, screeching older man that was literally having his eye scrambled up in his head before Emma pulled the peeler back out.

"Oh well shit, maybe this wasn't as effective as I thought! There's way too much life in this old fella still..."

Sticking her tongue out of her mouth, she punctured his artery several times before dropping the peeler to the floor. Blood pumped out in heavy strokes, painting the floor a lovely crimson red. David was sobbing like a little child while gagging occasionally and praying for someone to save them. Lily was still out cold. Emma just stood there with a rather pleased look on her face.

"So, that leaves just one more little piggy to be-"

Approaching heavy footsteps had her pausing in mid sentence, before she was beaming a smile at a golden haired and handsome fella that peeked into the kitchen. He was holding two heavy looking back packs, and his nose got slightly scrunched up when he viewed the carnage in there.

"Uh, Emma? What the fuck are you doing? Christ you always gotta be so theatrical, can't you just use your gun for once?"

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he pointed towards the front door with a 'sooo you ready or?' type of expression.

"Well geeeeez, you always ruin my fun. Fiiiine then."

She smiled towards the extremely confused looking David.

"Sorry Dave boy. Looks like the party is over. I actually never went to school with you. And this aint even my real name. Soooorryyyy~. But I was good, right? I majored in acting back in school. I knew I should have pursued that career further... I mean, you totally believed me!"

"B-b-but w-w-what a-about.... I me-ean you kne-w my n-name..."

"Oh your name? Well that was easy. After I was done digging through your office, I knew all I needed to. And then I just got a bit bored and wanted to have some fun. Your stinking family were pretty quick with telling me their names as well. Fear has a way of giving you completely control over others. But... no hard feelings, right?"


The chair groaned and creaked as the man kicked and pushed and pulled at the rope. His eyes held a murderous glint to them as he desperately tried to break free.

"Weeeell, I mean... sure I did kill them. But at least their last moments had some sort of excitement to it, right?"

Going to the back of her pants, she retrieved a small pistol. Without even so much as a warning, she shot his unconscious wife straight in the head.

"Tell you what, if you manage to break free. Come find me. I'll let you have your revenge if you put in enough of effort to track me down."

The devilish woman blew him a kiss, before she turned on her heel and followed her accomplice out of there. David's last words before she shut the door echoed through the house:


"Yeah yeah, that's what they all say..."
Last edited:


Mechanical Master
Staff member
King Of The Bedroom
Feb 28, 2018
Based off of this: https://soundcloud.com/ammobyte%2Femperor
This was it, the last of the whiskey. He’d tried his damnedest to ration it carefully, keep as much of it as he possibly could until… Until what? The reality of his situation had always lain in the back of his mind, like a venomous snake waiting to strike. He’d known there’d be no “until”, from the second they had played that broadcast his and everyone else’s fates had been sealed. It was funny how the mind tried to hold onto those strands of hope until the very end. When the JFCC had first reported signals they’d picked up, his team in the JWAC had jumped on it immediately. He was a senior analyst and his excitement at the chance to pull apart an actual, real alien signal had kept him working late into the night, sometimes not bothering to sleep before the morning stand-ups where they reported their progress. Now his insomnia was born of paranoia and survival and he had not spoken to another human in what must have been a week.

Analysis had taken too long, he kept coming back to how many hours they had spent trying to decipher the message. Thirty-seven hours in and they were no closer to clarity than they had first been, but nothing could dampen their spirits. Analysis was a long-game and it wasn’t unusual to spend weeks, sometimes months trying to crack a code, let alone an alien code. But then the death reports began trickling in, not two hours later. At this point, his anger turned from himself to his higher-ups who had kept that information from his team. They continued to work for another twenty-two hours, ignorant of the growing count of casualties. People lying on the street, eyes focused upwards always, heads sometimes bent at inhuman angles or turned all the way around on their bodies, all of them staring at the sky. By the time Ben had been made aware that it was happening, around two thousand people had been reported dead in the US alone. For some reason They had been choosy at first, revealing Themselves to a select few who glanced up at the sky. A few experts from the CDC had taken a stab at finding out why this was: were these victims susceptible to Their message? Were they predisposed to seizures as the reports first claimed the cause of death to be? Nothing fit, there were no patterns anyone could identify aside from the fact that They were choosing according to Their own criteria.

Ben wanted to think that if they had better tools or better experts or if he himself had just been smarter they could have done something. But the grim truth was that they were all helpless against Them, from the beginning. The only reason they had been given a grace period at all was that They had allowed it.

After the initial forty-eight hours of analyzing and studying, STRATCOM had decided use of force was appropriate. By this time, They were making Themselves visible in the sky, increasing the number of deaths each hour. The first emergency broadcast went out, instructing people to stay inside or seek shelter, to avoid looking at the sky. News outlets were given a message about unprecedented levels of air pollution, a new epidemic, a solar flare, anything that was scary enough to make people listen without going into out-of-control panic. It worked, for almost a whole day. Drones were sent to investigate, find out anything useful that could reveal weak points, but every packet of data came back as gibberish, too garbled to pick out anything useful. They were fucking with us, he had often thought to himself in the proceeding days, They knew what we were trying to do and They thought it was funny to scramble our data. Deciding that no more time could be spent trying to gather information, missiles were fired at Them. If it did anything other than piss Them off, nobody knew. As far as Ben could tell, it just made everything worse.

Within six hours, the sky was so densely packed with Them that the sun was blotted out. The world went dark, panicked messages flooded the internet, news reports became frantic attempts to reach anyone watching or listening. People lost their minds at this point and it was by this time that the terrifying broadcast began playing, hi-jacking TV signals and radio signals so that it could reach as many as possible.


It was that final “Good luck” that had made up his mind. Before he heard the broadcast begin to repeat, he began grabbing his belongings and raced downstairs, to the parking garage. There was a less-used exit there and he was sure that he would be able to get out before they locked it down. He stole a pair of sunglasses off another desk and hurtled through the chaos of his building, shouldering his way past his colleagues and taking the stairs instead of the elevator. As he sprinted across the concrete of the garage, he hastily pulled his hoodie on, drawing the hood over his head. A stupid thought made him stop for a second. It was so stupid, it went against all of his survival instincts but he couldn’t ignore it. That’s what addiction did to a person and he had always known it would fuck him over at some point. Turning to the right, he ran to his car, taking precious seconds to unlock it and then practically diving onto the passenger seat so he could fumble with the glove box button. A standard issue glock and a bottle of Johnny Walker, filled three-fourths of the way, lay inside. He grabbed both, not sure of what the gun would do against Them but unable to leave it behind. He cradled the bottle like a child against his chest as he ran for the door and slammed into the crash bar with all of his momentum.

Once outside though, he realized how little sense his plan made. He couldn’t run the fifteen miles it was to his apartment, in the dark, amid the chaos swirling around him. A slightly more reasonable idea struck him: he could run to the 7-Eleven down the block. It was empty when he reached it, windows broken, shelves toppled over and food and drinks everywhere. Good enough until he figured out his next step. He had grabbed an armful of snacks and sodas and locked himself in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

The next twelve hours were like a waking nightmare. From time to time he would hear someone scream outside, sometimes he heard frightened footsteps in the store and twice someone had tried to force their way into the bathroom. Habit made him unscrew the top of the whiskey and take a long drink, but he told himself he was just calming his nerves so he could think better. It helped a little, enough to realize he couldn’t stay there indefinitely at least. He managed to doze for about an hour and change, inside the bathroom, head propped up on the toilet. When he awoke, he took another slug of Walker and crammed beef jerky and potato chips into his mouth, choosing to wash it down with orange soda instead of alcohol.

The little he knew about Them told him that he had to avoid looking at Them. So far They had not attempted to kill anyone inside or draw them out to the street. The countless disaster movies he had seen told Ben that his real fear now was other people. The parking garage was looking like a better situation the more he thought about it. It had no windows, it was reinforced concrete and by now it was bound to be deserted. He hoped so anyway.

He filled several bags of water, food, flashlights and batteries, tucking the Johnny Walker protectively into his hoodie pouch and gripping his gun in his free hand. With a deep breath, he charged out of the bathroom and haphazardly made his way through the mess of the store, back outside and back to the parking garage, only to find the door had been locked while he was away. It had taken every ounce of strength to not give up then and there, but he didn’t. He allowed himself a few minutes of silent cursing and wishing every form of cancer he could on the security team inside before resolutely hauling ass back to the 7-Eleven. Back into the bathroom he locked himself and stayed for the next six days. The occurrences of footsteps in the store and the terrified hammering on the door dropped off fairly quickly. Either this area of the city was becoming abandoned or his fellow humans had found other places to hide. Over the next several days he ventured out, gun readied, for more food and drinks and to cautiously charge his phone. He spent most of its battery life checking for new information or messages from friends and family, not that he had many of either left. The whiskey, drunk in moderation (for him at least) helped him keep a handle on his sanity and by the time there was only a finger or two left he found he was no longer that scared. A strange calm had come over him by now. One thing about an emergency that isolated you was that it gave you time to think. He had thought about his life, his choices, the things that had led to these moments. He had regrets, who didn’t? But mostly he just felt…done. He’d given it a shot, hadn’t he? He’d tried to survive, and he probably could keep going for awhile yet.

He threw back the last of the whiskey, letting it warm his throat and cloud his brain comfortably. At the end of the day, there was nothing any of them could do. And by himself, his future didn’t look very enticing. He’d known they were fucked as soon as the broadcast went out, all he’d done the past week was prolong the inevitable. Time to stop pretending.

Ben placed the empty bottle on the floor of the bathroom, laid his gun next to it and stood. He wasn’t sad or scared, maybe it was the buzz he had going, maybe it was just acceptance. Whatever the case, he was ready.

He walked outside and took off his glasses. “Good bye,” he murmured and looked up.


Professional Stalker
Staff member
Key Holders
Mar 7, 2018
Ice Ice Baby ~
I want to

tie you down with twisted affection,
lock you up so that you'll be mine forever,
mold you after my own desires,
bend you and break until you obey my every wish,
tear you into tiny pieces day by day,
taste you little by little 'til I devour your flesh and blood,
flay you and wear your skin like it is my own,
grind your bones and keep the dust in my pockets,
inhale you so I can feel you in every fiber of my body,

love you fiercely 'til death do us part.

Touch of Insanity

The Mad Queen
Staff member
Queen Of The Bedroom
Feb 28, 2018
Crazy Canada
Standing there, with all eyes on her. She knew in that moment she couldn’t stay. Each and everyone in their little family knew. That she wasn’t perfect, that she wasn’t who they all wanted to. That she was living a life in the shadows and none of them would ever understand. She was a freak, a monster . . . in need of some serious help. But she had said it. She had told them. There were no more lies there.

She was finally free.

A tear trickled down her cheek as she smiled at them. The room was so quiet. “Mom?” She whispered with a shaky voice, her hand coming up to grip at the front of her chest. She could feel the family crest hidden behind her shirt. What lay on the glass coffee table was pages upon pages of writing. Scribbles of all her labor. It was finally finish. The master piece she had been working on for so long.

But her mother’s face just looked pale. Holding a page looking dazed, and confused. Like she didn’t want to lose her daughter, but at the same time she’d never understand it. Her father looked like he was about to be ill, that anger he normally lashed out was no where to be seen. Not a single word was said. Her brother looking between their parents and then back to her. Her grandmother was sitting in a chair off to the side with a few sheets in her hands looking just as quiet.

“Is this why you would never let me read it?” The grandmother finally spoke up. She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat another tear rolling down her cheek. It was getting harder and harder to compose herself. A small nod of her head.

It was quiet for a while again.

“I know. It’s just.”

“And your going to publish this?” Her father finally spoke up her mother shooting him a haunting look as if to shut up.

“No wonder why Granny always said you should see therapist. That art of yours should have been the first hint.” Her brother finally pitched in about her father’s parents.

“Johnathan!” Her grandmother snapped at him, as Sarah felt her heart breaking into pieces. The tears coming so much faster now as the slightest sob left her lips.

“This is why you didn’t get a real job? For this?” There it was. Her father pitched in again.

“Robert.” Her mother countered still not saying a word for her.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I-I’ll go. I’ll just. Stay at a friends. I’m sorry.” She stuttered out before coming forward now starting back to take the papers back.

“Sarah.” Her mother finally said.

“No mom, I can see it. How much you think just like them. I’m so sorry I’m such a freak. But I already have a publisher looking at it. I didn’t want to use a pen name. I wanted to give you money for supporting me all this time. So I wasn’t just some bum of a daughter. But I understand I’m not welcome. I’ll take this and go.” She said before her reaching for the papers from her grandmother but she didn’t let go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The grandmother whispered softly. “You know I always loved reading your stories.”

“Because. . . you’re so. . .religious. Even if your amazing and supportive. I just. . .I didn’t want to go to hell in your eyes. To be that sinner. Because I love you.” She explained taking the papers back now, the grandmother staring at her before Sarah made a dash out of the room.

“Sarah!” Her grandmother called trying to get up to go after her granddaughter.

“Mom be careful!” Sarah heard her mother yell as she flung the front door open and into the cold air.

A month later a knock came to the door of her room she was renting. “Come in Kelly.” Sarah called out. But who was in the door way was not what she was expecting, it was her grandmother, Kelly her roommate peeking over her shoulder.

“I know, but you really should listen.” Kelly said with an awkward smile before walking away. Sarah’s grandmother coming into the room to sit on the bed, Sarah sitting at a computer desk, turning in her chair to look at her grandmother.

“Before you say anything Sarah, I want you to know your mother wants you to come home. Even if your brother and father may never fully come to terms with it. Even if your mother doesn’t understand, it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”

“Grandma, no. They just stare at me. They always have. They’ve always told me to do this, be this, do that. I can’t keep lying. This isn’t a phase. This is my life.” Sarah said. She had since cut off all her hair, and died her pretty blonde hair, black with strips of a medium blue in them.

“I know, but I’d like to read your story. . . if you have a copy I could have. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Her grandmother said, and Sarah couldn’t stop herself. The tears quickly came down as she nodded her head quickly, pushing out of the chair to come over and hug her grandmother.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” She sobbed, her grandmothers hand coming up to pet hers granddaughters head.

“I know child, there is something wrong in our village, but there is nothing wrong with you. I know you do not believe what I do and that’s okay. It’s always been okay. Even if the rest of them don’t see that. There is nothing wrong with you. I hope one day we can fix it together, before I’m off to heaven. I want to see you shine.”

(Inspired by this song. not a perfect match to the songs meaning but man it got my feels going.


Mechanical Master
Staff member
King Of The Bedroom
Feb 28, 2018
Upon entering the abandoned collection of units, Violin nearly doubled over to gag. The stench of refuse and rotting material filled the air until he thought he’d suffocate. He pulled out a filtration mask and held it over his mouth and nose with one hand, using the other to steady himself, then backing away because the walls looked like overgrown petri dishes. Cald was having no trouble walking through the littered piles of bean-screens and clothes, stopping here and there to move a piece of molding furniture or nudge a heap of boxes over with his foot. “Hey,” Violin called after him, then waved around the room, “doesn’t the air get to you? I can barely take a breath.” He exhaled sharply through the mask to punctuate his remark.

Cald shrugged and grinned slightly, “I turned my sense of smell off, because I figured it’d be bad. Sucks to be organic, right now, doesn’t it?” He kept walking and exploring the room.

“Son of a…” his partner began and then trailed off, realizing that the insult he’d started wouldn’t make much sense so instead he just skulked, using his sharp eyes to find any trace of valuables in the room. There weren’t any, nothing that either of them could have sold, at any rate. A cardboard box belched out its contents of fractured china when he accidentally knocked it over, and there was rusted silverware scattered through the room and kitchen, but none of it was worth anything except the memories of their previous owners. Violin had always wondered where the inhabitants of these dead buildings went off to and what had caused them to leave so much behind. He had seen dozens of homes like this one, sometimes it was an outbreak of an extremely contagious disease, sometimes it was a gang war tearing up the families that got caught in it. The saddest of all were those where the owners had grown old and died and there was no one who cared enough to collect their old things. “Like old candy wrappers,” he murmured to himself.

His partner looked up from a pile of bean-screens that had been damaged by water. “What’s like candy wrappers?” Cald asked.
The other man thought about it and explained, “These old buildings, where people have been living. All this stuff that they owned,” he kicked a plastic mixing bowl across the floor, “it’s like a bunch of candy wrappers that someone left after they ate the candy. And we’re like rats, foraging for a taste of the sugar left on them.”

“Poetic,” the robot grinned at him. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Violin rolled his eyes, “Sorry, I’ll read you an instruction manual if that’s more your speed.”

Cald laughed and moved into the kitchen. “You probably shouldn’t come in here,” he called back, “they left food and the smell will probably knock you out. You go check out the bedrooms and I’ll see if there’s anything here.”

“Right, right,” he muttered and made his way to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. There was less mold on these walls, but it was replaced with screens of people smiling happily. Most of the displays were faded or damaged, but irregularly, so that here an eye stared at him or there a hand tried to flag him down. He did his best to not pay attention to the previous family that had lived here. He wasn’t as superstitious as the other scavengers, but pictures of strangers watching him made his shoulder blades itch. The door to the smaller bedroom was wide open, and he got a clear view of a kid’s room. The screens of musicians on the wall and more subdued coloring of the bed sheets and walls made him think it had belonged to a teenager. Aside from a few clothes and shoes on the floor, it was relatively clean too.

Violin sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. He’d become a scavenger because he had been told there was a lot of money in it. If you had a good haul you were set for at least half a year if not more. Sometimes you found almost priceless art pieces or collectibles still in great condition or even just a huge pile of money hoarded by some paranoid doomsayer before they were forced out or kicked off. The thing was that those hauls only came about once or twice a year for most scavengers and even then, you had to be in prime territory to stand a chance. The buildings he could claim barely had anything worth selling and he had to scrounge around in a half dozen of them to make it through a few weeks. Not for the first time he thought about doing something else for money, but with his background and skill set, there wasn’t a lot available to him. When he wasn’t pawing through someone else’s possessions, he was usually spending whatever money he’d earned on gambling, art or drugs. Gambling could typically pad his bank account a little and was worth it for the connections you could make in the right games. He’d found Goblin that way, by listening carefully to a couple of card players who knew the dealer. A couple of carefully lost rounds later, he was sharing a drink with them and working his way into a meeting with Goblin. He wasn’t an addict like a lot of the guys that scavenged, gambling just paid off better than most of his hauls. Art, on the other hand made him feel alive and human and the drugs were for when being alive and human was just a little too much.
He stood up and paced the room, pulling a drawer open or examining the screens on the wall more carefully. Kid’s rooms were almost always a pointless exercise, what could a kid living in these buildings possibly have that would be valuable? A rich kid would likely have game rigs and nice clothes, the latest phone and toys, but rich kids weren’t the ones that lived in buildings like these. And besides, something felt off about stealing from a kid. They might not be around anymore but it felt wrong to take their things.

Violin had grown up in a place like this one, but it was a stack. So many people shoved into one place, it was loud and stifling most of the time but he had learned to love the noise and the chaos. Even now, when the air was quiet and you could actually listen to your own thoughts, he would feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise and hurry to make some kind of noise. Noise was safe, quiet was danger and never forget it.


See yah space cowboy...
Staff member
Key Holders
Mar 7, 2018
(Character concepts inspired by a friends psychotic pair of D&D characters.)

“Do you know what the key is to a successful long-term relationship?” Glugsworth asked calmly as he ducked under the meaty fist of a towering human easily triple his height and quintuple weight. Being a gnome meant that almost everyone he dealt with was bigger, but in his line of work it wasn’t size that mattered, but skill. Glugsworth had it in spades, so very good at his job. He also happen to love what he did and it showed.

“Wh-wat?” The human stumbled, both verbally and physically. His momentum carried him through with the powerful swing he had lobbed at the diminutive gnome. No doubt if it had connected Glugsworth’s head would have been sent flying across the room, but so far the man hadn’t been able to land one blow. Nothing seemed to affect the tiny little guy in black. The bullet holes in the walls were silent testimony to that, as well as the several empty AR-15 magazines on the floor. The human hadn’t been able to land one bullet, not even a graze on the gnome. It was truly some kind of ridiculous Matrix fuckery going on, Glugsworth moved with the chaotic grace and speed of a cat tripping hard on catnip. He spun and weaved, bounced off walls and soared through the air like a trapeze artist, never once even coming close to being wounded.

“Just stand still you little fuck and fight like a man!” The human roared, bashing his fist through the drywall as Glugsworth sidestepped another blow. The gnome clucked his tongue and offered a little shake of his head.

“Now now. No reason to be so uncivilized. I’m trying to have a conversation here. I assume you’ve been in a relationship before. A meaty chap like you no doubt attracted a certain low caliber of women,” Glugsworth spoke calmly, dodging another few more enraged blows.

“Oh I’m sorry if I assumed. Was it men?” He sported a cheeky grin briefly before skittering to the right, evading another wild swing from his foe.

“Now where was I?” He asked, pausing to stroke the tuft of silver hair sprouting from his chin. The human roared and lifted his right leg, bringing it down in a vicious stomp that broke through the floorboards as the gnome seemed to just flicker from view.

“Ah, yes!” Glugsworth squealed as he appeared at the man’s side. The human’s foot was squarely lodged in between the broken pieces of wood.

“Relationships! As I was saying. You have to keep things fresh if you hope to make it work in the long term. The key, I’ve found, is sharing similar interests.”

The man struggled with his foot, leaning over he grasped at his pants leg and tugged at it frantically. In that moment he finally got a good look at his opponent. Glugsworth was an unassuming gnome, of typical weight and body size, his face had hard lines that made determining his age difficult and the fact his short, wild hair was silvery gray made it near impossible. It was those eyes that truly drew the attention. Behind the thick bushy brows those gray eyes pierced the soul, cold and hard as steel. One might take them as emotionless at first blush but a closer inspection the light that glinted upon them had a maniacal glee befitting the ridiculously large grin on his face.

The human was too concentrated on yanking his foot clean of the broken floorboards to notice the tilt of Glugsworth’s head to the right or the words whispered under his breath. What he did notice was a sudden and intense heat. It took a moment to figure out where it was coming from but by then it was too late. Glugsworth stood at the very threshold of a sudden inferno which burst up through the floor with an otherworldly scream. Lurid faces of anguish and fear danced in hellfire, a column that erupted underneath the human and consumed him wholly. He barely had time to scream before being turned to ash. His remains fluttered through the air, smoldering bits that left wispy trails of smoke in their wake. Glugsworth grinned broadly at the scene, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply of the scent of carbonized human.

“Gods! I love that smell!” He chortled. The hellfire had vanished in an instant, leaving a blackened hole from where it erupted. Glugsworth was just a few inches from the charred wood, yet he was completely unharmed by the fires that had consumed an adult human within seconds. Those piercing gray eyes peered over the edge, his diminutive body bending at the waist and he looked down to the first floor.

Standing directly center of the whole was an equally diminutive gnome wearing a black velvet dress and fishnets. She mimicked the terrifying grin, though somehow made it sickly adorable. Her features were sharp and adorable, raven bangs framed her face with a ponytail that borderlined on a topknot bounced behind the high popped collar of her fashionable short cape.

“A perfect shot as usual, my dear!” Glugsworth called out to the female gnome, who tittered in delight and held out her right hand palm facing up.

“Oh! Right,” Glugsworth chided himself and stood up straight. The flames had not fully consumed the human it seemed, at the very edge of the blackened circle Glugsworth found the tip of the humans left boot. He picked up the still smoldering bit of boot and gave it a causal shake, a little rattle coming from it. When he upturned it over his hand something tiny and still smoking bounced into his palm. Glugsworth gave it a little shake in his loosely closed fist then promptly dropped it into the awaiting hands of his beloved Kita Lorixie.

“You are truly are a sick and fiendishly perverse woman,” Glugsworth said lovingly.

Kita tittered again as she caught the burnt object. Causally she turned it in her palm, pinched the blackened toenail by the tip and yanked it off. The big toe was thoroughly burnt but the little nub of flesh could still be recognized for what is was. She gave it a shake in her grasp before popping it into her mouth.

“I love you too, Dear!” Kita said with the same level of affection. There was a loud crunch as Kita masticated and the two gnomes shared a hearty giggle.

Touch of Insanity

The Mad Queen
Staff member
Queen Of The Bedroom
Feb 28, 2018
Crazy Canada
So after getting SUPER bored at work, I started to string random lyrics from songs together. So I do not take credit for any original work here and if anyone would like to find the lyrics of a set song please message me.

You don't deserve me, not the other way around.
I'll never let you make me forget that.
I won't come back crying, a fool who comes back crying
I'll never let you forget me
Haven't I made it clear?
Do I need to spell it out for you?
I bet you didn't know
I was Dangerous
Dangerous oh that sounds good!
Cause I'm so sick!
Cause I was as pure as a river
So I'm tried of all the pain inside
Cause everything will change and it will all fade to black
My heart will return to white​


Professional Lurker
Mar 8, 2018
Midwest, US
Rocks and dirt scattered as two tires screeched to a halt. The bike had slid to the edge of a cliff as the driver hit the brakes at the perfect time.

“Fuuuck, I hate it when you do that,” the masculine voice of the passenger complained.

“Shhh!” came from the driver as a gloved hand rose abruptly with single digit lifted. She hated it when he broke her concentration and that’s what was needed currently. They’d just left the road having driven nearly all night to get to this location. Eyes narrowed behind the dark shades as she realized the stars were virtually gone now with the sun rising. They’d made good timing, but the exact spot she needed to be was impossible to determine now. Leaning back to sit up, Maurelle moved the shades up off her nose and slid them back to rest atop her head, pushing the silver and gray lengths of her hair away from her face and momentarily secured.

The cliff was the perfect observation point giving her a wide vantage of the valley below. A small town hinted to the north, mountains to the east, and the south was nothing more than quarry after quarry. Directly below them, a stream ran through the land and she could trace its length stretching along the area by the line of trees lined each side of it with the space between them.

“What do you think, Elle?” the man behind her asked hesitantly.

“Get the scanner out,” came the order with the young, odd looking man complying. He removed the leather sack from off his back, bumping her that made him pause. When she only shifted with a minimal grunt, he continued to retrieve the small device from within. She began to tug on each single finger of a glove as she went to remove it while Breckin fiddled with his homemade device. It was a mixture of ceramic, copper and wires that held a gauge which should point them in the proper direction. Able to be held in both hands, the size allowed for easy transport.

Clouds moved across the multi colored sky like tufts of cotton all bundled together then scattered. Elle gazed out in all directions and saw nothing to alarm her that they’d been followed or detected. The further you went into the country, the easier it was to maintain undetection. However, that small town was of some concern. It was known for its pious lifestyles and rigid views. Her presence there, should she need to go there, would be unwelcome at best. Suddenly, a blip on the device stole her thoughts and she twisted at her narrow waist to glance over her shoulder. A nicely sculpted eyebrow arched with inquiry as she glanced down to see which direction they would need to take.

“Oh man,” Breckin began to complain again, “It points in the direction of the quarries. Do you know how dangerous this is going to be? We’ll be sitting ducks over there!”

Sliding her shades back into place and removing the glove of her other hand to tuck the pair into the back of her belt, Elle rev’d the bike’s engine before shifting into gear and pulling back towards the road. It wound down the side of the hill for some time and she enjoyed the switchbacks and the fear they provoked in Breckin her assistant. She preferred to work alone, but his use hadn’t expired yet.

Fifteen minutes later, they were rolling slowly and quietly on a back road leading to some of the older quarries no longer in use. The device was protectively held in the odd man’s hand as he quibbled and squabbled about the solitude around them. The louder he became or the more she felt him twitch, the closer she knew they were. At last, she pulled beneath a tree and rolled to a stop before cutting the engine.

“Get off,” she told him directly and waited for him to move before swinging a leg up and over behind her to dismount. Her eyes quickly scanned the area for signs telling her if they were alone or not.

“Are you certain this is worth..” Breckin began again before he felt the sharp point of her nail beneath his chin, lifting it until he met her eyes. The pupils of Elle’s alluring gaze began to cloud and widen until the whites were gone and blackness only remained. She heard him whimper and couldn’t help the smirk nearly able to taste the fear.

“If I wanted your advice or opinion, I would have asked. Now, shut the fuck up and stay quiet. Don’t follow on my heels. I want you to count to twenty before trailing. Is this understood or do I need to repeat myself?” she asked him.

“No… no! I understand,” the feeble man quickly replied.

“Good. Now, give me a starting direction.”

It didn’t take long to locate the first quarry. However, the day quickly progressed with no results. Both were filthy and Breckin kept reminding her of his need to take breaks and eat as well as drink water. The sun would soon set and he voiced a single fear of being caught out after dark. Such fear of what they could not see, what they did not understand. Maurelle ignored the man and his need to voice his opinion. However, her tolerance was wearing thin. She heaved a loud sigh and was about to turn around and give him five minutes to go alleviate himself when she saw it! The slightest of motions that drew her eyes until she blinked a few times and enabled her night vision fully. Someone, or some… thing, was moving up the hillside at a rather steady pace. They’d have to backtrack quickly to retrieve the bike and make it to the cut off point. She took off on an all out run not caring about the man with her as the hunt was now on.

When she reached her bike, she climbed on and stomped on the ignition peddle. It roared and she hit the gas with the brake to spin the rear tire around before she opened the throttle and leaned into the wind. At the speed the person was traveling at, it would be close. She had a decision to make. Try to get there in time to cut it off at the first road’s switchback gold and use the side trail and climb to the second. Either way, she knew she would succeed. She hadn’t come all this way to fail.

Elle couldn’t afford to. Not with the recent loss of her cellar. The souls she’d obtained and kept in there had been confiscated and she was back to square one. Hell, it’d be zero if she hadn’t had the foresight to wear both her necklace and bracelet. Each glass bead on her wrist held a soul worth more than ten normal. This tip was supposedly like winning a jackpot. Not that she knew what that was like. Casinos were off limits to her… kind. A hiss slipped into the wind as she shifted into the last gear and pushed the bike to its limits.