Play Time!

Opportunity knocked and I at least cracked the door open a bit to see what the hell it wanted. But first, I'm assuming you want some context. On days when I have things to do after work, I'll usually end up eating dinner alone someplace, preferably someplace where no one will bother me so I can get some writing done while I eat. It is literally one of the few things in life that I look forward to when I've got free time. One of my favorite spots to do this is the Ala Moana Food Court as there's a lot of seating, a variety of foods, and the constant drone of people talking amongst themselves provides some good background noise. And so, with a philly cheesesteak, fries, coke, and my notebook, I took a seat and started eating and writing as I planned. However, instead of having a short story about the first humans (or at least part of it ... honestly, I wasn't going to get it done until the end of the week anyways), well, instead I've got this chance encounter (disclaimer: definitely not exactly how it happened, but very, very close to what I can remember from last night):

"Hi, you're handwriting is so tiny, I can barely read it," she said as she sat down across from me. A woman wearing a purple sweater with a half-finished Starbucks cup and a smile like she was selling something, or she was trying to flirt with me (I'm still really bad at reading people).

Naturally, I responded with a smile (as people respond better to a smile, plus it's my natural response to unfamiliar situations by mimicking the other person), "Someone told me that I have the handwriting of a serial killer."

Seriously, do you approach someone who writes like this?

"Well, that's not something you hear very often, not what I was expecting," she responded. "Is this a journal that you write down your day-to-day feelings in?"

Still smiling, "Nope, just stories, mostly fantasy stuff" I said while taking a bite of my sandwich. Even if it was a diary, what kind of weirdo keeps a diary out in the open? And who needs to write down their feelings in the middle of a crowded mall?

She asks about what I do for a living. Not wanting to explain my job, and not wanting to be part of this questionable conversation anymore (probably more due to my natural mistrust of other people than the feeling that maybe this is some sort of scam) I tell her I'm a telemarketer. "I sell magazines over the phone." People hate telemarketers, maybe this will get her to leave.

She doesn't leave. "Wow, I didn't know people still bought magazines. With everything on their phones why would they need to buy magazines?"


I finish chewing my sandwich, the bread has started to get soggy at the bottom and falling apart. I'm annoyed. Maybe this is how my old co-worker used to feel when guys approached her at the gym when all she wants to do is work out. "Sometimes magazines will offer special access to online stuff if you buy a yearly subscription." Before she can ask, I add, "Not sure which ones though, I just sell the magazines."

"You must get hung up on a lot?"

I shrug my shoulders, "It gives me time to read."

"Do you work on commission then, if you get hung up on a lot?"

Is she a prostitute? That's the only person I could think of that would ask anyone up front how much money they make? "Yeah, though we do get a slight base pay for getting hung up on a lot." I've also just realized that she didn't take the bait when I mentioned I write Fantasy stories. Every other time I've mentioned it to anyone, they at least ask something about what I'm writing. I'm a little suspicious now.

"Oh, have you had any other jobs besides this one?"


"I worked at an auto shop for a while."

"You must've made good money there?"

Back to money, what is going on? "Not really. More like Mechanic apprentice, one of those 'will train' kind of jobs. I mostly just got in the way."

"Well, you must've gone to school."

"Yeah," I say, pointing to the open notebook that I was clearly writing in before she came over, "English degree."

"Right, you write stories. Are you a good at it? They say the only way to make money is by getting published."

"Not really, but thanks for that."


This goes on for a while, her asking questions, me giving short replies, everything seeming to always go back to money. Finally we get to the point -

"Well, the reason I came over here was about a year ago, I met this group of people and they introduced me to this 28 year old woman who managed to make enough money that she is basically retired now. And she took me under her wing and taught me how to become financially free. And I was wondering if you'd like me to introduce you to her. She's got a house in Kahala, you know where the upper class live."

Well, final-fucking-ly, we've gotten to the point of this scam. And not only that, but a vaguely familiar sounding scam, like I've heard it before, but I'm not quite certain. My imagination quickly runs off several scenarios: 1) This is a scam to steal my money/ pyramid scheme shit; 2) This is a scam to lure me into a mugging; 3) This is a scam to lure me into The Sharing and they're going to drop a Yeerk into my brain (highly improbable, but I read a lot of Animorphs as a kid). "No, that's okay. I'm fine for now," I say, hoping I'm polite enough that she'll realize she's made her pitch and will go away now that I've turned down her offer.

She doesn't go away. Instead she stays to continue to try to sell me on this idea that her prophet can change my life. What this also gives me is an opportunity I have few and far between, the chance to talk without consequence: 1) I don't care who she is; 2) she has no connection to the rest of my life; but, most of all, 3) she can leave whenever she wants, she sat next to me after all, I've no responsibility as a host to make her feel comfortable, this isn't the bus or the train where she can't run away. I'll admit, more than likely a lot of my replies were more nonsensical than witty retorts as I tend to argue the same way I play FPS games: I'm definitely not the sniper, more like the guy that decides to just fill the air with bullets and hope some of them find a target. But I do like to think I got at least a couple good one-liners in there:


Her (H): "Well, she is teaching me about gaining financial freedom to achieve your full potential. Wouldn't you like to live up to your full potential?"
Me (M): She's still trying to get you into The Sharing. Don't go with her. And don't mention Yeerks or she'll know and they'll get you. "I'm okay with striving to be in the middle 2/3 of people."
H: "If you were to achieve your full potential, think of all the good you could do."
M: "Or the terrible things."
H: "You can't do bad things if you're seeking your full potential."
M: I struggle not to blurt out the names Adolf Hitler, Dylan Roof, or Stephen Paddock. "Well, you never know," I say instead.
H: "So you're okay with not trying on the off chance you might hurt someone?"
M: I'm telling you, don't mention Hitler, it's going to take this conversation someplace you don't want it to go, yet. You might scare her away. "It's working so far."
H: "Don't your parents want you to achieve your full potential?"
M: "Don't know, I've never asked."
H: "What do you mean, I'm sure they do."
M: "Like I said, I never asked. Maybe they're happy with having me around to do chores and stuff."

H: "Are you really okay with just being average?"
M: "Yeah, you should try it sometime."
H: She turns slightly, staring off to the side. "No, now that I'm on this path, I can't be average."
M: "Sure you can. It's so easy to go back."
H: "Maybe we could get you a badge, "Average" and you could wear it."
M: "Yeah, a big, red A" really hoping she got the "The Scarlett Letter" reference, though probably not.
H: "Well maybe you're okay with being part of the 98% of other people."
M: "99%"
H: "Well I'm not going to be average."
M: say it, say, "No, you're just going to run a scam on the average people." Say it! No, don't do it or you'll scare her away. I say nothing as I would probably just repeat the "you could try" line. Instead I wait for her to take another angle with her pitch.

H: "You know, I used to be like you, living for the weekend, just to watch a bunch of movies, living vicariously through their lives"
M: "Yeah, now is actually a great time for television, there's so many good shows."
H: "Are you really okay with that, TV is a drug, making you into a zombie."
M: "There's some really good zombie shows on TV too."

H: "You don't want to be that person who wakes up 30, 40, 50 years in the future with just regrets."
M: "You never know, maybe I'll be dead before then."
H: she stares at me, mouth agape as if she's never heard any talk about dying like that.
M: "Seems better than living with all that regret."
H: "But if you do live that long?"
M: "Well, the trick is to just not think about those regrets."
H: "So you're just going to lie to yourself for the rest of your life?"
M: "Now you've got it."
H: "Well, unless you do something about your situation, it's not going to change overnight."
M: "Unless I win the lottery. Oh, except we don't have a lottery here. So I'd have to move to the mainland to win."
H: "You have a better chance of getting struck by lightning than winning the lottery."
M: "So the dead thing is looking more and more like the better option."
H: "That's not what I meant."

Eventually, as all things do, she got fed up and moved along

H: "You know, I can't tell if anything you've been saying is real or not. Is Alan even your real name?"
M: "That's the fun with words. It's what I have a degree in, remember."
H: "Well, words are just words unless you have action behind them."
M: "Yeah, that's why I said this is fun, it's just words."


And then she was gone. I finished up my now cold fries and tried to write more on the story I was originally working on, but couldn't, I was still on a rush from this last conversation, trying to replay it in my head as best as I could, to hold onto it. It isn't often I get a chance to play with words in a setting where I don't give a fuck.
As I drove home, my thoughts went in the opposite direction: Shit, what if she was on the level, what if she really was following a prophet, what if I just turned down Jesus? What if I was a dick to one of Jesus' new apostles? Then I started thinking about Yeerks again and it scared me back to reality. I really wanted to ask if the group she was with was "The Sharing" where they take you in, gain your trust, then put a mind-controlling brain slug in your head. But the first rule when dealing with Body Snatchers is you don't mention Body Snatchers, you know, just in case one of the Body Snatchers overhears and then they can get you.

Also, I told my family this story when I got home and both my sisters also mentioned that they were approached by someone at the mall who gave basically the same story, and apparently I was there at one of those times (though I don't really remember talking to the person). So, I'm not sure if my instincts were right on this one, or just my need to finally be an asshole to a complete stranger got the better of me. Anyways, I'm working on that other story so hopefully sometime next week ... who am I kidding, you don't care, like I said, I'm not that good a writer anyway, but it's still fun with words. And that's how I spent the second day of the New Year.

The Elf Rebellion

Elorshin trudged his way through the harsh snow, centuries of living in the North still doing little to dull the cold that chilled him to the bone. It reminded him of when he and his kin fled their homes, the loss of the forests to the axes and fire of man forcing them further and further north. As they made their exodus, some lucky few were taken in by The Cobbler, The Fudgemaker, and The Red Coat, those lucky few that were still fit to work. The rest were sent away, possibly back to the endless wars that ravished their homelands: The Fourlands, the Woodlands, the Dark World. The Red Coat, a magician of sorts, was rumored to deliver gifts to the human children one mystical night a year, and while his altruism may seem noble, he still worked the elves all year round to craft those gifts.

Flicking the switch, florescent lights poured over The Workshop. In days long past, The Workshop was filled with benches and benches where Elorshin and his elf brethren would slave away crafting toys for the human children. But Industry and Innovation had finally come to the North Pole, and now those same benches were replaced by ugly steel, machines whose ugly chugs and rumbles stabbed at Elorshin's ears. The commodities they produced were filth compared to what an elvish hand could craft, yet mass-production was essential now that man had conquered the globe and now spread amongst the stars. The Red Coat's magic unable to extend past the Earth, a group called The Toy Givers had taken up his mantle, fulfilling the wishes of those children no longer bound to the Earth. So many of them to deliver the toys, but only one elf now needed to work the machines, his
kin were sent off once again to the war-lands they had sought refuge from so many generations ago.

But today was not another day to build toys. Lamenting the loss of his brothers and sisters to the rise of the machines, to the ever-reaching colonization, to the ever-hunger of the humans, Elorshin decided this would be his last day amongst the Toy Givers, and the start of his reunion with his kin. He broke open one of the machines and stole the raw materials from its insides. With his own hands, elvish-hands, Elorshin fashioned himself a pair of sturdy boots and a coat, garments to survive an escape from the ever-winter of the North. After the clothing, he didn't realize he was still building one last gift until the sting was set taut, one last gift to man to remind them of the elves stolen ancestral lands.

Fire, Elorshin thought as he looked around at the machinery rumbling along without a care to his mutiny. It was almost poetic, he thought as he began leaking gasoline from the machines all over The Workshop floor, after all the humans used it to drive us from our homes so it was only right that it be used to drive them from theirs.

As he left the workshop, an inferno beginning to burn behind him, the first sirens went off. Man thought the cold of the North would be enough to snuff out any flame. What they didn't count on was the mixture of man's gasoline and the last of Elorshin's magicks. He had watched the first sparks, coaxed them to life until they were almost like living creatures, jumping from pool to pool of gasoline, spreading and growing and raging.

First came the ravens, the first of the Red Coat's watchers. Their caws drew out the rest of the horde: the Red Coat's wolves, the Toy Givers' reindeer, and finally the Toy Givers and the Red Coat themselves.

"What have you done, you damn elf!" one of the Toy Givers shouted, stepping forward, spear in hand.

Elorshin said nothing, the value of patience instilled into every elf from their birth. Instead he just watched the man approach, watched him ready his spear, watched him strike. Then Elorshin dodged, a step to the side dodged the spear-point. In one motion, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and punched the tip into the man's chest before pulling it out and readying it to be fired from his now unslung bow.

The first barrage of arrows Elorshin focused on the wolves. Hunters by nature, the last thing he wanted was a set of fangs slowing him down long enough for the rest of the pack to descend upon him, or worse, the men. The reindeer he dodged with ease as they barrelled passed him either on the ground or in the air, infused with flight by the Red Coat's magic. Elorshin's natural elf agility made them more of a nuisance than a threat as they charged head-first, typically finding only empty air as Elorshin evaded, occasionally their horns catching the soft flesh of a Toy Giver.

It was the Red Coat and the Toy Givers that Elorshin had the most trouble with, arrow after arrow finding only empty air. At first, he thought it might be due to not having fired a bow after so long, his abilities rusty. Though, he thought, it was impossible for an elf to miss a target this many times, no matter the situation. Eventually he realized it was the Red Coat's magic, the magic to be everywhere and anywhere at once now infused within the men to assist them in avoiding his attacks. He tried instead to predict where they would appear after evading his arrow, but that didn't work as well. When he guessed one would appear on his left, instead he appeared on the right. When he predicted one would appear behind him, instead they were right next to him, ready to strike with their spears.

Arrow after arrow fired and none of them finding their marks, every missed arrow fired gave the men one more opening to attack with their spears. Cut after cut, stab after stab, slowly they wore him down, his elfin agility no longer able to keep pace with the Red Coat's magic. Then came the last, the Red Coat in the end piercing his spear through Elorshin's chest and driving it out his back. Quick and sudden, combined with Elorshin's exhaustion, the elf fell to his knees without so much as a complaint, then onto his front, though never letting go of his bow. The Red Coat, without fear, turned his back to his opponent.

"What's the damage?" asked the Red Coat to one of the Toy Givers as Elorshin bled into the snow.

"The entire Workshop is gone," replied the other man as they stared into the flames now engulfing the building, "We still haven't completed the gifts for three of the space stations at this point with just a day left until delivery."

The two men stood in silence for a moment as Elorshin took the last of his breaths. The Red Coat snapped his fingers, "Find those elves, the ones we sold off as conscripts to the slaver heading back toward The Woodlands. Tell him we will buy them back."

With his last dying breath and hearing the Red Coat's words, Elorshin once again imagined the sounds and songs of this brethren at work released from the fear of war and battle, and he smiled as he drifted away.



Once again taken from Reddit/Writing Prompts: "We always thought that it was Santa and the Elves but what if it was The Elf and Santas?".  This actually went a long way off from where I originally started, though I'm still pretty sure it went a lot better than it could have. One of the biggest differences was that in the original, the Red Coat died (no idea of the cause, just that he was gone) which would allow Elorshin to kill all of the Toy Givers and then take the sleigh to find his family. I did have some fun trying to remember in the books I've read and the places the elves live (Fourlands from Shannara, Woodlands from Lord of the Ring, and The Dark World from Thor 2). Plus came thinking about elf enslavement, cobbling shoes, making cookies, building toys. And the idea of having Ravens and Wolves, well since it's Christmas time, a lot of the prompts and stories on Reddit dealt with the connection between Santa Claus and Odin, which I also vaguely remember from Dresden Files. As you read in the prompt, I first needed to find a reason for many Santas and just one Elf and honestly Industrialization was the best that I could think of. Then the idea of needing more Santas to deliver to outer space because magic doesn't extend to outer space ... I always liked that idea, but I did need to cut it after that because it started to go off tangent from there to the point that it might've derailed the idea of the whole story. And yes, I know that Christmas was a couple days ago, but ... I'm lazy

Drunken Hunt

Guided by a pair of flashlights and the slight buzz of inebriation, Agents Talon and Pike walked through the ankle deep water and sludge of the city’s sewer system, guns at the ready. With no sign of their target, Talon stopped to take another swig of gin and tonic from his flask. “Maybe we’re doing this all wrong,” he said, looking at the half-empty flask and hoping it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. Talon finished the flask, tossing it aside and pulling out another full one. “We know it only hunts drunks, and only drunks can see it.” He emptied the flask into his mouth, gulping down another gin and tonic in a matter of seconds. He did the same with a third and fourth flask.

“So your plan now is to become drunken bait?” Pike said, shaking his head. He looked at the empty flasks lying on the sewer floor. “Well, we can’t go back now. Just remember you still need enough motor functions to pull that trigger. This isn’t a problem you can solve just by punching it in the face.” Pike moved up the tunnel and around the corner where he could wait and still keep an eye on Talon.

After another twenty minutes of nothing, Pike headed back down the tunnel. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, eyeing the slight wobble Talon acquired in his stance. 

"It’s weird,” Talon said, spinning in a slow circle as he spoke, “I don’t feel drunk, but I feel like I can feel something watching, but I don’t feel drunk." 

“Hey!” Pike shouted as he ducked under Talon’s raised gun before grabbing him. “Not that drunk, huh? Maybe you should give me a couple of those flasks, in case this goes sideways.” 

It was at that moment that Talon sensed it: an extra pair of eyes upon his back, the presence of another living creature, somewhere unseen but known. He spun and landed hard on his backside, flashlight and gun both flailing wildly. Bang! barked his gun as it slipped from his hand and sunk in the dark waters. “It’s here, I know it’s here, I can feel it,” Talon stammered, his hand splashing, searching for his gun. He tried to get back to his feet, and instead succeeded in flopping over and getting a mouthful of sewage. 

Still on his feet, Pike continued to turn in slow circles as his flashlight was the only thing keeping whatever hid in the darkness at bay. “Where is it? I can’t see it,” he said. 

That’s when Talon heard the sound of a third set of footsteps stalking behind them, the sloshing strides of feet moving in the water but never breaking the surface. “It’s here, it’s got to be right on top of us!” he shouted as he tried desperately to pick himself up off the ground.

            

That’s when he felt the fingers, claws, grip his coat and drag him several feet down the tunnel before tossing him into the brick wall. He blinked several times and in the dark he saw a blurred, shadowy outline looming over him. Even in his current state, he still couldn’t get a clear view of the monster. Luckily he had one last trick. He reached behind his back to grab his final flask, a gin and tonic cocktail that was basically just gin with a drop or two of tonic water. He drank as quickly as he could and almost instantly felt the alcohol go to work on his senses.

The monster appeared before him: a fat, albino creature with dark red stains of dried blood covering its skin. It was almost human-like, standing at just over four feet tall with two odd-shaped legs and elongated arms. It definitely didn’t look like a creature built for speed but with Talon almost incapacitated and against a wall, the monster didn’t need to be fast.

“My name is Agent Richard Talon from The Hunter Agency. You are under arrest and ordered to surrender,” Talon tried to say, though, the only words he was certain he said were “Agency” and “arrest.” Based on the look on the monster’s face, it also looked like those were the only words it understood as well as it reared back its right arm and punched Talon hard in the face. Talon was sure the punch was supposed to feel like a hammer coming down on his cheek, but, with the amount he’d drunk that night, it felt more like a polite knock. Talon laughed as the monster hit again, this time in his ribs.

The monster roared in frustration, but before it could attack, Talon regained the functions of his hands and arms. He reached out and grabbed the monster’s neck with one hand and delivered a vicious blow with the other. And another blow. And another blow. The creature staggered slightly, but his punches wouldn’t be enough to bring the monster down before it could kill him. Unfortunately, Pike was the only one with a gun, but even he couldn’t shoot what he couldn’t see.

He punched once more before he heard a shout come from up the tunnel, followed by a deafening bang. The monster’s head jerked once, unnatural liquid spraying from its skull as it fell to the sewer floor. The next thing Talon heard were the sloshing steps of Pike running in the darkness.

“How did you make that shot?” Talon asked, his eyes moving from Pike to the carcass lying on the floor.

Pike smiled and motioned to Talon’s fists. “I told you, you punch things in the face as if it solves all your problems. I just aimed at the empty air where you were punching.”

Talon pulled out another flask and took a swig. He felt his head tilt back against the cool brick wall and his eyes close. “Just another day at the office,” he heard himself say as he thought about the massive hangover awaiting him the next morning.

This was actually an entry into a writing contest I entered earlier this year. A short, short fiction contest, all the contestants are split into groups and each group is assigned certain parameters to follow in addition to a limit of 1000 words. For my group, it was just 3 things: 1. Theme: Thriller; 2. Setting: A sewer; and 3. An object: a gin and tonic cocktail. When the results came in, I got zero points within my grouping (meaning I won't be moving on to round two) but I did get some interesting feed back. The judges really liked the idea of needing to be drunk to hunt a monster. They also suggested that something more should go wrong (to increase tension). I think if I had a higher word count (or better editing skills) I probably would've done more with the idea, perhaps prolonging the hunt in some way, maybe a chase rather than the monster just appearing. Surprisingly, they also liked the interaction between Talon and Pike, even wanting more of it. This is surprising mostly because, to me, my weakness is in writing character. I've always thought I was better at writing scenes than dialogue and character development. Not that I'm better at writing action, just that I suck at those other things. My only guess is that it's been from all the practice at writing these short stories and these different characters, trying to make them appealing for a one-shot story rather than building them up through multiple entries. This story though may be one of the first ones that I liked enough that I think I may actually use the advice and try to get around to making longer and sending it off somewhere for publishing (and hopefully money).

Books of 2017: Quarters 2 and 3

So, I kinda forgot to post a book review back in June/July so I figure I'll just throw the last 6 months of reading material into one post. Hopefully you can find something in here worth reading  *umm, spoilers.


Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb

This book is literally the reason I didn't post a Quarter 2 update (okay, one of the reasons as I'm pretty sure I got back into Monster Hunter at this time too). I'm not going to lie, it naturally takes me longer to get through anything considered "High Fantasy/Epic Fantasy" (Dungeons and Dragons type stuff). It's not as if the books are any longer, it just does. Anyways, I was listening to a podcast interview with Robin Hobb, a name with enough books to consume a good chunk of shelf space at Barnes and Nobles to get my attention. So, I was listening to the interview and she seemed like a interesting person and she had some good advice so I figured I'd give one of her books a try. "Assassin's Apprentice" was a recommended starting point into her fantasy world and, after reading, I felt like that was a good choice as well. The main character, Fitz, is the bastard son of an heir-apparent prince. His arrival into the kingdom, however heralds a change as his father, shamed, relinquishes his claim on the throne and departs, leaving Fitz to be raised by the stablemaster. The king, however, sees potential in having a royal bastard in the kingdom and decides to have him trained as the royal poisoner/assassin. This book follows Fitz from his childhood into early adulthood (sorry, I also lost track of the timeline). The story itself does move a bit slowly for my taste, as a lot of time is spent in setting up the story, introducing characters, establishing milestones in Fitz's life, etc. He only begins his training almost midway through the book (which was the entire appeal in buying the book, so that was a little disappointing). I also don't care for frame stories as the story was essentially Fitz giving a report on his own life, most (maybe all, I don't really remember) of the chapters opening with present-Fitz filling in the time between the events he is writing about before getting back into the story. All in all, I'll still eventually get around to finishing the trilogy as it's not as if the story was completely terrible and there were some unanswered questions that I need answered.


Running Blind by Lee Child

THIS was the Jack Reacher novel I was looking forward to reading. After watching the first movie, I've slowly been making my way through the novels. Of the 4 I've read so far, I think this one would translate best into a movie. I'm assuming you've at least seen the first, if not both, movies so I'm not going to go into the character of Jack Reacher. In this novel, Reacher is blackmailed by the FBI into assisting them in hunting down a serial killer targeting ex-military women, 2 of which have a direct connection to Reacher from his time as a Military Police Officer. As with all of the novels so far, the pacing is good, a good mix of action scenes and detective work. If you're going to start into this series, I'd recommend starting with book one, but if you want to jump into this one, I'd at least recommend reading book 3 first as there's some essential information that serves as part of the backstory for this one (though the book does do a good job of explaining everything you may need to know from the previous books that you may be able to read it as a stand alone). One thing I did dislike about this one was several sections seemed to serve no other purpose than to deliberately mislead the reader on the identity of the killer. With as many detective stories I've read and watched (paranormal detectives count too, right?) I did guess the outcome of this one faster than the other 3 books but that didn't make the ending any less satisfying. I'd recommend these books if you're looking for a crime/detective novel to read. If not, at least keep an eye out for Lee Child, the author, in the movies: the desk cop in "Jack Reacher" and the TSA agent in "Jack Reacher: Never Go Back."


The Midnighter
 

This is basically a collection of stories of some of the solo Midnighter comic stories. The Midnighter is the coolest character from The Authority comic series. If I'm comparing The Authority to The Justice League, then The Midnighter would be Batman, just a more badass version. He's got a super computer in his brain that allows him to analyze every fight scenario and outcome even before his opponent makes a move. He is also physically enhanced and expertly trained in all types of fighting styles. As far as the stories in this collection, the only reason I bought it was because... well, as I said, it's The Midnighter. The individual stories were kind of lack luster, none of them really stood out and most of them were just "okay," not really good nor bad.


The Ultimates by Mark Millar

I think I got the urge to reread this after "Avengers 2" was playing over and over on TV awhile back. I'm pretty sure I originally bought this around the time when the first "Avengers" movie was announced, or maybe after I'd already watched it, I don't really remember. In this storyline, SHIELD is still a department with the US government and they work to put together a task force to deal with the growing mutant and superhuman threats that the world is facing. The public team is made up of Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Giant Man, Wasp, Bruce Banner (in a mostly research capacity), as well as Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, and Quicksilver who are more like their Black-ops division and kept out of public view (the first two as they are trained assassins and the latter two as they are former members of The Brotherhood). Backed by the military and SHIELD operators, they'll face an alien threat as well as internal struggles within their own, flawed characters (Bruce Banner's inferiority complex resulting in everyone vs. The Hulk, Captain America's old school values resulting in Giant Man vs. Captain America). I've loved everything ever written by Mark Millar since I read "Wanted" and this one didn't disappoint either.


The Ultimates vol. 2 by Mark Millar

Continuing from the first book, this one opens with SHIELD, and thus the US, using one of their superhumans (now considered "Persons of Mass Destruction") to rescue Americans held hostage within the sovereign borders of another country. Considered an act of aggression by other nations, the UN condemns the act. As with most sequels in which the team is formed in the first, the team is tested and beginning to break down as SHIELD is reporting that their is a traitor within their midst. Loki's arrival brings even more chaos as they try to find out who is the traitor. At the same time, alarmed by the speed in which the US is developing its superhuman programs as well as robotics, the international community prepares itself for a war with the West. Combining superhumans and today's modern times to look at the issues we will face politically and internationally, this comic goes into those questions we rarely think about as well as delivers on the action scenes you'd expect from an Avengers comic. Plus, it has one of the coolest battle scenes I've ever unfolded (I've contemplated buying a second copy just to tear out the pages to put up as a poster).


Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits by David Wong

"Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits" was one of the craziest books I've ever read. I was just wandering around Barnes and Nobles one day when the title caught my eye. The basic premise is a "sins of the father" type story where Zoey Ashe, the main character, finds out she is the sole heir to her father's fortune. In this future, a city has been built where there are no rules, no government regulations. It is here that Zoey's father was working to develop a new type of human augmentation weapon, stolen in his final days. Ashe isn't you're stereotypical heroine, she doesn't describer herself in anyway that would make her stand out in a crowd, she logically tries to run as she knows she is in way over her head. The supervillains are motivated not by money or power, but by attention and fame as everyone in this future now wears glasses which constantly broadcast everything they see, everyone competing for viewers and views. And when I said crazy, I wasn't joking as the first antagonist introduced is a serial killer with a mechanical jaw seeking to devour Ashe as his viewers watch and cheer him on. Even James Bond had Jaws as a primary villain, this story uses him almost as a throwaway character. From there, the augmentations, the settings, the people, only get further and further out from what you'd expect. And, just when you think the story's plateaued and there's no where else to go, the story just keeps going up.


The Sandman: Overture by Neil Gaiman

When I heard that Gaiman was working on a prequel to his Sandman comic series, I checked almost every month for an expected date when the collection would be released. The original series opened with Dream, one of The Endless and an embodiment of the aspect of Dream, being weakened and captured by humans to be exploited for his power (though they had originally hoped to capture his sister, Death). This volume is a prequel and provides the story on how Dream was weakened enough to be captured in the first place. In this story, he must set out to find the source of a madness that is causing all races throughout the universe to go to war with each other, a madness eventually traced to an insane star, and a decision he failed to make years ago. One of my favorite things about this story is the art - even the dialogue of the characters is written in a font which reveals personality and feeling of the character speaking. As the comic is much less action-y than other comics, dialogue and plot are very important and the artwork helps to convey that as well. If this is interesting to you, I'd recommend at least reading the first volume of the original Sandman series and maybe even "The Endless," a collection of stories revolving around Dream and his siblings, Destiny, Death, Desire, Delirium, Destruction, and Despair, just for the background information.

Call Center Stories Part 2: Rescheduling Clients

Obviously, I've been lazy or else I wouldn't have waited 5 months between work stories (and by lazy, I mean this has been sitting in my notebook for a couple months, I'm just too lazy to type). If you've already forgotten what I do on a daily basis, you can go back and reread Call Center Stories Part 1. As I mentioned briefly the last time I talked about work, clients and Department of Human Services workers will call all the time about rescheduling appointments (and I'm pretty limited at what I'm able to do). At one time, I was trying to keep a tally on what the most used reason for missing an evaluation was, but then I got bored at three calls in a row that a client was "sick". Currently, the most used excuses to reschedule are (in no particular order):

• Client was sick
• Client's child was sick
• Client forgot about the appointment
• Client didn't get the appointment letter in time and/or wasn't informed of the appointment
• Client went to the wrong address/got lost
• Client was in jail/incarcerated
• Client had another appointment (doctor, court, funeral, etc)
• Client didn't have transportation (car broke down, friend didn't pick them up, etc)

And now for the more unique stories:

An evaluator called to confirm an appointment. Apparently there was a guy in the office who claimed he had an appointment at a certain time, but the evaluator had a different client scheduled for that timeslot. After some back and forth with the information we were provided and the information the other man was willing to provide, we figured out that he had given DHS a nickname and not his real, legal name. The man claimed that he was in the process of changing it, but since it wasn't changed yet, that name was more of an alias than his actual name. Well, for many reasons, the evaluator isn't going to evaluate someone not specifically on his schedule (he might not get paid, he could be sued for doing a fraudulent exam, he could be doing a fraudulent exam, etc) so he sent the client back to the DHS office to register correctly.

A guy calls on the morning of his appointment day to ask if he can come in at an earlier time for his evaluation. Unfortunately, the clinic is fully booked that day, so I let him know that I can't move him and he'll need to be seen at his scheduled time, a time which he agreed to come in for an appointment at almost 2 weeks ago (if he needed an earlier time, he should've said so back then and we could've accommodated him). Instead of being an adult and coming in at the time he agreed to, he starts fighting me on it, demanding to speak with the clinic (nope, not going to do that) or the evaluator (nope, definitely not going to do that). Just to get him to shut up, I put him on hold and called up the clinic to speak with the nurse. Luckily for the client, the doctor that day is okay with clients showing up as early as they can, as that way the doctor can leave earlier. So, reluctantly, I gave him the okay to come in at 1pm for the afternoon evaluator. Later in the day, I'm getting off lunch and leaving the company break room, which is on same side as the clinic, so I'm forced to walk through the waiting room to get back to the call center. As I'm walking back, a man sitting down is bugging the nurse, asking her where the doctor is because he needs to be seen early. Before she can answer, he sees me (in my hoodie and jeans) and asks if I'm the doctor. I reply no, and the nurse tells him that the doctor is running a little late. As I get to the hallway, I'm laughing as this jackass who was annoying me in the morning to come in earlier now has to wait since the doctor is running late.

All clients are scheduled on a individual basis, meaning most DHS worker will typically only schedule one client at a time (as most are just individuals applying for welfare). So, one day I'm doing a reminder call to let a client know about his appointment. During the call, he asks about his wife's appointment as well. As illegal as it is to give out information regarding another client, I look up the case to see that the woman in question does have the same last name, mailing address, phone number, and DHS case number as the man I'm currently talking to. Also, the woman has an appointment as well, but on a completely different day. So, as I'm listening to the man explain that it would be hard to make two separate appointments on two different days, especially with both of their disabilities, I'm also looking at the evaluator's schedule over those two days. As I explained earlier, my job is limited by what I'm allowed to do, and in this situation, I'm supposed to refer both him and his wife back to DHS to go through the hassle of rescheduling both of their appointments. Instead, I let him know that there is an opening for both of them to go in, one after another, as long as they can promise me to they can both make an earlier appointment time. As much as this can bite me in the ass professionally-speaking (if the client misses the appointment I'm moving him to, and instead comes to the original appointment with a letter for his original appointment, all of the blame for the shit-show that follows will fall on me) as well as goes against my general nature of not caring about others, it seemed like the right thing to do (I'm guessing I was sick that day).

A DHS worker called once to reschedule a client with the client in the office. Not unusual, in fact, we encourage it as that way we can get the most up-to-date information on when is best to put the client on schedule so they can keep their appointment. So, as I'm speaking with the worker, a common thing we ask is why the client missed the appointment as it may provide information on when is next best to schedule the client. Apparently, the client had a court date the same day. Now, we set up the initial appointment just a couple days earlier so I asked if he had forgotten about the court date or, less likely, if it was a last minute court hearing. Instead, I can hear the client respond, "No, I knew about the court date for a couple weeks." So, possibly being on speaker phone, I ask again, "So, you knew about the court date but still agreed to the first appointment knowing that you weren't going to keep it?" And, as I hear the client start to talk again, I can hear the worker giving him the "shhh" to shut him up. Now, I'm not allowed to refuse to schedule a client a DHS worker is calling to schedule, but I know that a DHS worker can refuse to reschedule an appointment if the client doesn't provide good cause. So, now I'm just dropping hints to the worker that maybe, perhaps this isn't a good enough cause, that the client intentionally scheduled an appointment he knew he was going to miss, and maybe we can force the client instead to reapply and go through the whole process again. In the end though, as much as it annoyed me, we did end up rescheduling the client.

A client called to ask if her appointment could be rescheduled... by several months. Obviously, my answer is going to be "no," but for curiosity's sake, I also asked "why?" Well, it turns out that her kids wanted her to move to the mainland to live with them for a couple months. As great for her as that sounds, you are only allowed to receive welfare money from the state if you are living in the state. So now I'm in a debate with her that even though you call Hawaii your home and plan to return, you still need to be living here to receive welfare money. I've spoken to other clients about this before and they all understand that they need to register in the state they're residing in, but just not this lady. Eventually, as I can see that we're just going to be going in circles, I just tell her to contact DHS and they can solve her problem (and by that, I mean that they'll probably approve her benefits until she leaves and then cut her off).

Emberwilde Comes: Departure to Kanto

I awoke several days later in a hospital bed, my left arm heavily bandaged but, from what I could see and feel, miraculously still intact. I poked it with my opposite hand a couple times and felt nothing besides the pressure of my fingers. I started to pick at the edge of the bandage before being startled by a Chancey and Nurse Joy standing in the doorway.

"Good, you're finally awake," said Nurse Joy as she stood in the doorway with several charts in her hand. Whether she knew that I would be waking at that moment or if she just happened to be passing by, I'll never know. She turned to the Chancey at her side and said, "Chance chan chan Chancey Chancey," and the Chancey took off down the hallway, a pink blur. Understanding Chancey has never been one of the languages I've been good at, but from what I picked up, it roughly translated to "The child is awake, get the Fire King."

"What happened after The Choosing Ceremony?" I asked as I struggled to sit up. Though physically I felt fine, the toll of not having eaten for several days made it extremely hard to move. After several attempts to raise myself, I finally managed to brace my back against the wall into a sitting position. "Will our clan still have a Champion this year?"

I heard Nurse Joy giggle. "Chance chan," she started before realizing her mistake. "Sorry about that, I'm so used to only having Chancey to converse with. What I meant to say is that nothing is going to stop the Inferno Clan from entering a champion. The Fire King has already punished Emberwilde for his actions."

I let out a short laugh. "A punishment, huh. I'd like to see that," I said, thinking about the shame he brought upon our clan, about how he sought to embarrass me in front of the clan, but mostly I thought of my bandaged arm that I should've lost in the fire.

"If you want proof, just look to your right," I heard Nurse Joy say as the sound of her footsteps took her further down the hallway.

Turning to my right, I saw a small nightstand with my clothes (freshly washed and folded), and, sitting on the pile of clothes, was a pokeball, black and gray. My pokeball, still intact and shining with the afternoon sun pouring through the window. As if sensing my gaze, the Pokeball gave a slight shake. Emberwilde.

Just an hour later, the Fire King walked through the door, ducking down under the door frame. He stood silent and still, ignoring my growling stomach as I pulled myself off of the bed and onto the cold, linoleum floor, freezing my bare feet until I pulled myself to my full height. Then, I dropped to my knees and lowered my head. "Greetings Fire King of the Inferno Clan," I said with my eyes still focused upon the floor.

The giant Charizard returned my nod. In Charizard, he spoke, "Our Clan expresses deepest sympathies for the harm that has befallen you and the ordeal one of my own Lords has put you through. I have spoken with Lord Emberwilde about the spectacle he made at the Choosing Ceremony and received his assurance that there will be no further incidents like the one we witnessed that day, especially upon your journeys together."

I shivered slightly when the Fire King said "spoken" as the word, in Charizard, can also mean something akin to "settle the matter," typically with force (they were Charizard after all). For his embarrassing display, there was a good chance the Fire King may have used claws and talons as much as words to reprimand the other rogue Charizard.

The Fire King continued. "Nurse Chancey has informed me that besides the weakness you might be feeling from your hospitalization, you have made a full recovery. May I request that you begin Emberwilde's journey as soon as possible as the other clans' champions have already begun." And with that, the Charizard made his way out of the room.

I waited a full fifteen minutes on the floor after the Fire King had exited until I pulled myself to my feet. With Emberwilde's pokeball clutched in my still-bandaged hand, I made my way out of the hospital. Despite being scorched by flames, my arm still felt relatively alright, though I'd still yet to peel away the bandages to see the real damage underneath. Once I got home, I grabbed my still packed bag (I planned to win, after all) and headed toward the coast. In the past years, there's always been a crowd of people to see off the three Champions, but due to the events of the Inferno Clan's ceremony, the only thing awaiting me was an already sun-faded sign wishing the Champions luck on their journeys. Looking across the ocean, I could barely make out the land on the other side - the edge of Kanto and the start of Emberwilde's journey. I looked around the empty harbor. But first I needed to figure out how to get there. Seeing the sun starting it's descent, it would be dark soon and the last thing I wanted was to return to the village so quickly after heading out.

I pulled Emberwilde's pokeball from my hip belt and expanded it to its full size. After all, it was his fault that we were in this mess, why shouldn't he help us out? Still, I hesitated, staring at the black obsidian gleaming off the light of the setting sun. Normally, I would never even dream of asking any Charizard, much less one given the title of Lord by the Fire King, if I could ride on it's back, but these were desperate times. Finally, I placed the pokeball carefully on the ground and backed away. In Charizard, I called upon Emberwilde. "Char char. Chaaar. Charizard!"

The pokeball opened and, in a flash of light, Emberwilde appeared, standing at full height. "Char," he said as he looked me over, an ant disturbing his slumber. For a fraction of a second, I saw his expression soften. Following his eyes, I found them focused on my still bandaged arm. As much as I wanted to shove it in his face, to ask him what he was thinking, if it was all worth it, No, now was not the time as we had a much bigger problem in front of us.

"What?" Emberwilde repeated as his eyes narrowed once more. From his nose, wisps of smoke began to rise.

"Umm," I stuttered as I tried to ask. Luckily, at that moment, a Lapras broke the surface close to the docks. The black markings covering the right half of its shell marked it as one of ours, a member of the Inferno Clan and subject of the Fire King. I breathed out a sigh of relief, perhaps I wouldn't have to ask Emberwilde the unthinkable if this Lapras could transport us instead.

I waved and called to the Lapras to get it's attention. "Laaaapraaas!" I shouted, leaving Emberwilde a few feet behind as I made my way to the dock. "Hello, I was wondering if you would assist me in my journey?" I said in Lapras once I'd gotten the Lapras's attention. "I am to bear Emberwilde, our clan's champion, across the ocean and into Kanto. I was wondering if you may assist me in my quest?" I smiled, knowing that there was no way a subject of the Fire King would turn down a request to assist one of the Fire King's own Lords.

The Lapras refused. Shaking its head, it explained loud enough for Emberwilde to hear as well, "No one will ferry Emberwilde across the ocean. He must make the quest on his own. For his actions at the Choosing Ceremony, he has disgraced himself and the clan. Only by redeeming himself will he again be a recognized member of the Inferno Clan." With that, the Lapras fired a very weak water gun as Emberwilde's chest, not much of an attack, but very much an insult. To me, he spoke, "I'm sorry, Young Bearer, but this is the way of the clan. I'm sure you will understand." With that, the Lapras ducked under the water and was gone. And, as much as I didn't want to, I did understand.

I turned to find Emberwilde gone, returned back to his pokeball. I walked back to the spot I'd placed it only to find an old fisherman, Emberwilde's pokeball in hand. "Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle," he said with a chuckle as he handed me the pokeball, "Any way I can help out?"

"Yeah, just a slight inconvenience but I'll figure it out," I said as I took the pokeball and placed it back on my hip. I turned to face the water, the night beginning to settle in. "If you've got a boat to get us out of here tonight, that would be a lifesaver," I added as I turned back from the water and started up the path to the village.

The old man chuckled and grabbed me by my bandaged arm. "Curious," I heard him mutter before shouting, "Well, you're in luck because I just so happen to have a boat!" He began pulling me toward the far end of the dock. "She might not be the fastest but she's got enough to get you there and back. Plus I've been sailing these waters all my life, doing it in the dark won't be a problem."

We got to the far end of the dock to find a small fishing boat tied up. It didn't look like it could float in a bathtub, much less the ocean, but at this point I'd take anything. "Are you sure about this?" I asked as the old man jumped into the boat and began preparations for take-off. "Isn't anyone from the Inferno Clan forbidden from helping Emberwilde."

I heard laughter, "Oh, don't you worry about that." The old man poked his head out from the boat, a smile on his face. "Although this is a pretty dangerous request, perhaps I should get something out of it as well."

I frowned, "Sorry, sir, but I don't have any money to pay you, nor anything of value to trade," I said as I felt my spirits begin to drop. Even if I were to come back tomorrow, though I wasn't sure if I'd be able to find any help to get me across the water.

The old man motioned for me to get into the boat. "Oh, don't you worry about that," he said with a smile, "I think I've figured out a way for the two of you to repay me. A small favor shouldn't be too difficult for a Lord of the Inferno Clan." As I got into the boat, he explained the deal he'd just thought of. "You see, your presence in the Kanto region is valuable enough to me. I have some business out there that might require your assistance. Plus, the Kanto region is full of exotic things that we just don't have here in the Tartarus Isles. Perhaps you could assist me, when I call on you, of course?" Without a way to refuse that would still allow us passage across the ocean, I reluctantly agreed and handed him my Pokegear to enter his contact info. "Well, now that we've got that taken care of, let's get you two across the ocean." And with that, we were off to Kanto.





I was actually working on another story when I realized that, if you were following this story (which, as I say about all my stories, you really should find something better to do), that for almost 4 months, its been on a cliffhanger on what the fuck happened to the main character's arm. So, I've been splitting my time between this one, the other one, and Destiny 2. This is probably one of the reasons it has a rushed feeling to it. I feel like I should've spent more time on it, especially with descriptions and even with some of the dialogue, but I've also been sick recently so most of this has been written at night, half-asleep or whatever I can put together during my lunch break. It still annoys me that certain sections are just huge chunks of dialogue. I'm still not sure why, but having characters just standing around and talking annoys me, but obviously, how else would things get explained? And it's something that happens in the real world (it's exactly what happens everytime I leave the theater). I think I just need to work on breaking up those chunks with bits of action (at least no one stands perfectly still all the time). One stupid thing, I originally wrote the first-half as if the character was bed-ridden in the hospital bed (a hard time standing for the Fire King, and even just sitting up to talk with Nurse Joy). Still not sure why as the only thing injured was an arm and I took care of stating that it was relatively okay very early. And yes, I do have something planned for what's under the bandages, if you're interested (it's not that interesting). And yes, I also realize that the character is sounding much less like the 10 year old kid s/he is supposed to be (I still haven't determined if it's a boy or a girl). Hopefully I'll also get the next part done sometime next month as this seems to be something I'm going to continue on for a while at least.

The Elephant Mutiny

It's been almost 6 months since the elephants rose up and I fear that humanity may already be doomed.

We should never have kept them caged. We didn't know it then, but we should have seen the signs right in front of our faces: testing the strength of our defenses by leaning their massive bulk upon the reinforced concrete of their pens, testing our might and power by sacrificing their own to our tranquilizers and bullets. They even went as far as testing our natural responses to their presence: performing for our children, eliciting applause when they balance their bulk upon a tiny platform and giggles when one steals a bag of peanuts with its mighty trunk, luring us all into a false sense of security. Always awake to perform for the crowd, always watching and learning. Personally, I'd been to the zoo at least once a year when I was a kid and I'd never even seen a lion or tiger awake; and only on the rarest of occasions would a bear lumber about, though usually just to find another spot to lie down. But the elephants were ALWAYS awake. We should've known that they were the only ones who wanted to be there.

Out in the wild we should have watched them so much closer than we did. We knew they were being poached from the carcasses we found and the ivory being sold. We spent so much time watching and tracking the elephants that we failed to keep watch on the poachers. A secretive and illegal job by nature, with no one to track your whereabouts, disappearances were just reported as missing after we failed to locate their bodies. What the elephants were doing with them only became clear when it was too late. The elephants showed us just enough severed tusks and rotting carcasses, and we jumped to their aid, starting campaigns to protect them, increasing their ranks even further.

Then the day came, the day they rose up against us. Maybe they'd had enough of the cages. Maybe they'd had enough of the poaching. Maybe they just finally had the numbers to stand against us. Whatever the reason, we never learned. The only thing the elephants were willing to teach us was their carnage and wrath. Wild elephants trampled everything from tour groups on safari to entire villages. Penned elephants scattered in zoos throughout the globe lifted people high into the air before smashing them to the ground. Even unprepared, it shouldn't have been too difficult to suppress an elephant mutiny. Giant lumbering creatures gripped firmly to the earth by their own mass and gravity, we thought we had so many advantages. Except when we tamed one group, the others adapted almost instantly. When we brought in vehicles to corral their numbers, they learned to barrel through them. When we used helicopters from above to subdue a rampaging group, the rest took cover to escape our eyes. When we switched to using lethal force, they changed themselves into something ... worse.

It was like watching something from a horror movie. The leathery skin wrapped around their bulk began to unfold into enormous wings, revealing a skinless, muscular frame beneath. Shedding the skin on their legs revealed a hardened exo-skeleton beneath, hard enough to smash through cars without taking a scratch. Finally, a dozen more curved tusks sprouted from their faces, white ivory quickly turning red from the blood of their victims. They moved like a swarm, waves of elephants taking to the air, descending to the streets, killing anything in their path. They took to the skies to bring down our aerial superiority. Their numbers quickly overwhelmed our ground troops. They smashed through skyscrapers hundreds of feet in the air. They came down upon mountains only to bring them low. The harder we fought, the more of us they killed. Eventually, we did the only thing we could do: we ran, like ants scurrying under the feet of giants.

The more we tried to learn about the true nature of elephants, the more we learned how outmatched we were. Penning them in zoos across the globe taught them how to survive in any climate. Killing or capturing one just brought down the anger of the swarm. A hive-mind that has been learning and evolving since their predecessors first walked upon a frozen Earth. We never stood a chance.




It's been a while since I've posted a new story, well posted ... anything actually. I've still been writing sporadically, not as much, mostly due to laziness. As always (or at least 90% of the time) I got the idea from Reddit Writing Prompts: "Elephants don't just have a perfect memory, they have a hive-mind memory." Given enough time, imagination, and paranoia, I could probably come up with a scenario for any animal to overthrow humanity (though I think those "Planet of the Apes" people have already beat me to it. I think my biggest disappointment with this story is the elephant description toward the end. In my head, they looked so much scarier, but I just couldn't get the description into words. Originally, in my imagination, I kind of thought of them as giant, skinless horses with huge, leathery wings but with an elephant head. The one thing I couldn't figure out was some of the logistics of the transformation, such as what to do with their legs if their bodies were to shrink in size? I imagined the wings to be huge, as if an elephants body was just the wings folded upon itself several times. This would make the actual body much, much thinner. I was fine with leaving them with giant heads with tusks protruding in all directions, but it was the legs that kept throwing me off. If all of the mass of their bodies was due to keeping their wings folded up, why are their legs so wide? What happens to the mass in their legs to match the change in their body structure? These are the thoughts that bother me. If I could draw, the transformation would be a pretty cool thing to put here, just to show you what I'm trying to describe as it is now bothering me. Instead, all I have is this:

It doesn't make any sense, right?