There are many questions circling around my mind at this moment. There are usually questions. One did not rise to my position without a healthy element of... wary curiousity. Or paranoia, if you wanted to be blunt about it.

They say it's not paranoia if they're out to get you though, and there are no shortage of enemies when you list your occupation as 'Supervillain' on your tax forms - and when you've lasted as long as I have, it doesn't get any shorter.

So questions such as 'How did you get this number?' and 'Why in the Nine Hells are you calling me?' are perfectly reasonable. Some might question why I even have a phone, but it's the twenty first century. Get with the times or get gone.

I can't say this isn't the first phone call I've answered where the other person is an inconsolable mess of tears though, which at least helped me figure out what was going on.

"Stop," I commanded, using my 'I Am A Very Dangerous Person And You Should Listen To Me' voice. I don't have a gentler setting - it's not something I've looked into. "Breathe. From the beginning. I know you are capable of that much."

The voice on the other end lets out a ragged, hiccuping sob. "They killed Ace-"

"Which one? Ace of Spades, Ace Hart, the Amazing Ace-"

"No! My dog!"

I blinked. "And 'they' are...?"

"My... folks. They... I forgot to-to load the dishwasher and they just-they said if I couldn't be responsible for that then clearly I couldn't take care of him so they just-"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, silently glad I wasn't wearing my mask. I rarely did when I was in my lair. Not that I had much of a secret identity to preserve - the mask was part of the costume. The persona. It's harder to be taken seriously without it.

"-then they found my-some stuff and said if I was going to be a f-that they couldn't raise someone like me and-"

Silently, I gestured for a familiar to fetch me a drink, and after a small bow, she moved along.

"-just didn't know who else to turn to and I know it's ridiculous and stupid and insane but... can I... stay... at your lair?"

Silently, calmly, I hit the 'Mute' button my mobile so I could let out a long, frustrated noise without him hearing me. Satisfied I'd expressed myself, I took a moment to compose myself once again, and unmuted. "You. Want to stay at my lair. My hidden lair. My hidden lair of villainy. You. My lair."

"... Is that a no? Do I-I need to make a contract? I... can..."

"What? No! For the love of-I do not make contracts with children."

"... I'm fifteen."

"I know how old you are!" Were it not for the enchantments I'd placed on the phone, it would probably be shattered in my grip right now. "The human brain doesn't finish developing until your twenties, at the earliest and that is hardly the point of contention here!" I took a slow, calming breath. "I categorically refuse to believe I am your only option. Frankly, I refuse to believe you're even considering this as an option."

"... I tried everyone else. The Federation just said I should talk to my parents that I should work things out but they don't want to work things out! They won't even talk to me now, and if I try to go back, they just shout at me!"

"You have your meddlesome little friends."

"None of them can help even if they wanted to. Kiraz doesn't even have a home - she just... floats in space."

Right. Her. Frustrating little alien thing but fascinating powers... not the point. "Shelters."

"I... don't really feel comfortable there. What if I get harassed? I don't want to use my powers or anything against normal people and-"

I'm not considering it. I'm not. We're on opposite sides. We're enemies. I've half killed him, and he's done the same to me. But a little part of me will never forget being cold, hungry and alone. Well. A large part of me, really.

"... I'm going to send you an address. There will be rules. We are not 'friends'. We are not 'roommates'. And when we meet in the field, we will be enemies. Do you understand?"

"Thankyouthankyouthank-"

I hit the End Call button. Honestly. What has the world come to, that the Tyrant Devil is playing babysitter to the incarnation of Barachiel?

Hi kat! Wow, what an amazing twist. You did a really good job portraying Edwin's sleaziness. The way he tried to undermine Sally and then force the casting couch on her was quite true to life. I liked the shot she took at his classism at the end as well.

As for crit, I think I'd have liked to see more foreshadowing for the plan and Mrs Carothers' reveal in more detail. Mostly because I want to see that mix of anger and contempt she must have for her husband tbh.

Good words!

Ultra Girl had cried herself to sleep in the big leather recliner in my breakroom. I gathered the cocoa mug from her and pulled the knit throw up around her shoulders. I would need to buy more hard candies, the girl had demolished my supply.

It really was a shame the things some folks do. Sure, I would rob a bank, or hold a city hostage in a heartbeat. But I was just getting my due from a society of pathetic drones.

I would never dream of treating my own flesh and blood like this. In my books that was crime far worse than all the ones I was about to commit.

I pulled the phone off its hook in the kitchen and checked my book for the number of one of my younger associates. Someone competent, but not particularly perceptive for this one.

"Yes, Blackjack, it's Dr. Devious. I have some work for you... yes, yes I can pay extra for the short notice... I need two people killed."

I listed off the details of the job and hashed out the fees.

"Remember Blackjack, don't make a mess or leave any evidence. And I do need the bodies... oh, also, there should be the remains of a dog on the property as well. I need those... no, I don't think I will tell you what this is about."

I hung up after getting a grudging ascent.

"Nibbles, go get the cloning vats fired up, and activate one of the Devious Bots. I'm going to need to send it out to complete a deal tonight."

The calico gave me the gimmlet eye before climbing out of Ultra Girl's lap and stalking off to do his job.

I rooted around through my small closet armory.

"Oh, I know you're here somewhere you piece of junk... aha, got you!."

I pulled out the heavy and clunky memory redactor. Quite a useless thing in most cases. No matter how much memory you erased, it seems like heroes always had some loving connection waiting in the wings to jog their memories right in the nick of time.

I wasn't worried about that in this case.

"Don't worry dear, just a little off the top, and you will wake up in your happy home, with your supportive parents and loving dog."

“Sir, for one, all our information suggests that the humans would prefer if they lived on earth longer. Most of them anyways. And if I may ask, what made you decide to resume this project?”

“Ah, you’ve probably seen the dust that looms over earth. Well, you were correct if you assumed this project was one from my childhood. I don’t know. The thought of dogs as man’s best friend just came to me, one day in the shower. I just got motivation to edit it, maybe I’ll look back on Earth and other childhood projects in more depth some other time. What other improvements do you have in mind?”

”Well umm some of the people you’ve made great great great great… well you get the idea grandchildren can be rather horrible to them. And dogs do seem rather wonderful. Perhaps you could increase their protection mechanisms? Apparently, some people abuse them.”

”Abuse? Wow! That was like a centillion ago in our place-time. Yah sure, good idea. Any other ideas?“

”Yah, not just defence against others, dogs are prone to getting poisoned, tumours, hip dysplasia amongst others. Maybe reduce them getting painfully ill in general?”

(End between here to edit, from part right before just did not now let me know if you want me to add more between here and i'll send you the reposted version in another sub)

You really researched and thought this through, good job.”

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.” – William Morris

Mom made the best desserts. A cliche, maybe, but in my case it was true. She used to say that she'd seriously considered being a baker, but getting the fresh-baked treats and pastries out in time for ravenous customers to purchase their breakfast meant having to get up in the middle of the night. And she simply wasn't a morning person. Besides, she loved to tinker and come up with new recipes rather than make things in batches.

My favorite creation of hers was something she called Liar's Pie. The first time she served it, she cut a slice for Dad and me. Then she told us what she'd named it.

"Why is it called that?" Dad wanted to know.

Mom smiled. "Try a slice and see for yourself."

"But Mom," I said very reasonably, "why would you bake this pie for me? I never lie to you."

Mom laughed at that. "Of course you don't. Just dig in."

The pie did smell good and I didn't think Mom had planned this as elaborate revenge for little fibs about who ate the last cookie or used up the toilet paper in the bathroom without replacing the roll. It was banana-and-toffee flavored, but there was something else to it. A mysterious slightly sparkly flavor that lingered on the tongue. At that time, I thought nothing of it.

I only realized what the pie had done at school the next day. The words simmered at the tip of my tongue, a million little stories and excuses waiting to be unleashed. Details jumped out at me: I saw my classmates' moods and secrets as clearly as their uniforms or the color of their hair.

"Did you do the reading?" Marie whispered from next to me.

I had, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear. "No."

She brightened up despite herself. "Neither did I. How are we gonna hide from Mr Davis?"

A plan unfolded itself, words and ideas falling into place. I smiled.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll distract him."

I hated the story Mr Davis had assigned. It was full of assumptions about how the world should be, not to mention ideas about human nature that didn't hold true in my experience. But I knew not to say any of that the same way I knew about the bald spot he was trying to hide, and my stream of effervescent words held his attention well enough.

The pie wore off by dinner, but I understood. Mom hadn't gone for the blunt instrument of enforcing honesty at all times. Instead she'd tried to show me how I could use my skills for good.

It was a lesson I never forgot.

"Look, Phoenix, I can help you, but there's the fact that I'm a literal villain, and you're a literal hero. You'll be in danger if you stay with me, you know that right?" Elsie, also known as Circe, was just baffled. She wasn't even sure how the kid had even gotten her number, but she felt such pity for the girl. She knew what it was like, after all.

"I'll always be in danger, Circe. Please." Was all the young girl said, and despite the fact she was a villain, Elsie's heart broke, because she knew that this girl and her were so alike.

A sigh left Elsie's lips, and she glanced over to her wife who was listening in while she was cooking them dinner. Their eyes met, and her reaction said it all. "Okay kid, I'm coming to pick you up. Where are you at?" When Phoenix told her the address, Elsie smiled. "I'll be there in ten. Keep safe for me, yeah?"

"Yes ma'am." Phoenix whispered, and hung up, leaving Elsie to stare at her phone for a few moments.

"First Jackson, now Phoenix. You really get yourself roped up into protecting these kids, don't you Elsie?" Delilah smirked over at her wife who groaned and flipped her off, which only made Delilah laugh. Silence encompassed them for a few moments.

"I can't just leave them like that, you know that." Elsie finally spoke up, and Delilah's eyes softened.

"I know, love. I know." Silence again.

"I'll go get her, I love you." Elsie whispered, and Delilah smiled.

"Love you too." And with a golden flash, Elsie was gone from the living room.

Dunno how to end this, but I hope this was an okay read for everyone. My second story on here!

Never is easy as people think it is to improve on gods design every thing has a reason for being like it is, and changing things can often have unforseen... consequences. As I sit in the temple of confluence where, with a mere thought, you can see what would be if something in the universe had changed.

I started bold made it to were every person had a dog that would imprint on them and we're bigger and could protect them. The dogs got bread for war and nearly lost their all the traits thatade them family pets and the became cold killing machines who could snap at the slightest provocation of their master, or a simple command. After overpopulation and the fatigue of war set in the dogs who only knew violence and war were put down, as overpopulation of the dogs were causing food shortages.

Next I went for some thing smaller, in my mind, the ability to talk. This one was tricky almost on the cusp of not being a detriment but never pushing past the line. At first most dogs could only ever learn 20 or so words and hardly form proper sentences, and the ones who could still didn't have the vocabulary past that of a 9 year old. Adjusting the average intelligence of all dogs requires making their common ancestor smarter and ruining that high enough to bring that up to even a 15 year old makes them smart enough to survive on their own outside of a pack long enough to find a new one without going to humans for food so the adoption of dogs happened much slower stuning both humans and dogs for a long time. Losing many of the instincts of co-operation they never become main stay household pets, only ever used as work dogs.

Next I really took a step back and thought to my self and realized that the temple couldn't help me yet. I need to find dog owners and see what they think. Lots of ideas most of them bad but I tried them anyway. Never shiting isn't possible. Behavior changes are always a wash. You can't change bad breading because, I can't interfere with free will. But then one hit me, a longer lifespan. Increasing the average age a dog could live by 5 years doesn't cause much overpopulation the increased compotition for food caused wolves and humans to join together earlier. Forming a deeper bond. And advancing both to new hights bringing out the best of both.

It really was that simple only thing that could improve man's best friend, is more time with their best friend.

Not the effect I was going for, but I hope it gave you a giggle.

"It's 2 in the morning. If you're offering a contract with anything less than six zeroes, I'm hanging up and tracking you down to kill you when I wake up."

No frantic apologies came through the other end, or any sort of talk of a contract. Just the sound of heavy breathing and...crying? I was all set to hang up when a weary voice said, "Hi Boneyard."

I sat up and replied, "Lovebug? How the hell did you get this number?"

"I ran around town until I found someone who had it. I've been running all night."

"Look, whatever major threat you've got on your plate that absolutely needs my help to deal with, can it wait until--"

"Can I stay with you?"

My brain struggled to process what Lovebug had just said to me. "What?"

Lovebug sniffled. "Can I stay with you? Please? I don't... have anywhere else to go."

"Lovebug, I don't know what kind of issues you're having with your parents, but--" Lovebug's pained sobs cut me off. The realization hit me as I quietly said, "They threw you out, didn't they?"

"Since I started as Lovebug, I've been coming home late and forgetting or not having the energy to do my chores. I tried, I really tried to get home on time last night, but I couldn't make it. And when I came home, I found my dog on the doorstep with--with a hole in his chest. And my dad opened the door, and he had his shotgun, and he said if I couldn't be trusted to get home on time, I couldn't be trusted to have a pet."

I already wanted to kill Lovebug's dad, but she wasn't done. "The next day, I came home from school, and my parents were at the kitchen table with my laptop and my books, and they started screaming at me. They said they'd never be so stupid as to let their child be a....be a...I can't even say it. And they threw me out, and they wouldn't open up the door no matter how much I begged, and--" Lovebug couldn't take it anymore, and collapsed into pained sobbing.

I was already out of my bed and halfway dressed in my body armor as I said, "Give me your location. I'll come to you."

"I'm in the alley behind Dragon Pho. P--Please don't hang up. I don't want to be alone."

"I won't. I promise." As I loaded up my guns, I stopped to look at a photo on the wall. It was a picture of me with my platoonmates before we shipped out for Operation Torch. I sighed deeply, prompting Lovebug to pipe up, "I'm sorry I woke you up like this--"

"I'm not upset at you, kid. I'm just... disappointed people are still the same in the hundred and seventeen years I've been alive. I'll be there soon."

Thanks, Fye! Super helpful!

Yes.

> I read this entire thing in The Monarch's voice.

From Venture Bros?

I read this entire thing in The Monarch's voice.

Intern: Crap, god wants a change in the dog templates and I'm out of ideas

Manager: Meh, just outsource and have the humans do our jobs for us

Intern: Is that a good idea?

Manager: Sure, just give some of those victorian Englishmen a spark of inspiration, what could possibly go wrong?

Several years later...

Zoologist: Yeah, this species of dog can barely breathe, how it hasn't gone extinct is beyond me

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life…”

Ernest Young scowled as he finished reading the faded bronze plaque.

Which ‘happy detail’ of my day would you like me to focus on, oh wise quote-ster of yore? Ernest thought as he hopped back into his rusted pickup truck. The abandoned cars blocking every road? The trash piling high? The hordes of undead?

It’d been weeks since the zombie outbreak and he’d been driving west for all of it, desperately trying to reach his sister Maureen’s house. Unable to contact her by phone, she’d become his chief concern.

As their half-German grandmother used to say, Maureen was… a bit of a schnicklefritz. Not dumb by any means. Maureen just… floated through life, assuming things would work out for her.

And they had, mostly. But Ernest worried that mindset would be a death sentence amid a zombie uprising.

Winding his way past undead hordes and gridlocked streets for several more hours, Ernest finally reached Maureen’s suburban home, only to find it… completely intact?

He stared in disbelief as he exited his truck. Zombies shambled aimlessly in the distance, and her neighbor’s homes were trashed, but Maureen’s was undamaged.

He opened the unlocked front door and stepped inside, into another world. His sister sat calmly on the couch, reading a book.

“Hey, Ernie!” She stood and hugged him. “Good to see you! How’s everything?”

“Bad… like, really bad, Maureen. Are you not—”

“Want some popcorn?” Maureen interjected, plopping back on the couch.

Ernest did, actually. He was ravenous, but there were more immediate concerns.

“Pack some essentials,” Ernest said, tossing her a duffle bag.

“What?”

“We gotta get outta here before—”

He was cut short by the sound of shattering glass. A zombie wearing a mechanic’s uniform clambered through the front window.

“Oh, shit!” Ernest screamed.

“Calm down. I’ll handle it.” Maureen approached the zombie with her arms folded angrily. “Zammy! I thought we had an agreement, no breaking my windows."

“Urglurrrrrghhhhhhh…I—” the zombie groaned feebly before placing his hand beneath his dangling jaw, moving it as he spoke. “Sorry. My boss is really riding me. I’ve got a new quota to infect five humans a day.”

“Aw. That sounds like a lot of pressure, Zammy.”

“It really is.”

“But…?”

“But… that's no reason to take it out on you. Sorry.”

Maureen smiled graciously. “Okay. Good.”

‘Zammy’ shambled out the way he came, past a still shaking Ernest.

“What the hell was that?” Ernest finally said.

“Hmm?” Maureen asked, cheerfully returning to her popcorn.

“The zombies can– can talk? And kinda… reason?”

“Yup!” She shrugged. “Guess nobody else thought to try it.”

“Wow…”

“Ernest? Just because I’m handling things differently than you, doesn’t mean I’m not taking them seriously.”

“Touché.” He flopped on the couch beside her. “Any more advice for surviving the apocalypse?”

“Yeah.” She shoved the popcorn bowl toward him. “Make time to enjoy the little things.”

> I don't know what I was expecting, but this was better than that ! Thanks!

I'm sincerely glad you enjoyed that. My initial instinct was to downvote it and move on...then I started typing a response.

Copper’s Drug and Soda

Est. 1899

Quality Purveyors of Wholesome and Stimulating Tonics!

​

And in 1899, it was even true. Over twenty years later, though, you wouldn’t catch anyone calling the purveyors at Copper’s “quality”. And while potables were indeed sold there—in its basement, that is—the beverages were neither wholesome nor stimulating. They’d originated in cracked old bathtubs, and left men stumbling from the cellar after midnight.

Burt stood by the grimy soda fountain, which rained rust on him if he brushed it, counting quarters behind the counter.

“Hullo?”

The woman slipped into the store, blonde curls poking out under her bucket hat in the way Hollywood starlets would kill for.

“I need a little spritz,” she said. “Do you sell Dr. Bernstein’s Seven-Herb Soda?”

“’Fraid not,” Burt grunted. Pretty or not, the lady wasn’t getting any “spritz” until she gave him the passphrase.

“Oh—but isn’t it just up there?” She pointed at the decade-old green bottles on the top shelf.

Warily, Burt glanced up. Yes, Dr. Bernstein’s. Completely legal. He eyed the lady, but she was digging in her purse.

“Ten cents. Boy! Never seen it that cheap.” She plunked two shiny dimes on the counter and looked up.

Burt plunked his big forearms on the counter beside them. “Whaddaya here for, bird?”

Her mouth worked a few times. “Er—two, two bottles of Dr. Bernstein’s. Is that the right price?”

Realization finally dawned on Burt. This lady had no idea where she was.

He scooped the dimes silently into his pocket and grabbed the bottles, keeping her in the corner of his eye. He pulled out a shirttail and gave them a swipe, removing at least a year or two of dust, and set them on the counter.

“Need a…” He furrowed his brow. “…Receipt?”

She smiled. “You could grab me a peppermint stick, if you’re sweet.”

The peppermint sticks, Burt was dismayed to find, were so coated in dust that they looked pink and grey. He dunked one in his water glass and set it down.

She pursed her lips at the sopping stick.

“You new here?” she said kindly.

“As a lamb,” he lied.

“That’s not true, Burt,” she said.

Burt stiffened. His hand inched under the counter.

“You here to blackmail me, lady?”

Her brows rose. “Why would I do that when you’re gonna hire me fair and square?”

She dangled a card between her fingers like a cigarette, and Burt plucked it.

​

Hattie’s “Oopsie-Daisie!” Deep Cleaning

Fast! Discreet! No Mess Too Much!

​

“The health inspector’s on a rampage. He’s doin’ your block next week.”

Ice crackled into Burt’s veins. He glanced at the peppermint, sugary juice pooling on the counter.

“You need some help. And a pretty face behind the counter--someone that can act a little more innocent,” she murmured. Her gloved finger tapped his knuckle. “I mean… another pretty face.”

“Damn you, lady.” Burt grinned, and took her hand softly. “Looking forward to doing business with you.”

I don't know what I was expecting, but this was better than that ! Thanks!

I'm sorry...is this a prank? Yes, I'm aware that this...if true...is serious. It's very serious.

If true.

I don't know why you'd make up something like this! I don't even know how you got my phone number!

Ah...yes, well that makes sense.

Okay, take a deep breath...get your breathing under control and let's start at the beginning, shall we? Your parents did what to your dog?

And they did that because?

I didn't say it was justified...I just asked what event precipitated that response!

Again I'm forced to ask "Is this a prank?" They killed your dog...because you didn't paint the garage...or mow the lawn...or take out the trash...

And you didn't accomplish any of that because you were out fighting crime.

Yes, I know who you are. I recognized your voice almost instantly...I'm a Criminal Mastermind, you know.

Wait...hang on...your parents still don't know that you're a crimefighter? For God's sake, boy, you're only 17!

Yes, I'm aware that you're capable, we've had some good fights. Not that I'm in the habit of beating up teenagers, mind you...I just thought you were a bit on the skinny side when we first met.

Well, you're pretty muscular for a teenager...even the kids on the football squad aren't generally that big until they get to college.

Hrm? One more time?

Okay, well...not sure how that's relevant.

OH...you think your parents kicked you out of the house because you're gay. Well, considering how they murdered your pet I'd say evicting you is a pretty reasonable response from them.

I do believe I added the quantifier "from them" to that statement.

No, you most certainly can not come stay with me!

Well, let's see...for starters I'm over 35 and you're a teenager.

Excuse me?

Well, I'm not Leonardo DiCaprio, now am I?

What do you mean you were sure I'd say yes?

Why did you think I was gay?

Okay, let's get something straight...stop giggling, I'm trying to make a point...just because homosexuals have historically been well-represented in Theater they do NOT own it!

Yes, I'm being serious!

What? No, that's not true at all. No, it is not! Listen, comic book superheroes originated in the United States of America in the early 20th Century in New York City, a haven for immigrants! The superhero was only able to be himself in the privacy of his home, when he went out into the world he wore a disguise so he could fight injustice and make his community safer! Any allusions to homosexuals having to do the same things was entirely coincidental and unintended.

Oh, I read a lot.

Yes, history, theater, art...no, I am not gay! In fact, this conversation is keeping me from two women I've been pursuing for some time---

No, not like that. We'll be having dinner shortly.

Yes, I cooked.

You know Gordon Ramsay is married and has two children, right?

Anyway, about your parents. Well, I'm no expert, but it sounds like they've either been replaced or possessed by supernatural beings. In either event I'm not much good to you, really.

No, it's not that I don't want to help you, I'm saying that I, personally, wouldn't be able to. We have equivalent strength, speed, and agility so you don't need my help taking them down physically, and you know them better than I do so it's not like I'd be able to spot something you couldn't.

sigh No...you're not on your own. I said that I couldn't help you, but I know someone who might. I'm going to send you to a witch named Asheara...what's that?

No, that's literally her job title, you dullard!

I do have guests, you know.

Right, as I was saying...you can find Asheara in the cemetery on Grove Street. She'll be collecting moss from headstones since Guy Fawkes Day is coming and she likes to be prepared. Yes, just tell her I sent you and don't sneak up on her. She really doesn't like that.

Well, good luck with the parents.

sigh Teenagers.

Edit: This is now a Webtoons webcomic. Hope you enjoy.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!"

Spray-painted in brown on the marble courthouse wall were the words, “The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.” The bottoms of the letters bled. And beside them was a painting of a woman sitting at a table with a glass of water.

Jasmine gazed out the corner of her eye at her artwork, then down at her stained, fraying sneakers. She stood between two police officers, one of them clutching her backpack. And before her stood Sergeant Geraldine Scott. Her badge reflected the flashing red and blue lights of the cars.

She stared at Jasmine with all the emotion of a shark.

“This is the seventh government building you’ve vandalized,” she said, her words clipped and crisp.

“I don’t recall breaking anything,” Jasmine muttered through her teeth.

The sergeant’s eyes flicked to the woman in the graffiti. Her cheekbones were sunken, the lines of her eye sockets sharp and jutting. One bony hand pressed against her sweating brow. Her fingernails were dark from dirt. She gazed slack-jawed into her chipped glass of murky water.

“Who’s this supposed to be?” Sergeant Scott asked.

Jasmine felt her will crack ever so slightly. Pain trickled through. It threatened to fill her chest and crush her heart. Her downcast eyes studied the cuffs around her wrists, the paint spotting her fingertips.

“My sister,” she murmured. “Erica.”

“Is she sick?”

“Was.”

The sergeant breathed in sharply through her nose, then exhaled a long, loud stream. She slid her hands onto her hips. “And you think she’d like this? Watching you deface public property?”

Jasmine pursed her lips to smother her chuckles as the pain continued to rise. It lapped the edges of her heart. She glanced over at her backpack of spray cans—the ones Erica bought for her on her sixteenth birthday, a month prior to her diagnosis. Didn’t she tell Jasmine to “go on, go paint the town and all that”?

“I think she’d call it an improvement.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Sergeant Scott snapped.

“You don’t see me laughing.”

The sergeant’s shoes clicked against the concrete. She loomed over Jasmine, her face a mask of adult disappointment.

“You know you’ve made matters worse for yourself. You’re gonna be up to your elbows in fines. I hope it was worth it.”

The pain had by now swallowed Jasmine’s heart whole. She could feel it bucking, pounding the walls of her chest, struggling for breath, desperate to escape.

She sniffed. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. The corner of her mouth quirked as she said, “Made you look.”

Sergeant Scott recoiled, just the slightest stiffening of her spine edging her away from the cuffed teen. But the moment was short lived. She jerked her chin at the officers with a huff.

“Get her out of here.”

[deleted]

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"Look, she doesn't kill people, okay? Gary's got a bit of a...", Ecklebert Evilton tapped his nose, "fondness for the Columbian marching powder. He'll be off in a bar in the town". His minion nodded, but frowned and looked behind him, down the dimly lit stone corridor of the daunting castle. Wind shook through the high beams and arrow slits in the fortifications, as the minion looked back to his overlord.

"Mr Evilton sir, you're much smarter than I am, but I saw his head get cut off sir. Ariel, she went crazy sir". Ecklebert sighed. Gary was terrified of the water, and there was no way that Ariel, a mermaid, would beat an ex-military serial killer like Gary the Gauntlet. Cocaine problem aside, Gary was one of the most deadly men on the east coast. Tallying up his kill count would take months. No, Gary wasn't dead. Just off in some dive bar somewhere, eye deep in the ol' bedknobs and broomsticks.

Evilton looked the minion in the eye, and saw fear there. His oddly shaped shoulders drooped. He did not want to stand in front of Ecklebert Evilton, few did, which set hares racing in the mind of the villain. It was rare that someone would make a mistake in front of him. To double down and insist on the mistake? It was suicide.

"Have you got any proof, that you can present for me?"

Minion, whose name was actually Mark, nodded and waved his clumsy arm behind him. There was the sound of shuffling and grunting as a sack was dragged into the room. It took six of the oddly shaped gremlins to drag it, and when one of them tripped, the contents fell out. Gary's lifeless eyes, inside a half rotten head, rolled along the throneroom floor and fell, staring straight ahead, into the middle distance. The nose still showed flecks of white.

"What the FUCK". Evilton leapt out of his chair and raced down the stairs. It took ten seconds. The stairs seemed like a cool idea at the time but he now regretted prioritizing form over function. As he drew closer, he knew it was Gary. The rest of the body could be seen inside the sack. "Empty it, empty it! Jesus fucking Christ". Evilton felt the sweat run down the front of his face. He ran a gloved hand over his brow and as the body fell out of the bag, his hands dropped. It was a massacre.

The legs cut at the knees, and the tendons in Gary's ankles were sliced wide open. This wasn't an assassination, it was torture. The cuts were clean, expert. Gary leaned down to the body, and pulled a note that was half pushed into the open wound on Gary's immense back.

"Watch and you'll see. Some day I'll be part of your world". Ecklebert dropped the note, and turned to his minions. "Pack everything in the truck. We're getting the fuck out of here".

Thanks for the help, Fye. I'm usually not the type to do ninja edits, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it!

Stop by campfire to hear it! :)