"Why tf are you a gorilla!?"

"Gorilla"

"I don't understand, is it because of strength!?"

"Gorilla"

"Is it because you're secretly a furry"

Arms crossed "Gorilla"

"Can you even talk normally?"

Thumbs up "Gorilla"

"Are you memeing right now?"

Finger guns "Gorilla"

"Omg, is that it?"

Nods "Gorilla"

"What species even is it?"

"Gorilla gorilla"

"But what gorilla exactly?"

A bit offended "Gorilla gorilla"

"Oh wait, is silverback, right? The one which is literally gorilla gorilla"

Happy "Gorilla"

"Won't this make the travel way to inconvenient"

Shrugs "Gorilla"

"You just will not speak normal again, will you"

Shakes head side to side "Gorilla"

"Did you also change your penis size to adjust to your new body?"

"Oh fuck"

[removed]

"The job's not so bad," is what Leon said.

Us sitting in the dorm, a paused videogame blasting rock on the TV, a red wine glass with a damn straw in it, and Leon, his pale hands so enthusiastically planted onto a coffee table.

He said it wasn't so bad, and I took it. I wanted to save for a pair of golden-yellow sneakers - the price difference is insane for different foot sizes!

I didn't think I'd sell my dang soul for a pair of kicks.

So there I was every afternoon studying like everybody else at college. Then I'd take night shift, and doze off till morning. Always skipped the morning classes, anyway.

Everybody else took normal part-times though. Interns at project companies, bartenders, countless upon countless baristas...

Not me.

Now that I think about it, Leon always sipped on red wine. He never went out in the day, and he had this strange obsession with garlic.

Turns out he's a regular at this monster hotel or whatever periwinkle crap they're running.

He hangs with vampires of all sorts - gothic nobles dressed in tweed, ancient caveman-eaters, or the more modern punk goth gals with the crazy accessories and tastefully black shirts.

I always gave special service for those clients. They had a sip of my blood once and said I tasted very sweet. I wanna date them. Apparently they usually kill a human immediately and drain all their blood for an immediate fiesta - but I had to "produce more of this delicious stuff," as they said.

Then there's the beasts. More than once has a deranged beastman try to go for my head with their Fantastical Battleaxe of World Devourers, and more than once has some chick with cat ears do the same damn thing. I only survived because I invested in a sturdy shield - sold to me by a shady dark knight. The price was seven cabbages and a man's head. I paid with a zombie's head - it counted.

Speaking of the undead... Zombies and skeletons galore - the two seem to be under the same category of monster. One day I met their necromancer, and she seemed very unhappy that I stole one of the skeleton skulls as a flower display on my work desk.

In my defense, that skull was charred with holy flame. It looked cooler than the golden shoes I've been eyeing.

The clients always do a double-take on me. "Are you a vampire?" is a common question, and my go-to response is "my blood is fifty doubloons per milliliter. Each limb is a thousand."

I just hope some Richie Rich of the monster world doesn't come along and purchase my limbs.

Speaking of my humanity, I was called into the head office this morning.

Our boss - I've never actually seen him - was some old lich with glowy eyes. He warned me with a boomy voice that seemed to permeate from every direction -

"Such a disgrace!" is what he started off with. No pleasantries, not even a 'hello how are ya'!

"Leon brought in a hughman! Ande the hughman passed the interview!"

I didn't know what to say, goddamnit. This is my employer, a lich with every right to take my soul and turn me into a ghoul. It's in the contract, and I thought it was a joke.

"Thou shalt payeth with thine soul - be a ghoul within my army for a thousand years. Only then may thou be free."

I shrug my shoulders and tried to reach for his cup of coffee. Skeletons don't actually drink their drinks - every skeleton has a tiny black hole in their stomach cavity which they use to store items like some damn kangaroo.

The lich watched as I sipped his coffee. "Macchiato, blended, four times more cream, brown sugar, sugared cocoa. And Venti," I said.

I added that Venti part because of this videogame I've been playing. I don't work for Starbucks. But apparently the lich did.

"However... Strange. How can a hughman as thou have such affinity to our elements...?"

The lich snatched the cup away from me like I was a kid with a lighter. The coffee had dragon's blood in it, and I failed to notice.

"They say the bloode of dragounns drive men, vampyrs, and even beastmen mad. Then why do thou hath such affinity?"

In case you didn't know - well of course, you don't work here - to drink the drink of a skeleton is a form of respect. You remove them from the need to take up valuable black hole space. I don't know, trust the culture.

"Yet thou ratings are top notch. Succubi and incubi alike wry for thou touch. Vampyre women seek for thou well-being instead of blood, and beastmen say that thou art a good fighter. And they love the fighting kind."

I kind of shrugged.

"And to be so bold in thine dealings - to take my drink right as I question thou as a hughman being?!"

I must have messed up somewhere if he began shouting outta nowhere, but where? I jittered around in my seat trying to recall every step I've made, when it dawned on me.

Liches don't follow skeleton customs.

"Well, thou art bold, thou art charismatic, thou art well-tasted, and thou art popular. Go! See me not again!"

I just staggered out of the office and Leon, his stupid fanged grin and his chuckle waited for me. The bastard apparently already knew the outcome, and wanted to throw me a welcoming party for my formal introduction to the company.

Formal introduction? What? That felt like being interrogated by Shakespeare! And I was already working in the dang company!

So about that party... A vampire gal whispered into my ear, "the blood of dragons drive men mad." Had no idea what that meant.

But she gave me a kiss on the cheek, I got cake, and Leon sent me off with a gift. All the regular clients wished me pleasantries.

It was a good night.

I walked to our dorm solo, Leon had something to do that night. The box was weird, it was bloody without being messy, and it glowed in the dark too.

I opened it - and there it was. Golden-yellow sneakers, exactly my size and exactly the ones I wanted.

On the bottom was a line burnt in blood, it just said "xoxo", must've been the vampire chick.

The other shoe, on the other hand, had an ominous aura around it. I checked the bottom and sure enough - magical necromancer energy burnt calligraphy into it.

"The blood of dragons drive men mad,"

I just scoffed and put it back in the box. Definitely from the vampire girl, I'll get her number soon.

Went back to the dorm, picked up my basketball, and tried on the shoes. Just a test run on some smooth wooden gym floor.

I took a look at the ominous shoe again.

"... but madmen are already mad."

[removed]

Enjoyed this one!

"What can I say? I've had my fair share of evil and suffering and I wanted to see some smiles." I was talking to Dave, my old superior, who had dropped in for old times sake and had no idea I had built what I had.

He was still stunned, but finally managed to get some words out. "Can I have some?" I gestured to the menu above the counter. After looking it over, he asked "Do you think I'd like chocolate?"

"I wouldn't know, but it's my personal favorite." Dave handed me the money for a single scoop. I served it up in a waffle cone and let him go at it. He initially tried to bite it, but quickly found that wasn't practical and opted to lick it.

He ate it in something like a minute. "That was amazing! How do you make this stuff?"

"Truthfully, I don't know. Could probably google it. Anyways, how is Jay doing?"

His face darkened. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

I ran out of good ideas… 😅

Damnit, I hate it when I can't binge and there's no easy way to get notifs.

>"Guess that answers if the surgery went alright or not,"

That was foul

"With you?" Death was confused for a moment.

"Son, I know you are very ill, but I normally play games AGAINST my ..." he thought for a moment, "friends, whom I lead to the next life, than with them."

Life was cruel and to this boy in front of him, it had been exceptionally so. Cancer beaten 3 times, only to have caught a simple virus that killed his liver. Because of previous illnesses, he wasn't a candidate for transplant, if they found a donor in time.

Death knew they wouldn't. He heard the uneasy snores from the parents in the bedroom across the hall. He was a little bummed they wouldn't get to say goodbye as the boy passed, but sometimes, it was easier to find someone who passed peacefully in the night, as would this boy, Kenny.

"Look, I've never beaten the game, I just need some help. Can you help me beat the game, together I know we could, then.... Well, I know who you are. If Mom and Dad came in, they wouldn't even see you, would they?"

"No, they would not. How do we play this game?"

"Well, we start off, well, I had already started a world, so we have a bit of a head start,"

"Good, we don't have a lot of time here." Death interjected.

"So, I have my Mom's laptop. I was trying to teach her and she didn't get it, but she tried. So you can play her character."

Over the next few minutes, Death learned how to maneuver, mine and well, craft items. Kenny and Death worked in mostly silence, with occasional comments from Kenny regarding things to get, or how to craft certain items. Occasionally, he would ask a real question of Death.

"How will you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Kill me?" Kenny, seemed to tremble at the words being said.

"Oh, dear boy, I am not the one killing you. You are dying because your liver is failing. I am here, not to kill you, but to take you on to your next destination, your soul, that is."

"What about the giant blade you use I see in all the pictures?"

"Ha, look out for that creeper, well, I have been pictured as many things over the years. So, yeah, that scythe is one thing people associate with me, but mostly, I take my charges by the hand or with a gentle arm on the back, and we walk into the next world together." Kenny seemed satisfied with that answer. "Are you warm enough?"

"yeah, I'm kind of feeling hot now. I know that's probably from the liver thing. Okay, the next room we go in, that's where we have the final battle. Are you ready?"

"Are you?" Kenny knew what this meant, and for a moment he had a scared look in his eyes. Death put his hand on his back and said gently patted him. "Let's make this a little more, fun. I believe you deserve a little more fun this last time."

With that, they were not staring at computers but in the world of Minecraft. Ready to defeat the Heart of Ender. Kenny gasped at first, and then said excitedly, "Let's Go!"

It was an amazing battle between the two heroes and the final boss. When it was done they were back in Kenny's room. Kenny was exhausted and voluntarily went into his bed.

"This is where Mom and Dad will find me?"

"Yes. it's time, you know."

"I know. What happens next?"

"Well," Death said to Kenny's spirit now standing next to him still in front of the computer, "Now we go. I have enjoyed playing this game with you. Would other children play this game too?"

"I'm sure, I know grown-ups who play it."

"Interesting. Take my hand, it's time."

​

The next morning, Kenny's mother came in to find him so peacefully on the bed. She sat silently next to him amazed at how he just looked asleep instead of passed. As she turned to look at the computers, she could tell that he had finally beaten the game. She then noticed that logged into her Minecraft account was 'Death'.

"Thank you, wherever you are."

Love thy duck

Thanks, I thought it would’ve been a cool take

I like your twist.

[removed]

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Don’t tell that to Australia

A delightful part 2! Thank you!

I imagine many people have felt this quiet hum of anxiety.

The one that appears when you're called to the principal's office and made to wait outside for a little while, and you have just enough time to start worrying that you're in trouble somehow.

Of course, my situation is a little different.

After what feels like an eternity, but a quick glance at the clock reveals to be about four minutes, the door opens and Mr. Winters peeks out.

"Sorry for the wait, Mike, you know how it is." His smile is a bit wry.

"It's no problem, sir," I reply, with a hesitant smile.

He waves me in with a vague gesture, and I stand up from the comfortable armchair and into his office.

Well, I say office, but really it's closer to an old-fashioned private study, or library. Elegant shelves of lacquered wood with gold filigree, comfy armchairs, red carpeted floor – and a small chandelier.

The shelves themselves carry both books – from modern paperbacks to leatherbound tomes that look like they belong in a library's rare books room – to curios – mortar and pestle, athame, beads and Celtic knots and more apparently ceremonial items that I hesitate to even try identifying – but the most notable item is, of course, the human skull perched at one end. Or at least, it looks human. I sometimes wonder who or what it once belonged to. (I can never quite decide if I'd prefer it to be a human, or something else.)

My gaze passes over these without lingering – much. Best to feign passive curiosity. The hotel has both written and unwritten rules it operates by, but I have my own rules by now, and rule one is : do not bring undue attention to these things.

We sit ourselves at the desk – lacquered wood also, of course.

And so begins my annual work review.

The first few minutes are simply business as usual – self-evaluation, an opportunity to talk about any problems. Ordinary. I slowly relax as the discussion progresses.

Until there is a lull in the conversation. Mr. Winters eyes me through his glasses, something that used to make me feel like a pinned butterfly under an unmerciful green gaze.

You get used to it. These days I take it in stride.

"Now, Mike," he starts, "I don't mean to be indiscreet, but I am by now quite curious, and I hope you can relieve me of that curiosity."

I hum questioningly.

"See," here he pauses to pull a soft cloth out of his pocket and casually clean his glasses, "I've been rather stumped now for quite a bit of time, and it took me such a long time to see the obvious – well, in hindsight – obvious answer, and by now I'm rather sure of it."

He puts his glasses back on, and I almost feel as though he's the slightest bit more manic than usual. Just a slight difference to the curve of his smile, the tilt of his head. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, ever so slightly.

"Now, Mike, correct me if I'm wrong," he finally says, "but you're actually human, aren't you."

Oh. Well.

I'm suddenly both terribly afraid and – well, relieved honestly. I'd been wondering for a few months now if this was going to come up, especially once I found out about the Rules – not the hotel's rules, but the actual Rules governing this...society ? Civilization ? People ?

Of which Rule One was more or less – as is often mimicked in fiction – "Don't Let the Humans Find Out".

"Yes, sir," I politely answer. "If I may ask, what gave me away ?"

He chuckles, the mania fading ever so slightly with his question answered. "Well, of course.

"It all started when I checked up on my bookshelf's alarms, you see."

I grimace a bit. "I did wonder. Back then I didn't quite know enough to know that it was a terrible idea."

"Indeed." He smirks. "But I was quite surprised that the only books you accessed were a rather basic bestiary, and an essay about the manners of our little...corner of civilization. At the time, I wondered whether you'd been raised in isolation and sought to educate yourself, and simply didn't know better than to peruse a warlock's library."

My eyes trail over to the works he mentions. A Short Reflection on the Manners of the People, though a little old-fashioned, had served me well in a hotel that was itself a little old-fashioned, quite intentionally so.

"This started me down quite a strange goose chase," he continues, lost in remembrance. "Such isolation is dangerous, you see, and against the laws of the People. So I thought to find out where you came from, and remedy the situation if needed.

"But the further I looked into you, the murkier the link to our People seemed. I traced your family back to the eighth generation, you know," he mentions offhandedly, "and there was still nothing to be found. Not a single strange tale or family heritage. At one point, I thought I'd found a connection to a witch clan that's since died out, but further inspection revealed otherwise.

"And meanwhile, I started doing something that – as I imagine you know by now – was quite impolite by our customs. I attempted to find out your species."

And indeed, my eyes widen a bit, used as I am to the manners of the People. That was, as he said, very impolite. I'd been lucky not to say a word to that effect in my first month on the job, or I'd have been found out much sooner. Or possibly eviscerated.

"I know," he waves off, "but by then I was really quite mad with the desire to know. The were clans were quickly eliminated – you handled silver well – and I sensed not a spark of magic from you, which rather neatly eliminated a large amount of practitioners from the running. I shan't bore you with my contrived attempts at determining your shapeshifter status. The last possibility I could conceive of was some vampire strain that could handle limited sunlight, but all would have required invitation to enter this office – which I did not provide."

I nod, his earlier, uncharacteristic hand gesture finally explained.

"And so : human," he concludes. "Which puts me in a bit of a bind."

I gulp discreetly. This was the final reckoning – which poison would I prefer ?

The silence stretches.

Literal poison is of course a possibility – or other flavors of quiet 'disappearance'. I would hope instead that the memory spells I'd heard of in passing would be my employer's chosen option.

But even this...unsettled me. How would my new self reconcile the past year ? Would there always be a strange gap at the back of my mind ? Some part of me that whispered when it saw unusually pale men in offices, that drew me towards practitioners and their discreet symbols, that would meticulously catalogue those who avoided silverware ?

Or would there be nothing – just a return to the mundane, the ordinary, the unbearably boring ?

There was, after all, a reason I hadn't quietly resigned in twelve months of work in a hotel where I might be slaughtered at any false move.

"Fortunately," he suddenly says, making me jump (and him smile), "I believe I have found a loophole which would allow the situation to resolve to my liking."

I try to compose myself.

"It is oft said the first Rule is that by all means necessary, the People must be hidden from humanity. Of course," and here the mania returns, "it is seldom clarified what, precisely, the bounds of 'humanity' are. I myself once was quite indistinguishable from the men you might walk past in the streets of London or Paris. An old man such as I has quite a lot of sway in the courts of the People, and I believe I could inconvenience quite a lot of people should this matter come to light.

"And, quite besides this, I find the idea of subjecting our guests to the same unsettling experience as I very, very appealing."

By now he is grinning in a manner others might find unsettling. I find myself unafraid.

I find myself grinning back.

The idea that guests might find themselves troubled thus, questioning what I am, and never seeing the truth, never guessing at a mere human, losing sleep wondering if they should fear the concierge, in terror of the unknown...is exhilarating.

After all…

"It is," I say softly, "rude to ask after one's species."

"I know!" I answer frustratedly, "do you think I don't recognize Ruin's neighing?" I pitied the red horse. It had been growing more and more restless, and I couldn't blame it. I went back inside to continue rummaging.

Plague stands in the doorway for a moment. "You're running-"

"I KNOW I'm running late!" I bark back, "just ride on without me! Ruin and I will catch up with you!"

"War..." Plague says, hesitating, "are you... are you OK?"

I stop rummaging through my house and look Plague straight in the eye. He is probably the smartest of my siblings, but he could be dense sometimes. "... do I look OK?" I slowly ask him.

"We checked the seals this time," Plague says reassuringly, "It's the genuine apocalypse. All seven have been broken. None of that business like with Abaddon back then."

I let out a scream to the heavens. "That's not what this is about!" How dense could he be to not notice? "Ride on, damn you! I will catch up!"

"War..." Plague hesitates, "where is your sword?"

Finally he notices! "I misplaced it." I grunt.

"You mean to say you lost it?" Plague asks incredulously.

I grunt.

"You lost your sword!?"

I grunt again, a little more annoyedly this time.

"You lost your sword?" he repeats, "the Chaoseater? The blade specifically forged to deliver judgment in the never-ending war between the kingdoms of Heaven and Hell that we are riding off to. That sword?"

"YES!"

"Well, where did you put it?"

"If I knew, I would stab you right now!"

Felix sensed his attacker before he ever did see him.

It had been a quiet day at the parlour, but then again, the Winter months never were the greatest for business. Checking his watch, Felix exhaled with relief. Almost closing time, he mused to himself, wiping his apron down before moving towards the sink at a lethargic pace. The used scoops in his grip jangled as he rinsed them under running water, and Felix allowed his mind to wander as the drudgery of the task left his body occupied.

As always after a day of work — a long day of sustaining this mortal form — he was too tired for his thoughts to hold any real weight to them. They were simply fleeting impressions; fragments of memories; of that dark, cavernous exp-

Clutching his head, Felix heard the cutlery slip out of his hand and ricochet across the tiled floor. His mind ached, the visages of that vile place piercing into the most intimate crevices of his mind. Focusing on his breathing, Felix scrambled to the front of the building, turning the Open sign over to Closed as sloppily as an alcoholic.

And yet Felix was utterly sober. Sinking to his feet against the wall, it occurred to him that a drink might not be too shabby an idea. In a blaze of visceral pain, Felix felt his horns sprout out of his scalp as he focused on his breathing. His pale complexion made way for a wild vermillion, and in the dim light of a November afternoon, the amber glow of his lambent eyes was more pronounced than ever.

Equally as groggily, Felix stumbled back behind the counter, knocking over a recent delivery of sprinkles in the process. Suffice to say, bundled up upon the floor, he didn't bother to pick it up.

How much longer? Felix pondered, devilish strength beckoning at him. How much longer can I keep this up?

As much as he liked to ignore its existence completely, Felix could always sense it. The Underworld, his very birthplace, calling at him to return. Even now, that pool of insidious power was merely laying dormant as a constant presence. One slip of his will, and that dark might, all of that unfathomable power, at his very fingertips . . .

"No!" He blurted, slapping himself across the chin with enough force to kill a bull. "Not today. Not today . . ."

Once more, at the back of his mind, his senses prickled. How many times? I said no! Felix mentally huffed, only to realise it wasn't the wrath of his past that was latching onto his attention.

Demonic senses were damn near flawless, able to sense danger miles away. Even with the bulk of his strength locked away into that mental prison, he would be able to sense dark intentions even at his slowest.

Something was coming, it dawned on him. Something was coming to kill him.

Tapping into a mere trickle of his power — just enough to reenergise himself, Felix got to his feet, glancing all around him in a bout of paranoia.

Minutes crawled past, and in the meantime, Felix kept his eyes poised on the front door. A silhouette came passing over the blinds of his windows, and soon at its tail, a knock at the door.

Felix mustered up the deepest voice within him. Or, the deepest that wouldn't reveal him as a supernatural entity. "We're closed."

The figure at his doorstep did nothing for several seconds. Right as Felix's tension reached a crescendo, and he began to believe that they may just walk away, his senses screamed at him.

There was a flare of uncontained energy, and Felix had to duck as his storefront was reduced to crumbling rubble. Streaks of fire blazed across boulders of brick and wood, as entire tables were sent scattering. Tapping into supernatural instincts he hadn't been forced to use in decades, Felix grasped a shard of glass before it could pierce his flesh.

Out of the smoke, a cloaked figure sauntered casually forwards. Alarms were blaring someplace off in the distance, and Felix couldn't help but think, as the steel end of a rapier was directed his way, that he should have instated some himself. Oh well, some tiny, distracted part of him supposed, the explosion will probably direct the police anyway.

"I don't suppose you've come for ice cream?" Felix muttered, putting on a brave front.

The figure before him, draped in a white cloak and with a cross dangling across his neck, didn't even crack a smile. In fact, he waved his blade closer, stomping a leg impressively high onto the counter.

"Second-rank, by the smell of you," the hunter considered, "or no! We have a demon general on our hands, huh? Didn't know there were many of you left kicking from the escape."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sir." Felix ignored the sharp end threatening to rupture open his throat, "care for a vanilla?"

"Oh don't you start playing innocent, you vermin." The man spat. "Have you forgotten that you're unveiled?"

Taking one glance down at his crimson body, Felix wanted to slap himself. "Look, I don't want to fight. I've been hiding out here for the past thirty years, and have you ever heard of any increased crime-rate? Any unexplained deaths, or missing people?"

"I don't want your plea." The hunter spat. "I'm here to set things right. I don't care about any flimsy excuse you have. Your kind should be locked away in the lowest levels of hell, not mulling about amongst mortals."

"I've changed." Felix pleaded. "Please."

A trickle of blood oozed down his neck. The purple liquid dripped to the counter, amounting there. "Look at the filth that sustains you." The man pointed his other hand at the foul substance. "Look at it."

Such hatred seeped from the man's words. What could spawn such visceral spite?

And then, properly, for the very first time, Felix looked at the man facing him. Saw through his fickle exterior.

"Samuel." Felix croaked, memories surfacing of the day their squadron fought through the layers of hell in a bloody haze. "What are you doing?"

Samuel's false front dispersed into the wind, his crimson flesh and jaded eyes holding the same glint they did all those years ago, as the gates of hell were wrenched open.

"Damn it Felix," he murmured hoarsely, sword replaced by an elongated claw, "must your vision be so keen?"

"Why are you here? Are you trying to draw attention? I'm glad to see you my friend, but two demons together, its too-"

Samuel practically screeched. "What we did was wrong Felix! I've already sent the rest of us back to where we belong. Its just us now." He gazed down, a faraway look in his eyes. "Don't you ever feel guilty Felix? Are you not filled with regret — with shame? We're not like mortals . . . we don't belong here. The destruction the rest of our team have caused in the mortal realm sickens me. We're supposed to punish the evil Felix, not join them."

Felix thought carefully before he spoke. "I do more good here then I ever did down there."

His claw lowered slightly. "How?"

"I bring the people cheer through ice cream. It may sound silly . . . but I've found there's more value in rewarding the good, then chiding the evil."

Samuel donned a mortal appearance once more, though this time, he was no deliverer of heavenly justice. He sported the appearance of a regular, every-day man. "Really?"

Smiling, Felix let stark red expire to a human complexion. "Without a doubt."

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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[removed]

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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W warning

##Mercy

The four cult members chant with fervor in Koine Greek around their victim. I’m not fluent in it, but I understand one phrase.

“Feed the fire!”

The ritual is on a freight train which makes my job easier. I open the door to the car and shoot them. After tossing them off the rails, they land in the snow leaving flounder shaped blood patterns.

Before leaving I check the sacrificial victim. Still alive, but no doubt going to die soon. I snap the neck. It’s the only mercy I know how to give.

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