Breakdown of Reality

                Toshon lead the group down the corridor towards the Captain’s Quarters. A contingent of pirates surrounded Nykyos, Rambler, Omni, Flyboy, and Zari. Rambler, Flyboy, and Zari looked worried, but Nykyos was strolling along casually with his hands in his pockets and Omni looked unconcerned. He looked like he was about to start whistling. Rambler sidled quietly up next to him.

                “This is bad boss,” he said under his breath.

                Nykyos shrugged.

                “You remember Gethorn?” he asked.

                “The planet with the Amazons?” Rambler asked, “Sure I remember that. Seem to remember something about a sacrificial pit and you strung up by your ankles.”

                “That was worse than this,” Nykyos said.

                “Sure, that was bad,” Rambler said, “But the crew is back dealing with pirates attacking the ship, so what are we going to do?”

                Nykyos looked around him casually.

                “The entire crew?” Nykyos asked, a sly grin on his face.

                “Yeah, you sent Reader back with the hostages, right?” Rambler asked.

                “Let’s just say I read the situation correctly,” Nykyos said, glancing at the air conditioning vents.

                Rambler stared at the vents for a few seconds before a look of enlightenment crossed his face.

                “Ah,” he said, “Got you.”

                Nykyos put a finger to his lips. Rambler nodded and fell back in line with the others. Flyboy and Zari shot him a questioning look and Rambler just nodded, shooting Nykyos a sly look. Flyboy and Zari grinned.

                Finally the made it to the Captain’s Quarters. Toshon stopped in front of the door, waving at his men. The pirates took the Rejects’ weapons from them. One of them picked up one of Rambler’s miniguns and nearly dropped it on his foot. The pirate stared at Rambler in awe. Rambler just grinned.

                “Yup,” he said, “They’re pretty heavy.”

                The pirate shook his head as the Rejects were patted down for extra weapons. When they were satisfied that they were clean they took up positions around the door. Toshon, Dirce, and the Rejects went into the Captain’s Quarters alone.

                Toshon stopped in the center and stretched out his arms, as if showing off the quarters, he then proceeded to slowly turn around and face Nykyos.

                “Well Captain?” he asked, “What do you think?”

                Nykyos slowly ran his eyes over the cabin. There were pretentious pieces of artwork hanging on the wall. The stereo system in the room was playing some music he’d never heard of, and had no desire to ever hear again. It sounded like Pelshorian Monks humming about nothing at all. A large picture of Toshon was the centerpiece. He brought his eyes back to the pirate leader and raised one eyebrow.

                “What do I think?” Nykyos asked, “I think this proves something I suspected when I took the job.”

                “That I am the epitome of awesome?” Toshon asked.

                Nykyos chuckled and shook his head.

                “It proves that you’re a giant penis,” Nykyos said.

                “What does my massive member have to do with anything?” Toshon asked.

                Nykyos rolled his eyes.

                “Shouldn’t be surprised that that went over your head,” he said, “Not that you have a giant penis. That you are a giant penis, you know, a dick.”

                Toshon’s eyes narrowed as he began to slowly realize that he’d been insulted.

                “What do you mean?” he asked.

                “Well, first off, you’re a pirate,” he said, “Which means that you’re attempting to buck against some imagined authority figure. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too fond of those myself, but I don’t have to be a giant twat about it. Me and my crew travel the stars and help people out.”

                “Go on…” Toshon said, crossing his arms.

                “Then there’s this room,” Nykyos continued, “I mean, it couldn’t scream pretentious asshole more if you tried. The artwork, this garbage music, and of course, the giant pretentious picture of yourself.”

                He waved his hand dismissively at the picture.

                “Then there’s the men you lead,” Nykyos said, “They’re not very good at their job, are they?”

                “What do you mean by that?” Toshon asked.

                “Well, if you’re going to search someone for weapons,” Nykyos said, “It’s usually a sign your bad at your job when you miss some.”

                With that a pair of revolvers slid from his sleeves and into his hands. Toshon snarled and brought his rifle up to bear on Nykyos. Dirce brought a pistol up as well. Nykyos had his revolvers trained on both of their heads.

                “You really think you can get out of this alive?” Toshon asked.

                “Eh, who knows,” Nykyos said dismissively as a vent cover quietly slipped off, “At least I can die with knowledge of having rid the world of a giant prick.”

                Reader slowly slid out of the vent, camouflage system activating. Nykyos kept his eyes trained on Toshon. He started making dramatic gestures with his hands.

                “Oh yeah,” he said, “There’s one other thing that proves that your one of the most retarded people in the solar system.”

                “What’s that?” Toshon asked, anger rising in his voice.

                “You got this stupid little ponce to work for you,” Nykyos said, “And he really didn’t do a good job keeping you abreast of the situation.”

                “What do you mean?” Toshon asked.

                “Well,” Nykyos said, “There’s one very important lesson that I’ve learned over the years of leading a roving band of adventurers, and that’s to always maintain situational awareness.”

                “Explain.” Toshon said.

                “Make sure you know where all your enemies are,” Nykyos explained, “You always have to keep account of everyone and everything.”

                “He did,” Toshon said, confident, “I know where all your crew is.”

                “Really?” Nykyos said, a grin creeping across his face.

                As he said that Toshon grunted as Reader’s camouflage system deactivated and the sticking through Toshon’s chest appeared. Nykyos shot Dirce in the forehead before he could react. Reader pulled the sword out of the pirate leader’s chest and started cleaning it. Nykyos slowly and casually walked up to the dying pirate leader.

                “See,” he said, “Always know where your enemy is, even if he’s pretending to help you out. You really think I didn’t see Dirce’s betrayal coming from a mile away?”

                He rolled his eyes.

                “Please,” he said, “This is what I do.”

                Toshon tried to say something but couldn’t, and instead just died.

                “Nice work Reader,” he said, “Situation back at this ship?”

                “Tense but it sounds like Maze has it under control,” Reader said.

                Nykyos tapped his coms.

                “Writer, how’s it going with the defenses?” he asked.

                “We got it under control boss man,” Writer said, “I think we’ve only got a few more waves of pirates left. You guys ok?”

                “We’re fine,” Nykyos said, slowly moving towards the door, Reader took up position on the opposite side, “About to get our weapons back, the pirate leader is dead.”

                “Roger that boss man,” Writer responded, “See you back on the ship in a few.”

                Nykyos opened up the door and Reader sprung through. She sliced up a few pirates and Nykyos took the rest out with his revolvers. Zari, Flyboy, and Rambler collected their weapons and they moved on.

                When they got to the hanger they opened it to find a wasteland. Maze was standing above the last living pirate, her pistol trained on his head. The pirate stared up at her and went to grab his rifle. Maze shot him then brought his pistol to the door. She dropped it when she saw who it was.

                “Boss,” she said, “Good to see you. We done here?”

                “Yup,” Nykyos said, “Lets dust off.”

                With that the group headed back into the ship. Maze went off to her engines, Zari headed to the med bay, Rambler went to find a drink, Omni went back to his work bench, Flyboy headed to the cockpit, Reader slunk off to some dark corner, and Nykyos shut the loading bay, staring with contentment.

                They’d offload the rescued passengers at TWC Station, their favored port in the storm. Rambler could get blitzed, Reader could find a new sword to play with, Flyboy could find some pretty girls to flirt with, and the rest could do as they pleased. Then move on to the next mission. Nykyos grinned; it was good to be an adventurer some days.

7: Defensive Positions

               “Maze?” Writer asked over the coms.

               Maze looked up from the turret that she had she finished emplacing and hit the coms button.

               “Yeah Writer?” Maze asked.

               “We’ve got incoming,” Writer said.

               Maze stepped back and took a look at the defensive wall she’s made. The entrance to the bay was lined with explosives from Rambler that detonated when she wanted them too. Six turrets faced lined the corridor leading to the entrance of the ship. A metal blockade would provide cover to fire from.

               “Defenses will be as good as they get,” Maze said to Writer, “We find anyone capable of helping me fight?”

               “We’ve got two,” Writer said, “They’re on their way down to you now.”

               “Roger that,” Maze said, “We get a hold of the boss man yet?”

               “Negative,” Writer said, “He’s out of communication, Reader says they got caught though.”

               Maze sighed.

               “Again?” she asked.

               “Yeah, again,” Writer said, “You know him though; he’ll figure a way out.”

               Maze nodded, a grin on her face.

               “He always does,” she said.

               “That’s why he’s the boss man,” Writer said, “He’s probably already got a plan in motion.”

               The two former hostages, a man and a woman, made it to the barricade. Maze nodded at a small arsenal of weapons lying at the base of the ramp.

               “Pick your poison,” she said, “I’ve got these.”

               She showed the two hostages her pistols.

               “I’ll also be doing any repairs I might need to do as the fight goes,” she said, “Make sure I’m covered.”

               The pair nodded and grabbed their weapons. The man picked up an assault rifle and the woman grabbed a sniper rifle.

               “I’m Maze, by the way,” she said, introducing herself, “And you are?”

               “I’m Steve,” the man said, handling the rifle nervously.

               “I’m Ariana,” the woman said, handling her sniper rifle like a pro.

               “Good to meet you Ariana and Steve,” Maze said, “Now, who’s up for killing some pirates? I know I am.”

               “That’s good,” Writer said, “Because you’ve got incoming in five.”

               “Steve, Ariana, take cover,” she said, pointing at the barricade, “We’ve got company coming.”

               She took up position behind a large steel crate near the turrets. She heard the doors to the cargo bay open, counted to ten, and hit the switch. The explosive went off with a loud bang. She grinned and took a look around the crate to check the damage.

               The door was smoking and a large number of pirates were decorating the walls of the cargo bay. She frowned at the amount left. The frowned turned to a grin as Ariana took one down with her sniper rifle. She whipped the pistol up and fired a few shots, dropping pirates as they stormed the door. She ducked behind the crate again as they started firing back.

               And came into range of the turrets. She smiled sweetly as the turrets hummed to life and started firing on the pirates. They started cursing and firing at the turrets. She watched her equipment monitor, turret two was taking damage.

               “Cover me!” she shouted as she dashed from the crate she was behind to another across the way, this one closer to the damaged turret. Steve started laying down covering fire and Ariana managed to snipe a few which allowed Maze to make it across the corridor safely. She made her way to where she could see the turret while still being in cover from the Pirates.

               She took a deep breath and dove to the turret. She felt a few bullets whiz past her but Ariana took that pirate out with a well-placed shot. She took out a repair kit and quickly made a few repairs to the turret, getting its stability up to acceptable levels. She jumped up, whipped out her pistols, took down a few pirates, and ducked back behind cover.

               She was sweating lightly from the tension and exertion. Repairing turrets in a combat situation wasn’t easy. After a few minutes of this exchange the pirates fell back behind the door. Maze took this moment to fix the turrets. She walked back to the barricade where Steve and Ariana were sitting with their backs against it.

               “You two ok?” she asked.

               Steve and Ariana nodded, looking at her slightly amazed.

               “Good, you guys did good,” she said, looking at the door, “But I get the feeling that they’ll be back. Get ready.”

               Steve and Ariana nodded and prepared themselves for the next wave.

               At first there was nothing but darkness, and then he opened his eyes. He was lying in hospital bed. He didn’t remember going to a hospital, didn’t know why he was there. He tried to think about the last thing he could remember, and couldn’t. He couldn’t remember anything. He frowned and concentrated, he couldn’t remember how he got the hospital, where he was, or even who he was.

               A doctor walked into the room, scanning a clipboard. A tall, thin, bald man wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie followed him, scanning the document over his shoulder. He instinctively didn’t like the tall man, though he wasn’t sure why. He seemed familiar, and wrong. The doctor looked up and noticed that he was awake. He smiled and hurried over to the bedside. The tall man followed him.

               “Good to see you up,” the doctor said, “Do you know where you are?”

               “Hospital,” he answered.

               “Good, do you know why?” the doctor asked.

               “No,” he answered.

               “Do you know what day it is today?” the doctor asked.

               “No,” he answered, panic rising in his stomach. Why couldn’t he remember these things?

               “Hum, not too surprising, you’ve been unconscious for three days,” the doctor said, “Do you remember who the president is?”

               “No,” he answered again, panic growing.

               “Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.

               “No, I can’t,” he answered, panic evident in his voice now.

The tall man wasn’t saying anything, just reading the chart and glancing at him every once and a while. The tall man caught him looking at him and cocked his head to the side and stared quizzically. After a few seconds a worried look crossed the tall man’s face and he turned and left the room. The doctor never acknowledged his presence.

“Well,” the doctor said as the tall man left, “It seems that you’re suffering for memory loss. This isn’t uncommon for traumatic brain injuries. Hopefully your memories will come back on their own. You seem to healing just fine though.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Unfortunately you had no identification when you came in,” the doctor said, “We’ve just been referring to you as John Doe.”

John nodded, accepting that as his name for now.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked the doctor.

“Well, when you were found unconscious on an old highway,” the doctor answered, “You had suffered from a number of cuts and blood loss. We couldn’t find any indications of trauma to the cranium, but a scan showed significant trauma to the brain, though we still can’t identify the cause.”

John nodded, that did seem serious, what had he been doing?

“Well, I think that’s enough for now,” the doctor said, “I’ll let you get some more rest; remote for the TV is on the nightstand.”

With that the doctor left and John grabbed the remote. He turned on the television and switched over to the news. Nothing seemed familiar, the events, the people; it was all completely foreign to him. Beyond that, it didn’t seem to matter. It seemed to John that they should be worried about something else, something far more important. He just couldn’t remember what.

He lay back in the bed and watched the news play out, hoping something would trigger.

“The supplicant may step forward,” the Grandmaster said.

Twelve people stood in a circle surrounding the Grandmaster. All of them wore red robes with hoods, hiding their faces in shadow. The room was dark and ancient, stone walls with carvings of battles and fights that occurred out of the eye of normality.

One man in pink robes walked from outside of the circle to kneel at the Grandmaster’s feet. The Grandmaster put his left hand on the kneeling man’s head and held a book with his right.

John stared at the television, the vision ceasing abruptly. What was that? Was that a memory? What did it mean? The news was talking about murders increasing in Dallas. Which was near the hospital, was that the reason John had been in the area?

               He sighed and switched the TV off, closing his eyes and going to sleep.

               He came around to find three tall, bald men standing in suits around his bed.

               “I think he can see us,” one said.

               “Shouldn’t be possible,” a second said.

               “Perhaps we didn’t interrupt soon enough,” the third said.

               “Doesn’t matter,” the first said, “One is not enough.”

               “That’s been said before,” the second said, “These creatures are surprisingly resilient.”

               “That is true,” the third said, “We can’t do anything now.”

               “I know,” the first said, “No direct interference.”

               “We can manipulate,” the third said.

               “Yes,” the second said, “We’ll have one of our thralls take care of it.”

               With that the three left. John was confused. What was that all about? Sleep caught up with him again and he lost consciousness.

               John stared out the window at the city before him, he had the feeling that there was a coming storm, but the weather looked picturesque. The forecasts didn’t call for anything to happen. Still he couldn’t shake the feeling.

               “Duck!” Steve yelled, and he ducked. Steve flung a silver dagger and it hit the creature in the eye, piercing through to its brain and killing it. Steve walked to the corpse and pulled out his dagger, cleaning it quickly before putting it away.

               “These attacks are getting more frequent,” John said to him as he stuck the dagger away, “It’s getting disturbing.”

               “You know what the council says,” Steve replied, “The walls are getting thinner.”

               The two started walking towards their car, Steve tossing John the keys.

               “You drive,” he said, “I’ve got some research to do.”

               “We just killed a Thokt,” John said, “What research could you possibly have to do?”

               “There’s been another sighting,” Steve answered, “The council will want to know what he’s been up to.”

               “Really?” John asked, “They’re still worried about him? Why so much focus on a disgraced agent when the walls are collapsing?”

               “One of the Oracles saw a storm,” Steve answered, “They think he might be needed.”

               Oracles? John wondered as the vision stopped. What did ancient mythical creatures have to do with anything? And what the hell was a Thokt? He’d obviously known at one point, but he sure as hell didn’t now.

               He turned to find an orderly standing in front of him. He’d never seen this man before, the orderly was tall, six seven, and looked like he weighed in at close to three hundred pounds, mostly muscle. He’d never seen the orderly before but something inside him said there was something wrong. And that he should be scared.

               The man had a blank look on his face. Suddenly his eyes seemed to focus on John and a mixture of pain and anger crossed his face.

               “Must stop the voices,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

               “Voices?” John asked, stepping back. The man didn’t answer; instead he pulled a switchblade from his pocket, opened it, and lunged at John.

               John twisted out of the path of the blade and struck the man hard at his wrist. The man cursed and opened his hand, dropping the knife. John stepped in and struck the man in the chest with an open palm. He opened a piece of him when he did and felt power surge through his body, channeling down his arm, out his open palm, and into the man’s chest. The man clutched his heart and started gasping, in obvious pain. Nurses rushed to him, calling for a doctor. In the short time it took a doctor to get to him, he was already dead.

               John stepped back and stared at his hand. The power that had coursed through him seemed familiar, like an old friend. He had no idea what it was, but it felt right, like a part of him was waking up.

               “Focus,” Julian said, “Feel the energy inside yourself.”

               John closed his eyes and focused, tapping into the sense that Julian had taught him.

               “All realities have their own sense of control, powers, rules, energies,” Julian explained, “It’s there for everyone; you just have to know how to tap into it. Now take a hold of it.”

               John closed his mental grasp around the energy and felt it coursing through him.

               “Good, that’s good,” Julian said, “You have a natural affinity for this. That will come in handy if what the Oracle said you have in store for you is true.”

               John looked up from his hand as the vision ended and stared at the dead man. He closed his eyes and tuned into the power. It was there. And so easy to grasp hold of. Who was he? How did he know these things? He didn’t remember much, but it seemed that most people weren’t aware of this power. He walked back to his room.

               The police officer had come in a few minutes ago, interrupting John’s study of the power at his fingertips. He had questions about the orderly. It was obvious that the orderly attacked John. No, John didn’t know why. No, John didn’t know the orderly. No, John couldn’t explain why he’d had a heart attack when he struck the orderly in the chest.

               “You’ve got amnesia then?” the officer asked.

               “Yeah,” John answered, “That’s what they tell me.”

               “Must be strange,” the officer said, “Not knowing who you are.”

               “Yeah, it is,” John replied, “But they tell me I’ll figure it out eventually.”

               “Hope you do,” the officer said, “Well, I’ve got everything I need. Have a nice day.”

               With that he turned and walked out of the hospital room. John felt tired suddenly, so he laid back on the bed and went to sleep.

               Woke with two of the bald men standing over his bed.

               “He seems to be regaining,” one said.

               “True, this is problematic,” the second said.

               “We spent a lot to be able to affect the Catacombs,” the first said.

               “And we nearly wiped them out,” the second said.

               “Nearly is not enough,” the first said.

               “What can this one man do?” the second asked.

               “There is always the other,” the first said.

               “The Outcast?” the second asked, “He has had nothing to do with the Order for a long time.”

               “Not entirely true,” the first said.

               “What do you mean,” the second asked.

               “The Order made contact,” the first answered.

               “Do you think this one knows the Outcast’s location?” the second asked.

               “That is unknown,” the first said, “But how will we deal with this one?”

               “Unsure,” the second responded, “The last course of action was not good. The energy traveled from the receptacle and fried our compatriot’s brain.”

               “True,” the first said, “We must not underestimate this one.”

               “That would be a mistake,” the second said, “One we will not make again.”

               John fell asleep again as they left the room.

               He stared at the food in front of him. His senses were telling him that something was wrong. He looked up at the servers in the cafeteria. One of them had that look he’d seen on the orderly’s face. A combination of pain, hatred, and confusion. He reached inside and found his power, pushing it out towards the cook. He could see the dark twist of a conflicting reality’s power at the core of the woman. He severed it. Almost immediately the woman had a flash of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He knew what had been wrong, the food had been poisoned. Whoever the tall bald men were, they were determined to see him dead.

               The Grandmaster read the words of the book aloud.

               “The Order stands fast to hold the boundaries of reality intact,” he said, “Our duty is to prevent the incursion from outside. To deal with forces that step into our reality that do not belong. It is not a position of honor; it is a position of duty. You will not gain fame, you will not find peace, but you will find peace.”

               With that he closed the book and looked down at the man in the pink robe.

               “Supplicant John Stevens,” the Grandmaster said, “You have proven yourself worthy of the red robes, ready to stand fast against those that would alter our reality to their own. Do you accept this duty?”

               John pulled back his hood, nodding.

               “I do Grandmaster,” John said, “I accept it willingly.”

               The Grandmaster turned and put the book on the alter behind him, grabbing the chalice.

               “Then drink this,” the Grandmaster said, “Drink this and your eyes will remain open, never to be shut again. You will See those that do not wish to be seen, and be able to fight against them.”

               He handed John the chalice and he drank deeply from it.

               Thunder and lightning flashed as the Centrians invaded. Tall bald men carrying weapons that didn’t belong in this reality broke through and started attacking.

               “This is it,” the Grandmaster yelled, “John, get out of here, you know what you have to do.”

               John nodded and ran. He had to face off against a few of the Centrians, getting hurt along the way. Finally one managed to get a shot off on him, and the power surged through his body, shutting down and frying neurons in his brain.

               John inhaled sharply and stared at his food. Suddenly it all came back; he remembered what he was supposed to do. He got up and went back to his room. He gathered the clothes that he’d been admitted in, put them on, and then snuck out of the hospital.

               He had a task, a mission. He had to piece together the resistance. He had a general idea of whom, what, and where. He knew who he had to find first. He had to find the Outcast. He had to find Willie.

               Liam stood on the sidewalk, looking out at the bustling street around him, a little sad. He looked down at his feet, no shadow. He looked up at the streetlight, which was casting a significant amount of light directly at him; he should have had a shadow.

               He sighed and looked around him for the telltale signs. He scanned the walls of the buildings, the street, everything around him, but it was too dark to really tell.

               It liked to hunt at night. It made it harder for Liam to spot it. This meant that Liam couldn’t pull it back. He resigned himself to the simple fact and waited. He started walking down the street when he heard the scream. It was a young woman by the sound of it. He wasn’t surprised. It liked young women.

               He kept walking, hoping that it would come back soon. Then he spotted a darkness in the street in front of him. People shuddered as it passed underneath their feet, looking about them for the cause, spotting nothing. It came to a halt at Liam’s feet.

               It looked darker than usual and he could feel the pleasure pulsating from it. Suddenly Liam felt sated, in every way that he could be. A side effect of its hunt. He continued walking to where the screams originated from. A young girl, no older than twenty, was lying on the ground, contorted. Her skin was grey and her eyes were wide open in fear. She died without knowing why. They never did understand what it was that was ripping their souls out of them.

               He stared down at his shadow, hating it and hating himself. He could never bring himself to kill himself, and he wasn’t sure that would necessarily end its hunting, or if it would go find a new host. He couldn’t get rid of it either, after all, how would you get rid of your own shadow?

               James woke up lying on a mattress next to the wall of a cement room. There was a single light illuminating the room. Waking up on another mattress across the room was a thin roguish looking man. James wasn’t quite sure what made the man roguish, there was just something about his demeanor that James didn’t trust. The man blinked a few times, looked around, and noticed James.

               “Right,” he said, “Where are we exactly?”

               “Dunno,” James answered, “Just woke up myself, never been here before.”

               The man nodded and then nodded towards the closed metal door, the only exit to the room.

               “You check that yet?” he asked.

               “No,” James answered, “I told you, I just woke up myself.”

               “Oh yeah,” he said, “Well then, I guess we should check it.”

               He jumped up off the mattress, springing from a lying down state to a standing state in one fluid motion. He sauntered over to the door, taking a calm easy pace. James had never seen a man saunter before, wasn’t ever sure what other people meant when they used that word. He understood now. There was a calm, confident pace to his walk, as if he expected the world around him to bend to his whims. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was like he was sure of the world’s whims, and knew how to face them. The man got to the door and tried the handle. Locked. He stared at the handle and slowly sucked his teeth.

               “It’s locked,” James said, as if the man couldn’t tell himself, “We can’t go out that way.”

               The man looked around, pointedly.

               “Isn’t another way,” he said, “Fortunately I’ve never let a locked door stop me in the past.”

               He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small case. He then proceeded to pull out a set of lock picks. He kneeled so he was eye level with the lock, and started picking it. James watched in silence. There was an audible click as the door unlocked and the man jumped up to his feet, grinning.

               “I’m Timothy, by the way,” he said, “Most people call my Timmy though.”

               James nodded and stood, walking towards the door, cautious. He stopped to hold out his hand for Timmy. When he shook it, James nodded.

               “Nice to meet you Timmy,” he said, “The name is James.”

               “Don’t know how nice it is to meet me,” Timmy said, turning and starting out the door, “Considering the circumstance.”

               James followed him out; they came out into a hedge maze. James blinked and turned around. The room was gone, there wasn’t even a door. He closed his eyes and slowly opened them. The room was still gone.

               “What happened?” he asked.

               Timmy turned and looked at the wall of hedge where the door should have been. He shrugged.

               “Dunno,” he said, “Let’s see if we can find a way out. Let’s go this way.”

               He started walking right, down the row of the hedge maze. James hurried to follow him.

               “Doors don’t do that,” he said, quite sure of himself.

               “Do what?” Timmy asked.

               “Disappear,” he answered.

               Timmy shrugged as he took a left at an intersection.

               “I’ve found the world has a tendency to do whatever it wants,” he said.

               “No,” James said, “The world has definite rules to it.”

               Timmy laughed as he took a right at another intersection.

               “And you know those rules,” Timmy said, “Do you?”

               James nodded.

               “Well, James,” he frowned as he said the name, stopped and looked at James, “James, such a formal name. No one’s ever called you anything else?”

               James shook his head.

               “No, it’s always been just James,” James said, “No one has ever had cause to call me anything else.”

               Timmy frowned and concentrated on the hedge maze wall, obviously thinking.

               “Well, Jimmy is out,” he said, “To close to Timmy.”

               He snapped his fingers.

               “What about Jim?” he asked, “Jim is a perfectly fine name.”

               “What’s wrong with James?” James asked.

               Timmy shrugged.

               “Just too formal for my taste,” he answered, “I’m going to call you Jim from now on.”

               With that he started walking again, James shook his head and followed him. He took another left at an intersection. James had no idea how he was choosing his directions.

               “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked Timmy.

               “Absolutely not,” Timmy said, “Never do.”

               James frowned.

               “Never do?” he asked, “How do you know where to go? What to do?”

               Timmy shrugged.

               “I dunno,” he said, “Usually just make it up on the spot.”

               “Make it up on the sport?” James asked, “And that works?”

               “Most the time,” Timmy said, “And when it doesn’t I run really fast.”

               James pondered that as he followed Timmy’s random left turns and right turns. Eventually they came to the middle of the maze. A small pedestal with a button at the center of it was there. Timmy walked up to the button. He waited for James to follow and then pushed it.

               “Why did you do that?” James asked, “You have no idea what that does!”

               “You’ll never get anywhere in life,” Timmy said, “If you don’t push a few random buttons.”

               A glow started above them, and a beam of light shot down and enveloped both of them.

               Timmy grinned at James.

               “Take a few chance Jim,” he said, “You’ll never know what you might miss if you don’t.”

               The last thing James saw before the light blinded him was Timmy’s giant grin.

               Then he was standing in the street, in his work suit, cellphone pressed to his ear, and people walking around him. He stared for a few seconds before he remembered that he’d called a client. He started walking down the street, answering the client’s questions.

               He came to an intersection and stared at it for a few seconds. His apartment was to the left. He’d never been right before. He apologetically let the client go, hanging up the phone. Then he went right.

               “The fish are stirring,” Danielle said, looking towards her side, outside the mirror.

               Daniel looked to his left, into his own bathroom. The fish stuck to the bottom of the shower were quite dormant.

               “Nothing over here,” he said to the mirror.

               Danielle shook her head, a slightly sad look on her face.

               “Nothing ever happens over there,” she said, “How do you stand it?”

               Daniel looked over at his tub again; hoping to see when of the plastic fish stuck to the bottom of his shower move, and then shook his head.

               “Not sure,” he said, “Gotta jump in the shower.”

               “Understood,” she said, “I think I’m going to wait a little before I get in, let them settle down a little.”

               Daniel nodded and headed into the shower. As he turned the water on he couldn’t help but stare at the fish at his feet, thinking about the girl on the other side of the mirror. He finished and headed out to the sink, stopping to shave quickly. Danielle was still there, plucking her eyebrows. Daniel nodded to her and she nodded back. He picked his razor up and shaved his face quickly.

               “You missed a spot on your neck,” Danielle said.

               Daniel watched as she pointed out the spot, shaving in the indicated area. She nodded when he finished to her satisfaction.

               “Thanks,” he said, “Your eyebrows look as great as ever.”

               She grinned and did a quick curtsey.

               “Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate it. I think I’m going to pop into the shower now.”

               “Understood,” he said, “See you in a few.”

               He ducked into his room and changed into his uniform, checking to make sure he had everything. He walked out and in front of the mirror. Danielle was there doing her hair.

               “Fish give you any troubles?” he asked.

               “Not this time,” she answered, “Your name tape isn’t straight.”

               He adjusted the name tape on his uniform until she nodded.

               “You going to make it in on time?” he asked.

               “Got plenty of time,” she said, “I’ll be fine.”

               He nodded and walked away from the mirror, leaving the room for the work day. Danielle watched him leave in her mirror, her heart a little heavy to have him go. She looked over at her shower tub, watched the fish at the base of it stir a little. She didn’t know how he managed without all the magic that she had in her life. She was just happy she could share it with him, in these little conversations through the mirror.

               The machete landed on its neck with a solid thunk. Then it just stuck there, I pulled briefly before giving up, dropping quickly to the ground, and rolling back. The zombie shuffled forward, thick viscous and already partially coagulated blood oozed out of the gaping wound on its neck. As I jumped to my feet and began dancing backward, a frustrated look on my face, Suzanne swung the large maul she had picked up earlier today, sweeping the creature’s legs out from under it. As it hit the ground she brought the maul up and down on its head, shooting gore around the room. She pounded it a bit more before she was satisfied the creature was done for, again.

               She brought the maul down to the ground, leaning on its handle the came up to her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes had mirth in them as she regarded me with a pitying look. I yanked the machete out of the creature’s neck and wiped it on the leg of my jeans.

               “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to take the head off,” she said.

               “Yeah, yeah,” I responded, “I know. How could I ever have doubted you, oh mighty Suzanne, zombie killer extraordinaire.”

               She shrugged, and lifted up her maul, belying a strength that seemed somewhat out of place with her slender five foot frame.

               “I dunno babe,” she said, “You always argue and I’m always right, thought you would’ve figured that out by now. Now, help me scavenge this place.”

               I nodded and we began looking around the building. We were in a warehouse in Portland, Oregon. The place got hit hard when the infection started to spread. No one really knew why. Apparently being a free loving hippy made for a nice lifestyle when things were normal, but it didn’t really prepare you for the zombie apocalypse. And here we were, smack dab in the zombie apocalypse. Neither Suzanne or I, Michael Rosen, had started out in Portland. We were both from farther east, Kansas for me, Idaho for Suzanne. I’d started heading east as soon as my deadbeat little brother who’d been living with me for the past six months attempted to make a meal at me. I’d used the chair for that one, if there’s one thing you learn from waking up to find you brother craving your flesh; it’s improvise, and improvise fast.

               I’d met Suzanne when I made it to Idaho. She’d managed to put down a family of four that lived next door and had barricaded herself in their home. I’d been the first human she’d seen in weeks. I’d explained my plan to eventually head up north to one of the least populated areas in the country, Alaska, and she thought it sounded like a good idea.

               The house was well barricaded and she had a solid place to make supply runs to, which showed smarts. She’d taken care of the family, so she obviously could handle herself well in a fight. So, I decided to let her tag along, that was three weeks ago. We made our way to the west coast, decided to scout out the area.

               Portland got hit hard, which meant that the infestation was high. Zombies on every street corner that once was home to hookers. Hell, some of them had zombie hookers, though I think even the most desperate john would think twice before getting a blowjob from one of them. I mean, come on, being a zombie must be bad enough, but a dickless one that got it from a zombie prostitute? Gives new meaning to the phrase sexually transmitted disease.

               Now, you might think that was all bad. Only an idiot would ever venture into an area with a high infestation rate. And yes, you’re right, only an idiot would venture into an area with a high infestation rate, if there wasn’t a payoff.

               See, that’s the other side effect of high infestation rates. People just don’t like to go there. They avoid them like they had the plague, which of course they do. So they tend not to get picked over like the other areas. Small rural areas? Good luck finding supplies. And after three weeks on the road, Suzanne and my supplies were getting kind of thin.

               So, here we were, fresh, well, kind of fresh, kill on the ground and looking through a warehouse to see what we could scavenge up. I stopped at an emergency ax encased in glass on the wall. I looked down at my machete and over at the dead zombie in the center of the room. I broke the glass with the handle and pulled the ax out, dropping the machete to the floor. Suzanne gave me a bemused look. I shrugged.

               “If a zombie infestation doesn’t count as an emergency,” I said, “I don’t know what does.” She chuckled in response, shaking her head as she continued to look around. The warehouse was for some canned food company and we quickly found a good supply of ready to eat non-perishable items to load into our rucksacks.

               “That should keep us until we hit Canada,” Suzanne said.

               I nodded in agreement. That it should.

               “Well,” she said, “Let’s get moving.”

               As we passed the zombie she grinned and looked at me.

               “So what did we learn from this experience?” she asked me.

               “Uhh…” I paused for a second, trying to decide which of the two possible answers she was looking for, “You’re always right?”

               “Exactly,” she said, “I’m always right. And zombies are harder to decapitate than they are in video games.”

               I nodded, chagrined. We exited the building and headed back to the road.

               “Bravo team,” Sergeant McDuff said over his com unit, “Head east.”

               “Roger that Sergeant,” Corporal Stevenson said, “Moving out.”

               McDuff looked around him, scanning the skies. No signs of activity yet, but they were expecting a drop any minute now. He checked his combat rifle, locked, loaded, and ready to roll. He scanned his interface, checking on all of his men.

               “Michels,” he said, to one of his privates, “You aren’t locked why is that?”

               He watched NCO indicator for his man switch from amber to red, indicating that the soldier was now red for combat.

               “Sorry,” Michels said over the com, “Locked now Sergeant.”

               “Don’t apologize,” McDuff said, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. Never know when they’ll drop, and you want to be ready for when they do.”

               “Roger Sergeant,” Michels said.

               The warning indicator on McDuff’s Heads Up Display flashed red. He looked up. Large burning objects were plummeting to the ground, leaving a long smoke trail behind them.

               “Incoming Sergeant,” command said over the coms.

               “Visual contact established,” McDuff responded, “Moving to engage.”

               “Bravo team,” he said over the coms, “Move in from the rear, Alpha will engage from the front.”

               “Roger that Sergeant,” the Bravo Team Leader said over the coms, “Moving.”

               “Alpha team,” McDuff said, “Move out.”

               They all brought their rifles close as they began dashing towards the Landing Zones. They were about six hundred meters out when the crafts crash landed. McDuff threw up his fist, indicating a halt order; the rest of the squad mimicked his hand gesture and stopped.

               “This is it guys,” McDuff said, “This is what separates the men from the boys.”

               With that he smacked his combat visor for good luck, hefted his combat rifle and moved in. His team followed suit. They were about three hundred meters out when they came into sight. Large pale blue creatures that stood at nine feet with spindly arms and legs, insect like natural body armor, and hulking plasma cannons, the Catorians made quite a sight. They’d begun landing on earth about three months ago, ending all the human infighting as mankind turned its focus on them.

               McDuff and his team took cover two hundred meters from the crash zone. He waited until his team was in position, took a second to breathe, say a quick prayer, nod, and then was out of cover, firing at the Catorians. His first burst was lucky, catching a Catorian in its weak point, the neck. It grabbed its neck and went down.

               One of the Catorians got a shot off with its massive plasma cannon, hitting about fifty meters from the cover point. It hit with a large explosion, kicking up dirt, obscuring the view. He motioned for his men to take cover positions on his flank. No use all of them getting taken out by a lucky plasma shot. He quickly rose out of cover, switched his rifle to full auto and started laying cover fire. His men moved.

               “Bravo team,” he said over coms, “You almost in position?”

               Another plasma shot landed and he watched Michels’ indicator go from green to black. Damn it, he was just kid, fresh out of basic. He rose out of cover, got the Catorian that fired in sights and took him down.

               “Roger Sergeant,” Bravo Team Leader said, “In position now.”

               “Good,” McDuff said, “Marking position now.”

               He switched from external to Team coms.

               “Alpha Team,” he said, “Cover me while I paint the area for Bravo.”

               “Roger that Sergeant,” the team said through coms.

               He quickly switched his rifle for the laser painter, stood as his team took up combined fire, distracting the Catorians, and fired the laser in the center of the LZ, where his team had managed to contain the aliens. He gritted his teeth as the Catorians got a few shots off, taking out more of his men. Then, he saw them, flying overhead. A pair of Thor Mk2 Ballistic Tactical Missiles. Laser guided, high explosive yield, self-containing shield. McDuff and his men were far enough away, but all the Catorians and their ships were in the blast zone, thanks to McDuff’s time painting the target site. He put the laser painter up on his shoulder and grinned viciously as they struck, wiping out all the insectoid aliens and their ships.

               “Command,” he said over coms, “This is Alpha Team. Target eliminated, tell the hospital they’re safe for now.”

               “Roger that Alpha Team,” command said, “LACE report?”

               He checked his load outs on his coms unit.

               “Good on liquids, ammo, and equipment,” he said, pausing, “Three men KIA.”

               “Sorry to hear that,” command said, “Everyone in the hospital appreciates their sacrifice, and will do their best to honor it.”

               “Roger that command,” he said, “Alpha out.”

               The coms disconnected and he stared out at the battle zone. The rest of his men were gathering up Michels’ and the other’s bodies, to be transported back to base. The cost was high, but each man gave willingly.

               Larry leaned back in the cockpit seat, clasping his hands behind his head. He looked out the view screen and sighed. He never got tired of this; the endless expanse of skies. He watched a meteor fly past three hundred clicks to his starboard side, admiring the tail and making sure his course never strayed to near it. He watched the planets pass by in quite grandeur, each one different from the last. He’s seen four different planets on this trip, a red giant, a small frozen and rocky planet, a planet with a carbon atmosphere that the eye couldn’t pierce, and a super-heated nitrogen planet.

               He double checked the course patterns and nodded. No significant course corrections for this upcoming part of the trip. The computer automatically brought him out of suspension every three months to make course corrections. It also brought him out for emergency procedures, if anything happened that it couldn’t automatically account for.

               He hit the enter key on the panel in the cockpit, setting the course instructions for the next leg. He sighed and stood, looking at the ceiling. A photo of his son and daughter hung there, both smiling and waving at the camera. He brought his finger up to the picture, remembering the last time he saw them.

               He’d stopped to see them before he shipped out for this trip. He’d stood outside the door to their complex for a few minutes before he knocked. His ex’s new man opened the door.

               “Ah, Larry,” he said, “Here to see the kids?”

               Larry nodded.

               “Got a run tomorrow,” he said, “Wanted to see them before I ship out.”

               Steve, the ex’s man, nodded and stood aside. He looked like he was in his forties, silvering hair that was slowly receding, a slight pouch in his stomach, and glasses. Larry heard Susan doing the dishes in the kitchen.

               “Honey,” Steve said, “Larry’s here.”

               “Daddy? Daddy’s here?” Larry heard from the play room. Twin pairs of feet started running towards the entrance. The dishwashing stopped as well. Billy and Sandy dashed out of the play room and hugged him. Susan stood at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. She appeared around the same age as Steve. Larry on the other hand didn’t look a day over twenty-six. She looked concerned, a little upset, and very sad.

               “Daddy,” Billy said, “What are you doing here? It wasn’t one of your scheduled visits.”

               Larry nodded and rubbed his hair.

               “I know buddy,” he said, “I got a job though. I’m going to be gone for a while.”

               Sandy shrunk back a little, glaring at him.

               “You’re always leaving on jobs,” she accused, “You don’t love us.”

               Larry stepped towards her.

               “Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” he said, “Of course I love you.”

               Sandy turned and ran to her room, crying. Larry watched her go and sighed, holding Billy close. He looked at Susan. She shook her head before breathing a deep and sorrow filled sigh.

               “Sorry about that,” she said, walking towards them.

               “No,” he said, “Don’t be. I deserve it. I mean, it’s part of the reason you left me, can’t expect them to wait around forever for me either.”

               “I’ll wait for you forever, Daddy,” Billy said as he hugged Larry’s leg, “I don’t care, you’re the best.”

               Larry rubbed his hair, smiling.

               “Thanks buddy,” he said, “I appreciate it.”

               “I’ll take to her,” Susan said, “She’ll understand eventually. When are you going to be back?”

               “Caspian belt,” he said, “Three year trip.”

               “She’ll be fifteen then. And you’ll be what, twenty-six still?”

               Larry nodded. Susan sighed and shook her head.

               “Kids don’t know how to deal with that,” Susan said, “You staying young while they get older and older.”

               Larry gave her a small, sad smile.

               “Just kids?” he asked.

               She shot him a small sad smile of her own.

               “I guess not just kids,” she said.

               “You’re still beautiful,” Larry said, Steve shifted uncomfortably.

               “Thank you, but I think you should go,” Susan said.

               Larry nodded and left, giving Billy a hug. Susan promised to talk to Sandy. The next day he shipped out.

               So now he was flying in a giant ship, seeing the stars like he always wanted to. Aging three months for everyone else’s year. It was a quiet, lonely life, but he didn’t know anything else. He hit the button on the sleep chamber and it opened up. He crawled in and let darkness take him.