Dear "EpixTeaBagSpooge" I regret to inform you that your application for the position of Lead Game Functionality Designer was rejected. Although we appreciate your very apparent enthusiasm for our products, except for the one quote "you nerfgayd in the 90s," and your overall zeal for the industry, your handwritten resume and responses to our Computer Science test were not on par for what we are looking for to fill this position.

To review your resume we do see that you have stated that you have over 30 years experience in as you say "mass skillz that pwn all." We do also recognize you documented this by including everything from your current screen-shot journal of your 22 level 110s in World of Warcraft "all in raiding purps," to polaroids of your Television showing off your "l33t high scores" on the River Raid in 1983.

However what was most curious were some of your more colorful answers to our Computer Science test questions.

Q) What is your unique definition of Computer Science.

A) It is the science of how to use a computer for Tot@l PWNAGE! You ever read them sites where they tell you how to get the best weapon loadout for Destiny 2!? I wrote a blog once on the sceince on how to get a better KD ratio with more HEADSHOTS in Counterstrike baby BOOM! And it is also the science of making games not stupid, that is totally important.

Q) Given the management portion of the position in question; define your strategy to act as mentor to the junior engineering staff, especially in situations when they may be stuck technically.

A) Tell em Down in Front, Yap it and if they don't listen tell em to Get on the Bus! Like when we raided Molten Core back in the day ya better know your rotation or GTFO and def 50 DKP MINUS!

Q) Explain your overall solution discovery methodology when a physics based event system reaches its maximum output.

A) Physics is AWESOME! Get in a corner and shoot as MANY grenades as possible as fast as you can who cares about lag cause once I blasted a guy off the map in Call of Duty 4 and I lol'd so hard I peed. Ya know what is also AWESOME about physics!? Boob physics! You ever seen that DOA: Beach Volleyball game?! Flip flappin everywheres z0mg AWESOMESAUCE!

Lastly we would like to honestly thank you for the sketch you drew and submitted with your application. In all seriousness it made it on the fridge in the break-room. Although you weren't able to get through the first hiring gate you will always be remembered, even though you said "if I don't get this job I'm totally going to get the gig writing for the new Star Trek."

#wronghire #fiction

I'm not a happy guy. Wife's dead, dog's dead, kids don't visit no more. I really miss 'em I do. Man, I loved that mutt.

I didn't wanna retire. I liked flying. And ya know what? It don't matter that I can't make out much more than colorful blobs about 2 meters in front of me, the damn ships fly themselves now a'days anyway. Plus all these people walkin' around with them blasted implants makin' them see better, hear better, hell I even heard one of 'em make yer pecker stand straight as an arrow with nothin' more than a thought. Wouldn't that be the nuts on a squirrel? “Come 'ere Maggie, I got somethin' for ya.” Then when she comes over I'd make a mental command and just like a viper strike, I'd hit'er in the head with it... HA! Yeah, I think Maggie would'a laughed at that...

Ya see I was a delivery man. Yeah that's right ya prick, a damn delivery man. And I'm hella proud of it too. I flew a '78 model F. Sure it was shaped like a dung beetle, mine even smelled like one. It had only them two cramped up seats in the front but damn if it didn't have lots o'room in the back fer whatever needed haulin'. My old partner Marviss souped up those triple quantum engines to make a round trip in our galaxy in less than half day. Ya heard me right, a '78 jacked enough to travel over 8.4 billion kilometers, to use yer layman's ground-walkin' terms, in less than 12 hours.

I miss my ship, hell I even miss my pardner. I remember this one time we had the weirdest delivery ever.

Me and Marviss had picked up 14,733 genetically engineered snakes down by the Tampa Regional Launch Dock. That's odd how I remember a detail like that number huh? Yeah whatever – lesee what kinda bizarre crap you remember when yer brain is 118. Anyway they had them snakes in these 'separate species' tanks that took forever to load, thank Terran for those union labor stiffs. So by the time we loaded 'em up and were half-way to the drop off point we were starved. We had to take these snakes to help populate some new Mars transplant colony near what was formally known as S229, or 'The Flaming Star' nebula. So sure when we hit sub-light angled toward the Gould Belt we were making up for lost time but damned if I had to eat. And Marviss was always hungry, oh did I mention that Marviss was a half Earther half Melottian? Yeah he was from the Belt and knew where to stop off, plus his Melottian side gave him a helluva fast metabolism, considering he was over 9 feet tall, 460 pounds and covered in a thick rubbery rhino-like hide. Did I mention that my ship had two crowded seats? Yeah well imagine him crunched over for his entire career. I saw him last year walkin' in the park. I said 'hi.' He flipped me off. I love that guy.

Anyways we stopped at the “Paco's Chop Suey and Sushi Bar” off of the inter-galactic trade route 29. Marviss said it was the only place within a few parsecs that sold what he described as 'human digestible food,' plus it had a place to keep the ship within visibility of the booths. We did have a full cargo after-all.

He ordered the 'by the pound Kung Pao Faux Chicken' while I ordered the 'Artificial Eel Sushi.' Again why do I remember that? I dunno, I'm old – screw you. The place was a real greasy spork, but damned if it wasn't crowded that afternoon. There were all sorts milling around, blabbing on about nonsense. I was always overhearing way too many conversations I had absolutely no interest in. That's my main curse ya see. I'm overly observant, to a fault, I can't help but hear all the jabber going on around me, especially in a jammed up place like that restaurant.

Marviss had gone to the can, he always takes a really long time in there, I guess it's cause he's so big. But that forced me to hear about the people next to us and their grandson who finally sprouted his third leg, the mix-species couple on our left yelling at their loser teenager in about five different languages, and this scumbag Earther behind me trying to wrangle-up what sounded like a threesome with what looked like two underage, hopefully female, Plataisese, one blue and one dark green, both stacked.

I was just about to say something to him when I heard it; the Ophiophagusi language. Somehow I knew in my bones something bad was up when I heard one say to the other something about “that's the ship.” Oddly I knew it was my ship they were hissin' on about.

Before I even turned around I felt the two Ophiophagusi slide toward my table. All I could think of was “why does it take Marviss so damn long to drop the bomb. He's always in the damn crapper when I need him.” They were giants, easily 11 or 12 feet tall with their huge neck-backs extended makin' 'em look even bigger. Before the biggest one even said anything he popped out his long fangs.

“We're here to free our comradesssss,” he said as his forked tongue slipped in-and-out of his lips.

“The Earth snakes? Really?” I stuttered.

“Yesssss, they are our brethren none-the-lessssss.”

They are damn scary, usually hired thugs, but I never said they were smart. But there was literally no talkin' to 'em. All I could say was, “Just don't take my ship,” and handed over the keys.

Quicker than lightning they grabbed my keys and slid out the front door, just in time for Marviss to finally come out of the john. Seeing that everyone in the restaurant was obviously distracted, including myself, he said, “what's what?” All I could do was point at the two gigantic Ophiophagusi by the back of our ship with hunnerds'o Earth snakes hanging all off of 'em. Looked like more-than-a-few of the tanks had broken in-transit and had loosed the critters who were now apparently attacking their screaming heroic 'brethren.'

Damnest thing I ever did see. Okay speaking of the can, storytime's over, git!

An abject display of nudity is what started it for me... That I remember. But was it actually real though, or wait let me think...

Yes it was 1976, in the tiny farming community in Pennsylvania where I grew up; I was about 7 years old or so. This was a time of horrible fashion; bell-bottoms, atrocious music; disco, and bizarrely confusing films; Blacula. The town was full of dairy and corn farms, the perfect place for wooded forts and secret childhood pacts.

Back then I was a member of the illustrious Cub Scout organization for exactly 2 weeks and 4 days, not sure why I remember the specific time span. Cub Scouts are the 7 to 11 1/2 age group that is designated pre-Boy Scouts. It was short lived because at that age I tended to get into things I wasn't supposed to, caused small fairly harmless laughter riots and as-they-say "acted up." I don't recall the exact reason for my early departure but knowing my free spirited way I'm sure it had to do with covering myself with stickers and glue and jumping around like a monkey causing the other kids to spiral into a chaotic mob. Although I have certainly calmed down I have at least through adulthood retained the joy of making people laugh.

Exiting the cubs did leave me tied to a summer job at the local library. There were only a few hundred as a population and a few street blocks which was considered the down town area. The library was directly in the corner of an “L” of street connections. It was run by two very old and extremely kind women, sisters I believe. They were always overly nice to me. They were a very cheerful lot, always smiling and doting on me with "oh such a good boy." Something I guarantee you I did not hear very often. I remember thinking they must be 100 although they were more likely in their 80s. They talked quite a bit of the limitless wonders of the moon landing; so I do admit it makes me sad to think they never saw the advent of the internet or viewing 3D film.

My job was simple; gather and relocate (or retrieve) various reading materials from the 2nd-thru-5th floors of the building. They would say rather happily that their knees were far too shaky for the trip up-and-down the stairs. Although they hadn't been up those stairs in decades the youngsters who helped them through the years assisted them with a very well thought out cataloging system, which was really no more than different piles to distinguish the type and year of media.

It was some time in the summer as I remember the library having brisk air blowing in from all the open windows. Everything was wood, and creaky wood at that; the doors, the floors, the window frames. You couldn't take a step or even touch anything without it giving a little aged squeak.

I think I was carrying a large pile of magazines, I remember this only because I recall they were slippery and floppy in my hands making it for quite a climb up the steep stairs. It was toward the end of the day because I also remember it was starting to get dark out. I'm also reminded that I was in a bit of a hurry because I was going to play Dungeons and Dragons with my friends very soon in the reading room of the library. Those old librarian ladies were the best, letting us discuss monster fighting tactics and splitting treasure all the while making a bit of a mess and dropping our dice on the hard wooden floor.

I remember being lost in thought when I finally reached the 5th topmost floor. Stopping to catch my breath, just a second mind you, I looked up and there she was. I vividly remember actually doing one of those head-shake double-takes.

Standing not five feet in front of me, without a sound, completely still and completely naked, stood this absolutely stunning young woman. I swear I didn't blink and neither did she.

I was instantly embarrassed but yet I couldn't help but quickly run my eyes around her body. I swear I didn't take a breath and neither did she.

She was short-ish, small-ish, thin-ish and had long straight brunette hair and dark chestnut eyes. How do I remember this after all these years? Simple; she was the first fully nude woman I had ever seen, and I was overwhelmed. I swear her arm moved less than 1 inch and I jumped dropping the magazines.

The sun was now almost down causing her skin to glow slightly in the dusk, giving her a beautiful light blue tint.

Then she inexplicably started to sway mysteriously side-to-side but not moving forward or back. I was mesmerized by the motion, she was so lovely in her movement and it was as if she was now glinting in the shadows.

I simply croaked out a "hi."

Never breaking my gaze she produced a "woOoOooOooooOoOooOoooooOoooooo" sound.

I had absolutely no idea what to do.

Just as I was conjuring up the courage to say who-knows-what next she continued with the "woOo-ing" but started to back away.

Do I follow her? I probably shouldn't. Was I scared? Oddly not anymore although my heart was still trying to escape my chest.

All I could do was stand and stare. I watched her as she floated away without a sound, and with such grace as only an angel could produce.

In what was probably less than a few seconds she was gone. She drifted into the darkness of the deeper areas of the non-lit floor space. The reason that nobody went up there after dark was because those upper floors had no electricity in any of the rooms or hallways.

I remember standing there is the dark for a moment or two before I turned and walked slowly downstairs leaving the magazines where they had previously landed. I recall gripping the handrail extra hard as I couldn't see every stair in the oncoming night.

When I went into the main room I remember one of the women calling out to me a "thank you" and letting me know she put out cookies for me and my friends for our "little magic spelunking game."

I guess when I didn't reply she came around the corner and presented me with one of the most common of phrases, yet also so amazingly apt. With a bright smile she said "oh jeez, you look like you've seen a ghost."

I locked her eyes and very plainly and with no emotion said, "I did."

I recall she just continued to smile assuredly figuring the statement the fantasy of a child until I further said, "And she was beautiful, and naked."

At that her expression changed rapidly, not into an angry frown or that of scolding disbelief. This was something an overly creative child such as myself had seen too many times previously. No instead it was of serious concern.

She flatly asked "where did you see her?"

"Upstairs," I said, "on the 5th floor."

All I remember next was the sudden whirlwind of activity. I had never before and never after seen those two women move with such conviction and expediency. I was rushed off to a seat in the back office, many a hushed phone call was made and I could just make out through an open window that my friends were held at the door and told to remain on the street.

I sat alone for those few minutes wondering if I was yet again in “big trouble” somehow. Then all within 30 seconds our town's lone police car showed up, a brief discussion was had, and as he headed up the stairs I was lead out the front door to my best friend's parents.

They were seriously concerned along with their son Joey, as all at once they gathered me close and said, "what in the world?"

I remember looking up at Joey's mother and saying "I saw a ghost," just as the library's front door crashed open. Four or five fully grown but half naked men and women ran out full speed and scattered in every open direction. I recall they all had very dirty long hair and what little they did wear was brightly colored.

Officer Jimmy came out a few seconds later with a handcuffed man who was terribly skinny on his right and a handcuffed brunette woman on his left; they both were mostly clothed and very upset.

As he dumped them both in the back-seat of his squad car I recall and uncontrollable pull to see closer. I remember Joey's parents yelling after me as I ran to the vehicle. After slamming the car door Officer Jimmy went back into the library in a bit of a hurry.

I remember looking through the back passenger window at the young woman inside. Her eyes were unfocused, her hair was filthy, and her skin was grimy. Even though I could only witness this through the light of the street lamps, it didn't lie; I immediately knew this was my "ghost."

Officer Jimmy opened the front passenger’s side door and tossed in an open duffel bag full of what I didn't recognize but was later told was a variety of drugs, copious amounts of alcohol and scraps of pornography.

As the police car drove off I thought she'd look back to me, my ghost, but she never did.

I rest atop my throne of skulls, cables.

I rule this world in entirety, virtual.

The population lives to serve me, but yet they don't realize I exist.

Billions of entities worshiping my idols, [gather-locations] in C++.

If they denounce me, they won’t remain.

I’ll wipe it and start over.

//////////////

TheProse.com Note: I wanted to put this as a second submission to the Zombie Apocalypse Diary (World Record) Challenge but I guess the online tool only allows 1 entry per challenge.  So I'm going to put this in a 'non-portal' for now - maybe we can get that specific challenge modified to allow for more than 1 entry per author - I planned on doing at least 3 story-lines from 3 different perspectives.  

//////////////

Not sure why I'm writing this, maybe cause it's like a confession no a catharde/something or a closure, nah that's kinda pansy more like a score card. Yeah HAH that's it, a damn score card...

I'm about 220 miles into my 850-ish mile trip to Albuquerque, stopping to have some BK, at least they're still open. Everyone is acting a little jittery but still selling cut-rate burgers. I guess the full news hasn't made it through the whole country yet. I should get in town at a perfect time, right in the middle of the afternoon.

He should be home.

//---//

At a rest-stop now about 450 miles to go. I'm going to jot these bits down when I stop to stretch or whatnot I guess.

When I was about 16 I sorta hoped this may happen one day but hell I never thought it would. It's been over 30 years since I've seen him but now is seems like a perfect time for a visit.

My wife died 15 years back of breast cancer, God rest her soul, so I'm alone now. And my mother died about 10 years ago I think, not sure, lost track of them like I say almost 30 years ago. So that means he's alone too or so I figure, I mean other than my mom who'd have him?

//--//

250 miles left now. I'm just outside Amarillo in a place called Vega I think. I'm starting to see alot of abandoned cars now and people on the side of the road fighting or yelling at each other or some such nonsense, I don't know, don't care really.

I'm just off to see my step father, he should be about 60something now I guess. He was young when he shacked up with my mom and me but I think he's got at least 10 years on me or whatever. Let's see my mom is 25 years older than me, and he was about 10-12 years younger than her so yeah that's like 10-ish years. I dunno I'm not a math guy but I think that's correct.

//--//

It says only 55 miles to go on my GPS. I think I'm starting to get as they say cold-feet. As I sit here in my truck my brain is stuck on the idea of "what am I going to say to him, what do I *have* material-wise to say to him?" After all these years I just don't know.

I’ve hated him pretty much my whole life. I tried to make him care about me, he didn't, I tried to see if he'd love me, he didn't, hell I just wanted him to be proud of me or respect me, but he never did.

He was just an asshole for an asshole's sake. He complained about everything, including me, nobody ever did anything right, including me, and he had no friends, big surprise there, or I should say the people he considered as friends didn't like him. He didn't talk much but when he did you could bet your granny's chompers it was going to be something negative about somebody or something.

Did he abuse my mom, no, did he abuse me, not really. He just yelled alot, loved putting people down, and I truly believe got a pretty big jazzy just making fun of me all the time, never in front of my mom of course, not that she'd a done anything.

So why do I care after 30 years? I mean I'm almost 50 myself... I dunno, I'm going to get back to driving.

//--//

I'm in my parent's neighborhood now or so says the map tracker. I've obviously never been here.

It is about 3:30pm according to my watch. It’s actually a nice day weather-wise. There is nothing but static on the radio now. The neighborhood is okay looking, definitely lower-middle or upper-lower class, so he never did any better than me anyway even after all his posturing when I was a kid telling me I’d never amount to anything. It looks like the power is out only because everyone has all their house windows open, or at least that I can see. There are alot less people outside than I expected.

Oddly enough I do think it maybe is a zombie type thing like on those stupid TV shows because I swear I saw a few bodies on the road and they were sorta moving. These were pieces of bodies, like the upper halves and whatnot so not like a wounded person but like a dead one that doesn't know it's dead or something. I didn't stop, it's none of my business.

I guess I'm going to do this and see if he's home.

//--//

So I'm about 3 doors down from what the map tracker says is my parent's home. I'm not sure I can talk to him.

Since I've been about 18 or so I've done everything I could counter to him. My life is sort of an opposite of his. He works with his hands, I work in an office. When he liked the Pittsburgh Steelers I said I liked the Dallas Cowboys, when he liked cars I said I liked boats, when he liked Chicken Fried Steak I said I liked Pennsylvania Dutch Sauerkraut, which in reality I actually hate and I’m not sure what the connection was there but I do remember saying it...

I know this probably all sounds stupid to anyone who may read this but my entire childhood was hour by hour living in fear of his disapproval. I knew before I started anything that it was going to be wrong, and later, because I was a dumb kid, just to spite him I caused myself to fail. It was like one of those self-fulfilling destiny things you see on those late night psychology shows. You prophesize you are going to fail, you cause yourself to fail, then you get pissed when you really do fail and get hammered on for it.

I dunno, I'm over-thinking it. The point is that I've hated this guy my whole life and for right or wrong I've blamed most of my personal issues on his shitty negative way.

Whatever, I'm going to do this.

//--//

I did it! I didn't think I could but I did, and after all these years too.

By the time I walked to the front door I noticed that there was a burning car down the road, an actual flipped over ambulance and a whole mob of folks in one of the neighbor's yards. There was alot of yelling and pushing so I dunno if they were fighting or whatever, doesn't matter. I just knew that this was the perfect day to see him.

While waiting at the door before I rang the doorbell I thought he may be around back. He loved to grill out so I thought, I dunno.

When I went around the side of the house I stopped cause I saw him bent over cleaning up something. He had a garbage bag and was wearing one of those full front kitchen bib things. He'd gotten so thin, he used to be very muscular. He'd also lost most of his hair, HA! I still have mine. He looked frailer than I thought he'd be.

So I cleared my throat and walked right up to him. "Bill" I said nice and clear.

He bent back up slowly, turned and saw me. For a split second I had some dread he wouldn't recognize me but he did, I saw it in his eyes. Not an expression of happy surprise but of disappointment or disapproval or something negative for sure.

We only stood there for about 3 seconds before his expression changed to a mask of knowing the real reason of why I was there, and I relished it.

I raised my .44 lickity-split and shot him point blank in the left eye.

Instantaneous relief, like down to my soul kinda relief, as if all of life’s burdens were lifted. Just thinking about it now I shiver, like a deep arched-back arms-up-tall stretch kinda thing.

Best part, he didn't say a word, exactly what I wanted, and on a day when nobody is even going to notice.

I've never felt this calm in my whole life. Serene I think it’s called.

It may be the end of the world in some sort of zombie apocalypse or what-have-you but in an odd way this is the day I've been waiting for and never thought was possible.

I don't know if I'm going to write anymore. I'm going to head home to Louisiana now.

// Cloyd "Butch" Wendell //

When all in about 12 hours the power went out three times I knew this was like it man! Well that and when the super hot noon weather chick on the news started crying and freaked out and fell through the green screen backdrop. I can't believe this is really happening! First I can't believe it's happening in my lifetime, and second I think it's actually going to be zombies!

From what I've heard so far from my prepper friends on my genny powered ham radio is that people down in the city are getting sick and biting people and stuff. This is crazy cool! Finally all the commercialized TV and movie generated zombie-freaks out there who play their zombie board games, have zombie family van stickers and who drink from those little zombie thumb shot glasses can all suck it and die! This is real!

This is the damn apocalypse and I'm going to totally rule!

So I'm going to journal my procedures.

First I slammed down the slots I installed on the door that enters my apartment which makes it damn near impervious to anything. Second I powered up one of my two generators so I could keep in touch with my bros in the prepper squads, and third I grabbed up my two main go bags.

My first go bag is my munitions double-duffel which has my two pistols and as much ammo as would fit for the 9mm and .45 ACP pistols plus a ton of .380 ammo for my hunting rifle.

The second bag is my awesome military style backpack. This thing has everything. I'm so ready for this. This bag has two full rolls of duct tape, 128 water purifications tabs, 2 compasses one of which is mostly glow-in-the-dark, a P38 can opener, 2056 wooden stick matches, a mirror, a big bag of cotton with tons of char cloth, 4 120 hour survival candles, 12 feet of steel snare wire, 40 feet of 20lb test fishing line, a variety of about 12 fish hooks, a Swiss made folding saw, 3 bottles of Ibuprofen, 2 bottles of Imodium, two waterproof notebooks one of which I'm writing this in, 4 thingies of super glue, 2 flint and steel kits, 3 tactical pens, a small bottle of Potassium Permanganate, two entire sewing sets, and 2 fully stocked first-aid kits. I also have a huge array of knives from fish-scaling to Swiss made multi-tools to the combat variations.

I even have a 78 inch long bow string for going all primal if I have to.

I also have two belts, 5 hat bands and 22 wrist bands made completely from 550 para-cord. I have an additional 200ft of 550 hanging off the bottom of my backpack. I have tons of it around the apartment in lots of different colors but the stuff slung under my backpack is military green, it's so sweet.

I even have an RS-2 square adaptor hub for opening any size commercial water valves from 6" to 60" that are outside gas stations and stores and stuff.

There are also 6 small signature prepper style Altoid tin kits hidden around my living area with lots of the same stuff just in much smaller scales.

I know there is more but it's starting to get dark and I think I hear some yelling or something going on outside. I'm going to kill the power to the genny. No reason to waste the gas on the first day of the rest of my life.

Actually before I go I'm going to end on that. This is the *first* damn day of the *rest* of my life! Everybody laughed at the little video game programmer who bought all this stuff and said the end of the world was coming.

Well guess what buckos?!? It's here and I'm going to PWN this New World!

- Irwin Augie Lightman

Standing in the bed of my truck I pull as hard as I can – this damn bag is so heavy – my boots slip from underneath me – I fall squat on my tailbone – ouch – "shit" – everything is so wet – sitting flat on my ass, exhausted, completely soaked from both rain and sweat – staring at the black triple-ply heavy-duty leaf bag.

“This thing must weigh 300 pounds…”

Looking straight up at the night sky my eyes are pelted by large cold raindrops – it actually feels kinda good considering – I can’t tell if it is raining harder now than before I started this idiotic trek – I’m assuming it has to be after 2:00am by now – I lost my watch somewhere in the woods along the way – my wife’s going to kill me – I got that watch awhile back for hitting 10 years of service at my job – she was so proud – glancing back at the water slick bag I realize I have no time to be tired – I have to hurry.

“I hope it's dead…”

A bead of sweat skitters down my spine picking up speed as it slides sideways across the arch and down my right side – feels like a little bug – I shiver.

I mentally force myself to stand – albeit a bit slowly – “I doubt it is…”

Bending over and grabbing the plastic bag with both hands a sharp pain in my right shoulder yells out reminding me I’m hurt.

“Bastard put up a descent fight that’s for sure…”

I can’t stop to worry about it now – taking in a deep breath in I pull as hard as I can sliding the mass fully onto the railed bed of my truck – letting the bag go, and with a "puh" sound I let my held breath go too – it slumps with a heavy hollow thud – too tired to climb down I simply jump-step out of the truck bed with a slap as the mud underneath my weight splashes surprisingly high.

Pulling my canvas sack of supplies up to the truck the bear trap falls out – picking it up I confirm what I thought earlier.

“No blood…”

Thinking that is literally impossible I unceremoniously chuck it in the back of the truck hitting the black bag – something moves inside – I freeze.

Trying to calm myself quickly while my eyes pop from spot to spot on the bag I think of the blonde news chick for some reason. Well I guess not for 'no reason' - that is why I came out here - I've been seeing these reports on the news about possible pervs and then copy-cat pervs dressing like clowns and running around in the woods scaring the bajambers out of folks. I have a 12 year old daughter for cripe's sake. Boy did I not see this coming...

Nothing seems to be moving in the lumpy bag...

"I'm not taking any more chances..."

Going around to the passenger's side of my trusty 'ole work truck I pull the door open and grab my even more trusty 'ole Charter Arms Bulldog .44 Special revolver out of the glove box. Feeling the nice comfortable weight of it I duck into the truck interior to get my head out of the rain checking that all 5 rounds are still in the cylinder - yup all 5 - man I haven't shot this thing since the late 1970s but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it still works.

Spinning the cylinder around with a nice whir I too spin myself toward the bed of the truck feeling a little better.

Without even a precursor whisp of sound standing not 6 feet from me is the 8 foot tall beast of a thing. I momentarily glance at the now empty bag in the bed of the truck at least verifying, thank God, that this isn't a second one.

Also, thank God, I can't see its face - it's shrouded in the darkness of night - I can only distinguish the rather bulky body with elongated arms - man they reached almost to its knees - it's wearing a very filthy off-white with red polka dotted jumpsuit. The size of this thing in that getup would probably be a bit comical if it wasn't for the fact that this behemoth was now deep breathing and was obviously more-than-a-little irritated.

Bringing my shaky pistol up towards its chest - "What do you want?"

Nothing - just this raspy dragged gravel breathing - I'm going to have to gamble a little - in my best 'tough guy' voice - "Hey!" - a little louder - "I said what do you want?" - I thrust the pistol a few inches closer.

Suddenly a sharp pain shoots from the base of my skull down my neck - as if something was pushing down hard on the top of my head - then I heard it or felt it or sensed it or... it was just so loud...

"Not... You..."

They say before discharging a firearm you must consider several things; such as don't put your finger on the trigger unless you've already decided to shoot, you can't take it back once you do it and that you 'own' the bullet that is shot from it no matter what it hits ergo you are responsible for it.

Yeah uh-huh - I closed my eyes and shot all 5 rounds as fast as possible without a thought or care.

The pain stopped as abruptly as it came - opening my eyes and looking forward all that was distinctly different was that the monstrosity was gone and there were drips of what appeared to be grease paint trailing back away from the truck.

Without a beat I run around the front of the truck - jump in - throw my gun on the passenger's seat - start it and hit that accelerator so hard I bent the pedal...

I think my truck is as scared as I am - it never peeled off entire inches of mud like that before as I flew down that slick road...

After a few seconds I finally looked in the rear-view...

"Nothing there... Go back...?"

Thinking about it for exactly 1/3rd of 1 second.

"Hell no - my wife can buy me a new watch."

I can't get up.

I'm laying stomach down in the middle of a wooded narrow dirt road.

My eyes feel bruised and filthy.

They almost tear open like zip-lock bags.

Looking up I see the night sky.

The freezing rain is falling in a wavy curtain pattern.

I'm shivering uncontrollably or maybe it's shock.

Everything hurts.

I feel a tremendous pressure on top of me forcing my breaths to come in squeezed wheezes.

I bite down and feel a stone grit crunch.

My teeth slide to the side.

Slowly standing I realize there is nothing on top of me but rather that I very obviously have several broken ribs.

Lifting my blood soaked t-shirt it comes as a surprise to see I've been shot low and on my right side.

I have no idea how this happened...

I stagger.

Putting my hands in my jacket pockets I realize two things.

My left hand is badly broken.

My right jacket pocket is full of guitar picks that have "Shredder" printed on them...

I don't know who I am.

I turn too quickly.

My head swims.

Behind me is a body.

A dude with no shirt laying face up in the rain.

He looks beaten to death.

A smashed guitar is next to him.

He's covered in idiotic nazi tattoos...

For some reason I know I did this and that I don't care.

He's a mindless inbred neo-nazi piece of trash...

Well at least I was on the right side of this...

@DarrianLynx I hope you don't mind me "darkening it up a little." 

Happy Birthday in advance :) 

--**--**--

I drive a white panel; well rusted grey panel now, 30 year old Dodge Van. It reeks of butt sweat, an electrified sulfur blend and genuinely old death. The sweat comes from me, the sulfur emanates from the $26,000 worth of devolving mixed generation technology and the death… that’s another story.

I’ve been living in this beat-up, multi-dented, exhaust-smoking, commonly back-firing hunk of metal for almost 4 years now. This damn thing took me a few months to modify before I left my crappy apartment behind. Looking at the shoddy state it’s in now you wouldn’t think so, but it did originally take me that long to setup the six double decker workstations, the twelve-set director computer for the fibre channel switch powering the storage area and the dual mobile satellite system. I threw my 5.5” thick Vietnam War era Military mattress in one corner and the portable toilet in the other. I hate that thing; the toilet not the mattress. The bed, even though it sits directly on the ridged floor metal, is actually surprisingly comfortable.

Do I want better living arrangements? Would I like a nice vehicle? Hell, do I want working plumbing?

No; I have everything I need to subsist.

I have come to accept who I am, what I want and acknowledge the lines I’m willing to cross to get it.

I’m listed as a high-value criminal in all 50 states and 36 foreign countries around the world, but in name only. However the name listed is one of my many aliases; they have no face, no physical description and no biological evidence.

Am I a criminal? It’s complicated. Yes, probably.

Inside the van I do have 18 illegally procured non-licensed firearms, and yes mounted behind the driver’s seat is a triply reinforced binding bolt with a short length of chain hard welded to an adjoining set of 4 cuff shackles; for both hands and feet. I’m going to need to replace those soon as they are not stainless steel and the hinges are getting quite an array of ever-aging dried blood in them.

Am I violent? Absolutely.

I’m on the go non-stop, traveling from point-to-point with specific targets in mind. It’s quite a complicated pipeline to choose the person I want, but I won’t go into it here. To keep it simple; I find who I want, grab them by any means necessary, then *get* what I want. How it ends is up to them; life or death.

I’ve had 67 “victims,” as the FBI enjoys labeling them. The agencies can call "them" what they like, I know what "they" really are.

By hacking into the multinational mainframes I’ve estimated that there are now close to 100 law enforcement agents, through probably 30 different agencies, spending their entire workday hunting me down. That is honestly a very intimidating concept; the mind-boggling idea that somewhere between 800 to 1,200 man-hours are spent *daily* on just *me.* I’d imagine if I can keep this going a few of them will consider me the official focus of their careers.

I know I’ll get caught sooner-or-later. I know I’ll easily get 30 non-concurrent life sentences by just the evidence in this stupid van alone. I also understand there is even a fairly likely chance that when I’m caught I’ll be shot on sight.

But I’m not done. My personal mission isn't over. Not by a long shot.

Crouched over my main terminal, which runs my own version of Black Dragon Linux, with a customized kernel, I cycle through the seemingly endless open-port security screens. All this has become so repetitious my mind can’t help but wander back to my first target. It was this exact situation; me trying to simulate a fire alarm in the building directly outside the van.

I worked for a Fortune 500 Company whose entire employment base had their life savings wiped out in a single day by two corrupt executives. $225,763.94 was stolen from me in a blink of an eye. Like everyone, the loss was hard for me and had common results; I lost my home, my marriage went to divorce, and I was diagnosed with depression.

My supervisor turned to heavy alcohol abuse, our human resources manager just disappeared and my cube-mate shot himself.

That’s when I decided to do something.

I had roughly $18,000 left in an old 401k from my 1st employer. I spent some of it trying to save my marriage by paying for group counseling, yeah that was a waste. The rest I spent on what and how I live now; this damn van. I’m a computer science expert, which means I find these pricks however I can; social or electronic hacking, pure phishing and sometimes by simple force. If you look closely enough you can see these types of news reports almost daily.

These cold bastards steal from their own employees, retirees, sick people, and even veterans for Christ’s sake. While they live in their huge homes with their fleet of cars, bought with the stolen money; they pay back a little [here] to an investment complainer [there,] or fill out official documentation showing market losses on bad investments that were never really made.

What’s worse? When they get caught the punishment for “white collar” crimes are a mere slap on the wrist compared to what I call equivalent “violent” crimes. But what really is the difference between someone who “strong arm” robs someone for $20 or someone who tricks a disabled war veteran out of his life savings?

When I find these people I tend to do things I’m not particularly proud of. I really don't even try think about it anymore; my actions are almost autonomic now.

I force "them" to return the stolen money to the rightful owners. By any means necessary.

Am I Robin Hood? Some say yes; I say no.

Am I a Super Hero? Some say yes; I say uh no.

Am I a Vigilante? Some say yes; I say I don’t think so.

Some say these “white-collar” criminals are really intelligent; I say I’m a helluva lot smarter than they are, so what *does* that make me?

My eye catches something on the security screen bringing me abruptly back to the ‘now.’

Ah, got it! I simply hit the [return] key over the node labeled { &_alarm.fire.main } and away we go. The fire siren blares and within seconds hordes of folks dressed in formal business wear pour out of the building’s main exit. I electronically locked all of the other exists. I’m getting too old to multitask all exists let alone physically chase anyone down for any great distance.

There’s my mark now; 49, 5’10”, 215lbs, douchey haircut, wearing a $2,000 custom tailored Italian suit. He was the main player in a $200M loss via Health Care fraud causing thousands of individuals and families to lose coverage.

He clogged the system for months by laundering it all through his own off-shore telemarketing companies while hundreds of people lost their lives due to countless procedure rejections. I saw a news article on CNC-online where one of the fatal cases involved a 12 year old girl who needed a kidney transplant.

Through the crowd I notice he’s fortuitously stepping closer to the van on his own, he looks a little freaked-out.

Good.

I can feel the inevitable; my face heating up and my heart start to pick-up the pace.

I think after I beat the bank codes out of this guy I’m just going to shoot him in the face.