I dropped a thousand on 8 and shook the dice, tonight’s the night I can feel it in my bones. Taking my shot I watched the dice tumble across the board and come up short, “Shit” I took the last of my chips and walked away, Vegas was looking more and more like a mistake every day. Strolling through the casino looking for a hot table I spotted a familiar frame passing through the crowd, I only saw her for a second but there was no mistake, it was her. I didn’t waste a second looking around, I cashed out and headed for my room. As I got on the elevator an older guy stepped in with me, something about him gave me a bad vibe, he never spoke but I couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching me. The elevator stopped on the 6th floor and the old man got off, as the doors slid shut he turned to face me, his milky white eyes were the last thing I saw as the door completely shut.
The doors finally opened on my floor and as I stepped out I spotted a kid coming out of one of the rooms. I didn’t think much of it as we passed one another in the hall but just as I got to my door I heard his voice. “Hey mister you dropped something.” Instantly recognizing it I turned around, but there was no one there. I unlocked the door and rushed into my room, as soon as the door slammed shut I started packing. I set my bags by the door then called the front desk to let them know I was checking out, there was no answer. I hung up the phone and started to walk out, just as I grabbed my bags someone knocked. Releasing my grip, I pulled the pistol from my waistband and clicked off the safety, easing up to the door I looked through the peephole staying as quiet as possible. Three rough looking types (great) I stepped away from the door and called out, “Who is it!?” I heard someone clearing their throat. “Room service.” I had to smile, these guys were clearly watching too many gangster movies I tried to remember exactly where they were standing as I took aim and fired. I could hear them scrambling in the hall as I shut off the lights and got in the closet near the door, with a loud boom they came crashing in waving guns around. They didn’t even bother to look in the closet (amateurs) I stepped out and shot the one closest to me in the back of the head, the other two put their hands up and stopped moving. “Turn around slow.” They did as they were told and the second they were both facing me I shot the one on the left, smiling I stepped closer and pressed the barrel to the last ones forehead. “What seems to be the problem here boss?” He shifted his eyes to me without turning his head,” You killed our brothers and kidnapped our VP’s old lady.” Flashbacks of dragging a woman into a black room fluttered through my mind, taking a deep breath I stepped back and pulled the trigger, I was on the elevator and headed for the parking garage before the bodies could get cold. The elevator dinged as it came to a stop on the 6th floor, the doors slid open to reveal that same old man standing exactly where I’d seen him last. He didn’t move, he just stood there staring at me with a strange expression on his face, “You getting on or not old man?” he responded by smiling at me then opened his mouth releasing a wave of earthworms and dirt spilling down the front of his suit, flipping him off I mashed the button to close the door….
Once I finally made it to my car I tossed my bags in the back seat and hopped in, the second I slid the key in the ignition I heard her chuckle. Slowly glancing up I saw her reflection in my rearview, she was in the back seat. “Hello Max.” I closed my eyes and put my head down, “You gotta be kidding me. What do you want?” She smiled that wicked smile, “Oh nothing, I saw you were in town and thought I’d pop in to say hello.” Taking a deep breath and shaking my head I started the car, “Go away. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” She smiled and in the blink of an eye she was gone, I cruised the strip for a while before I hit the road. A few hours later I was pulling up to a motel just off the highway, once I was settled in I walked to the vending machine for a coke. I stood there gulping down my ice cold soda when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, “Excuse me sir, but could you spare a couple of dollars?” I turned around to see a teenager, he was 17 possibly 18 years old. His hair was long dirty and matted, his clothes were tattered old rags that looked like they’ve never seen the inside of a washing machine and he was barefoot. “Christ kid, you can’t go around sneaking up on people like that, it’s a good way to get yourself killed.” He stepped back and smiled, “My fault, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just hoping I could maybe get a few bucks for something to eat.” Looking around I put my hand in my pocket and thumbed a few bills. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you 500 dollars if you can do something for me.” He stepped back with an angry expression on his face, I already knew what he was thinking and I had to laugh. “Calm down there Skippy, I’m not trying to buy your hole. I need someone to keep an eye out while I’m staying here.” I saw him relax as a curious smile slowly eased across his face, “So you’re gonna give me 500 bucks to be a look out? Who am I supposed to be looking for?” I took another swig of my soda and pulled out the money. “Bikers specifically, but if you hear anyone looking for Max I need to know about it. We got a deal?” The kid nodded his head and I gave him 200, “You’ll get the rest in the morning, I’m in room 14 knock twice if you see anything.”
I went back to my room and fell asleep, after an hour or so the smell of something rotten pulled my out of my dreams. When I opened my eyes it seemed like the smell got worse, I sat up to see that old man from the elevator standing in the corner of my room. A writhing pile of earthworms and dirt stood knee high around his legs and when he spoke his voice sounded like there were dozens of people talking in unison. “You have been” I didn’t let him finish talking, I grabbed my gun and fired causing him to explode and cover everything (including me) with the worst smelling sludge I’ve ever come across. “What the fuck!?” some of it got in my mouth and I almost threw up as I got to my feet. The second I stood up the room started to vibrate with a low hum that made my teeth rattle, as the sound got louder I found myself fighting to stay awake and before long I was falling to the floor splashing down into a pool of that black sludge. There was a moment of absolute silence, I was floating in an ocean of darkness looking up at a star filled sky, a tapping sound cut through the silence and the world around me started to spin. White light blinded me for a second then I was back in my room lying face down on the cheap motel carpet. (Tap, tap) The sound that brought me back was coming from the door, I got up looking around the room realizing the goo was gone but I could still taste it on my tongue. I didn’t bother looking out the peep hole I just flung the door open to see the kid standing there looking nervous. “There’s a group of guys asking questions at the front desk. I think they’re looking for you.” The kid came in and closed the door while I grabbed my things. “Damn it stinks in here. What’ve you been doing?” I looked at him for a second then dug in my pocket for the rest of his money. “Thanks for the heads up, you better get moving before they get here.” as I handed him the cash the door came crashing in.
There were five of them all together, the first one through the door pistol whipped the kid and the other four rushed me, they were in the middle of beating me to death when I heard that low humming sound and everything went black. I don’t mean I blacked out, I was completely conscious, I just couldn’t see anything. Over the next few seconds all I could hear was them screaming along with the sound of bones breaking and blood splattering. When it was over I sat there watching the darkness ooze down the walls slowly revealing the light as it pooled in the center of the room forming itself into the old man from the elevator. He smiled then vanished leaving me with an unconscious kid and a room full of dead bodies. Sirens whaled in the background while I woke up the kid, he sat up and wiped the blood off his face looking around the room. “Holy shit! What happened? Did you do this?” I grabbed my bags and headed for the door, “The cops are coming, you better get moving.” about half way to my car he came running up behind me. “Hey wait! Can I get a ride? You can drop me off at the next town, I can’t deal with the cop’s dude. Please man, I gotta get out of here.” I shook my head and hit the alarm, “Get in.”
We were on the road for an hour before either of us said a word. “So what’s all this about? Why’re those guys after you?” I grabbed my cigarettes off the dash and lit one up, “It’s a long story. What’s your deal, why’re you running from the cops?” he smiled and let the seat back. “They ask too many questions.” We didn’t talk much after that, I drove till the sun came up then stopped to get gas. When I got back from paying the kid was gone, once I finished fueling up I hopped in and started pulling off. I was just about to pull onto the highway when the kid came running up to the passenger side tapping on the window while franticly pulling at the handle. “Let me in, let me in!” the second I popped the lock he dove in laughing as we peeled out of the parking lot. I glanced over to see him counting a wad of 20s and 10s, “What’d you just do?!” he smiled, counted off 50 and stuffed it in the cup holder. “Got some gas money.” Getting comfortable in the seat he chuckled a little, “I saw some guys shooting dice on the side of the store, so while you were chatting up the cashier I took your gun and robbed them, speaking of which.” Leaning back in his seat he pulled my gun from under his shirt then slipped it back in the glove box…
Chapter 2:
The kid’s name is Sam, I was supposed to dump him in the next town but he’s managed to make that a lot harder than it should be. We were speeding along the back roads somewhere in Texas when a state trooper lit us up, pulling off the highway I already knew how this would play out but what happened next threw me for a loop.
As the trooper approached the vehicle I glanced over to see Sam was gone, after the usual line of questioning I was pulled out of the car and placed in cuffs. The trooper was walking me to the squad car when I heard Sam’s voice from behind us, “You should’ve let him go.” before he could turn around a hand gripped the top of his head and in one swift motion mashed down. There was a wet crunch as his spinal column compacted and his skull caved in, his lifeless body crumbled to the pavement revealing Sam standing there with a huge smile plastered across face. Laughing and kneeling down wiping his hands on the officer’s uniform he chuckled, “That was awesome, I didn’t think it would work. Bet you’re glad I’m here now aren’t you?” Watching him retrieve the keys from the officer’s pocket I noticed a slight wisp of black smoke coming from his eyes. “You’re one of hers aren’t you?” Sam glanced up at me with a disappointed look, “Why does everyone think we all work for her? As a matter of fact I can’t stand the old bat, no matter what happens she gets all the credit.”
While he rambled on I was planning my escape, the second the cuffs came off I bolted to my car, jumped in and sped away. Zipping down the highway I saw someone step out into the road ahead of me, it was Sam. I mashed down the accelerator and gripped the wheel to keep control, I was going to leave him splattered across the highway, the closer I got I braced myself for impact. As my front bumper made contact the little shit phased right through it grabbing me by the shoulders and snatching me out of the car, in a split second I was standing on the road watching my car veer off the pavement and slam into a tree, there was a loud whoosh as it burst into flames taking my money with it. “What the fuck man!? Why won’t you go away?!” Sam stood there shaking his head dusting himself off, “You are one ungrateful bastard, aren’t you? I’ve saved your life, and kept you out of jail, do I get a thank you?” As he finished dusting himself off his clothes transformed from rags to a nicely tailored solid black suit. His filthy matted hair turned to dreadlocks as he passed his fingers through it. “No, instead you try to ditch me then you tried to run over me with your car!” he smiled and nodded his head. “I can see why she picked you, here’s the deal Max, I want you to kill her.”
“She’s been hiding here for a long time and.” Sam paused in midsentence then shook his head as black smoke started pouring from his eyes, “We’ll talk later.” He turned to walk away and vanished in a cloud of smoke as a familiar voice sent chills up my spine. “Hello Max, how’ve you been?” Turning around to face her there was a loud pop and I found myself standing in an office. Her back was to me as she stood there looking out over the city, I couldn’t help but to admire her figure for a second and before I could stop myself she chuckled, “You really shouldn’t look at me that way people might get the wrong idea.” She turned to me with that wonderfully wicked smile, “I have a new offer for you Max, my competitors think they can run the show and I need them dealt with. In return I’ll give you back what you’ve lost and toss in a little extra for your troubles, do we have a deal?” Laughing to myself I started towards the closest door, I paused to glanced back to her. “Why me? I’m sure you could handle this on your own, why do you keep dragging me into your shit?” The smile slipped from her face as she stepped over to the desk and took a seat, “Do we have a deal?” Patting my pocket I found my smokes, got one out and lit it then opened the door, “No, I don’t think we do. See you around.” As I stepped into the hall the door slammed shut behind me and as it did I was back on the highway standing a few feet away from my burning car.
I walked till the sun came up eventually coming to a town called “Ravens rock”. Stopping to rest under an old tree I fished the last of my money out of my pocket and counted it. A hundred and fifty Bucks, it would have to do till I could come up with a plan, as the morning rolled on and the sleepy little town came to life I started attracting attention. Strolling along I realized everywhere I went at least one person would openly stop and stare at me, the really odd part was no one seemed to notice. After seeing it three or four times I decided to walk up to the next person I spotted staring at me. Walking to the end of the block I turned right onto another street and as I made the corner I spotted an old man standing in front of a hardware store. He was in the center of the sidewalk, puffing on his cigar staring directly at me. From a distance I didn’t recognize him but as I got close enough to see him I realized I’d seen him before. He blew out a heavy cloud and scowled at me, “Leave my town or I’ll kill you myself. I’ve good thing going here and I don’t need you screwing it up.” I nodded my head looking around the street for a second then punched him in the nose so hard I heard it snap. Grabbing him by the collar I hurried him inside the store and locked the door behind us, long story short, I drug him in the back and beat him to death with a hammer then cleaned out the registers and got out of there.
I was two blocks away when the old man popped up again, puffing his cigar he blew a huge cloud that immediately engulfed me transporting us both to a bar. As the smoke cleared I spotted him pouring two cups, “Have a seat Max.” judging by the look on his face I wasn’t sure I wanted the drink but considering he probably could’ve killed me already I took the chance. “I am Stolas, and unlike the majority of my kind these days, I’m neutral in all this.” Tipping his glass to me he emptied his cup then poured another. “That’s the only reason I haven’t killed you. After your little temper tantrum at the hardware store I was tempted, but I’m sitting this one out.” sniffing my drink I finally took a sip. It went down warm and smooth coating my mouth with the sweet aftertaste of honey. I downed the rest of it as the old man slid the bottle over to me, “What is all this, Stoli?” He frowned at me and took another sip, “Its Stolas, and I don’t know. What I can tell you is, there’s a lot of bad news headed your way. Ask your little pal Samael he knows, from what I hear he’s in the middle of it.” Refilling both of our cups, he paused and looked at me. “So Max, what do I have to do to get you out of my town?”……..
Chapter 3:
Stoli agreed to give me a car and keep his mouth shut about seeing me. Heading north the day turned to night as the miles drifted by, since my money was gone the plan was to link up with an old friend of mine and pull a job or two for some fast cash. Passing through Colorado I came to a crowded truck stop, the parking lot was packed, people were walking around drinking and having a good time, I just needed gas. Once I got a pump I went inside for supplies, grabbing a few things I made my way up to the counter. “So what’s going on around here, is it always this busy?” The cashier an older lady smiled and glanced out the window as she rung me up. “Its Friday, all the locals go to the little club on the other side of the lot, things usually die down around 2 or 3 in the morning.” As she turned to grab my cigarettes from the rack I noticed a tattoo on the back of her neck, I didn’t recognize the symbol but something about it gave me a bad feeling.
Fueling up and watching the crowd move through the lot I figured a drink might do me some good, besides I was in no hurry to get back on the road. Once I had a parking spot and made my way inside I grabbed a beer and found a quiet corner far away from the dance floor. Scanning the crowd for marks and picking a couple of easy targets I spotted a crew casing the place. There were four of them, the point man or woman in this case was standing near the end of the bar, she was talking to a couple of different people but they didn’t seem involved. Two gunners, one by the restroom and the other near the front door, by the looks of them this wasn’t their first run. Looking around I found the ring leader, center stage in the middle of the dance floor, he was dancing with a group of people while the others waited for the signal. Polishing off my beer I got up from my table and walked out, as soon as I hit the parking lot I started searching for the getaway car, it didn’t take long. I put on my best fake drunk walk and staggered over patting my pockets looking for my cigarettes. Once I got to the trunk I pounded on it with my hand calling out to the driver, “Hey man, you got a light?” He glared back at me opening the door to get out, “Did you just hit my car, get the fuck out of here! No I don’t have a light!” Fumbling with my smokes I dropped them as he got closer, staggering leaning forward to pick the pack up I braced myself and as soon as he was in reach, I punched him in the balls so hard he lifted up on his toes. He wheezed and doubled over as I stood up grabbing the back of his head kneeing him in the face until he crumbled to the ground gurgling and spitting out teeth. Once I was done stomping his skull in, I put his body in the dumpster and checked the car. I found one fully loaded AR 15 and a Chiappa Rhino along with a few extra rounds in the center console, I took the guns and was planning on taking the car when the sound of gunfire from inside the club let me know it was show time.
Hiding behind some parked cars I waited for them to come out, it wasn’t long before they came running. As soon as they stopped to look around for the driver I opened up with the AR. The first few shots dropped two of them, I ducked down and moved to another position as the others fired blindly not knowing where I was. Circling around to my left I could hear one of the downed men screaming while the other two yelled to one another in the confusion. Creeping over to another cluster of cars and taking a quick look, I could only see one of them it was the woman from the bar. She was clutching a 9 in one hand and a bag in the other as she nervously looked around, taking a deep breath I popped up and dropped two shots on her center mass then immediately took cover and moved to another spot. The guy that was bleeding out in the dirt was still screaming his head off, pausing to listen I heard the last one yelling, by the sound of it he was close. Using the strap I put the AR on my back and pulled the revolver. Moving slow and low I kept closing in on the sound of his voice. When I spotted him I had to smile, he was clutching a second bag (Must be my lucky day) he popped up from his hiding spot and made a break for the car. Taking aim, I let him run for a second then put one through his lower back and he hit the ground screaming.
There wasn’t much time left I could already hear the sirens echoing in the distance, rushing I grabbed both bags then booked it back to my car and got the hell out of there. I was a couple of towns away when I finally stopped to check the money, not a bad haul a couple of thousand at best but it was more than enough to get me where I was headed. Before I could pull off there was a tap at my window, grabbing the pistol off the seat I turned to see Sam standing there peering through the window at me. “You gonna let me in or what?” My first thought was to throw the car in drive and smash the gas but then I remembered what Stoli said and unlocked the door.
Getting in looking around the car Sam Laughed. “Where’d you get this piece of shit? Come on Max, you’re letting me down, I had such high expectations for the old lady’s number one draft pick. So far I have to say I’m not impressed, I mean seriously, stick up kids and low budget bikers? What does she see in you?” Shaking his head Sam reached for my cigarettes on the dash and I grabbed his wrist before he could touch them. “The way I see it, you have two choices. I can beat you to death or you can tell me what going on.” Sam looked at me smiling as black smoke filled his eyes, he tried to shift away from me, when he couldn’t his smile was replaced by shock. Using my left, I grabbed my knife from the door panel and drove it through the back of his hand pinning him to the dash. “Holy fuck that hurts!! How did you?” I cut him off by bouncing his skull off window a couple of times then snatched the blade free and plunged it into his leg. “So Sam, What’s it gonna be?”

I’m usually here writing about my own JNMom Shitterfly (though not often, because NC), but this one’s my JNMIL. She’s a whole other mess to unravel, so I just kinda...haven’t. Plus I’ve been VVVVVVVLC with her (we’ve spoken briefly two times over the last several years), and DH is LC, so she hasn’t been much of a factor in our lives for a long time. I’m worried she may be about to drag us in, though. This is a long one due to background to establish the kind of dumpster fire JNMIL and JNSIL are, so buckle up. If you want to skip background, look for the ————————. Also warning, I’m a bit all over the place right now, and this may be kind of sloppy.
Also, TW for accusation of CSA. It was a lie from JNSIL the literal psychopath, but still, heads-up.
The thing that hits me hardest about JNMIL is the fact we used to have a great relationship. We adored each other. She bragged on me to her friends, told DH if he ever left me she’d shoot him (jokingly), and she was the mother figure to me for years that Shitterfly never was. I loved her.
Then we moved about a hundred miles away for work. And had DD. And it started to sour.
She’s come to see us only three or four times in the seven years we’ve lived here, even though we’ve always had an open door policy—come and visit when you want, just call ahead to make sure schedules line up. We live in a quiet suburb outside a major city. She blames her lack of visits on being scared of driving in that city. Telling her we have never lived there and she can get to us without ever entering that city does nothing; she just reiterates that she’s scared to drive in that city. Never mind she can drive out of state to go to the casinos (which her own very much JY father has called her out on)—those penny slots are obviously much more worth driving for than her only granddaughter, who she was soooooo excited about.
Also, she does the “my baby” thing. Bitch, you can’t spell her name right after six years (it’s only five letters!), and forgot her birthday. She ain’t your baby. Fuck you.
Now, going further back, this insufferable harpy messed my DH up a LOT throughout his childhood. Both his parents were very JN, and divorced in his teens. FIL has done some growing though, and repaired the relationship and is MostlyYes now. We’re going to set him aside, because he was away for work a lot, and didn’t know many of these things were happening. I really think JNMIL did most of the damage, along with JNSIL, his older sister and the GC.
JNMIL used to let JNSIL beat on DH as much as she wanted. And that woman is a ham-fisted BRUTE. JNMIL would simply warn JNSIL that someday DH would be bigger than her, and go back to reading her trashy romance novels. JNSIL is a literal psychopath. Aside from beating DH up, she made multiple attempts to kill him throughout their childhood, including pushing him out of a second story window and a moving vehicle. He has the scars to prove it. It’s a miracle the man is alive. The beatings didn’t stop until he got big enough to turn it around on JNSIL, and finally mopped the floor with her the last time she attacked him.
When FIL left JNMIL on Christmas Eve, DH woke up that Christmas morning to JNMIL sitting on the couch, chain smoking, and the first words out of her mouth were “Well, you’re the man of the house, now.” To this day, he still is not a fan of Christmas.
JNMIL once attacked DH, and clawed his face with her nails. The friend who picked him up said he looked like he’d been in a fight with Wolverine. She has no memory of this, because she was popping pills.
I could go on. DH’s childhood was fucked. He’d attributed a lot of this to her being addicted to pills for much of his childhood, and by the time I met her she was clean and was very normal and friendly, so it seemed like she’d gotten her life right. The two of them actually had a pretty good relationship then too, so it seemed like it really must have been the pills.
Then of course we get to nowadays with her. She will occasionally call DH to whine about her life, and what JNSIL has done THIS time. Even on his birthday. He might get a “happy birthday”, and then right into the topic of JNSIL. She gripes about us not driving out to see her, and told DH it was pathetic that she hasn’t seen DD in this long. DH will often hear from her whenever JNSIL has a brilliant new scheme to milk relatives for money (last time, it was that JNSIL was bitten on the foot by a brown recluse, and needed $300 or $400 for surgery, which is total BS); she will ask him to call FIL and ask for the money, because FIL won’t pick up their calls anymore. She’s told him before that HE should help his sister since we’re doing well for ourselves, but he shut that shit down. He is firmly NC with JNSIL, and wouldn’t spit on her if she was on fire. Yeah, we’re doing good, but we worked our tails off to claw our way up out of poverty, and we’re not giving a dime to that mooch.
JNMIL and JNSIL also hatched a scheme once when JNSIL happened to find out that DD was spending a week with FIL and SMIL (this was back when FIL would pick up her calls, and she heard DD in the background). JNMIL called DH, ranting and raving that JNSIL told her that FIL had molested her as a child (he didn’t—hell, JNSIL called him a few days later asking for money and acting like normal), he’s going to do it to DD too, DH is a terrible father for letting her stay over there, and when I find out, I’m going to take DD and leave him (all this because she was jealous DD was with FIL and SMIL, you guys). So I come home to DH—who is a large, imposing figure who does not cry—in hysterics, not because he believes that FIL did/would do any of it, but because JNMIL took the one thing he’s truly afraid of—losing me and DD—and fucking weaponized it against him. This is the point where I lost any ability to feel sympathy for that bitter, hateful old harpy, and my indifference to her turned to hate.
Now for a bit more on JNSIL to fully round this out and establish her character. She’s been to jail before for passing hot checks. She’s got two sons she doesn’t have custody of, and doesn’t do anything for—when she did have custody, she held them out of school for a year (claimed she was homeschooling), and refused to get appropriate help for her younger son who is severely autistic, saying instead “He’s retarded!” (her words!), and giving up on him. She’s been married and divorced 2-3+ times (no one really knows for sure, but 2 times confirmed, and others she’s claimed). She has a known list of aliases. She is a pathological liar, and will lie even when she’s got nothing to gain from it—seemingly her only gain is entertainment from creating chaos. She won’t hold down a job, and instead lives by mooching off family members, and in some cases stealing from them ( a few months back, she stole between 10k and 20k from JNMIL and SFIL by draining their bank accounts and maxing credit cards after they let her stay with them, and JNMIL didn’t report her because JNSIL said she’d kill herself if she went back to prison). When FIL bought her a truck to try and get her back on her feet, she traded it in for a Cadillac, didn’t make any payments, and got it repo’d. She’s the reason I no longer believe the people who show up on Jerry Springer are actors—they walk among us.
—————————————
This leads us to today. JNSIL has developed a drug habit, and is now strung the fuck out on God only knows what. This culminated in finding out yesterday that she’s been arrested on five felonies (theft and related, to fuel her habit). And man, did she ever do it this time. FIL called the DA to try and figure out what was going on, and was told “You don’t have enough money to bail her out”. Guys, she’s gotten by all these years by only doing this shit to family members she knew wouldn’t turn her in, but it seems like she decided to branch out, and now she’s finally going to suffer some consequences. GOOD.
The problem we face now though, is DH feels bad for JNMIL. For some reason. He wants us to go visit her. Not only do I have no desire to see her after everything she’s done to him, but more importantly, I don’t want her getting her claws into him again, only to hurt him later AGAIN. He’s the scapegoat/lost child, and she’ll cling to him when JNSIL the GC is out of pocket (which she’s likely to be for some time, this time), but it ultimately ends in heartbreak when JNSIL returns, and everything reverts back to normal. And while he’s the first to say that his mother is a bitch, (he’s even been known to introduce himself as a son of a bitch), and that if you cut her, sulfur and brimstone would pour out (his words), I still see him getting ready to run into the fire to save her. It breaks my heart for him, and makes me hate her more than I already do, because this only ever ends in misery. I’m not sure how to help him. I tried telling him this, and he’s still wanting to go.
I did finally get him to go to therapy, and he had his first session last week, and another this week. Therapist said it’s too early to diagnose, but he definitely has symptoms of a form of PTSD, and more. Would it be reasonable to write a note to the therapist, to discuss JNMIL and the current situation at his next appointment? I don’t want to butt in, but I’d like a professional to give her opinion on this situation, and help him work through whether he really should go, and if so, how best to prepare himself so that he isn’t hurt again.
Why can’t I just stuff the old bat into a shipping container, and send her a few thousand miles away? Anybody know someplace with lots of sun, water, and priests? Not sure if sun will set her on fire or water will melt her, but if neither work, maybe the priests can cast her out.
If I write about her again, I suppose she’ll need a name. She’s saved as Cruella de MIL in my phone (because she looks just like the old animated Cruella and has similar mannerisms), but I know that’s taken. Is Yzma taken?—she and SFIL kinda remind me of Yzma and Kronk (SFIL is a sweetheart, and seems to not really be aware of the shit JNMIL pulls—he also can’t stand JNSIL, and adores DH, DD, and I. If we could get rid of JNMIL and just keep him, we totally would.)
It’s a long, disjointed mess, and I’m sorry.
EDIT: Think I’m going to call her Hagraven. It fits on so many levels. For the non-gamers: https://skyrim.gamepedia.com/Hagraven

continuing
As I was picking myself up off the shooter’s shack floor, I glanced over to the TV.
The ballplayers were all wandering around the field, looking skyward. Evidently, there was this hellacious explosion…even the television sports commentators were speculating as to what happened.
Whoops.
I looked out into the quarry. The wall that I had charged had receded some 75 feet.
There was rather a large amount of shattered, blasted dolomitic limestone now in the quarry. Enough, I found out later, for a full month’s worth of orders.
We never did find the blasting mats. I think they sort of evaporated.
Luckily, the quarry is essentially an open amphitheater in plan view; basically a big hole in the ground with vertical limestone walls. The shockwave of the blast that didn’t spend itself shattering the limestone into which it was housed, blew out laterally, hit the opposite quarry wall, rebounded, and then dispersed, rather energetically, vertically upward.
I set off car alarms for a 20 block radius.
There were no broken home windows, as the lion’s share of the shock wave was redirected upward.
Good thing there were no low flying zeppelins or dirigibles in the area...
I waited the requisite time to allow for any loafers. There were none, so I jumped into the nearest wheel loader and began clearing the quarry floor. Hell, I had to so I could open the front gate.
As I was clearing the floor, making pile number eight of the loose rock I had liberated, I heard the characteristic whoop-whoop of emergency vehicles.
I parked the wheel loader, opened the front gate, and raised the green flag. That was enough blasting for one day.
A few minutes later, three police cars zoom into the site. Two were local city cops, and one was a state trooper.
“Hi, guys!” I waved, “Nice day, innit?”
“Doctor Rock! We should have known.” One of the local boys groaned.
“Hey, I did call you beforehand, as per procedure,” I said.
Polack the cop walks up, just knowing I was responsible. “Yeah, but we didn’t figure on you terrorizing the entire city.”
“Polack! How goes it?” I asked.
The other local cop and the state trooper look to Polack, “You know this maniac?”
“Oh, hell yeah. For years. Don’t worry, the good doctor is mostly harmless.” He chuckles.
“Damn. OK. I guess everything’s OK. Just no more shooting today, please, Doctor. It’s going to take hours to calm everyone down.” He laments.
“Yes, sir. I’m done for the day.” I reply, snickering slightly.
The one local and state trooper depart, shaking their heads in amazement. This left Polack to follow me over to the shooter’s shack to mooch a cigar and whatever else he can find.
“Jesus Hula-Dancing Christ, Rock. What the hell was that? I was all the way out in Whitewatosa and heard you.” He asks as he sneakily snakes a smoke out of my case.
“Just some common chemicals in the proper proportions.” I snicker.
“Which were?” he asks.
I go in the back of the shed and toss him an empty container of one of the parts of the binaries I used. He catches it, reads the label, and drops it like a live grenade.
“Binaries? Fuck! Like what you used at the tower?” he asks.
“Yep. I used just a little more.” I reply.
“Little more? Damn, as I said, we’ve been briefed on the stuff. This shit’s nasty.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah. Fun, too.” I reply.
Polack grabs a Sprechler’s Cream Soda out of the fridge as I opt for a cold Cream Ale and shot of potato juice. Hell, I was done for the day, so…
We sit around and have a chat, just shooting the shit, as it were. Manly topics, so the conversation eventually steered over to guns.
“Hey!” Polack remembers, “That’s right! You fucking owe me. Let me borrow that fucking cannon you carry. I want to show the chief a thing or two.”
“Yeah, that’s right”, I agree, “When do you need it?”
“This Friday, after shift. It’s the monthly qualifiers for us.” He notes.
“Are pyromaniacs allowed in?” I ask.
“To observe? Sure. To shoot? Nope. Insurance regulations.” He says.
“What time?” I continue.
“1800 hours.” He tells me.
“I’ll be there. I’ll bring my gun and an assortment of loads. Hey, this could be fun!” I evilly smile.
“Doctor. You’re doing that thing again. You’re grinnin’ like a shithouse rat. You know how much that scares me. Stop it.” He pleads.
“No worries. Friday at 1800 hours.” I reply, grinning.
Polack slurps down his Sprechlers, snitches another stogie, and squeals out of the quarry in a cloud of dense dolomitic dust.
I arrive back at our flat, after stopping for two frozen custard Turtle Sundaes, to go. I give one to an appreciative wife and I ask her about her day.
“Oh, went shopping with Oma. Got the cutest shoes, and a new purse, and…oh well, never mind. You’ll see.”
Between bites of Turtle Sundae, she asks how my day went.
“Oh, my dear. I had a real blast.” I replied, not lying in the least.
Monday, after my first classes, I’m back in the faculty lounge, savoring a Greenland Coffee.
There was the usual instructor chatter when Dean Vermiculari walks in.
“Good morning, Dean!” I say. “Care for a sit-down and a coffee?”
“Good morning, Doctor Rock. Yes, please to both.” He replies.
I fix us both a fresh Greenland Coffee and return to our table. I hand him one and sit down to savor my soupçon.
“How was your weekend?” I ask the Dean of the College.
“Oh, very nice. Had a fine time catching some perch and crappie out on Lake Genever. I see you had a victorious weekend as well. Twice.” He smiles.
“Twice?” I asked.
“Well, your handling of the tower demolition made all the papers. Very, very well done, Doctor. I congratulate you.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. That means a lot. Just doing what I can with what I’ve got. But twice?” I replied.
“It wasn’t front-page news, but I saw there was some, well, let us just say, ‘energetic activity’ out at the Silurian reef limestone quarry yesterday.” He grinned.
“Oh, yes. I had a job to do and well, as I always say: ‘Nothing succeeds like excess.” I smile back.
“Quite. This beverage you’ve created is really rather extraordinary, Doctor. Again, I thank you.” He tips his mug my direction in the age-old Midwestern salute.
“It’s a little recipe I picked up on my last expedition to the northlands. I grew rather fond of the concoction.” I replied.
“Ah, I see. Marvelous.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. High praise indeed.” I reply.
“Which leads me to…ah, Doctor Rock. I have another favor to impose upon you.” He says, all serious.
“Yes, Dean? How can I be of service?” I ask.
“We, as you no doubt know, have many, many fine extractive mineral company connections. We actually receive quite a large amount of funding and endowments from them. They recruit here extensively for our young geoscientists. Now, since Dr. Pataariki has left for industry himself, I would like to appoint you as the College of Natural Sciences corporate liaison.” He explains.
“Indeed?” I replied, too stunned for words for once.
“Yes, indeed.” He continues, “It will require travel, mostly domestic, and delivering symposia at various companies on differing extractive geological subjects. You will also serve as host and university coordinator when they are present on recruiting tours. There will, of course, be additional remuneration to accompany the added responsibilities.”
I slurped my coffee, thinking furiously.
“Could I please first discuss it with my wife before I answer?” I ask.
“Oh, Doctor. Of course, of course. Take your time. I will not require a reply until… tomorrow.” He smiles, finishes his coffee, thanks me again, and toddles out.
“Yow, Es!” I exclaim, “This is one hell of an opportunity. It’s never before been offered to a junior professor. This will cement my tenure-track. It’s going to be a bitch with time, though. What do you think I should do?”
“Well, Rock, honey, I think you should do…” Es begins.
“No! None of that ‘do what you think is best’ stuff. I want your own thoughts, just like when I decided to go after my doctorate.” I explained.
“OK, then.” Esme looks all serious like she’s going to deliver a bipartisan political speech.
“Yes.” She says, firmly
“That’s it?” I ask.
“Yep. You asked I answered. We’ll make it work. We always do. You can’t let the Dean down. You will accept tomorrow without fear or qualms of your wife’s hesitations, of which I harbor none.” Esme proclaims.
“Did I ever tell you of the myriad reasons I love you so?” I ask.
The next morning I meet with Dean Vermiculari. He’s pleased that I accept and hands over to me the charter. Then the lists of company representatives, their contact information, and some other secret stuff that I can’t divulge right yet.
A raft of oil companies will be coming in the late spring semester, so I need to contact each and every one to solidify dates, times and positions for which they’re recruiting. But that’s for then, I have something more proximal for now.
I have a Friday appointment with Polack the cop at the town police shooting range.
I arrive spot on time with my Casull .454 Magnum pistol, in its carry bag, along with a small duffel crammed with Pyrodex, Tannerite, and selection of specialty loads I had Herman the German, the inveterate gunsmith, create.
Herman the German, his actual sobriquet, was this incredible gunsmith, craftsman, and all-around artillery specialist. Have any sort of problem with a rifle, shotgun, or pistol? See Herman. Gun holding too high? See Herman. Barrel warped? See Herman. Need solid gold projectiles for a certain one-off job? See Herman.
Herman the German can sort it out.
Just never ask him: “How?”
“Ach! I’ve lived so long to learn, and you want it free? I’ll fix it, you pay, but I am only one knowing how!”
Herman was a cranky old Kraut, and has lived here for as long as anyone can remember. Even my Grandfather had deferred to Herman when he had some particularly delicate machining operation that need special attention and was unique.
As far as anyone knew, Herman had no family, but was never at a loss for friends. He was one of the most popular, and well known, but still oddly really unknown, kind of mysterious, old bastards in the entire community.
Herman the German liked me because I could obtain for him certain high-energy things he couldn’t. All were entirely legal, but some were sort of out there in the gray zone.
He also liked that I was educated, as he held education in the highest esteem. He also liked that I was of German extraction myself.
I often made it a point to drop by with odd and unusual high-octane potables while never expecting anything in return other than a story or a shared cigar.
Herman created some special loads for my .454 Magnum, which he prized.
“I like your gun, Doctor Rock, it is so big! I can still see well enough to build things for it.” He told me one day over cheroots and Schnapps.
Herman was a character to be certain. It must have been the pixie in him to dream up some of the specialty rounds he created for me to share with the local constabulary.
He lived out in the county by himself in an old farmhouse. He had a full machine shop in his basement, complete with forge, metal handling equipment, and a firing test range.
He handed back my .454, rather solemnly.
“Doctor, I am afraid to say I couldn’t test all the special rounds I’ve created for you. I need to patch the hole in the cinder blocks in the downstairs range. Your gun punched right through the back…” he apologized.
Now, Herman does all sorts of work on the local’s deer rifles, the police’s ordinance and has even worked some with the Baja Canada National Guard. Some of the little novelties he’s dreamed up for me are the first to escape his homemade basement test range.
I felt oddly honored.
After proving who I was to the nice range officer, I looked around trying to find Polack.
“It’s 1550. Where the hell is Polack? I wondered.
“Rock! Over here.” Polack calls to me.
He motions me outside to the police department’s tactical outdoor range. I had thought all along he was referring to the indoors police target range. This might pose some problems.
The tactical range was a series of clapboard shacks, all setup and designed to represent some downtrodden urban inter-city landscape. There were a couple of junked cars, broken sidewalks, storefronts, houses, bus stops…in short, all things necessary to replicate the seediest sections of a settlement where malefactors live and breed.
The cops all run around this range, shooting at bad guy pop-up cut-outs and avoid the not-bad-guy pop-up cut-outs. They’ve got music blaring, firecrackers going off, all trying to re-create a shady deeply urban environment. Points are awarded by the accuracy of fire on the run, time to maneuver the course, and the ability of not gunning down innocent bystanders.
It is not the best place to test a .454 Cusall. This hand cannon recoils like a fundamentalist Christian being solicited for donations to Anton LaVey, shoots flames and incandescent gasses like Smaug after a hard night of drinking and a stop at the Taco Bell buffet, is louder than a dime-store Karen demanding to see a Manager, and more powerful than a Ghost Pepper suppository.
To quote Joe Piscopo: “It shoots through schools.” Especially faux-schools made of plywood.
A .32 or .38 cop special is the correct weapon here; even a 9mm is a little heavy. Enough power to make a serious dent, easy on control, light on the recoil…a good tactical weapon.
But, nothing succeeds like excess.
Polack’s Chief is running around, capping off his ‘big ol’ .44 Magnum, and making the valley echo. He punches considerable holes in the pop-up cut-outs, but has such a hard time handling the recoil, his score is barely passable.
Polack runs his test with his standard 9mm sidearm and qualifies easily. However, he’s nowhere near done with his Chief yet.
I suggest to Polack we have a shoot-off. And since a .44 Magnum bullet ‘is so close to a .454 Magnum’, which it isn’t…the .454 Casull generates nearly 85% more recoil energy than the .44 Magnum; that we’d need something other than holes punched in plywood to judge the efficacy of each.
We are literally just down the road from Max Yazzer’s farm and market. They’re the place you go for your Halloween jack-o-lantern. However, now, he has a surplus of melons.
I think you can see where this is headed…
I borrow Polack’s personal conveyance and run down to Max’s farm. I return with a trunk-load of elderly, overripe, cheap as chips, melons. Watermelons, Honeydews, Musks, and Casabas.
We place them in strategic areas on the course, five for the Chief to find, and five for Polack.
A .44 vs. a .454 melon-wise results in pretty much the same sort of mess: high-velocity fruit spatter. Although, the Chief was very impressed by the report of the .454. So, after running the tactical-melon course, clear demarcation of a winner was elusive.
OK, OK, clever dicks. How about this? A standing shoot-off? We’ll set up 3 melons each at 30, 20, and 10 yards. Beginning at 30 yards, your time will be until you take out all three melons. But, they’re not going to be in a straight line, we’re going to make them somewhat camouflaged. You will stand in one small demarcated area, hunt those miscreant melons, and bring them to justice. Fastest time and greatest display wins, as determined by the Police Peanut Gallery.
Polack and the Chief agree.
The Chief goes first and dispatches the melons, with a fair amount of spatter, in 15.3 seconds.
Not bad.
Polack is next. He wipes out all the melons and creates some thoroughly impressive displays with Herman’s ‘special’ rounds. Normal ballistics for the .454 are, for a 250 grain (16 g) bullet, a muzzle velocity of over 2,400 feet per second, developing up to 2,800 ft-lb of energy.
Herman’s hot loads are double that.
Polack wins the day on impressive high-velocity melon distribution, but misses, so close, with a time of 17.0 seconds.
Recoil’s a bitch.
Then there are Herman’s ‘specialties’.
The Chief is duly impressed and even comments that his ears are ringing even with the ear protectors. He asks to inspect the weapon. He is even more than duly impressed.
Polack knows what’s up and asks the Chief if he’d like to give a whirl.
Of course, the Chief can’t back down.
Polack loads the .454 with 5 of Herman’s specialties: hollow-point rounds loaded hot, compressed, and tipped with alkaline earth metals, like metallic sodium and metallic potassium…
We set up the nastiest, glorpiest, just barely-holding-together, overripe, laced with Tannerite (an impact-actuated low-explosive) watermelon at the ‘Concealed Carry’ distance of 5 meters.
We slowly fade back into the distance to avoid the inevitable ‘Gallagher reaction’.
The Chief fires one, and just nicks the top of the melon. Don’t laugh, with the type of recoil and heft of the sidearm, and tensing up in anticipation, it’s easy to be off the mark initially.
The second round impacts dead-center. Now, alkaline earth metals and water don’t get along really well. In fact, their relationship is explosive. Especially explosive when delivered at 2,900 feet per second.
The Chief catches a huge smattering of vitamin-packed watermelony back blast goo.
He’s not entirely happy. He looks positively grisly with all that blown-up melon schmoo on his nice, neat uniform.
He returns my gun and bans me from ever showing up at the police range again.
Polack is on traffic duty for the next month.
He figures it was well worth it.
Back at the flat, Esme is shaking her head and wondering if I’ll ever grow up.
“I may grow old, but I’ll never grow up.” I reply.
I see I have several missed phone calls. Ah, me; no rest for the weary. Back to company-university liaison duties.
After I had contacted these companies, I receive no less than 12 requests for symposia, talks, and seminars to be given to various level of industrial scientific employees in their respective companies.
I am now slated to give academic conferences on stratigraphy, sedimentology, and seismic structural geology to different companies in Houston, Oklahoma City, Denver, Casper, Corpus Christi, New Orleans, and Tulsa. In the next 12 weeks, I’ll be giving no less than 8 talks in seven cities.
I speak with Dean Vermiculari on how best to handle the situation. He understands and appoints two graduate student teaching assistants to handle my classes while I’m on the road. That relieves me of being physically there, but I still have to grade papers, compose lesson plans, and keep things running smoothly until finals.
Besides giving the talks, there’s travel to oil fields, production facilitates, manufacturing plants, hotels, restaurants while I’m in town…the pace is excruciating. I’m gone more than I am at university. Plus in my time back home, I’m still the ad hoc master blaster for the limestone quarry.
Then, there’s the companies arriving on campus, and the roles are reversed. Now I’m the welcome wagon and have to sort out the logistics of receiving the company representatives. I need to set up the colloquia to introduce the companies to the prospective students, arrange lodging, arrange passes for the university, transportation, “Meet-and-Greet’s, ad infinitum.
I knew this was having a bit of effect on me when I came back to the flat after one particularly grueling ordeal of canceled flights, full hotels, missed connections and lukewarm reception by the company workers.
“Hello”, I said, as I walked in the flat, “I believe you have a reservation for…”
Esme just stood there, wondering if I was having a laugh.
No, I wasn’t. I was completely hallucinating from road weariness, lack of sleep, jet lag, and total disorientation. This continued on for the next approximately 18 months.
Esme was beginning to have second thoughts about all this.
My teaching load was diminished by one whole introductory course. However, I was still flying hither and yon, delivering symposia, meeting with young geoscientists and getting to know the ins-and-outs of the Oil Industry.
I found it particularly fascinating.
Time marched on and it was once again it was the recruiting season. We had no less than eight oil companies visiting the university in their quest to swell the roster of their junior scientists.
I’m still busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm, but have settled into a groove of sorts. I know the company recruiters and they now know me. I’ve actually struck up friendships with several. Particularly since I take them to the best local restaurants and bars after their recruiting duties are finished.
I’ve met with recruiting representatives of Shrill Petrol, Mexxon, Nobil, Nocono Oil, Flug, Geddy, Brutish Petroleum, and Qexaco.
The recruiting season is winding down and I find myself with Red (not Adair), of Nocono Oil.
“Well, Doctor Rock”, Red states, “Another fine recruiting run. We’ve snagged two of your young geologists and one geophysicist. I’d say it was almost a perfect score.”
We’re sitting in the Norton’s Steakhouse. After a couple of prime pink porterhouses, we’re working on the post-dinner double vodka and bitter lemon for me, and Lagavulin for Red.
“Almost perfect?” I ask.
“Yeah. There’s been this one small nagging concern from our company higher-ups.” Red continues.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We need some more senior people. For one thing, we’ve recently opened a new petroleum laboratory down in our Houston office. Going to need some serious talent to run that show.” Red says.
“I see”, I reply, “And…?”
“We need mentors. Those with varied and far-flung knowledge. They must be well educated, global in experience and stature, with an [ahem] diverse set of skills.” Red notes.
“Whew”, I agree, “That’s a tall order. You want my help with names of possible candidates? Is that it?”
“Not as such, Doctor.” Red drains his drink, motions for me to do the same, and orders another round.
Our drinks arrive and Red downs half his in one gulp.
“Well, then”, I continue, “How can I help?”
Red chuckles, “For someone so educated, you can really be thick as two short planks at times.”
I sit back, and sip my Old Thought Provoker.
The mercury-vapors light off.
“No!” I say, incredulously.
“Oh, yes.” Red smiles.
“No?” I ask, slowly taking in the possible effects of what he’s hinting at…
“OK, Doctor Rocknocker”, Red gets all serious and corporate, “We’d like to offer you a position at Nocono Oil as Senior Laboratory Manager and Head of Corporate Continuing Education.”
You could have knocked me over with a grenade. I was stunned. I fumbled with my drink.
“Red, you old con artist” I reply, “Is this a set-up?”
Red, serious as a heart attack, looks directly at me and replies, “Doctor Rock, absolutely not, it’s a genuine offer.”
He slides over a folder with some papers inside. “Here are the particulars.”
Reeling, I accept the folder. I open it and right after the corporate logos and legal bullshit, I see a tall figure with a whole raft of zeros trailing behind it.
I read furiously. The job would be both interesting and challenging. It would be in Houston, with travel and teaching at all other company outposts on a regular basis. I reexamine that figure from before and verify that I’m not now hallucinating.
The job comes with furnished, corporate-paid housing, incredible benefits, loads of opportunity for advancement, more opportunity to travel, really generous vacation time…
“Right. On the level?” I ask again.
“Yep.” Red bluntly says.
“Well”, I gulp, “you know I have to discuss this with Esme”, whom he’s met several times previous.
“Of course, and you probably want to finish out the semester, correct?” red asks.
“Oh, yes.” I reply. There would be a monsoon of paperwork and other grunt work I’d need to conclude or hand over if I were to accept this offer.
“OK, then”, Red finishes his drink, motions for me to do the same, a real rarity; but I was in another dimension at this point. He orders another round and sits back, waiting on a refill.
“You have two weeks to reply” Red states.
“I know that’s not a terribly long time, but we need to fill this position ASAP. Can I ask for that? Your answer, yea, or nay, within a fortnight?” Red demands.
“Yes”, I reply. “I at least owe you that.”
And that was the end of the discussion for the night about me joining the private sector. We stayed a few more hours, chatting, smoking my cigars, and discussing everything but the lumbering elephant in the room.
We part outside as I need to head back to our flat. Red wants to go downtown to one of those “Gentleman’s Clubs” he’s heard were so famous at the time.
I was flummoxed the whole cab ride home.
It was late when I returned, but I simply had to wake Es with the news.
“Rock, for pity’s sake, its 2 o’clock in the morning!” Es protests. “Can’t this wait until later?”
“Sorry, my dear” I reply, probably as serious as I ever had with Esme. “This is a potential game-changer.”
“What is it? Are you OK?” Esme trembles.
“Oh, I’m fine. Better than fine.” I reply.
She’s relieved.
“Then what’s so important?” she asks.
“Um…how would you like to move to Houston?” I ask.
“You going to teach at Cougar High (University of Houston)?” she inquires.
“Nope. Brace yourself. I’ve been offered a job with Nocono Oil.” I finally spill the beans.
Esme is slightly stunned and sits down.
I go to the wet bar, fix me a bracing potato juice and citrus and Esme a stiff white Zinfandel.
I hand her the wine and she is still semi-dazed and digesting the information.
I slurp a good portion of my drink, retrieve her Sobranjes and me a cigar from my Turkmenistan humidor.
I sit on the couch next to her and hug her soundly.
“Esme? Es? Earth to Es? You in there?” I joke.
“Oh, Yeah. Rock. Really? Hang on”, she leaves, returning with her housecoat as this might take a little time.
“So?” I ask, “Your thoughts. Now! Immediately! Initial reaction!” I try to jar her back into reality.
“Well, what do you want?” she asks.
“C’mon, my dearest. You know I hate that. No, what do you think? What do you honestly think?” I reply.
We both fire up our smokes, and I refresh our drinks. We return to the dinner table where Red’s folder lies.
“Es, here. Look at this.” I say, sliding the portfolio over to her.
She reads like a hungry man at a Vegas casino buffet. I can tell where she was stopped by something extraordinary.
“This is for real?” she asks, “Red’s not pulling a fast one?”
“Nope. It’s the genuine article”, I tell her, “He needs my reply within two weeks.”
“Rock, Rock…I just don’t know. It’s a lot to process at 0230 in the morning. Let’s go to bed and have a think in the morning. You have the luxury of at least that amount of time.” She notes.
“Right again, as usual”, I say, “Stuff it. It can wait.” We toddle off to bed.
The next morning, over Cuban omelets and Greenland Coffees, we sort through the particulars.
“Rock, it’s an extraordinary offer. But, do you want to leave teaching? I remember how you got all animated by Dean Vermiculari giving you the corporate liaison job and how that would improve your shot at tenure.” She notes.
“I just don’t know. I’m still shell-shocked.” I tell her. “Let me go to school and we’ll pick this up tonight. We both have work to do no matter what. Oh, bloody hell. I hadn’t considered your job. Another wrinkle in the mess.”
“Don’t you worry about that”, Esme smiles. “One catastrophe at a time.”
“I do so love you.” I hug her soundly. “Think I should mention this offer to anyone at school?”
“No. Definitely not.” Esme shakes her head. “Let’s figure this out on our own.”
“I agree”, I say, kiss her and depart for school once again.
The next week was a blur. Recruiting duties were dragging and I was being preoccupied.
Even my students noted the lack of in-room explosions lately.
I spend the next Saturday at the quarry, doing some small amount of blasting. I quiz the quarry owners about their progress in acquiring a new master for the quarry’s operation.
“Oh, Doctor Rock” they gush, “You’re doing such a fine job, we haven’t really looked. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason at this time, I reply, “But perhaps you might want to begin looking”
The chinks in my armor were finally starting to show.
Sunday was spent out on Sliver Lake, with Esme and me chasing the elusive crappie, perch, and bucketmouth bass. It also gave us a chance to clear our heads from work, school and other such intrusions. We both needed a bit of downtime.
Later that night, after a meal of beer-battered fillet of crappie and perch on the barbie, we sit down at the dinner table.
The portfolio sits there, taunting us.
I get up, makes us both our drinks, sit down and declare that this is it.
“Es, darling” I say, “its nut-cuttin’ time. We need to make our decision.”
“You’re right.” Es agrees, “Time for risk-reward analysis. Get some paper and some pencils.”
We spend the next few hours listing the pros and cons of accepting the Houston position or staying here and pursuing my tenured professorship.
After several hours, I stretch, stand, and go to the fridge. I retrieve the bottle of Bollinger Les Vieilles Vignes Francaises I had purchased the other day.
I return to the table with the wine and the glasses, pop the cork and pour us both a glass of high-brow bubble water.
I hug and kiss Esme like I had just returned from a long, solo expedition.
“Esme, my darling. I’d like to propose a toast. First to us. Hа здоровый!”
“Cheers!” Esme replies.
“Secondly to Red, Dean Vermiculari, the quarry guys, Polack the Cop, and all the others that makes our life weird around here.”
“Seconded”, Es echoes.
“Finally: to Houston, Texas. Our new home!” I finally add.
The next morning, Dean Vermiculari peers over the top of his pince-nez glasses. He’s not looking overly happy with me right now.
“Why is it, Doctor, that everyone that receives the job of corporate liaison ends up going with corporate?” he asks.
“Perhaps it’s just the exposure to another world that exists beyond academia.” I reply, truthfully.
“Doctor Rocknocker,” the Dean gravely states, “I am not at all happy about your decision. We had great hopes for you here and you were riding right up the tenure track. Another five years and it would have been assured.”
“Five years is a long time, Dean”, I state the obvious.
“Yes, indeed.” The Dean replies frostily. “However, you are young. Perhaps you need to get this private sector nonsense out of your system, then you can return to academia where you belong.”
“Perhaps, perhaps”, I reply.
“Please, do consider this option down the road. You and your antics will be missed here, by students and faculty alike.” He says.
“I will, Dean, I promise.” I reply “However, for now, it’s time for my boot heels to be wanderin’.”
“Doctor, I will miss your strange and unique way of looking at life. I reluctantly accept your resignation at the end of the current semester and wish you all the best in your newest endeavors. Please remember us when corporate support for academia is mentioned in your new company.” he says.
“I promise you, Dean, I will not forget what I’ve learned here and what you’ve taught. It’s the least I can do,” I reply. “I will never forget my roots.”
“All I can ask”, he concludes. He stands to shake my hand. We shake and my audience is over.
I resign from the quarry a week later. They haven’t found a new blaster but wish me well on my new journey. I tell them I’m here until the end of the semester, so I won’t leave them high and dry.
I tell Polack the Cop about all the goings-on.
“Who the hell can I roust for beer and cigars now?” He whines. “Let me know when you get to Texas if they need any cops. I wouldn’t mind trying’ that. Hell, maybe a Texas Ranger!”
“A Cheesehead Ranger…?” I assure him I will and pass a box of cigars to him as a parting gift. He gives me a mayoral-signed get-out-of-jail-free card.
“Now you can drive that old Harley just as crazy as you want.” He chuckles.
“Thanks, Polack.” I say, shaking his hand. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I sold my bike a week earlier.
Red was very chuffed with the news.
“Snagged me a big one this time!’ He laughed, over the phone.
There was enough paperwork, considerations and decisions to be made to last the remaining time Esme and I had in-state until our move. Already, a moving company had arrived, done inventory, and was preparing for our move to Houston.
Esme resigned her position and decided she wanted to take some time off. She wanted to be a housewife, a colleague, and not have to work for once at an outside job. My new position allowed for that in spades. Besides with her credentials, anytime when she wants to re-join the workforce, there are myriad opportunities in the Bayou City.
We made the choice of housing out west of town, in Katy, Texas. We could have chosen Sugarland, Addicks, Greenspoint, Greenway, or the Memorial area. However, these west Houston company properties were closest to the job and largest in square footage.
My students got wind of my resignation and relocation. They threw me an unexpected farewell party at the Gast Haus. It was nickel-beer night and since they were footing the bill, it all worked out just fine.
I would miss the old place. The camaraderie, the seasons, the university; hell my home these last many years. I’ve been on many, many expeditions, but I always returned home.
Now, home was moving and was awaiting our arrival.
Esme and I said our farewells to our families as well. We were the first through college, the first ones to travel international, the first Doctor in the family, and the first to leave the state.
That’s a lot of familial firsts.
I had to keep reminding everyone it wouldn’t be the last. Hell, we’re just moving to Texas, it’s not like we’re off to Greenland or Mongolia…
[Gasp]
We saddled up Es’s old Chevy Nova, took one last, lingering look in the rearview mirror, and said fare thee well to our previous lives.
“We’ll be back. Someday. I promise” I told the city of our youth and young married adulthood.
We decided to drive to Houston because we had the luxury of a bit of time. We needed the stretch to chew over some interpersonal and private things on the way to the next chapter in our lives. Besides, the weather was good, the roads ahead open and clear, and Texas had no ‘Open Container’ law, yet.
We pointed the old Nova south and hit the gas.
A week later, we’re wandering around our new house in Katy, Texas. Our belongings, scant though they may be, arrived the day after we did. Esme and I spent the next couple of day rearranging the house, buying necessary domestic bits and pieces, and getting to know our new neighborhood.
First thing, though, Esme wanted to replace the old Nova. I concurred, but insisted we keep it as a second car and went out to purchase our first new car as a couple.
I wanted a Land Rover. We ended up with a glossy black Toyota 4-Runner. Close enough.
I was scheduled to show up at my new job the next Monday.
I had my own parking spot, complete with “Reserved for Dr. Rock” painted on the bumper block. I was shown my new lab and was introduced to my seven laboratory assistants. I was shown the catalogs I could use to order what I needed and went over the requisition procedures.
I was trotted around to meet the company CEO, CFO, CIO, VPs and many, many more company executives and managers. I’ve met with presidents and heads of state, I was impressed but not overly. They seemed like a more or less nice bunch of chaps.
Almost exactly five weeks to the day from our arrival in Houston, I come home, yelling “Darling, I’m home!”
Esme comes to greet me with a rib-rearranging hug. She tells me to sit at the dinner table, where my long hard day at the office drink, cigar, ashtray, and lighter are already set.
“How was work, dear?” she asks, sitting down with her Perrier water.
“Oh, it’s going great. The knotheads let me have an open-ended budget until I get the labs sorted just the way I want it. These guys pay their bills on time and I have carte blanche at Wards Scientific, and other supply houses. My crew is great, no interpersonal crapola, and hard workers. I can smoke in my office and no one dares give me shit about my cigars. I’m getting to know the exploration department quite well. They’re really interested in our expeditions and are more interested in my opinions of their new exploration directives.”
Esme just smiles and sips her water.
“Odd”, I thought.
“That’s great, dear.” She says. “I am so glad to hear it.”
“Me too”, I say, “How are you holding up after all these weeks alone?”
“Oh, I’m getting used to it.” She smiles.
And smiles. Beatifically. Glowing.
“What?” I ask.
“Remember what we talked about in the car on the way down here?” She asks.
“We talked about a lot of things…” I say, suddenly my eyes grew very, very wide indeed.
“Yes. You’re going to be a father. I’m pregnant, Rock.” Esme smiles.

I had booked the cheapest flight on the cheapest airline I could find and I was already paying the consequences. Delays and transfers ate into whatever meager budget I had left, but the final nail in the coffin was the mass overbooking of my last connecting flight. Since my ticket was the lowest of low priority seating from a deep discount booking app, I was bumped. I would have to wait hours, if not another full day, to get a flight.
You were getting married back east in Massachusetts, I was stuck at O’Hare International Airport, and since I had flown in from Las Vegas, I was low on funds and luck. I’d meant for it to be a surprise. I was invited, but nobody expected me to come except you. Even when I lied and told you I couldn’t make it, you saw right through me.
You were the one that always saw something good in me. You were the only family back home that still kept in touch. Professional gambler really wasn’t the type of thing a parent would want to see their son go into, even when it paid the bills. Or at least, it did when it used to.
I thought I could use my talents to give you a nice little wedding present, and show my kid sis my worth as a big brother. It made me forget my own system. If you want money, you’ll never win it. I was playing with my heart instead of my head and almost lost it all. I had enough sense to leave while I still had my phone, a cheap suit, and a pocket full of maxed out credit cards, but that was it. There was nothing left for a train ticket, let alone a rental car.
Late afternoon in that airport was still a zoo, and the people working at the airline were less than sympathetic. They quickly kicked me out of the departure lounge and into the wild. I pulled out my phone and wandered around until I could find a signal. I sat back on a plastic bench, picked up a quarter on the ground, and rolled it through my fingers.
I needed to think with my head. I was close to a casino, but I didn’t have the focus, buy-in, or clout for any real local action. I wasn’t above begging, but the people around me didn’t strike me as the charitable sort. I’d been in cold spots before, and bounced back from worse. I just needed to get the ball rolling again. I should’ve learned my lesson with technology, but instead I flipped through the gig app on my phone to see if I could find any local day jobs to help me on my way.
Nothing struck me as particularly useful for my current situation. Dog walking, delivering food, holding signs, artistic modeling, and other menial work wouldn’t get me the money I needed to get out of town in time. I was starting to lose hope when I saw a posting for a delivery.
They were looking for a discreet individual to drive a delivery truck from Chicago to some town a few hundred miles north of New York City. Payment was contingent on reaching the destination before sundown the next day. Proof of valid driver’s license required. No highways. No tolls. No questions.
I checked the directions on Google Maps. It would be about twenty hours and in spitting distance of the wedding. There were even a couple casinos I could hit up if I had the time. I knew I might have the money by then.
It was sketchy. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have been the sketchiest thing I’d ever done, so I figured why not try my luck. I put in what I thought was an absurdly high bid, and kept scrolling. More food delivery and thinly veiled escort offers populated my feed. I kept swiping until my phone chimed. My bid was accepted and less than a minute later, the call came in.
“Hello,” I said.
“Is this Jason?” a light Eastern European voice asked.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I tried to sound more confident than I was. “This about the gig?”
“Gig?” He sounded confused.
“The job. The delivery?”
“Yes,” he said. There was a glimmer of recognition. “Yes, the cargo. You can drive a van, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good, bro.” He was getting more excited. “Do you need me to come and get you?”
I did the mental math. Cab ride or strange pick up? I could only afford one. “O’Hare International. I’ll meet you at the curb. What should I look for?”
“Black car. Sweet ride. You’ll know,” he said. “See you soon, Jason.”
The phone went silent.
I walked to the curb and watched the cars come and go. A black Mercedes pulled up to me. The car shook with the bass, and the passenger window slid down. A fragrant smoke poured out, and once it cleared, I saw a kid in a sweatshirt and track pants. He looked at his phone and he looked at me.
“Jason?” a familiar voice asked.
“Yeah.”
“Mani,” he said. He leaned over awkwardly and opened the door. “Get in. I’ll take you to the place.”
He took one last long drag from his cigarillo before he put it out and turned down the music. I closed the door behind me and buckled up. The car peeled out and he took me to who knows where.
Mani was a lot more talkative than I expected. He talked about everything except the job. He rambled about where to get what he thought was the best food, women, and drugs. He asked if I was cool to party, and why I was dressed like I was going to a funeral. He was excited and despite the accent, very American. It was disarming and dull. I was zoning out before he got more serious.
“So, my dad is like, ‘No, Mani, you can’t do it. We can find someone else to do it.’” He alternated between his own voice and a mocking sing-song. “And I was like, ‘No, Dad, I can do it,’ and he was like, ‘No, Mani, you have no head for business.’ And I was like, ‘I’m gonna outsource this shit. Technology, bro!’” He hit the steering wheel. “You ever do this type of shit before, bro?”
“Drive a van? Sure, why not.”
“Seriously, bro,” he said. “Don’t fuck me on this. Can you do this?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can do the job.”
“Shit, bro. I wouldn’t. I mean, I totally could, but twenty fucking hours? Respect.”
“What am I hauling—”
He cut me off with a imitated buzzer noise. “No questions,” he chuckled to himself. “You are hauling whatever the fuck we need you to haul.”
After twenty or so minutes of one-sided conversation, we pulled into a small industrial park, drove behind a chain link fence, and passed an empty security booth. White vans and light trucks lined the back of a long white building. A group of men were chatting and smoking cigars by one of the few open bay doors. One man motioned to the car and an older man wearing a brown windbreaker and jeans in the center of the group turned to look.
The car rolled to a stop and Mani turned off the engine. I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door.
“Stay in the car, bro,” Mani said. “I got this.”
I leaned back as Mani got out and walked up confidently to the older man. I could only hear murmurs through the glass, but thankfully Mani talked a lot with his arms and hands. The older man nodded and thought about whatever he heard for a moment. Mani’s energy went down and it looked like he was begging. The man tossed his cigar onto the ground, and backhanded Mani hard. He fell to the ground and his leg slipped when he tried to get back up.
The older man waved two fingers towards me and two men from the group followed him to my side of the car. He lifted up his windbreaker and pulled a gun from his belt. My eyes went wide and my body froze.
The door opened.
The older man was strong. He grabbed me by the collar with his free hand and ripped me out of my seat. I fell onto my back and he kicked me in the stomach.
“Pick him up,” he shouted. His voice was deep and his accent was thick.
The two men that followed him each picked an arm and hoisted me up to eye level with their boss.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man said as he waved the gun around me.
“Jason,” I said. I looked him in the eyes with cold focus, but in my mind behind that steel gaze, I was quivering and on the verge of pissing my pants. I was desperately trying not to show my hand. I had to bluff. I needed to bluff.
He pressed the gun into my forehead. “And who the fuck is Jason?”
I gritted my teeth. I felt a squirt go, and thanked God for dark pants. “Just a guy looking for some extra cash,” I said calmly.
The man removed the gun from my forehead and looked at me with curiosity. He hooked me in the ribs and I coughed. The pain radiated outward and the shock momentarily shook me out of my fear.
“Do you want to die, Jason?” He hit the same spot again and it knocked the wind out of me. My side burned.
“No,” I sputtered before catching my breath. “Not if I can help it.”
He came closer and looked me in the eyes. I tried not to blink. My life depended on it. He turned and lowered the gun. I quickly blinked to wet my dried corneas, and resumed my poker face.
“Maybe my pussy of a son was on to something. We do need a delivery, and I cannot use my own men for this.” He laid the gun to the side of his head and he tapped his fingers.
I stayed silent. The men holding me said nothing, and Mani and the remaining workers looked on in interest.
“Yes, this will work,” he finally said, still waving the gun. “Do you know who I am?”
“No,” I said.
“Good,” he said. He holstered his gun back behind his belt, waved two fingers to the ground, and the men dropped me. “What did my pussy of a son tell you?”
“Nothing other than the job and the rough location.”
He started walking and I scrambled to my feet to follow. He pulled another cigar from his coat with one hand, bit the top off with two teeth, spat, and lit the end of it with a lighter in his other hand.
“Tell me,” he said again.
“I need to drive a van somewhere in New York. No highways. No tolls. No questions.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. The note had a more specific hand-written address. Smoke rolled out of his mouth. “This is all you will know. Now, get into the fucking van, Jason.”
I walked faster towards the building and some of the underlings gave me a helpful nod to the vehicle I was supposed to drive. It was bigger than what I thought was a van, like something you would rent to move out of a house. It stunk of diesel, but I didn’t dare ask if something was lost in translation. The men stood back and I waited by the driver’s side door.
He walked slowly back, savoring his cigar. He made a ‘come here’ motion with his hand, and someone handed him a set of keys.
“If you fuck me, I will fuck you,” he said matter-of-factly. “You understand this, yes?”
I nodded. Mani was standing in the background looking at his shoes.
“Good.” He handed me the keys. “Drive safe, Jason. We’ll know if you don’t get there.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I got in, looked ahead, turned on the ignition, and drove out of the industrial park and into the night.
Something chimed. “Continue straight to stay on US-30 East,” a soft female voice said. I looked around and the screen on my phone glowed. It was background noise, and I was on autopilot. “Continue straight to stay on US-30 East,” the voice said again.
I saw the road signs and I was already crossing into Indiana. I looked down and my knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. I knew this might’ve been careless, but I didn’t expect it to be this reckless. I loosened my grip and tried to calm down. I kept telling myself that this was worth it. This was important to me. You are important to me.
I glanced around the cabin. It was clean and empty without a trace of personality. There was no cash, no map, and no trash. I looked back to my phone and the map app said to keep driving. There was a lot of stopping and starting at first, past chain restaurants and the eventual suburbs that followed it, but once I hit farmland, it was a much smoother drive.
It was after ten or maybe after eleven. The van’s radio and my phone couldn’t agree. I was normally a night owl, but I was so tired. Between the flight, the threat on my life, and the focus on getting as far from Chicago as fast as I could, I was exhausted.
“You should pull over and rest your eyes,” a female voice whispered.
It startled me, and I snapped back to attention. The screen lit the cabin. I looked at my phone and I waited for it to repeat.
“Turn left onto Indiana-205 North,” the voice said. It must have been my imagination.
I looked back at the road and almost missed my turn. I saw a car behind me riding my bumper as I overcorrected the wheel. A car behind them sped past both of us and down the road. I needed to get it together if I was going to make it through the night. I powered on the AC and directed it towards my face. It woke me up and I kept driving.
The voice on the app told me which turns to make and how much longer I had. It was well into the wee hours of the morning and the temperature finally dropped enough that I had to turn on the defroster.
I wasn’t sure if I was making good time. It was hard to tell. Taking the side roads was much slower and more prone to stoppage even at the hour I was driving. The schedule was getting tight. I didn’t take into account how long the drop off would take or how long it would take to cross over from New York to Western Mass. I thought that even if I missed the service, I could still probably make it to the reception.
“Turn right onto Ohio-199 South.”
Navigating that van was like driving a boat. I turned the wheel slowly but the voice still repeated, “Turn right onto Ohio-199 South.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said in frustration. The cabin was warming up and it felt like a soft blanket.
“You’ll never make it. You should just pull over.” I looked at my phone and the screen was black. The voice was the same, but less mechanical and much softer. I looked around the cabin. “You should just stop, Jason.”
“Hello?” I said. The outside world looked so much darker. I leaned to look for a speaker other than the radio.
“Pull over, Jason.” The voice was calm and seductive. “It’s what’s best.”
My hands were off center and I was rapidly drifting to the shoulder. The gravel kicked up and ricocheted like buckshot in the tire well. I jerked the steering wheel and moved the van back on the road. The car behind me braked hard and almost hit me.
I scolded myself. I could not afford to fall asleep at the wheel. My heart was racing. I rolled down the windows and it was loud and cold. It kept me focused enough to make it to the next gas station.
The lights were bright and the parking lot was mostly empty. I rifled through my pockets and found a little more than a dollar in loose change. It might’ve been enough to buy a bad energy drink or at least worse coffee. I got out of the van, double-checked to make sure everything was locked, and went inside. I bought the remnants of yesterday’s coffee and dumped in a handful of sugar packets. I slugged back the lukewarm beverage, threw out the cup, and walked past a guy going inside on my way back to the van.
I heard a sound coming from the windowless storage compartment, faint and without rhythm. I started toward the back, but turned around before I could even look at the rear door. A black Mercedes with Illinois plates was parked several yards away from me. A man in track pants and a sweatshirt was filling up the car. Another man in jeans came out of the store with some drinks and a bag of jerky. I got into the van and started it up. It jerked to life and I sped down the road. I looked into my side mirror and after a few minutes I could see the Mercedes following me.
They kept their distance, but now I knew they were there. I didn’t understand why they were willing to follow me, but unwilling to drive their own delivery. Maybe it was for plausible deniability, get some schmuck to take the fall if their van got pulled over, or maybe what I was carrying was more dangerous than I thought.
“Turn left onto US-20 East.”
I wanted to throw my phone across the cabin, but if I did, what would the men following me do to me if I went off course?
“Turn left onto US-20 East.” The screen went black as I turned. “They’ll kill you anyway. You’ll never make it.”
I was more awake now. I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t trying to convince myself everything was okay anymore. I felt shivers crawl up the back of my neck and the hair on my head scrunched together.
“You should just pull over, Jason.”
“Stop it,” I said out loud. “Whatever you are, stop it!”
The cabin went silent for several minutes. I took a long blink and when I opened my eyes, I could see someone sitting next to me out of the corner of my eye. No one was really there, I knew that in my bones, but God help me, it felt like something was there.
I turned to look over at a women in a white dress. The face was scrambling together in peach-colored blurs until it looked like a replica of you. She looked just like you. Lace grew on the dress and a veil spread from her blonde hair. I hadn’t seen you yet, but it was exactly as I imagined.
“Hey Jay, I can’t wait to see you.” She smiled and looked at her engagement ring. “I knew my big bro wouldn’t let me down.”
“What the fuck is this?” I said.
“Thanks for taking me to my big day. The church is right up here.” She pointed out the window. It was still night but somehow we were driving towards the sunlit Catholic church from our hometown. A shimmering group of people were gathered around. If I thought about who would be there, their face suddenly appeared in the crowd. My hands started drifting again, but I held firm and stayed on the road.
“You’re not my Jean.” I focused hard on the last word.
“It’s me, Jay. Jeanie. Who else would it be?”
“Alex,” I said. “My sister’s name is Alex.”
The patch of sun washed away into the night, and not-you frowned. Her image flickered for a moment before flashing back into existence. I needed to make it to your wedding. That was the only thing that mattered to me. Her image flashed again and came back even more confused.
“You are a surprisingly strong willed young man,” she said. “Is this all you really want?”
“Yeah,” I said back. “She’s the only thing left that matters to me.”
“I understand,” she sighed. “I had a family once too, so I am sorry for what has to happen next.”
I turned to look and she was gone. I looked back over the steering wheel and someone was standing in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes before I could even think about it. The body disappeared like mist as it hit the engine compartment and rolled off the cabin into the air. The van stopped and less than a second later, I felt everything lurch forward again as a car slammed into me.
I heard the metal doors burst open and something landed on their car. I heard the shattering of glass and the sounds of screams and gunfire. I looked out at my side mirror. A petite woman with dark curly hair, metal cuffs, and a hospital gown was covered in blood. Her eyes were jet black and her panting mouth was lined with canines. Our eyes met in the reflection, and she smiled a toothy grin before running off into the woods.
I put my foot down to the mat and gunned it. The smashed Mercedes behind me disappeared from view, and I kept driving until I hit the next gas station. Most of what wasn’t bolted down fell onto the road as I fled, so the storage compartment was mostly empty. The gas station attendant was kind enough to give me an old bungee cord to tie together the doors. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just kept driving. Once I hit Pennsylvania, I snapped my phone in half and just followed the signs until I got to more familiar territory.
I ditched the van on the outskirts of town and since people’s hearts really open up when you say you’re trying to make it your sister’s wedding, I was able to hitchhike the rest of the way and slip into the service before it ended.
It was all worth it, though, to see you up there. And when you saw me and your face lit up, my heart melted.
You hugged me long and hard and we both held up the receiving line. You told me you were worried when you didn’t hear anything and I just had to tell you how I made it. I wanted to tell you then, but numerous shoulder jabs from disapproving aunts and uncles pushed me out the door.
So here I am, scrambling to get this written down after the reception in the hotel’s business center. It’s the only gift I have for you right now, and I don’t know if or when you’ll read this, or if you’d ever believe it, but I do hope you know this:
Even if you don’t see me for a while, I’ll come running for you anytime. I’d do anything for you, kid. Enjoy your special day.
Love, your big brother, Jason.
MxHoehn

I met Logic back on October 8th, 2010 in Chicago and on the streets. I have a few questions I need answered. I got inspired to write this message to Reddit because I need the gods to answer back at this point because it is driving me crazy. I would have attempted to meet Logic again, last night, at his Detroit-stop along the tour like I did last year. However, my wife is very pregnant and is due to pop at about any time now. So, I couldn’t leave her last night for some wild goose-chase I was attempting.
I have shared this story with reddit, 4chan, “Weird Al” Yankovic, and DJ Premier thus far that I can remember. If this gets any sort of wind, I have a chance of knowing some unanswered questions I have from the night Logic and I met, and what was bound to follow.
I am woohoopoopoo on most social media, and have an outdated .com website. I have my webcomic, Mr. Face, on my .com and Facebook platforms. I made these woohoopoopoo’s after meeting Logic, and would like to know if he was partially responsible for my inspiration.
First, let’s get the “crazy” shit out of the way. I just got out of the mental hospital two days ago because of personal issues that I do not wish to discuss here, for now. I need to tell you all that I suffer from schizophrenia, bipolar, Tourette’s syndrome, PTSD, severe depression, and, at times, anxiety. These conditions did not arise on their own, nor do they define any ingrained sympathy. Pobody’s nerfect. I've got my problems, and so does each and every person. I had a way-fucked-up childhood, but that’s not the point in tonight’s discussion.
My first major schizophrenic episode had begun in the late summer of 2010. I was suicidal at the time. I was hospitalized twice, and was told by a social worker at Port Huron Hospital (the hospital in which I was born) that I could do anything I want and that I should avoid my family as much as possible due to their minimizing denial and toxic tendencies.
I moved to Chicago where two of my closest friends lived after my second hospitalization. During my first week in Chicago, I spent a few days with my bff (and my own best man), while we were getting situated with living arrangements. I was having hard problems falling asleep at times. Sometimes, I would stay up three days in a row unintentionally and while not abusing or taking any drugs. I had only been diagnosed with Tourette’s, PTSD, severe depression, and anxiety at the time.
I began to have a schizophrenic episode due to the high anxiety of meeting Tucker Max at an “Assholes Finish First” book signing at a Borders on what should have been Friday, October 8th, 2010 in Chicago. Tucker Max, I learned, doesn’t share his beer and is an asshole, himself. That’s cool and all because that’s his shtick.
After meeting Tucker Max, and sharing my story with Tucker Max fans while in line for several hours, I had ended up signing autographs for fans of Tucker Max. His fans are the “fan type,” regardless. Which is cool and everything because, shit, I’m a fan of lots of people. I was standing in line like the rest of them. Some people in line assumed my drawings would be worth money some day in the future, and some became friendly with me while waiting in line optimistically believing that my art may break.
After meeting Tucker Max, I was upset by the whole ordeal, and very thirsty. I was bored and wanted to do something outrageous and fun to break away from my deepening depression. I spontaneously bought a domino mask (a.k.a. Zorro mask) from a CVS, and decided to wear it while out in public. I drank an orange juice that I also bought at a CVS and thought that life was some big joke, alright. It doesn’t matter if you’re famous at all. Famous people can be assholes too, including Tucker Max. :P
I walked back into the CVS while wearing the mask. People were frightened by my edginess, but that was the least of my concerns. I was ready to pull the gun out of the officer’s holster that was standing next to me in line, and blow my brains out while the CVS worker was reaching for topshelf booze on the expensive bottles’ top shelf. When I took my mask off for the CVS employee to visually ID me as old enough to legally buy alcohol, everyone in the pharmacy relaxed a lot. I regret ever causing fear in others, that was never my focus. The officer told me to be safe, and I was friendly and can’t quite remember what I said back. The officer seemed to have reported my bizarre actions to other officers via radio while still standing at the CVS line as I was exiting the store from my alcohol purchase. I know I am schizophrenic, but these sort of actions make sense to report within reason.
I was still suicidal at the time, and decided it was best to leave the world with a bang that weekend after my several thousand-dollar lifesavings was depleted from my savings and checking accounts from mowing eight lawns every week and working as a waiter. I may have been a chemist at the time, but the recession resulted in no chemistry gigs. My dad always helped me mow lawns when he could, but it was intense work.
I had heart-to-hearts with several people on the streets of Chicago that weekend. Homeless people were revealing their hearts to me, while I shared with them the topshelf booze I had bought for them. There were Trojan condoms on sale at CVS I had noticed during my first visit, and decided to visit another CVS across the street from an elaborate, neon-lit McDonald’s. I bought many condoms and more booze there, and walked back to the CVS parking lot. I was giving either a fifth of Absolut or Grey Goose vodka to a homeless man in that McDonald’s parking lot while he was eating a meal to-go from a local diner nearby. The homeless man told me about his life, his thoughts on God’s absence in this realm of reality, and that that McDonald’s had the money for neon lights, an escalator, an elevator, and Ronald McDonald-esque statues in the front because the owner was allowing and encouraging the workers to sell crack through the drive-thru windows. The American Dream, indeed. I spent the rest of that night removing the condoms from their respective boxes, and throwing the individuals into a double-layered plastic bag. All while laughing hysterically and wearing my domino mask. I double-bagged the condoms with two plastic bags, just to be safe and ensure nothing would leak out.
Ha ha. ;) Sexual pun in which doesn't actually work that way, heading your way! Zing!
One of the best parts of that night was when the newly-wed married couple happily bought their happy meals. I had screamed out “WAIT!,” all while wearing my mask and joyfully skipping to the groom carrying his new wife back to the back of the limo. I handed the bride an immense amount of new, unused, and unwrapped condoms, and cooly said, “Play safe…”
We were all laughing.
I couldn’t help it though, I was crying a lot alone that weekend too.
I wanted to die, but didn’t.
It wasn’t until I asked the Mexican worker for two apple pies and a small fry that the police began to gather at that McDonald’s at around, I’d say, 4 a.m. on that Saturday morning. I told the workers that they should all get-up and go because none of which had adequate, livable wages or health insurance.
I sat on a parking lot curb as the dawn’s sun was rising and I was filling up the double bag to the rim with new, individual condoms. There had to be at least a dozen cop cars parked in front of that McDonald’s parking lot. Either they all thought I was about to pull some bullshit, or that especially corrupt McDonald’s was a cop-stop haven; a meat, fat, sugar, and high sodium “heaven” on Earth. Fuck crack.
I ended up meeting these two underground rappers that evening prior as well named Logic and Xavier. Logic was especially talented. I can remember Xavier also being named Bobby, and Logic telling me that his trunk was chuck-full of lyrics on notepads. But, mostly, I remember Logic being in shock after he freestyled under a streetlight with a growing crowd around him. I remember Logic saying that he knew why rappers called it “spitting” for the first time in his life. That’s because Xavier and I were wooing Logic on in his freestyle, and Logic gained the confidence in himself to do what is his nature.
I had also talked with Logic about MF DOOM because that was the first thing that we talked about. Logic asked why I was wearing mask as I first approached him and Xavier, and I told him I was honoring my favorite rapper. I am quite white, alright. Ha ha ha ha. I didn’t even know what the term “underground” really meant being from a Trump-thumping town and everything being so rural.
So, Logic, in a sense popped his cherry in rapping (I say and proclaim). And, in the meanwhile, he opened my eyes to new horizons. I remember talking a lot about God that weekend with everyone. I remember Logic telling me his thoughts of God and reincarnation and what-have-you’s then and there, just as he had the skits on his newest album with Neil DeGrasse Tyson.
The story is not done, either. This story relates to an MF DOOM possession, but Logic may have been responsible for these possessions. That’s why I am posting on this subreddit, and would like to know...
The only freestyle lines I remember Logic spitting were about being tired of eating stale mac and cheese all the time. That’s because he was rapping so fast and it’s been awhile since the whole ordeal has happened. I could tell, shortly after, he wanted to keep his distance from me after that first hour or so because I was a bit deranged at the time. Honestly, I can’t blame anyone for avoiding me at that vulnerable state. I was up to something that I didn't even know. I was as edgy as a squeegee swiping a razor.
I made signs that were satirical on the neglect caused by capitalism and inhumane humanity. I paid homeless people $20 a pop to hold signs saying things like “Welcome to Chicago,” or “Tourist Kiosk; inquire within.” I shared my booze with them, and even my condoms. I did not drink with them, and I did not get freaky with strangers either. I slept that night either by homeless people or in front of mattress stores with all of my belongings out to steal. I could not stress enough how little I gave a fuck, yet all my fucks were given and definitely spent.
I aimlessly walked around that weekend a lot more. I randomly met with my friend after he was done with his shift at Bank of America while I was schizophrenically/manically walking the streets. I told him all of my outrageous encounters and plans. I told him about Logic and Xavier. My friend brought me to his apartment, let me take a shower, and lent me some clothes. I remember being handed a Super Man shirt with the chest having that “S” logo on it.
This friend brought me to the Brown Line on the Chicago’s transit and explained how I could get home to my other friend’s in South Chicago, which was a few blocks away from Barack Obama’s house.
I was too manic. I sat on the Loop’s Brown Line and cried. I told people coming on and off my life story. It was very Forrest Gumpy-like. I described how I was a failed chemist and a living artist. I needed to calm down, and my feet were really hurting because I must have walked at least 20+ miles at this point. So, I began rubbing my feet with lotion cream that was also naturally antibiotic. People mostly left me alone at that subway-car’s corner, but were all talking amongst themselves about how fucked life is in general. I began becoming more hopeful when I heard the humanity surrounding me. There was an undeniable aura in the air. The sacredness we each have for every breath we take, which is too often taken for granted. A guy proposed to his girlfriend right then and there on the train, and everybody clapped. The time and place was meaningful.
I didn’t make it back to Pete’s in South Chicago, unfortunately, because I had no fucking clue how the Loop was set up at that time. I rode the Brown Line until it stopped. I got off, talked with more people whether they were regular citizens or homeless (like that matters). I walked around the hoods of Chicago and gated communities. I must have walked about 50+ miles total that weekend. I had to have had a heart attack at one point because I remember falling to the ground, and barely being able to breathe. A lady almost called 911 right then and there.
I kept tossing condoms randomly throughout the streets. There was an officer giving parking tickets, while I gleefully tossed condoms onto or near cars that she was giving tickets to. The officer stared at me, and I was skipping and being all manic, I kept singing and repeating the words aloud, “Civil-civil disobedience. Civil-civil disobedience…” When she caught me, she did nothing. She only stared, dumbfounded, pissed, and a look like I-don’t-got-enough-time-nor-pay-to-deal-with-this-kinda-shit.
I purposefully would place about a dozen condoms at the entrance of what must have been Chicago’s oldest Catholic church. When I would walk back about a half an hour later, the condoms would be gone. I repeated this about two or three more times. I stopped after a nun or deranged, fellow lunatic plopped a huge, wet, and gnarly bloody tampon where the condoms had been. Ha. All I can do is laugh about that now. Kinda a terrifying and beautiful sight to see, but so is a lot of nature. I haven’t seen a birth yet! Lol.
I kept walking. At some point, I almost spontaneously jumped off a bridge. The temperature that weekend was unusually high and in the mid 80s. I yelled asking a bunch of people kayaking below how warm the water was, and proceeded to hop up the edge of the bridge to jump off. I saw a stranger’s shocked face, and immediately got back down, probably started crying again, and kept walking. All I was doing was walking.
I was mad at the world, but I was especially mad at Donald Trump. He said some racist shit on Hispanics earlier that week, and there was a new building of his being built in Chicago. This is now Saturday night, and I am writing as lengthy of a letter to Donald Trump as perhaps this letter is. I do not remember. I do remember beating the absolute shit out of that red Moleskine which contained the open-letter to Donald Trump. It was still readable, but like a centaurian: it was creased to hell. In my letter I explained that Trump needs to start helping people more than just helping himself with money and ego. I told him to stop building casinos, and start building community-oriented buildings. I told him Mexicans, Cubans, and Hispanics are good people like anybody else. I said there should be beautiful windmills near Chicago’s Navy Pier as a tourist destination and a monument of clean energy and humane human progress. I told Trump, in that letter, that there probably would be a statue of him. I told him that artists will make a statue of Trump either out of respect or commission. One statue is full of love, while the other would be neglected and hollow.
I sat and knelt before Trump’s new Chicago building, and meditated for a minute. I chucked my Moleskine letter to the building and folded up my sweaty clothes by the door’s main entrance. I had folded up my borrowed SuperMan shirt, and had even left behind my shoes and socks. I meditated for a few minutes, and then yelled louder than I ever had before out of anguish and my appointed anger at the world.
I walked around the streets of Chicago more that night without shoes or socks or a shirt. I only had a black pair of nylon-like gym shorts on. I was very thirsty. I would rush into 7-11’s, grab a cup, and proceed to fill the cup with ice because there was no time for water as I was being kicked out. I even walked into the restroom at a Dick’s Last Resort restaurant/bar to clean myself and drink water from the tap. I was quickly escorted out to be somebody else’s problem there too. Ha.
This the part of the story that relates to MF DOOM.
Throughout those past two days, I was littering the streets with suggestive notes. The notes suggested how the infrastructure of Chicago could be improved. Also, those notes had listed my favorite musicians on them. I wrote down artists and bands like Feist, Grizzly Bear, Beck, Gorillaz, and MF DOOM.
Lots more happened. I lied next to mattress stores to be an asshole or by homeless people. But, what you need to know now is that when I was lying by a homeless man with all my possessions out and able to steal, a brother and his lady friend approached me.
The lady could not stop laughing! HA HA HA! She laughed and laughed. The guy didn’t say a word, but waved me over to follow him. I followed him for at least two blocks, while he kept a half-block distance away from me probably for their own safety. The guy pointed at some stuff. There were two pink lemonades, and one had been opened. I drank the one that was sealed and poured out the other pink lemonade because I did not know who these people were, and the shit could’ve been laced for all I knew. I saw that there was a 32-inch pair of khakis and a Pelle Pelle shirt showing people fighting against authority. There were also two busted and black pair of Lugz boots without shoelaces. I put the stuff on because there was little other choice at this point.
It wasn’t until the morning after that I saw people that I had met throughout that weekend at the Chicago Marathon. I didn’t even know the Chicago Marathon was going on this weekend, or what it meant. All I knew was that there were cups of water sitting out for runners to drink, and I drank exactly 11 cups because I was so, so thirsty. I stacked the 11 cups as I was chugging them down. There was a guy on his bullhorn shouting at the runners as a pep-talk to get through the marathon. There were at least a few hundred or thousands of people, bracing to run. Some of them must have saw me desperately absorb the water down my gullet. After I drank the 11 cups, I chucked them as hard as I could on the ground and yelled a loud, beast-mode roar.
I saw the physically handicap begin racing on their wheelchairs. Later, it was the runners. People began to chant my names: “Byron!” and “Bryan!” and mostly “Tebeau!” I think people were chanting “Tebeau” the most because they thought Tim Tebow was there. Latinoes came specifically to me and told me Viva Mexico or Viva Cuba. I said nothing anymore because I was in a daze from the excessive exercising and the 15-second notoriety. People were also shouting “Logic!” too. I had gone through a long, spiritual journey from this weekend’s very, very long walk. Like I said, I have left out a lot of the story. But, what matters most is what I saw on one of my Lugz boots when I had come to break and catch my breath and could see everything in early sun's daylight.
On the Lugz boot was a Pirate-Captain winking. There was another iron seam that read “MF DOOM” on this same boot.
That had blown my mind like never before and has not since. I ended up going to mental hospitals 4 or 5 more times until April 2011. And, again, I just got out of the mental hospital again for some serious personal issues, which I do not wish to discuss at this moment. I’ve behaved enough since to not be placed in another madhouse. There are plenty of more stories. But, I began to make a webcomic called “Mr. Face,” which was named after MF DOOM with my bff. I had enough comics made, and my bff and another-other friend helped me launch the comic at 12:01 a.m. on the Mayan DOOMsday (December 21st, 2012).
...What is also weird about this whole thing, is that I think I met the star of the 1-800 music video. On October 9th, 2010 to 10-10-10, there was a slender black man attempting to perform felatio on me outside of a club near an alley. I wouldn’t let him go on with the deed because I loved the stranger so much, and I’m not homosexual. I rose the brother up from the ground, gave him as many hugs as I could, and he went running away after I yelled “I LOVE YOU!” as many times as I could within his hearing range.
So, I guess, my questions are:
Was Logic responsible in any way for getting me that MF DOOM boot and nasty clothes?
And, was the slender brother I met the person inspired for that video?
TL:DR: I met Logic back in 2010 while being very suicidal. Tons of crazy shit happened, and I don’t know if he was responsible for giving me MF DOOM-inspired clothes. Also, I don’t know if I met the slender black man from the 1-800 suicide music video...

Part 1 Here: https://www.reddit.com/HiTMAN/comments/8yntwi/wishlist_hitman_3_locationsmission_ideas_part_1/

Mission Name: Edifice Complex
Synopsis- While in Detroit, another contract is given to the ICA. 47 is sent to a long-abandoned high-rise building that is currently undergoing renovations to be converted into high class lofts and business offices. 47 must eliminate the corrupt Site Inspector, the shady Real Estate Mogul, and the devious, eccentric, panic-attack prone billionaire bankrolling the money laundering and drug trade operation that this building is going to be a part of.
Setting- A high rise office building built in the 1920's and abandoned in 1983. Currently the top 2 floors, including penthouse, have been fully renovated so that primary tenant may take up residency as the rest of the building is finished. The ground floor up to the second floor are undergoing renovation, the fourth floor is being used as temporary equipment and supply storage, the fifth through 29th floors remain in their abandoned, decayed state (though only floors 5, 6, 28 and 29 are accessible- the rest are unable to be accessed by elevator at this time). The roof and helipad are also accessible.
Disguises-
Worker: Various combinations of cargo pants or blue jeans, t-shirts or cut offs, safety glasses, ball caps or hard hats. As most workers for jobs of this nature are independent contractors, it should be easy to fit in without drawing suspicion, just don't get too close to the foreman. Allowed anywhere construction is taking place and can blend in with most tools and equipment.
Leasing Agent: A Leasing Agent is on site to take photos of the finished office space on the 30th and 31st floors. He is allowed anywhere on those floors and those floors alone. Catch him in the lobby or miss your shot to get his disguise.
Client: A potential client of the property, visiting to get a look at some of the office spaces available for rent. Several of these show up in a group, 47 can blend in with them wearing any of his suits.
Maintenance Staff: Has access to all finished floors, but must face pat-down before entering the penthouse suite.
Security Officer: Site security on patrol.
Safety Agent: From the Worker's Safety Coalition, wanders around inspecting safety devices on equipment and observes workers to make sure they're following safety guidelines. Will discover if safety systems have been disabled and re-enable them - you'll want to get rid of him before you set up any accidents. Disguise can be used to tamper with safety devices un-suspiciously.
Squatter: An unauthorized resident of the building, hiding out on one of the abandoned floors. This disguise does not grant you any access but is included for unique challenges.
Items/Weapons-
Rebar - A piece of steel meant for providing support for poured concrete walls and foundation. The sharpened end from where it was cut off a larger piece makes this a lethal melee weapon.
Paint Can - Can be used as a distraction or a non-lethal melee weapon. A worker wouldn't look out of place carrying one.
Sledge Hammer - Lethal two-handed blunt melee weapon.
Nail Gun - If the safety mechanism is defeated, this battery-operated framing tool will launch a construction nail about 50ft through the air. Useful for long-distance distractions. Can be lethal at point blank range.
Shovel, Screw Driver, Hammer, Crow Bar, Propane Tank, Fire Extinguisher, etc - most tools and items make an appearance here.
Challenges
Just Like Jimmy: Push the Mogul into a hole and then cover him up with concrete from the Mixer.
Shish Kabob: Kill the Mogul by causing him to fall onto the protruding Rebar.
Fire in the Hole!: Detonate an explosive inside the Cement Mixer when The Inspector is looking inside.
Nailed: Kill a Target with the Nail Gun.
Hammered: Kill a target with the sledge hammer.
House of Cards: Collapse the scaffolding onto the Inspector.
Inside Man: Induce the Billionaire into a panic attack and kill him while dressed as his body guard.
Fly Swatter: Use the crane to knock down the Billionaire's escape helicopter as he flees.
Eminent Domain: Kill all 3 Targets while disguised as the Squatter.

Next...

Mission Name: Bet On Your Life
Synopsis: 47 travels to a world-famous high roller Casino Hotel in China to eliminate 3 key members of an international human trafficking ring and disrupt operations permanently. One of the targets is the Casino Owner himself. The other two key members are visiting the Casino to conduct business, but will certainly be partaking in their fair share of pleasure as well.
Targets: Bao Jiang, owner of the Jiang Dynasty Casino and one of the 3 pillars of the international trafficking ring, an extremely professional and paranoid man who surrounds himself with a well trained security staff at all times. Keith Morrow, operating out of Detroit, Michigan, United States - a compulsive gambler with a penchant for fits of rage when faced with a loss, even of the minor sort. Angel Lopez, operating out of Cancun and heavily into gambling on illegitimate fighting competitions which are usually fixed in his favor.
Key Opportunities: Angel Lopez- An illegitimate street-fight will be taking place in one of the sub levels of the Casino and Angel will be sure to be putting a large sum of money on a particular fighter - but 47 uncovers information which suggests that Angel plans on rigging the fight, as he has apparently done many times in the past, by doping the opponent. 47 can intercept the drug and instead dope the fighter that Angel has bet on, causing Angel to lose his money. 47 can also steal the payment briefcase that was taken as collateral (in order to be allowed to bet) with a similar case full of forged bills, so when the fight runner goes to count Angel's bet and sees the money is gone, he'll no doubt have Angel disposed of on account of fraud.
Keith Morrow- 47 learns that the ill-tempered Keith Morrow will be sticking to his favorite game - Texas Hold 'Em. While Keith is a skilled Poker player, he's no match for Agent 47's ability to count cards. 47 can disguise himself as one of the other players in the Poker game and give Keith a literal run for his money. When Keith loses the game, he will become so angry that he will decide to personally murder 47 to get his money back. 47 can use this opportunity to lure Keith into his own demise.
Bao Jiang- Not much will get Bao to leave his well secured office penthouse - not even a building evacuation. Bao has several plans in place in the event of an evacuation - his safe room, in the event of a hostile attack, his escape helicopter, or the express elevator to the basement parking garage. 47 can sabotage one of these 3 escape plans and then trigger an evacuation (fire alarm, shooting, etc) to determine which route Bao will take. He drop a radio/satellite antenna (by shooting the mount) onto the helicopter as it prepares to take off (nod to Max Payne), defeat the safety brake system on the elevator and break the cable as it descends, or put a bomb in the armored vehicle.
Expose the Operation- Although the 3 key players in the trafficking ring will be dead, the operation needs to be exposed to the world so that federal law enforcement agencies and sweep up what remains. This may seem at odds with the notion of covertly eliminating these 3 men, but it's an unwritten agreement that when the ICA gets involved in matters such as these, federal agencies tend to look past the details of their deaths. 47 will need to enter the highly secured server room and install an ICA provided WiFi uplink to connect Jiang's secure server to the internet and trigger a mass upload of its contents. Once the data is out there on the internet, it will be there for forever.
Killing all 3- Exposing the Operation will send the targets into a panic situation. They will likely attempt to meet and figure out a plan, but Jiang's paranoia will cause him to distrust the other two and the meeting will surely be highly volatile. 47 can push Jiang over the edge by planting evidence on Angel and Keith, causing Jiang to other them both to be killed. Of course, Keith and Angel's personal body guards will return fire. If 47 is in the right place at the right time, as the bullets are flying, he can deliver a fatal dose of lead to Jiang himself and slip out undetected in the chaos- otherwise he will still have to eliminate Jiang via one of his escape routes.
Of course, all 3 targets can be eliminated using more traditional methods, but, especially in the case of Bao Jiang, it may not be as easy to get them alone as other targets have been in the past.
Mission-Specific Items: ICA Uplink - This device, when plugged into any computer, will establish a connection to the nearest WiFi network and bypass any security. This is intended to bring offline systems online, giving the ICA- or anyone else, for that matter- access to data stored on closed-networks. Poker Invitation - Not just anybody can sit down at a high stakes poker table. You need an invitation, and that’s something that can only be obtained through a large down-payment (or by taking it off someone who has one). You don't* need to take their disguise as well, but you can if you want to. Penthouse Keycard - Unlocks doors on the penthouse level. Room 1301 Keycard - Allows access to 47’s reserved room on the 13th floor. 1st, 2nd, 11th, 12, and 13th floor Keycards -Allows access to all doors on their respective floors. Maintenance Keycard - Unlocks all doors in the sub levels, all elevators, all maintenance areas on accessible floors, and rooftop access. Portable Defibrillator - Carried by Casino Medical Staff. Can start-or stop a human heart. 2-Way Rad*io - Carried by most Casino staff.
Disguises - Jiang’s Special Security - Unlimited Access to entire Casino and Hotel, but all other Special Security will not be fooled by this disguise - nor will Jiang.* Casino Security - Mostly unlimited access to entire building, with the exception of the Penthouse and sub levels. Maintenance Staff - Allows access to sub levels and maintenance areas as well as all public spaces. Bellhop - Allows access to all public spaces and restricted areas of the casino area. Room Service - Allows access to all public spaces, restricted areas of the casino area, and all guest rooms on all floors - except the penthouse level. Poker Player, - Wears an old fashioned translucent poker visor, polo shirt and khaki pants. Access to all public spaces and room 1337 only. May blend in at any game or table until asked to leave (for not playing). Fight Referee, - Access to sub level fight arena area only. Referees are non-partial parties paid to fly in from various places, so nobody should be familiar with his appearance. Allowed into the locker room pre-fight to inspect fighters lockers. Janitor - Allowed anywhere on the property, but limited access to restricted areas, such as the sub levels or penthouse - must be called up via radio to fix a problem and be allowed access. Casino Enforcer - Jiang's junkyard dogs assigned to extract payment (or sacrifice) from delinquent gamblers. Casino Fire Crew - The Casino has its own fire crew to respond to fires while waiting for the fire department to arrive. Stealing a fire crew disguise and then causing a small fire might allow an opportunity to get behind the scenes. Casino Medic - The Casino has its own medical staff to treat injuries or medical emergencies while EMT's are en route. Agnolo D’Alvade - A VIP of the hotel and close personal friend of Bao Jiang. Allowed unlimited access to the entire building. Just don't get too close to Jiang or his Special Security Team, or other key members of Casino staff. Sheikh Zanzib*ar - A frequent high roller VIP guest of the Casino given Lower Penthouse Accomodations (Penthouse level just below the top Penthouse/Jiang's Penthouse). Has a master key for all floors except the top Penthouse and sub levels.
Assassination Opportunities Fight and Flight - Rig the fight so Angel Lopez loses his bet, and swap his bet money with counterfeit bills to put him in the crosshairs of Casino enforcers. Kill him as he flees or let the enforcers do your dirty work. A Long Drop and a Sudden Stop* - Arrange events so that Bao Jiang attempts to escape via Express Elevator, and cause the Elevator to crash down.* Texas Fold 'Em - Beat Keith Morrow at the Poker Match and lure him into seclusion, then kill him. Payneful Turbulence - Cause Jiang's escape chopper to crash. Shock to the Heart - Sedate Keith Morrow and respond as Medical Crew to kill him with the Defibrillator. Fire! - Start a fire to trigger the automated evacuation and kill Jiang as he flees. Unsafe Ro*om - Trigger a lockdown and kill Jiang inside his safe room.

Next...

Mission Name: Enemies Within
Note: I'm not a Hitman Lore expert so please forgive any inaccuracies.
Without knowing how the Providence story line will shake out, let's just say it happens that Soders wasn't the only person within the ICA who was on Providence's payroll, and over time it becomes apparent to Diana that there are sleepers still working within the ICA, laying low since Soders' death and apparently waiting for the right opportunity to resume operations.
This will turn out to be 47's most difficult mission yet, as not only is he tasked with infiltrating a highly secured building full of people that know what he looks like, but one that also contains a number of expert agents who not only know Agent 47's common methods, but are specifically trained in them.
47 has 6 targets to eliminate among the various divisions of the ICA HQ.
Soders' Former Assistant- Not trained in field work in any way but has a dangerous amount of knowledge regarding 47's operations. While Soders was out on medical leave, the Assistant has been at the helm handling Soders' official ICA dealings, as well as his secret, illegitimate involvement with Providence. Since Soders' death, his Assistant has been at work secretly covering his own tracks, attempting to clear himself of any connection to Providence at all.
Head of ICA Research & Development- With Soders on their Payroll, Providence has been making use of the ICA's extremely advanced R&D department to provide special equipment to key players across the glove. Under the table, of course. The Head of the R&D department is willfully complicit, and she must be eliminated.
Field Operative Trainer- Among the wide ranging efforts of Providence to utilize the ICA for their own nefarious deeds, the Agent who trains new ICA Operatives is a direct plant of Providence, replacing the former trainer after a freak accident left him physically disabled. The new Field Operative Trainer has been tasked specifically with training the new operatives to subvert the methods used by the ICA's top operative - Agent 47, since Agent 47 is a wildcard that Providence is unable to compromise. The new operatives are being trained, ultimately, to beat 47 at his own game, and take him out of the picture once and for all.
ICA Trainee 1- See Below
ICA Trainee 2- Top level recruits being trained in the methods of Agent 47 with the ultimate goal of defeating him. Defeating this recruit will be difficult, as they will be more aware of 47's movements and traps. It would be wise to target the Trainees first and foremost, because even if 47 is able to eliminate the other targets in accidents, these Trainees will surely pick up on the strange circumstances of multiple accidental deaths within a short time span.
Gamma Agent- The Gamma Agent is the ICA's top agent under 47, who has been trained and groomed to know 47's methods inside and out. Defeating her will be 47's greatest challenge of his career, as she will not only be wary of disguises, traps, or outright assaults - but will be actively utilizing these same methods to eliminate 47. 47 will need to be careful not to find himself falling victim to his very own methods, and will need to watch out for suspicious behaviors, objects that appear out of place, suspiciously vacant areas, hidden, unclothed bodies, and other telltale signs that an Agent utilizing 47's own tricks of the trade is possibly nearby.
Unique Items The Research and Development Division will have a number of experimental gadgets and items that 47 may find useful. Note: These items can be unlocked through mastery of this final mission. The idea behind these particularly crazy items being unlocked in the FINAL mission is to not break the entire game prior to this mission, but to allow players to have fun screwing around and experimenting with these items after they've beaten the game.
Hallucinogenic Poison- In Syringe and Vial form, this Hallucinogenic Drug is the same experimental drug used by Ezra Berg. Neither he nor the ICA were able to get the formula down perfectly, however the most recent sample in possession of the R&D department has shown the most consistent results. Research notes suggest that the subject's initial mental state tends to play the biggest role regarding what effect the drug has on them. A calm person may simply be put into a relatively sedate condition, becoming less aware of their surroundings. A paranoid person may see their fears become manifested in the form of hallucinations, an aggressive person may become unpredictably volatile (security guards may attack people nearby, regular civilians will just become lethargic, certain key characters will have unique responses)
Remote EMP Device- A small yet highly conspicuous disposable EMP device activated via remote. Although useful in certain situations, the overall effectiveness of this device was not seen as important enough to warrant mass production. This device can be used to discreetly disrupt any electronics within a 10ft radius. This can be used as a distraction, to erase hard drives, shut down cameras, and more.
"EMP" Rubber Duck- A blue rubber ducky originally designed as a discreet EMP device, but faulty design has barred it from authorization for field use. The requirement of a high powered battery yielded many obstacles in its design and ultimately resulted in this failure of a device which, despite its supposedly water-proof housing, became a lethal electrocution device whenever it came into contact with water due to the rapidly overheating battery burning through the rubber housing within seconds of being activated. May be useful for other purposes, however.
ICA Smart Rifle- Deemed unsuitable for field use despite being an overall well-functioning device, this Smart Rifle is designed to be fired remotely. The Rifle is build into a fairly bulky case that. The case transforms into a mount/stand for the rifle. When the Rifle is armed, it awaits a signal from the Transmitter - a small, button-sized device upon which the Rifle will focus automatically. The user would plant the Transmitter onto a target - for example, on a human, the transmitter would be stuck to their back between their shoulder blades - and when the LED on the remote turns green, the rifle has acquired a direct line of sight to the target, and may be fired. The Smart Rifle was ultimately deemed impractical and unsuitable for field use due to the cost of production outweighing its overall usefulness - a manually fired sniper rifle would be just as effective, without requiring the shooter to return and take down the rifle after the shot has been fired. The Transmitter is discreet enough that it can be discreetly placed on a target even in the middle of a crowd. 47 will gently place his hand on the target's back as if accidentally bumping into them.
ICA Remote Explosive Decoy Gun- A dummy pistol modeled after the Bartoli 75R. Except under extreme scrutiny, appears to be an ordinary pistol, but in reality there is an integrated explosive charge that can be activated remotely or by pulling the trigger. This device was deemed unfit for field usage after a number of reported incidents involving Agents getting it mixed up with the real Bartoli 75R service weapon. This could be used similarly to the remote explosive duck, or in certain cases, by swapping an individual's own sidearm with the decoy and allowing them to blow themselves up.
Opportunities
The Assistant- Sabotage with Hallucinogenic Poison and he will succumb to his paranoia and commit suicide by jumping from the window.
Swap Soder's "desk gun" with the Explosive Decoy Gun and watch him blow himself up when he attempts to shoot 47.
The R&D Head- Plant a transmitter on her, then activate the 3 dormant Smart Rifles on display in her office, and place a call to the phone on her desk.
Use the EMP device to wipe her security badge data when she enters the armory. When the system recognizes a human occupant with no badge, it will trigger the automatic lock down protocol and release non-lethal knock-out gas, which of course you've already sabotaged by switching the feed line to nearby propane tanks, which will inevitably cause a massive deadly fireball when she fires her pistol trying to shoot out the glass to escape the room.
(will have to work on some ideas for the other targets)

Bonus Mission...

Mission Name: House of the Devil
House of the Devil is an amalgamation of the Blood Money levels A House of Cards and Dance with the Devil, intended as a standalone bonus/DLC mission.
Map Design - The Shamal Hotel featured in A House of Cards will be the main structure of the map, but will now also include the parking garage, sub-basement, and top floor penthouse as seen in the Shark Club building in* A Dance with the Devi*l.
The front entrance to The Shamal will remain mostly the same, albeit with the modern Hitman flair - more NPC's, more details, more freedom. It will be expanded and redesigned to look more elegant and classy.
Around the side of the building is the entrance to the parking garage. This will look similar to the parking garage entrance in the Blood Money version, and the layout will be mostly the same, however the first floor lobby and security desk will not be included.
The sub-basement features the Hell party, a masquerade type party with a demonic theme. The penthouse suite on the top floor features the Heaven party.
The main floor of the building features a casino and a middle-eastern themed restaurant, just as its Blood Money counterpart did, except the casino is on the same level as the lobby instead of down a flight of stairs.
the sub-basement, parking garage, lobby, floor 7, floor 8, and the penthouse are all accessible via elevator.
The Story - There are 5 targets in this mission. Anthony Martinez, Vaana Ketlyn, Henrik Schmutz, The Sheikh, and Tariq Abdul Lateef.
Schmutz was a former Ether employee and stole vital DNA samples and research. He intends to sell this research to Ether's number one competitor - APEX International.
APEX's CEO, The Sheikh, will be arriving in person to field the purchase of Schmutz's stolen DNA samples and research.
The Sheikh's head scientist, Tariq Abdul Lateef, will also be present to inspect the samples and research prior to handing over the payment.
The three are expected to meet at some point this evening at the Shamal Hotel, but there is a complication.
Anthony Martinez, a corrupt CIA agent working multiple angles for his own financial gain, is attending a masquerade party at the Shamal as cover - he plans to hijack the DNA research, and well as the payment, and sell it on the international black market.
In order to accomplish this, he has enlisted the help of Vaana Ketlyn, a major player in global black trade, who will help him fence the research in exchange for half The Sheikh's intended payment. The two have a history together of mixing business with pleasure.
Our client is a third party who wants the DNA research recovered and destroyed before it falls into the wrong hands. What you do with The Sheikh's payment is entirely up to you. The client also wants The Shiekh, Lateef and Schmutz eliminated, which will deliver a major blow to unethical DNA
The Mission - Apart from the inclusion of two extra characters and a number of new opportunities, the House of Cards portion of the mission will play out largely the same. The Sheikh, Schmutz and Lateef will play out very similar routines, with a few modifications to fit with the updated game play of the new title. Martinez will at some meet with Ketlyn in the sub-basement to discuss plans on how to acquire the research and money.
Opportunities
The Jaws of Defeat - Vaana Ketlyn has spared no expense with her Heaven and Hell themed raves, but the real spectacle is the live shark swimming around in the water tanks surrounding the dance floor in the sub-basement. As a former world-renowned circus performer, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Ketlyn to perform a death-defying stunt. Perhaps there is an opportunity to up the stakes? - Vaana will perform a stunt routine involving the Shark. Rig the safety equipment to cause her to fall into the shark tank and be devoured. Her opioid-impaired party goers may very well think it's all part of the show.
A Dance with the Devil - Anthony Martinez and Vaana Ketlyn have a decade-long history of business relationships, with plenty of pleasure mixed in. Apparently, it has been two years since they last saw each other in person, and judging by their recent phone calls, their reunion may be an emotional moment. Nevertheless, they are both professionals and will likely focus on the job at hand... unless they can be persuaded. Catching them in the moment might be a good opportunity to eliminate them both at once. Spike Martinez's drink with an aphrodisiac, and send flowers to Ketlyn. During their meeting, set the sound system to play a slow romantic song. They will issue security staff to clear the dance floor for a private dance. Dispose of them in any way you see fit (dropping the lighting rig is one option).
Poor Reception - The Sheikh has been complaining that his phone calls are being dropped due to poor reception inside the building, and that he is tired of walking outside to take calls. This may be a chance to get him right where you want him.Acquire and use Lateef's cell phone to call The Sheikh, and kill him when he goes outside to take the call. You can carry the cell phone with you and call him from anywhere, but if you prefer remaining true to the original, you can snipe him from Lateef's hotel room.
Room Service - Lateef will need to thoroughly examine the DNA samples and research that Schmutz plans to sell to The Sheikh, but since The Sheikh insists that he and Lateef are not seen together, Schmutz will visit Lateef in Lateef's hotel room with the briefcase, but they apparently have never met and do not know what each other looks like. Posing as Room Service may give you an opportunity to slip into the room ahead of their meeting and prepare for Schmutz's arrival. Getting a Room Service disguise and an 8th floor Master Keycard will grant you access to Lateef's room. Lateef will insist that he did not call for room service, but 47 will make up some excuse about expired dairy product in the mini-fridge and needing to check the expiration dates. From there, you can either distract Lateef so you can hide in the room, or kill him and take his disguise. Eventually, Schmutz will show up and you can either examine the briefcase and let him go, examine the briefcase and discreetly plant a remote bomb and then let him go, examine the briefcase, stand up and kill him right there, or jump him the moment he walks in the door.. among any other number of things.
No Deal - The Sheikh is not a trusting man, and does not completely buy into Schmutz's claim that he has betrayed Ether by stealing the DNA research. As far as corporate espionage goes, this would be a deadly game for Schmutz to play, were he to double-cross The Sheikh. Schmutz has every intention on following through with the deal - his loyalty is to the highest bidder, and nobody will bid higher than The Sheikh. But, sabotaging the DNA samples and research and allowing the meeting to go through will no doubt cause The Sheikh to have Schmutz eliminated. Sneak into Schmutz's room, ruin the DNA samples (poison) and then allow Schmutz to meet with Lateef. Lateef will appear surprised that the samples are no good, but will pretend like everything is ok. When Schmutz leaves the room, Lateef will call The Sheikh and inform him that Schmutz is lying. The Sheikh will have his guards intercept Schmutz and lead him to an outside area to kill him. You can; kill Lateef after he calls The Sheikh, kill The Sheikh before he walks back inside after taking the phone call (only possible with a sniper rifle), and allow The Sheikh's men to kill Schmutz.

NEW MESSAGE: FFEC 2017 DIRECTOR +4 OTHERS
Hello everyone! I hope all of you make it here to Harrisburg! Tomorrow will be the first day of the 20th Freddy Fazbear Entertainment Convention. You all will be staying at the Hilton Harrisburg near the Convention Center. More information will be provided in the following link...

My mind is completely blank right now. I am on a two-hour flight to Pennsylvania and I am still in shock that my curiosity and mind took me this far.

NEW MESSAGE: PETE Yo how are you doing bro, i arrived at the airport.

What have I gotten myself into?? I still can’t believe that a stupid theory and hobby have gotten me this far. I look down at my empty paper and think about what I need to say in my part of the panel.

Freddy’s was the biggest incident that has ever happened involving children at a locale of this nature. Big names have talked about this incident such as the likes of Stephen King and James Patterson, and this big tragedy has even garnered a fanbase among the paranormal investigation community. Even though it has been almost 26 years, some families are still affected by what had happened. I have spok-

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Midway through my writing, I get a text message.

NEW MESSAGE: PETE Dude, I think you need to hear this. “New development in the suicide of a 16-year old student; Police uncover deeper meaning.” Just hit the WaPo this morning. It talks about this Tanner Albright kid, who dropped out of school and went into hiding. In a nutshell, I am on to something. Tell you more at the port :)

I remember hearing about that, barely a blip on the newsfeed compared to all that coverage about the solar eclipse. That was an interesting text. Why not tell me now. You know what, screw it, I’ll just continue writing.

I have spoken at length about the so-called Missing Children Incident where five children went missing at the pizzeria back in the early 1990s, the disappearances of various night staff over the years, and the shady relationship between Fazbear Entertainment and Afton Robotics. I am here to clear everything u-

BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ
Damnit Pete!

NEW MESSAGE: PETE Just a small check in on u. I herd the plane was delayed. Tru?

Just then, the pilot made an announcement:

“Hello folks, we are having a rough time here so just sit back for a moment. Put on your seatbelts everybody!”

You serious right now??? Even in 2017 a brutha can't get a break!
BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ

NEW MESSAGE: UNKNOWN ID I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. YOU CAN'T HIDE.

...
WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK
Maybe it was just a simple prank. Let me not freak out the person next to me and piss my pants in the actual piss place.
Luckily I am right next to the bathroom.
I open the door and look in the mirror.
Yo, Isiah, chill out dude. It’s good.
I go back to my seat and go back to my music.
Oh shoot
I feel the migraine coming as the cabin rocks under the turbulence. Shit…
Pete's going to be so mad when he finds out… oh well.
Pete's waiting for me past security
“Ayyee, wassup my guy.” Pete greets me.
“Sup,” I reply.
“How long have you been waiting here, P?”
“Four hours. You hungry from that flight?”
“Yeah, let’s get something to eat.”
We walk around the airport looking for something to eat.
“Mickey Ds?”
“Hell yeah.”
We walk to the McDonald's across from us to get what I think is dinner. We wait in line to get our food. Pete orders a Big Mac and I order a normal cheeseburger with a milkshake. We sit down at the dining plaza tables and start eating.
“So how was your flight?” Pete asks.
"Bit rough," I reply.
"No shit, Isiah!" He pauses then asks, "you been taking the percs again?"
"Uhh..."
"Man, you gotta cut that shit out!"
"It's aiight… So… whatchu got?"
Pete pulls up the webpage on his iPad; it's that Washington Post article he mentioned in the text earlier, with a picture showing cops at some backwoods crime scene complete with yellow tape. The page linked to another webpage, this one being a local news site for the St. George Metropolitan Area:

Brushton Township police say that Tanner Albright, a high school student that committed suicide several weeks back, had plans to commit mass murder.
Hurricane Police Chief Clay Burke said in a news conference yesterday that detectives found further writings dated August 8 to August 20, detailing a five-step plan for a major killing spree.
An entry dated Aug. 16 said, "...this will be bigger than anything this country's ever seen, .......I've been planning this for a long time, it's going to be so much fun. They won't expect a thing. It will be a stain on American history unlike anything like it."
The entries also praised William Afton of Afton Robotics and the recently-deceased Henry Fasbach of Fazbear Entertainment, making heavy references to the series of child murders throughout the 1990s, believed to have been committed by someone impersonating a mascot at the pizzeria. An entry dated Aug. 17 said, "I'll look into those scared little bitches eyes before I kill them and watch the life pour out of their bodies like the river Nile ... have followers because I'm so awesome I know someone will follow me just like I followed William Afton's ... me and them want close to the same thing, It's going to be fun......They say oh this is horrible but they don't think like us like me Henry and William...."
Tanner's writings made heavy references to Satanism and the occult, and detectives believe the boy expected to die and then "rise again" on August 21, the day of a major solar eclipse. A memo entry dated Aug. 18 said, ".....I'm going to die doing it, I hate those people, when they interview my parents and ask how they didn't see the signs they should know it's not them it's me and it's because of how I see the world....I'll hurt and destroy something so much bigger and they'll all see....."
He had gone missing a week before his body was found nearby an abandoned bunker that he had apparently been inhabiting for the last few months of his high school attendance before dropping out.
On Thursday, the Washington County Medical Examiner ruled Tanner's death inconclusive.
Investigation into Tanner's home was rendered impossible due to a major break-in soon after the body was discovered, with the intruder stealing most if not all of Tanner's belongings and heavily vandalizing the remainder.
Police say the investigation will continue with additional interviews and review of the boy's other documents.
School counselor Harvey Dunn issued a news release Thursday afternoon, noting increased presence by law enforcement in all district buildings.

Oookay… damn. That was one messed-up kid. One look at this pasty white boy's face and I immediately think "this kid be blastin' on them fools". At least he didn't go down that route...
"And you're showing me this because..."
Pete pulls out a folder from his convention bag and shoves it to me. "Dude, it gets even weirder. This guy on Freddit, OracleIntuition, sent me these" he gestures to the contents of the folder; several photographs of a really crappy cosplay of Freddy that someone tried to make look "oh so sp00py" by wrapping red yarn all over it, dunno why.
"So it's a photo of some cosplayer, what does this have to do with-"
"Bruh, that's what I told him too. But he swears 1000% that this is the real deal, some real spooky shit. Like a real-life version of all those urban legends about the animatronics walkin' around at night? And you know the weirdest part? He says this is what Tanner meant when he said 'rise again'"
"Naw… you saying this kid turn himself into a Freddy??" I stop and think for a second.
“This is on some next level werewolf shit bro, I don’t think it’s real. It could be some really thought out fanfic.” I reply.
“Sure, whatever you say. Don’t start crying and running to me when some satanic ‘I Need Jesus’ Freddy comes for your ass.”
Yo, this is forreal on some other worldly stuff. I don’t think there is that much behind this thing, and I am a theorist who talks about dead children for god’s sake.
“Anyways, you wanna know what happened to me on the plane?” I say.
“Let me guess, the perc. I already told you-”
“No, I got this weird ass stalker level text. Sounded like someone from ISIS or some shit.” I show Pete the text message.
“How many codes have you been cracking my dude, Tanner the spirit school shooter is about to murder your ass.” Pete replies.
“This is not funny. I am hella scared right now. Why me though?”
“In all seriousness, this could be a joke or a wrong number thing. Either way it’s weird.”
“True bu-”
CAN I NOT GET INTERRUPTED FOR THE FIRST TIME.
“Hi guys, mind if I join you?” a familiar posh-accented voice says.
“Well, you could have as……. HOLY SHIT!” I scream, trying not to freak out even more.
To my surprise, it’s Dawko. The Dawko; the gamer and theorist. Is this real right now?
“Excuse my language, hello, of course you can join us.”
Pete and I give each other a glare. It’s the myth, the man, the legend, Dawko!!
“Sorry for my manners, my name is Isiah and this is Pete. I assume you are also here for the convention?”
“Oh yeah, I am. Are you part of a panel or a fan?”
“I am in the panel with my friend over here, we are under the name of ‘TheFreddleSquad’. You've probably seen our video on Freddy's, that is why we are here.”
“Ah yes I have, you are on the panel with me I think, right? I’ll check the schedule the director gave us.” Dawko looks down at his phone. “Yep.”
"So you just got here too? How was the flight?"
"Oh my God, 10 hours of torture all the way from Heathrow I swear," replies Dawko while stretching his back.
"I can't believe FazCon's been around for like 20 years, and 'cause of what? 'cause of some creepy urban legends here or there? I mean, have you seen the place? 'So come on down to mechanical bear pizza and child casino!!!'" we all get a good giggle out of that one.
We finish eating and we get all our luggage from pickup and we call an Uber.
We see our driver and he drives us to our hotel.
“Have a nice day!” Dawko shouts as he waves us off.
We wave back.
Approaching the lobby, it becomes pretty clear that we're not the only Faz-fans holed up in this joint. Already the place is full of enthusiasts and even some cosplayers. A cardboard Freddy sat down reading his tablet while some Foxy chicks (in BOTH senses of the word) hung round the pillars taking selfies. I even saw these two high as fuck guys dressed in black animal suits and I don't mean black like they used ink for the Ice Bucket challenge but like Vantablack shit.
Me and Pete get our room key from the counter and take the elevator up.
“Damn, we met Dawko.” I say.
“Yes, yes we did.” Pete replies
We get to our room and look around.
“I am glad we chose to upgrade to the two-room suite.” Pete says as he savours the moment.
I also savour it, as we examine every feature of the room, from the king-sized bed to the soft floors, everything is so perfect. While Pete flops down on the bed, I pull out my Surface Pro 4 and check the forums.
"Yo Pete check this out"
I'm on OracleIntuition's instagram account; there's a black and white selfie of a professional photographer, with images far superior to the ones Pete showed me at the airport. The caption was what piqued my interest, however:

oracleintuition Just flew into Harrisburg Intl.! Next stop, FazCon 2017!!!! 😊😄 #oracleintuition #ffp #freddy convention #fazcon

He's here?? Oh this might actually be interesting. I wonder what he has to say about the photos. But, time waits for no bruthas. We pack our gear and head off down the 20-minute walk from the Hilton to the Pennsylvania Farm Show Complex, where the FazCon is being held. Strolling past the milling tourists and congoers, we behold the massive convention center, the capital of Freddy's Fandom for the next 4 days. We take a quick power nap because we didn't go to sleep, and it's 6:30 AM and we have to arrive in an hour.
Still, that short nap's long enough for me to have this strange dream. I'm a little boy again, barely knee height and I'm at the pizzeria during a birthday party. I try to get closer but I trip and fall, and by the time I get up, the whole place is dark and empty, like in the middle of the night. Suddenly, I hear movement and a little kid struggling as he's being pushed around by this dude in a purple uniform, squealing all the while because his mouth's been covered. They disappear behind the door and I can hear muffled struggling behind it. I walk towards the door, but there's this huge stink and some weird-ass feeling I can't place. I'm scared.
The stage lights up and there's Freddy, except… where's Bonnie and Chica??? Plus, Freddy's facing the wrong way! I have a choice… go to that door or go to Freddy. I also get this tingling pressure and somehow I know that if I take my eyes off of Freddy for even one second…
Suddenly the door bursts open, breaking my concentration. Instinctively I turn to look and… nothing. Just an empty room. Oh fuck... I want, no, need to get to that door because if I don't, it's going to get me. Doesn't matter what "it" is. I break into a run, but the pizzeria seems to stretch out as my heart hammers, but I finally make it through the door, slamming it behind me. I wait for a few moments, straining to hear if what's out there's gone. Then slowly I turn arou-
 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I get up with a start, breathing heavily. just a dream, Isiah, just a dream. Shit… I shouldn't have let them photos get to me… fuck. I turn and look at the clock. Oh, 7:05, still have time. I wake up Pete, we wash our faces, and finally leave the hotel, before hailing a taxi to the Pennsylvania Farm Show Complex where the FazCon takes place.
And with that, we march headlong into the convention center.

WOW.

It. Was. HUGE.
To any '90s kid who was raised on a healthy diet of Freddy's pizza and Surge, this place was practically heaven. The halls were transformed into a giant Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria/museum with practically everything that would satisfy your inner child for days on end! There were arcades of all kinds, deluxe ball pits we could play in for hours on end, vintage Freddy's memorabilia on display including signs, posters, even some old relics like animatronics that never made it to production, each carefully labeled and presented like fashion mannequins at the mall. But instead of rowdy screaming children, the place was crammed full of excited teens and adults, many of whom were having just as much fun as they would at a Dave & Buster's. Tokens clattered as attendees queued up to play the arcade games as if this was Atlantic City instead of Pennsylvania. A group of highschoolers howled and high-fived as they won a goodstuff Bonnie plush at the claw machine. Not to mention the cosplayers. It was like back at the hotel but magnified a hundred fold, and some of the outfits were so good that it was difficult to tell whether they were just here to have fun or whether they were part of the exhibit! Passing by a Foxy and a Mangle dancing to Gangnam Style while waving around a Nerf gun, we entered a room labeled "CAM 01" just in time to watch a riffed vintage episode of Fredbear and Friends! that had everyone laughing their asses off for nearly the full 20 minutes.
After having my fun, I go to rehearsal for my panel. I see multiple familiar faces from FusionZ to WHAT Stephen King?! STEPHEN KING HOLY SHIT I JUST NOTICED. What the hell is he doing here? Isn't he supposed to be writing a book about a gay guy or something? Now I wish I hadn't sold my 1st edition copy of "Under the Dome" before getting his autograph (ugh!) I am going to go speak with him, and hopefully don't make a nuisance out of myself. “Hey Mr. King, odd seeing you around these parts?” I say. “Please, call me Stephen.” he replies. I JUST GOT PERMISSION TO CALL STEPHEN KING ON A FIRST-NAME BASIS OH MY GOD. “So what panel are you on, Stephen?” I just had to rub it in. “Panel 3.”
“Really? So am I!”
“Great! I don't really tell people this but, I am a huge fan of yours, your theories helped me write my book!”
Did Stephen King just call me one of his inspirations??????
FREDDLE SCREECH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
We stand there for a while.
“Alright then, catch you later!” I say.
Stephen walks away then waves.
"EVERYONE IN PANEL 3 PLEASE APPROACH THE FRONT FOR REHEARSAL” a man says over the speaker system
Alright… it's showtime.
It’s finally time for the biggest moment of my so-called career. I see the other panelists around me, most I met during rehearsal. I settle down in my seat while Pete plops down next to me.
“You ready bro?” Pete asks me.
“Yeah, I guess.”
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN PLEASE WELCOME, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, THE CONSPIRACY THEORIST GROUP WITH OVER A MILLION SUBSCRIBERS ON YOUTUBE, THE FREDDLE SQUAD!!!"
Moment of truth time.
I get up to give my speech.
"Thank you! We are The Freddle Squad and it's so good to be back! Shout out to my boy Pete, FusionZ, Dawko, and the one and only Stephen King himself!"
I wait for the applause to die down before continuing. "Now, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was the biggest scandal that has ever happened involving children at a locale of this nature. Big names have talked about the strange phenomena surrounding the restaurant, such as the likes of Stephen King and James Patterson, and this big tragedy has even garnered a fanbase among the paranormal investigation community. Even though it has been almost 26 years, some families are still affected by what had happened. I have spoken at length about the so-called Missing Children Incident where five children disappeared from the pizzeria back in the early 1990s, the unknown whereabouts of various night staff over the years, and the shady relationship between Fazbear Entertainment and Afton Robotics. Pete and I have been researching this for the past few years and we are now here to clear everything up."
I give Pete a soft kick which means it’s his turn.
“As my partner said, these incidents weren’t accidents. The long running partnership between Afton Robotics and Fazbear Entertainment isn’t as sweet as you think. Rumors have been going around that the company owner William Afton, presumably deceased, and his good friend, the late Fazbear Entertainment owner, Henry Fasbach, who had recently taken his own life this past Spring, had a pretty good, hidden friendship when they weren’t making headlines, almost too good of a friendship. Bonding over the experience of having lost their only daughter, they plotted on getting revenge on their own creations. In Henry’s letter before his passing, he wrote 'I was absolutely infuriated and ashamed of my actions, my daughter had died in the hands of my creations. I wanted for people to know the pain.'
Henry and William's plan was to sabotage their own beloved animatronics, to prevent any future tragedy; though both William and Henry were thought to have had shady connections to various - shall I say it - suspicious suppliers and other companies, they felt confident in their success, that is until William's apparent disappearance about a decade later. Henry himself would soon vanish from public spectacle to devote to his research, shunning everyone, including family and friends. With Henry dead, and his ex-wife and nephew not talking, we can only speculate exactly what he discovered and the rationale behind his actions."
And with that we continue into our Freddle Squad spiel, enumerating the known facts about the tangled case that lay before us and then entertaining the most common theories as to what truly went down back at Freddy's. When we finish, the moderator sets up this round table like on ABC, where we discuss and debate the motives and history of the whole sordid affair. All in all, it's really fun, and we're quite proud of ourselves, now that we're talking on par with all the bigshots of this field!
"Well that was fun!" Pete exclaims in relief once we finish signing autographs and get ready to head out.
"Man Pete, we gon' get a LOT of subs for this."
"I know, right?" He finishes packing his gear and we head off to the next few panels.
As the hours go on, Pete's beginning to act a bit wack. I mean he's cool and all but I can tell something ain't right, or at least he thinks so. Keeps looking over his shoulder as if he just stuffed several iPhones down his pants at Target. And the selfies... never knew Pete to be the selfie type…
Suddenly he taps me on the shoulder. "Hey Isiah, I gotta go for a bit, wanna put these in the back?"
"Sure man! Where you gon' be at?"
"Arcade room. You in?"
"Nah, I wanna get some quality swag, want something?"
"It's cool man."
"Meet you in 30 then?"
"Yeah! Oh and one more thing,"
Without warning he pulls me close and snaps a selfie on his phone before heading off. well that was weird… I mean, really? What's with him and selfies all the sudden?
I walk through the crowd looking for anyone else I know. Oh! The photographer snapping pics of us at the panel! Imma go talk to this brutha.
"Hey, nice camera! Did you enjoy the panel?"
"Yeah, it was really illuminating! I especially liked the part where you discussed what happened to the Toy animatronics and-"
He goes on and on about- wait hol' up. I've seen this face round these parts before.
"wait a sec… aren't you that instagram photographer OracleIntuition?"
"Yup! The one and only!"
"Ayyyyyyyyyyyyy sup!" and we greet each other like bruthas do
"Those forest pics were the BOMB on instagram! Where you take those, Yellowstone?"
"Rockies in fact, heh heh" Isaac replies with a toothy smile
"Run into any bears in the woods?"
shit… me and my big-ass mouth...
For one half of a split-fucking-second he look at me like I stepped on his Nike Air Jordans, then gives a forced giggle.
"No bears, no stairs."
"Aw man wouldn't those be nasty!"
this n!gga be tweekin, man! Alright, think man, this is your chance!
"So, uh, what's your favorite animatronic?"
"Mine? Well, normally it'd be a toss-up between Bonnie and Freddy, but now I think I'm more of a Bonnie person-"
"Oh? What happened?"
He looked away for a bit then mused, almost as if to himself,
"Do you really think Henry and William got all of them?" He looks at me, and I feel like he's putting me on the spot.
"Well… " I begin. "Those two made a lot of the guys, who knows if there's one still lying in a dumpster somewhere and we don't even know about it…"
He didn't like that, but cat's out, so time to get direct.
"Why, you think Freddy's comin' for you?"
He bites his lower lip in thought before whispering,
"Utah Museum of Architecture and Robotics… you… you saw the pics, right?
he knows
"Yeah… but don't you think..."
"That it's a load of bear shit? That he's dead and that's it?"
Now he's getting in my face, eyes pleading.
"Listen bro, I don't know what the HELL that was, but what I saw, what I felt... That ain't natural. The more I look, the worse this whole Freddy stuff appears."
I nod, not really understanding what he's getting at.
"Look, I like what you do a lot, hell I've gotten many of my friends to subscribe to Freddle Squad themselves. But if there's one thing to keep in mind, it's-"
Isaac suddenly gasps and turns green before giving me this wide-eyed stare as he stammers; "I-I-gotta go. Catch you up later?" Before I can reply he speedwalks off towards the restrooms. Looking around, I can't see what could have possibl-
NO.
FUCKIN SATAN FREDDY IS HERE???
"Agh you fucking kids, I'll get even with you for this I swear to God!"
Freddy flails around picking out the stuff sticking to his fur… oh. It's just silly string. He catches me staring. "the fuck's so funny?" then he storms off as we watch in confusion.
Well…
What exactly did he want me to keep in mind?
A guy like Isaac? If anything, now I know Isaac ain't fooling around… either he got played, or…
Well he sure as hell believes it.
Whatever…
I had two options to soothe my nerves… percs or merch. Ain't that an easy choice…
 
Upstairs there's this area labeled "PRIZE CORNER" through some huge double doors, Fazbear Security lookalikes checking for badges. And for good reason.
"PRIZE CORNER" my ass.
This area is perhaps THE biggest room in the entire convention center, size of at least two NBA arenas, all covered from wall to wall with booths selling all kinds of merchandise!!!! Funko Pops, McFarlane sets, posters and wall hangings of all kinds. Still don't know why such popular companies would still endorse such a controversial brand though, better for the fans anyways! Plus, half of the room was fanart and fan crafts anyways, including art (all kinds), plushies (all kinds), and a wide variety of cosmetic and cosplay merch including OC fursuits costing at least 3 grand each.
Wait…
Is that what I think I see? LIMITED EDITION SANSHEE FREDBEAR PLUSH? HALF OFF!?! GIMME!! I push through the crowd and run towards it like a person running from a killer (off topic, what a coincidence)
15 singles later I'm hauling this brand new Sanshee Fredbear plush I've always been wanting to have to finish my collection in some gift bag over my shoulder, ready to wave it at his face once I finally catch up to him… aaaand Pete's nowhere to be seen. Well… so much for that I guess. Seriously? Dude can't have just bailed on me so soon.
I push past a gaggle of girls dressed up to look like the slutty versions of the Classic Freddy and Friends™ and find Pete talking with this security guard who clearly wasn't a Fazbear fan, occasionally pointing at his cell to show the guard something. As I'm about to call out to him, he finishes the conversation and bumps right into me. He looks very tense, which doesn't help at all.
"Dude, Pete, what's yo problem? Look, let's go somewhere more private so that we don't look like we're slinging rocks or something."
We walk over to this secluded corner and I confront him. "Dangit, boi! You've been acting all sorts of strange since our panel, taking selfies like 'that thot over there' and lookin' around acting all weird and shit. What the hell?!" Pete raises his hands in a defensive posture as I lay it on him.
"Alright Isiah, calm down, I can explain!"
Let's hear the worst.
"You know during that panel, there was this hoodie boy sitting all the way in the back, listening to his iPod or something?" I rack my brains to recall, but nobody in particular stood out to me-
wait…
"Was it some skinny Unabomber lookin' fella?"
"Yes! Yes it was!" Pete replies excitedly. "I thought he was just some weirdo at the wrong panel but then he started following us. I'd see him out of the corner of my eye but he'd always vanish like some ghost or something."
oh great, a crazed stalker. This day just keeps getting better and better...
Pete pulls out his cell phone to show me. "Here, have a look," he opens up the gallery and clicks on one particular selfie. All I see is his stupid grin, but then he zooms in on a corner, revealing the sunglasses-wearing "hoodie boy" who clearly looked sketchy as all hell. No drug dealer would be that careless to just walk around in broad daylight… right? Instantly, I'm reminded to that text I got from that creep back in the airplane.
"And that's not all… Isiah, look." He opens up a set of new text messages sent just about half an hour ago.

I see you Good talk, by the way Look before you leap You might not like what you find

BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ
Just then, I receive a new text of my own.

NEW MESSAGE: UNKNOWN ID You can still walk away. Or don't, it's up to you.

BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ

NEW MESSAGE: UNKNOWN ID Remember, the Shadows have ears.

*Oh hell no. *
“Yo Pete, I just got two texts from the same guy……”
“Who, the one from the airplane?”
"Yeah."
"shit."
Someone is clearly fucking with us, shit, shit, shit
“Maybe… maybe this is some creepy mega fan?”
“THAT'S STILL BAD.” Pete cries.
“Hopefully this is just a joke and it's not that important. You know what, let's get something to eat if that makes you feel better. I heard they have a really good place that make pizzas as good as Freddy's not to far from here. We don’t have to be here again until 4:00, that means we have 5 hours to spend.”
“That seems nice.” Pete replies.
We move through the crowd to get to the entrance, guarded by security wearing faux Freddy’s security guard gear. These guards look like they have something better to do.
We go to the front of the convention center near the pickup area.
“Uber?” Pete asks
I nod in agreement. Pete goes on his phone and pays for the ride.
I should invite Dawko to come eat with us.

TO: DAWKO ME AND PETE ARE GOING TO EAT, WANNA JOIN?

I never got to send that text; when I turn around I see an out-of-breath Dawko running from a mob of fangirls.
“HIDE ME!” he pants. We see the uber driver pull up on the curve.
“Hurry, go!” I say, motioning him to get his ass in the car as we follow suit, pulling an OJ Simpson down Main street like a Ford Bronco chased by the po-lice.
“Shit, you good bro?” I ask Dawko during the ride.
“Yeah, I guess.”
I'm now grateful that I'm not as famous as him.
The ride drags along. We talk to our Uber driver and actually have a decent conversation. He looked hella sketchy, though. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
“Behold, Bacco's!” I say as I get into to an introducing pose.
“Wineries?” Pete says confusingly
“NAME DOESN'T MATTER”
As we enter the building, the savoury scent of pizza fills my nose as I look around. When I look, there's this extremely cute girl, sitting by herself eating.
...
and she T H I C C
Yo brutha, you got this
“Yo dudes, one second.” I tell my party of two. Hopefully no one intervenes and I can talk to her.
“Ay, hold on there buddy-boy. You trying to get some of that, arencha?” Pete says.
It’s always the black man that can’t do anything.
“Yo, what the hell Pete. “
“It’s not my fault that you made it obvious.”
“Well it’s not my fault tha-”
WHY CAN’T I GET A BREAK. STOP INTERRUPTING ME!
“You know what, let's sit over there then.” Dawko says outta nowhere
Who invited this dude to the conversation?
Dawko talks to waiter for awhile and then we somehow get a table next to her.
I settle down in my seat while the others gather around me.
this is my chance!
Ok, to hook this girl I got to start off smooth and then work my way up.
"Whoa… is that a HERO6????"
Nice way to start a conversation, nerd. What’s next, let me guess, ‘You have some nice camera lenses.’ Dafuq were you thinking?
"Yup! Just came out too; well, it's not mine, really, my sister let me borrow it for this trip."
phew! Okay you can still save this
"Really now? Where you heading?"
"Centralia, just past Route 61."
Pete raises an eyebrow. "The ghost town?"
"Yeah! It's for my journalism class up in Penn State."
"Penn State? Where you from?"
"Oh, well, me and my sister lived in Maryland before I got accepted here."
"Sweet! Pete and I came up from Orlando." I clap him on the shoulder.
"Oh! What brings you all the way up north then?"
We give her a wide grin. "Fazcon 2017 baby!" showing our VIP badges.
“oh you mean the Freddy convention? I did see the ads, plus there's quite a few costumed guys running around the place." The lady shrugs. "Oh! where's my manners, I'm Charisma."
Cute name… DAMNIT ISIAH KEEP YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!
“I'm Isiah, this is Pete. Oh yeah, you probably know him already but this is Dawko, nice to meet you.”
Dawko gives a small wave. I am about to make my move until this guy, who kinda reminds me of that one buffed up jock in a high school movie, shows up and sits right next to Charisma (she still has a cute name- ISIAH KEEP IT TOGETHER.) The guy also puts his arm around her.
Please don't tell me it's her bo-
“Oh, this is Jason, who I'm doing the project with!"
Shit, what kinda project then, chemistry? Seems a bit too close to be a “project partner”
The jock stretches his hand over to me and I shake it. “Nice to meet you.” he says.
“Nice to meet you too.” I reply.
THIS FELLOW HOMOSAPIEN IS DATING THIS EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE FEMALE HOMOSAPIEN, IT'S SO FUCKING OBVIOUS SPILL THE BEANS ALREADY DAMNIT.
Okay, I need to chill the fuck down.
“So both of you go to Centralia?” I ask
“Yeah.” Charisma replies, her “project partner” nods in agreement.
"Say, wasn't there a Chica's Party World near that area few decades back?" Dawko pipes up.
“Oh yeah, there was. You all probably already know what happened, since you are fans and stuff."
We shot the shit for a few more while finishing up that delicious gourmet pizza, but before long, Charisma and Jason have to get going. They head out in this blue hatchback that looks like it's from the 90s and barely runs. Soon, it's Dawko's turn to leave, and we wish him the best.
Ah well, now it's just the two of us and this tasty pizza. At least there's that right?
"Um… let's just… let's just go back to the hotel, I could use a hot shower, and hey, perhaps you wanna catch up some sleep and oh maybe cuddle Mr. Fredbear?"
Two for flinching, Pete.
We cross the road and head down Strawberry street to ditch our merch back at our room. We pass by those two vantablack cosplayers again in front of the parking lot-
wait hol up
WHAT
Pete stopped dead cold, no doubt just as spooked as I was. Two lots down, there he was.

CREEPY

ASS

HOODIE BOY.

...
Fuck.
Everything 'bout this guy screams "ghetto neighborhood pusher" and part of me wonders what he got in the waistband of those jeans. Black Air Max sneakers, gray hoodie and red baseball cap leaning on a pillar facing away from us while he's smoking a cig. I see something in the garage mirror-
Double fuck.
Them vantablack n!ggas are closing in.
^{"That's the guy from the-"
"I know! Keep movin, we're almost there."}
Plan's to make it to the elevator then swipe the keycard before we haul ass upstairs after locking him and his ninja thugs outside. Please Jesus I hope this works…
…
Hoodie boy's whistling now, great. Maybe he didn't see us?
Shit this is bad. I hope he's just-
… where'd he go???
"Hey homie, you got a light?"
where did-
OH GOD
HE'S FUCKING RIGHT IN FRONT OF US
FUCK
This is so fucking bad, man.
I'm about to get mugged by the Unabomber, this rail-thin dude in aviator glasses and a pedo mustache.
I feel cold, like freezer cold…
Heavy breathing…
We're boxed in by his ninja black shadow goons.
fuck, fuck, fuck. We are dead.
"Umm, sorry no, we don't smoke..."
The door is right fucking there… do we run???
“No speak english, mi amigo.” Pete says
Fucking classic Pete. A look at him, he already knows what I am thinking. LET’S NASCAR THIS BIH.
Me and Pete both run from the Vantablacks (I might just call them that now, seems like a good band name) towards the glass enclosure, hoping that we get away in time. One of them, maybe the lead-singer, extends their arms and grabs me. We on some Bendy and the Ink Machine type-shit now WHAT THE FUCK. The other I swear to Lord Almighty fuckin FLASH STEPS RIGHT IN FRONT OF PETE before grabbing him and spinning him round against the glass with a loud THUD. I grab my backpack quick and find my bible.
Momma I'm sorry for throwing this but I need to live.
“LET THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPEL YOU!” I scream as I through the very expensive bible at the lead-singer of the Vantablacks-no. Not at… through. THIS IS SOME FORREAL DEVIL SHIT. WTF. He just looks down then back before he football tackles me against the glass like Pete. There's something yellow on the gro- oh. Fredbear fell out… hoodie boy gon' rob me of my phone, my wallet, AND Mr. Fredbear. fuuck.
Hoodie boy just leans on one of the pylons and watches us squirm with this shit eating grin as if he 'bout to bust us for possession while he walks over and picks up the Good Book before dusting it off. Lazily he flicks through the pages before he talks reeal low; "If there is a God, He will have to beg for my forgiveness" then he slams the bible shut with an echoing clap.
The Vantablacks are… well I don't know what the fuck but the one holding up Pete looked like Toy Bonnie,... 'cept he's no longer a toy, more like a life-sized Annabelle, but ALLL black. It's like he's just a black space cut out from all reality except for those eyes and those… teeth. That means the other guy's… like Freddy but with one ear missing...
"You two," hoodie boy points at each of us individually, "I am impressed."
THIS IS IT. OH FUCKING HELL, AT LEAST LET ME CALL MY FAMILY AND TELL THEM I LOVE EM.
"You had some really good theories back there. Well, many of them were off, some completely wrong, but for the rest? Close for the most part."
I give a nervous laugh.
“Any suggestions?”
"Two guys, each with a fascination for Fazbear's. Pete… well… doesn't matter why. As for you, Isiah…" Black Freddy turns me around to face hoodie boy. "You wanted to understand something, something that has been nagging at the back of your mind for years." Now his green eyes are inches away from my face. "You were there, weren't you? When it happened. When he took that kid."
Pete looks at me absolutely confused. I never told anyone about that.
"Fascination… obsession… all qualities of a competent journalist, but taken too far, well… you hold onto that and it will tear you apart bit… by bit… by bit…"
"The fuck are you talking about??? What do you want?!" Pete exclaims.
"Always slick on the mouth I see." He then turns to look at me once more.
"You're treading into deep waters, friend. I've seen the end of this road and believe me, it will not be pleasant."
Stepping back, hoodie boy snaps his fingers and before I know it, Vantablack Freddy and Bonnie are back right behind him. Freddy has MY Fredbear plush and is holding it like he holdin' a baby while Bonnie just stares like a damn statue.
"You can still quit while you're ahead, guys. Let the world believe those lies and half-truths about what happened."
He then shrugs. "Or, continue down that rabbit hole… who knows? Maybe you'll be the lucky ones. Nobody ever listens to me anyway."
"then why are you-"
"I'm just here to give you a warning, Freddles. A warning and a choice. Go back to your ordinary lives as YouTube celebrities, accepting the popular opinion, or continue at your own risk. What was that, ah… live or die. Make your choice."
We look at each other for just a moment, and by the time we look back, he's gone. Just GONE. Like he pulled some Criss Angel bullshit.
Best we do the same.
Running into the elevators, we rush into our suite and double lock all the chains and latch, then start making our way to the windows. I walk toward the bed and freeze.
Mr. Fredbear is sitting dead center, staring at me shiftily with his black eyes and stupid purple clothes.
Right on top of momma's ol' family bible.
So much for sleeping tonight…
 

TO BE CONTINUED...

 
Submitted in honor of the victims of the 2018 Parkland Shooting
You will not be forgotten.