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Supernova
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2009
That night in Osiris Valley the moon was red and loamy, hanging in the sky full and fertile. A good omen, surely, that heavy red eye staring hard down over the city. Across Earth the machinations of the divine and the infernal turned their wheels, their cold war slowly heating after a millennium of near stalemate. For the first time a diverse third group had become a factor in the battle for humanity's fate, those who had defected from either side to pursue their own interests or goals.
That night one of the pulsing, evil spirits of the sewers managed to drag its amorphous, shadowy ectoplasm out of the dark dank warm tunnel that it had carved as its ecological niche. The stupid, simple minded thing felt a drawing intensity to travel out of its territory for the first time in years, fat with dulled passions and rotten ectoplasm. The spirit dropped dripping foot after dripping foot through the hallways of an apartment building, slowly oozing around the edges of the offending doorways. Small traces of his passage were left, smears of pungent gray sludge, ectoplasm removed from its body. The outlines of its foot steps in the same pungent gray sludge made a strong suggestion about where it had been and where it had was going.
At about the same time the evil spirit was making its sojourn, a man named Jack Krantz was having the oddest dream. He liked think of himself as a nice guy, certainly not perfect, certainly not the best man on the face of the Earth, but a nice guy no less. So it was so funny he was having this dream where he was having the most surreal interview. He was sitting in a comfortable leather chair, swivel, in a creme colored office. In front of him was a green skinned woman with oozing sores in place of her eyes was clearing perusing his resume.
"I see here that you have several years experience working with the general public as well as adequate interpersonal relations. How would you say your time as a collections officer will serve you as an Outside Resource for our company?" She was so very nice. The kind of lady who you would like to drink tea with and discuss her small Pekanese.
"Well, I learned effective communication skills," breaking legs with a length of pipe, "efficient problem solving techniques," the outcome of which was occasionally eight grams of piping hot metal exploding someone's cranium, "and good human relations are always important."
"That sounds delightful. How do you feel your hobbies and personal interests will effect your work here?"
For some reason years of wing chun leaped to mind, the feel of snapping the inside of somebody's elbow with the edge of one hand while he torques his waist for maximum force of the open palmed strike that will shatter their nose against their face. The years of rock carving came to the fore, slowly allowing the shape to come out of a lump of rock with a rasp and chisel. The smell of cordite blowback from firing off the thirty-eight caliber bullet out of the salmon hued revolver he kept for the bad shit. "That will show through in my dedication to physical fitness, patience and excellence in my day-to-day work. My preexisting knowledge of the maintenance of necessary tools for my day-to-day work comes from years of experience with not only my previous job, but my private activities."
"Why thank you, Mr. Krantz. We will get back to you soon with our decision."
As my interviewer and her bubblegum pink suit rose so did I, shaking her hand and smiling. That was quick he thought, walking out the door. Then he awoke to a sudden suffocating pressure, something thick and huge that tasted of metals and dirt and grease forced its way down his nose and throat, tearing through his lungs to get at his rapidly palpating heart. The evil spirit clenched hard at Jack's heart until it stopped beating then quickly set about to do its dirty work. A few tweaks here and there, a small portion of Jack's portion gobbled, and then a sudden powerful beat of his heart.
Jack had never felt better--if a bit dirty. He rolled out of bed and plodded to the shower, checking himself in the mirror. Same blue eyes, same black hair, same olive skin, Roman nose. Everything was in place from his wide shoulders to the thick cording of muscles on his arms, around the curve of his rear and down his powerful calves. After a quick shower everything felt better, and fell asleep. Straight into a flashing dream, a party with all manner of beasts and monsters popping the cork on champagne bottles and sparkling cone hats--a huge banner draped across the sky screaming WELCOME TO THE COMPANY. A face flashed over and over again in his sleep, a woman's face, but something about it wasn't quite right.
He just couldn't put his finger on it, though.
The next day, when he awoke, he felt an odd tugging sensation, as if there was a place he had to go. After fulfilling the morning ritual--cleaning himself, watching the news, eating--he left to find himself aimlessly driving through Osiris Valley, trying to follow the tug in the forefront of his mind.
That night one of the pulsing, evil spirits of the sewers managed to drag its amorphous, shadowy ectoplasm out of the dark dank warm tunnel that it had carved as its ecological niche. The stupid, simple minded thing felt a drawing intensity to travel out of its territory for the first time in years, fat with dulled passions and rotten ectoplasm. The spirit dropped dripping foot after dripping foot through the hallways of an apartment building, slowly oozing around the edges of the offending doorways. Small traces of his passage were left, smears of pungent gray sludge, ectoplasm removed from its body. The outlines of its foot steps in the same pungent gray sludge made a strong suggestion about where it had been and where it had was going.
At about the same time the evil spirit was making its sojourn, a man named Jack Krantz was having the oddest dream. He liked think of himself as a nice guy, certainly not perfect, certainly not the best man on the face of the Earth, but a nice guy no less. So it was so funny he was having this dream where he was having the most surreal interview. He was sitting in a comfortable leather chair, swivel, in a creme colored office. In front of him was a green skinned woman with oozing sores in place of her eyes was clearing perusing his resume.
"I see here that you have several years experience working with the general public as well as adequate interpersonal relations. How would you say your time as a collections officer will serve you as an Outside Resource for our company?" She was so very nice. The kind of lady who you would like to drink tea with and discuss her small Pekanese.
"Well, I learned effective communication skills," breaking legs with a length of pipe, "efficient problem solving techniques," the outcome of which was occasionally eight grams of piping hot metal exploding someone's cranium, "and good human relations are always important."
"That sounds delightful. How do you feel your hobbies and personal interests will effect your work here?"
For some reason years of wing chun leaped to mind, the feel of snapping the inside of somebody's elbow with the edge of one hand while he torques his waist for maximum force of the open palmed strike that will shatter their nose against their face. The years of rock carving came to the fore, slowly allowing the shape to come out of a lump of rock with a rasp and chisel. The smell of cordite blowback from firing off the thirty-eight caliber bullet out of the salmon hued revolver he kept for the bad shit. "That will show through in my dedication to physical fitness, patience and excellence in my day-to-day work. My preexisting knowledge of the maintenance of necessary tools for my day-to-day work comes from years of experience with not only my previous job, but my private activities."
"Why thank you, Mr. Krantz. We will get back to you soon with our decision."
As my interviewer and her bubblegum pink suit rose so did I, shaking her hand and smiling. That was quick he thought, walking out the door. Then he awoke to a sudden suffocating pressure, something thick and huge that tasted of metals and dirt and grease forced its way down his nose and throat, tearing through his lungs to get at his rapidly palpating heart. The evil spirit clenched hard at Jack's heart until it stopped beating then quickly set about to do its dirty work. A few tweaks here and there, a small portion of Jack's portion gobbled, and then a sudden powerful beat of his heart.
Jack had never felt better--if a bit dirty. He rolled out of bed and plodded to the shower, checking himself in the mirror. Same blue eyes, same black hair, same olive skin, Roman nose. Everything was in place from his wide shoulders to the thick cording of muscles on his arms, around the curve of his rear and down his powerful calves. After a quick shower everything felt better, and fell asleep. Straight into a flashing dream, a party with all manner of beasts and monsters popping the cork on champagne bottles and sparkling cone hats--a huge banner draped across the sky screaming WELCOME TO THE COMPANY. A face flashed over and over again in his sleep, a woman's face, but something about it wasn't quite right.
He just couldn't put his finger on it, though.
The next day, when he awoke, he felt an odd tugging sensation, as if there was a place he had to go. After fulfilling the morning ritual--cleaning himself, watching the news, eating--he left to find himself aimlessly driving through Osiris Valley, trying to follow the tug in the forefront of his mind.