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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


hey losers, I'm in this week

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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.



Fishin' For A Kill
990 words

There were three of us on assignment - that's if you include BeBop. Her caterpillar track scraped against the floor as we exited the express elevator. My partner and I exchanged a look. His name was Legion. My name's Maverick.

"Are you sure he's here?" Legion said. He had to raise his voice over the speakers pumping future bass.

I gave him a nod and scanned the Lounge. The VirtuaClub was sparse, typical for a late Vernal afternoon. People would rather be outside in the lightened smog than staying cooped up with VidTech strapped to their faces and up to their eyes in cyberpussy.

"BeBop backtraced the IP address back here," I said, gesturing to our mobile terminal. "Would you doubt her?"

Legion furrowed his unibrow and scoffed. He knew BeBop was always right. The two of us approached the bar counter. Legion clinked his metalic knuckles against the bar counter. The bartender turned from the shelves of hard Polyethylene Terephthalate and smiled.

"How can I help you two gentlemen?"

I cut to the chase. I reached into my pocket and produced a kodachrome, slid it across the counter. "We're on the lookout for someone. Have you seen this woman?"

The woman was not a woman but a Catfish. Legion and I could tell that from a simple glance, but judging from the narrowed eyes, the bartender was not so discerning. His eyes darted between the picture and the two of us. He stroked his Fu Manchu with his meaty fingers and mumbled something.

"No. No, I'm sorry, I can't help you."

My partner exchanged another look. I nodded and, after a beat, Legion grabbed the plump man by the scruff of his neck with his robotic arm and wrenched him up.

"You know who we are, old man?" Legion said.

"Y-You're Cyber Police?"

"That's right. Now we've got a warrant out for a Catfish," Legion tapped the kodachrome of a fat blonde woman on the counter, "and she was last seen at this dump. So why don't you drop the polite act, yeah? This ain't a five-star establishment."

The man shook his head quickly, hands raised. "Look here, our establishment might be 'seedy' but we certainly do not accept catfishes!"

While Legion kept grilling the bartender, I took another gander around the club. That's when I noticed BeBop rolling off on her own, away from the Lounge Area and towards the backrooms. The tender was still busy with my partner, so I took my 'droid's lead when he wasn't looking.

Catfish can be tricky. They can be anyone they chose to be, wherever and whenever they wanted. But that also meant they were fly-by-night, insecure. They never knew what they wanted, their tin-can minds always changing. So, eventually, they get careless. And you know what a careless catfish does? They waste a fuckton of electricity. And BeBop caught a nice wiff of waste heat.

The door to the backrooms had a damned doorknob. BeBop did not have the DoorRam addon, so I reached for the knob and opened the door. It lead into a long sprawling hallway.right. On either wall sat the 'Private Vidtech' rooms. I followed Bebop further and further until we reached the very last door on the right. I adjusted the antennae on my Cyberpolice Helmet, had my laser pistol at the ready and opened the door.

The fat blonde woman, or, rather, the bloated form that took the body of a blonde fat woman, was suspended only by seemingly hundreds of wires. The picture did it a thousand favors; the Catfish's skin was gray and its muscles were mushy, revealing its unnaturally thin metallic limbs . Its face was a mixture of pain and esctacy, teeth gritting, Its bulbous belly shone green -- the telltale sign of a Catfish.

I took a step backward. The scent of burnt rubber flesh and bodily fluids hit me like a ton of bricks. I turned my head to vomit when the heel of my boot bumped into Bebop. I cursed. Then its head snapped, twisted to stare at me. The Catfish let out a hiss.

"Don't look at meeee."

I blinked. Then I looked it in the eyes.

The Catfish flew upright. Coaxial cables in the shape of fishhooks tore away from its skin. By the time I had my gun pointed at her it was running at me, gray blood pouring, skin blubbering. I'm sorry to say that I froze in place as she collided with me. Its sharp metallic pincers raked across my face, and I didn't have the sense to wear my helmet it would have torn my eyes out for sure! I scrambled for the laser but the weight of its body made it impossible for me to move my arm from under her! The Catfish threw its head back, its fingers digging into my shoulders, ready to take a bite out of my neck.

The sound of a pulse laser made my ears ring. The Catfish hissed and rolled off me onto her back. Legion stepped over me, hovered over its prone body and sent his robotic fist into its belly. He tore out the Emerald Core from its belly and crushed it like it was an aluminum can. I watched as the life hen spat on the cyborg's tattered corpse. Then, after a beat, he looked at me with an irritated sneer. "What the hell have I told you about going 'lone wolf' on me?"

I rose to my feet and cracked a grin. "The Vidtech's a cover. loving place is a damned CatHive.

"It appears the jig is up," said a third voice.

Legion and I turned our heads to find the bartender, his eyes a sickly mustard, a laser pistol in his gloved hands.

"But it appears you've dun goofed, Cyberpigs."

TO BE CONTINUED IN ISSUE 2: Cat on a Hot Tin Death

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Sure, why not, I'm in.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Fuubi posted:

Yup, IN for the SIN.

Thranguy posted:

In it to sin it.

Durrhurrhurr these rhymes so clever

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


I'm in, wizards, . Sorry to ruin your troglodyte sin orgy.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Phobia posted:

Sorry to ruin your troglodyte sin orgy.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Sitting Here posted:

Young, orphaned animals and children come to you. They remain your tirelessly obedient companions until they can't anymore.
The Alter on The Mount
1300 words

The Master woke up before The Apprentice and watched the dark, foggy valley below them. The Mount is steep and dark. The Master could not afford to give up now, but this was enough to make his resolve quiver. The Master caught his breath. He listened. The Astral Rift was close, he could feel its hiss drumming the small bones of his ear. Ten years he's had to deal with the hiss of the Astral Rift. Ten years of failure. How could this expedition be any different from the others?

No. They were so close.

The trail snakes around the mountain. There is an sharp drop a few paces from where The Master stood. The twisted clouds and the fog made it difficult to see past the verge, but even if the skies were clear, he knew the view would be far from gorgeous. Breathtaking in the worst way, jagged rock, twisted timber and the rotting bodies of The Apprentice's predecessors.

Below them. Behind them. Ahead of them. It was all the same.

They call it Death Mount for a reason.

The Master sensed The Apprentice rising. There is no time to waste. He turned back to his camp and prepared for the last day of their travels.

His current apprentice was young, but the fire in her eyes was palpable even in the relative dark. She was trained by her forebear, who had been trained by his forebear, and so on, as it has been, as it shall be. The previous apprentice's intelligence served him well, but he was innately curious and that brought the same verge The Master stood over.

Even with the knowledge that her predecessor's demise, The Apprentice was unflappable. This was not unusual. They always insisted on joining The Master on his quest, but the previous apprentices were unable to hide their discontent, the understandable fear as they trekked further up The Mount. But The Apprentice is different. Even with the knapsacks over her shoulder she stood tall, a quiet confidence radiating from her even in the thick fog. Courage? Stupidity? Or just an act? The Master was not sure and could not hazard a guess.

The Astral Rift is eternal, but it has existed at the summit for only a decade. It is constantly changing and morphing. It is beautiful, abhorrent, sickening, calming. Few people can sense it. Even fewer could communicate with it. Those unlucky few were called magi. So as it was, as it always would be.

The Master lead from behind. His previously youthful features were worn down, the years of stress and guilt making him a huffing, puffing mess. He guided The Apprentice up the natural path in The Mount. The sounds of the valley fell away. There was nothing but uncomfortable silence. Even the sounds of their footfalls seemed muted. The Astral Rift was close, he thought. It's been so long since he last made it so close. So very close.

The ground beneath The Master's foot shifted. He heard it crumbled, even beneath his undernourished weight. It happened so quickly. One moment he was standing upright, the next he was standing, back arched, staring down into the foggy abyss. His body was dangling over the precipice.

The only thing that saved him was The Apprentice, whose hand reached out to catch The Master's wrist.

The Master looked into his Apprentice's eyes. Yes, he thought as tears welled up into his eyes. Her eyes were unlike the others.

The Astral Rift was growing. And only The Master knew how to stop it. That's what he told The Apprentice anyway. She did not question him. None of his apprentices did.

The Master, himself, was only a magi in the most relative sense. Nay, he was weak, sickly and a simpleton. Not worthy of the station he received. More importantly, he did not have the same skill in the arcane as his predecessors, as the warlocks of old did. If he had, there would be no need to the hike up the mountain. With training could simply open a Tear and transport himself to the peak. The Master trained. He trained so drat hard and nothing came of it. Nothing but small animals and children.

Thankfully that was all that was needed. A Wizard of some ability is better than a Wizard of none.

They came to him, remained with him. Children, animals, beasts who lacked a parental figure. They would go so far to appease him too, a pathetic man who held so little arcane power.The Master was not a smart man either. He did not need an explanation why, it just was, as it should always be. It would only be a temporary solution; his Scion would surely find a more permanent one. He was sure of it.

Finally, after what felt like ages, they both made it to the peak. The Summit of Death Mount. The Master let out a sigh of relief. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood. He looked at The Apprentice and gestured towards the Alter. The hissing was raking across the front of his skill and it made his teeth grind and his fists clench. And he knew The Apprentice could feel it too, but for such a young woman she stood so strong. If she felt any pain at all it did not register on her face.

The Master felt ready to faint. To give up. But, no, they were so close. The Master failed so many times before, but now? It was finally time. He could not afford to fail again.

The Astral Rift accepted young, orphaned animals, but that was easier said than done. Just because the beasts of the wild found him did not mean The Master could talk to them. After all, what was the difference between an orphaned beast and an parented one? Children, The Master came to realize, were preferable. Lucid enough to follow, naive enough not to question. With animals, they often stumbled off the side of the mountain, took a wrong turn. Even if he managed to drag a beast all the way up to the Rift, they would not be able to make the Sacrifice. Beasts, The Master soon found out, were very docile when in the presence of someone they trust.

Children are smarter than that. More importantly, they are capable of communication. And unlike stray animals, The Master could be safe in the knowledge that the children he chose were orphans. That was the most important part. Orphans. Those who have nothing in this world of meat and heat, who are too young to have anything to lose. Who would cut the flesh of a coward who was unable to do it in himself.

That was cold. But it was the truth. The Apprentice had nothing. The Master had even less.

The Master produced the curved knife from his knapsack. He handed it to the Apprentice. The Apprentice did not flinch. She took the knife, held it in her hands. He slid onto the alter, sitting flat across it. The hissing turned to a loud, concussive screech. The Master could feel it in the back of his brain. He nodded to his Apprentice. Their eyes met again. There was a fire in the Apprentice and it filled him with hope.

He told her to cut the arcane sigil, just as he showed her. She obeyed, as she always had, no questions. She brought the knife down with a firm yet graceful grip. The pain was only temporary.

And as his blood pooled at the base of the alter, The Apprentice felt the Rift. She groaned as the torched was past, as the Rift was satisfied.

The Apprentice becomes the Master. As it has been, as it shall be.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Chili posted:

So we give you the greatest gift of all, the most space possible to improve.
I feel very special, thank you.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


I'm in. Dead or alive. Let's .

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Tap Tap
790 Words

Miss Hudgens awoke to the sounds of knocking against her front door.

Her eyelashes fluttered. She wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. Must have been her imagination, she thought. Miss Hudgens was ready to fall back to sleep.

Another set of knocks, sharper than the first.

The woman fell asleep in the wooden chair in her parlor. A mistake on her part; her little nap left her old joints aching. At first she mistook the sounds as the crackle of the active fireplace. Miss Hudgens sat in front of the fire day in and day out, wool blankets wrapped tightly around her small form. It did very little to help. Not even hot tea could help the inexplicable chill raking across her spine.

Lately she's felt so cold, so numb after the tragic passing of her husband.

It was only a mistake, she told herself. Her husband was always such a stubborn man, insisting on doing things himself. She told him to call up their son in order to get the snow blower out. She pleaded with him that he was just too old to do it all by himself. He did not listen, no, he never did. She fell asleep in her wooden chair, she didn't hear him. It was only a mistake.

A third set of knocks. Slower, more deliberate. Tap, tap, tap.

This time Miss Hudgens knew it was coming from the door. She strained to turn her head. The door to her cabin was locked by a latch, with a wooden bar stuck through several keeps. The only way someone would be able to get in is if Miss Hudgens got up and let them in. And with her cold body and tight blankets, that was unlikely.

A four set. Tap, Tap, Tap.

Surely it had to be some rodent or something. A raccoon? A bear? That might have sounded silly but it could not be a visitor, surely not at this late of an hour. Her cabin was less than a mile from any roads, and there was simply no chance that someone could hike in this weather.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

"W-Who's there?" Miss Hudgens said finally. Her voice cracked, vocal cords strained from the chill in her body. "Hello?"

It wasn't her fault, she told herself. The snow was falling so quickly, and the wind was blowing so hard that it drowned out everything else. She fell asleep in her chair and did not hear him pounding on the cabin door, it was as simple as that. It was a mistake she would have to live with for the rest of her life but she could not blame herself.

Miss Hudgens spoke in a weak voice. "Harold, is that you?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Let me in. . ."


Miss Hudgens gasped. Punctuating the increasingly violent knocks at her door was a wailing voice. Her paper-thin frame shrunk underneath the sheets that coiled around her like a cocoon. No. No, it couldn't be.

"Let me iiiiin, Elena. . ." TAP. TAP. TAP

Hot tears streamed down her face. Miss Hudgens cringed, curling up so tight inside her blankets until she was in the fetal position.

That's when the knocking stopped and the sudden, violent fury began. The sounds of dead fists pounded on the door. But it wasn't just the door. The clobbering came from all corners of her cabin, a thousand unseen fists slamming and pummeling into the hard wood of Miss Hudgens safe haven. The hair stood up on the back of the old woman's neck. Miss Hudgens shrieked!

"Harold, please, leave me be! I fell asleep and I didn't hear you pounding on my door! It was an accident, please, I'm sorry but I can't - "

She hiccuped. The air in her lungs fell away. There was more to say, so much more, but she did not have the energy to do so.

The room fell silent. Not even the snow and the wind penetrated the cabin. And that made her husband stand so starkly, so firm, as if he were there, just beyond the precipice.

Yet as clear as he sounded, there was not an ounce of warmth in his voice.

"Oh Elena... My poor, sweet, confused Elena..."

Then the latch to the door opened on its own. The wooden blocker clattered to the floor with an audible echo.

"If you were asleep, then how did you know I was pounding on the door?"

Miss Hudgens made no response. The door made no sound as it opened. Mr. Hudgens said nothing as his pale blue form walked in through the door. The door closed behind him with no escape and no one to hear Miss Hudgens's cries for help.

yo where the bad cats at

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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.



... Yep. That's one bad cat.

( It took me a minute to realize what those strange sheets of paper were. I need more sleep. )

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