The put upon writer suddenly had a burst of creative energy. How does one stop out of control power? Simple, erase the power.
"But the power can't be erased," He sighed. "Sooo... Unless...."
The author's eyes widened.
"Of course!" He exclaimed, jumping up in his excitment and dropping his whiskey. "That's the answer."
Racing to his computer he began to type furiously.
On the screen words appeared, becoming reality. The scene shifted and changed from a suburban orgy of sex-crazed nymphos to a drap city apartment. The furnishings were thread bare, worn and second hand. The space was modest and the paint chiped and pealed.
The writer typed more, then suddenly stopped. A blank look came over his face and he looked puzzled at the screen in front of him.
"Da' fuck is this shit?" He frowned, closing the window quickly. "Some real sickos out there."
A phone began to ring on his desk.
"Yah?" He asked, picking up the reciever. "Okay, sure right away."
He scribbled something on a peice of paper as he hung up the phone, then stood up, adjusting a suit coat, that like the rest of his clothese now seemed out of place in the poor apartment. He gave the butt of a pistol concealed under his jacket a pat and grinned as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
There was a job waiting on him. A very special job for a very select group of employers, and he had every entention of forfilliing the contract. He no longer knew this was all an Addventure he himself was writing, as far as he was concerned it was just another day in the city's underworld of which he was a memeber.
Go back - Go to the parent episode.
Thu Aug 13 00:58:50 2009