He nodded. “I think so. Come on, let's run.” There was a cracking 
noise. The gate began to shake. Samuel threw Isabel over his 
shoulder and ran. Lila followed. 


The front lawn was empty except for a few people standing by the 


sidewalk, ogling the house. “Get the hell out of here, you idiots!” 
yelled Lila. “It's coming!” 


“My car's just down the block,” said Samuel. “Come on.” 


They sprinted towards a red Honda. Samuel unlocked the door, 
placed Isabel in the back seat, and hopped. Lila jumped in the 
passenger's side. The car roared to life. Slamming down on the 
accelerator, Samuel shifted into drive, and they tore down the block. 


Ahead of them, the creature had crawled into the road. Samuel 
swerved, but the creature lashed out. It grabbed one wheel, and the 
car twisted. There was a ripping noise. The Honda spun across the 
lawn, smashing into a tree, taking a chunk of the creature with it. 
Samuel reversed the car and tried to rush in the other direction, but 
the creature hurled itself forward, blocking their path. Samuel didn't 
have time to turn before they collided. 


The car smashed into the beast and ripped through it. They were 
racing at the house, and Samuel swerved and braked before they hit 
it. When they had slammed into the creature, they had ripped it in 
half. One part lay on the lawn, still. The other was in the road, 
thrashing and beating the concrete. The lower half of a body was 
sticking out. The creature screamed, turned to face the car, and 
rushed forward. Before it could get halfway it stopped. It quivered for 
a moment, then began to melt. The goo dripped away from its body, 
pooling around it. In two minutes, it had completely dissolved, 
leaving only the body of a person. Even from the car, Lila could 
recognize it. 


It was Minh. 


Accessing Network 
Obtaining Address 
Collecting Data 

Identity confirmed. 


J-17: Are you alright? 


ND-01: I'm fine, but we might have other problems. 
J-17: Such as? 

ND-01: There's more than one of them. 

J-17: How many? 


ND-01: I'm not sure. One activated on the west side of town, 
crashed a college party. Civilian Affairs is working on a cover up 
now. It's going to be difficult, a lot of people fled before we could get 
our hands on them. 


J-17: Damn, alright. 


ND-01: We've done sweeps and figured out four areas where they 
might be others. We've already sent in teams to deal with them, but 
there could be dozens we haven't picked up. We need more 
resources. 


J-17: I'm not sure how much they'll be willing to put into this. They 
think it's a waste of time already. 


ND-01: Fuck that. Show them the pictures, show them the files, let 
them see how much of a waste this is. Convince them. Doctor the 
numbers if you have to. 


J-17: They're pretty dead-set on moving forward with this Israel 
thing. 


ND-01: Israel's a dead end. We both know that. This right here is 
what's important. Do what you have to, get us what we need. Don't 
fuck us on this one. 


J-17: Alright. I'll see what | can do. 


Part One: End| In Its Purest Form » 


Patina 


Stone sculptors aren't usually the ones to discuss patina. Normally, 
you see, the word refers to metal oxidation—the blue-green bloom 
that copper develops under the rain's hands, for instance. Applied to 
stone it’s naught but a metaphor: there’s no real word for the slow 
smear of lichen darkness over the faces of the library’s gargoyles. 


It's not as though they need one, after all. Stone weathers, ages, 
turns grey; it’s the way of things, and the ordinary way of things 
doesn’t merit special description. Words are made to fill gaps in our 
understanding, to communicate things odd enough to be worth 
saying. 


Things, maybe, like the way the grey never touched certain bits of 
stone. The eyes of the lions outside the neglected side doors. The 
fingers of a leering grotesque atop a minor gable. One strand in the 
mane of something chimerical that perched over the fiction section’s 
windows. 


There should have been a word for the way that time and soot fled 
those spots. One could almost swear they were whiter even than the 
day they were quarried on the night Jean Andrews vanished. 


| could swear to it myself. | remember a few things: mostly the pallor 
of the stone, but also a few other flashes of white. A low blank wall 
— somewhere in Young Adult, | think — that should have been 
painted over last summer. The moon through a thick, distorting glass 
eye. Jean’s face twisting in the wind — just a glimpse, that one; she 
was on the middle gable by then. 


| wish | could say more. Maybe they’d be able to find her. Maybe 
they’d be able to find me, or whatever it is that | lost that night on the 
library roof. 


The lions know, I’m sure of it: one of their eyes is weathering now, 
graying into a slow eerie wink. 


| think I’ll make a word for that. Someday. 


If | can ever remember just how to speak. 


Patronage 


Sir or Sirs: 


When | was five, | was in a theatre fire. A real one, not some 
hackneyed joke played up for laughs by idiotic teenagers. Upon 
reflection, | think it was utterly mad that there would actually be a fire 
—such a clichéd concept, isn’t it?—but this was back when smoking 
was allowed in theatres, so | suppose it couldn't have been that rare. 


Some other child, probably not much older than me, screamed that 
there was a fire, and it was one of those terrifying old movies, 
something by Murnau, so all the patrons were already absurdly 
tense. All the children started screaming together in unison. My 
mother broke my arm dragging me out of the theatre, and four 
people were stomped to death fighting to get out. That’s when | 
realized how dangerous it was. 


Not the fire, of course. No one died from it. People died from the 
panic. From the other idiots. Trampled to death and unable to 
defend themselves from the feet of everyone coming down on their 
face or neck or chest. One of them was another child. Sometimes, | 
like to think that was the one who warned everyone. A touch morbid, 
but | Know you'll not judge me. How absolutely perfect would that 
be? A voice that called out to save everyone, crushed to death by 
the feet of those he would help. It’s so wonderfully bittersweet. Nigh 
unto sublime, but more impeccable than that. Supernal in its 
delightful tragedy. 


That was when | realized it. Ideas. What could be more deadly? The 
idea of the fire, or the actual fire? What’s worse: the thought of 
grinding a file over your teeth, or actually doing it? How much worse 
is the idea of a needle sliding into your eye and then jerking out... or 
someone actually doing it to you? Can a shark be any worse than 
the idea of one? The absence of one? But then, I’m preaching to the 
proverbial choir, | believe. 


Brilliantly done. | must admit, at first | was skeptical of your vision, 
but now, | can see the sort of concepts you were hoping to achieve. 
| hope that you will continue to work like this in the future, building 
these anti-concepts into things much more beautiful than their 
terrestrial origins. Of course, we'll supply the funds for your next 
project. We are, after all, great patrons of the arts, and these pieces 
are more elegant than anything we've received in the past. 


With warm admiration for your craft, 
J. Carter, ESQ. 
CEO Marshall, Carter, and Dark, Itd. 


Patterns 


Dear Mom, 


Hi from school, it's me, Elaine. | know it's been a while since I've 
written anything, but it's been really busy over here and | just haven't 
had the time. | Know it's strange for me to be late, but | wish you 
were here so | could tell you how crazy everything has been. | really 
miss you and the whole family, and I'm hoping | can get some time 
to visit during the break. | did finally find the package you sent me a 
while ago, and | really appreciate it because | love the patterns on 
my dresses. The stuff they sell over here is just not the same as 
what we have back home. 


Anyways, it's about time for midterms here, and you can't go 
anywhere without seeing people studying. You know, it's kinda scary 
being out here for the first time, but | guess you can really start to 
like it after a while. Don't worry, | haven't forgotten about our 
promise. Our minds are still on the same thing, so we are going to 
make that date no matter what! 


I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to go home for the break, 
the flight to home is already booked up. You'd think they'd learned to 
create an additional flight this time of year, but | guess they would 
have to order additional help or something, and | wouldn't want to be 
stuck out working over break. A week of watching everyone else go 
home would just kill me. Anyways, hopefully | can figure something 
out before the chaos really starts. That, or I'll just have to find a 
better time. Or maybe | should just come home for good. | don't 


know any more, it's like there's just so much wrong right now, | just 
to someone 
out 
there 
trying to 
tell 


uS 


something 


Hello there. 


Input: One (1) jar of crude oil. 
Setting: Fine 
Output: One (1) jar of gasoline. 


Input: One (1) jar of crude oil. 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One (1) jar of LPG. Aforementioned gas quickly 
escaped after opening the “output” door. 


Note: | probably should've sealed it. 


Name: Dr. Reece 

Date: //20 

Total items: 5x generic gum balls, assorted colors, 
commonly found in grocery store $.25 candy dispensers. 


Input: 1x purple gum ball 

Setting: Rough 

Output: Melted puddle of gum, separate puddle of 
purple food coloring. 


Input: 1x red gum ball 

Setting: Course 

Output: Separate piles of dextrose, corn syrup, gum 
base, corn starch, and red food dyes. 


Input: 1 green gum ball 
Setting: 1:1 
Output: 1 everlasting gobstopper. 


Input: 1 blue gum ball 

Setting: Fine 

Output: 1 blue gum ball. Outer shell was a much 
glossier blue than input gum ball. When chewed, subject 
reported that the flavor was that of farm ripened 
blueberries. 


Input: 1 yellow gum ball 
Setting: Very Fine 
Output: 1 shiny yellow gum ball. Gum appears to glow 


Payday 


Another quiet day in this quiet town. 


On the east side of town stood a bank. It wasn't a large bank, it 
wasn't a small bank, just a bank. The neighborhood was small, and 
most importantly, didn't ask many questions. Such as why people 
commonly came through and cashed in at that bank, despite the fact 
none of them lived in the town. But, then, they worked for Soap from 
Corpses Products, Inc. It was best not to worry too much about any 
nutters who worked at that kind of job. 


Two cars pulled up, right in front of the bank. An old VW bus with a 
faded red paintjob, and a nearly as old blue Ford Mustang. Neither 
had particular identifying marks, which is just how their owners liked 
it. Anyone who took the time to check their license plates would 
come up with names of men who didn't exist, several states over. 
The car doors opened, and out came five men. If their clothing didn't 
give away what they were up to, their guns did. 9mm handguns and 
pump action shotguns, and at least one had something automatic. 
This bank was a little small for their usual tastes, but they could 
always use easy money. They pushed open the bank doors, guns 
held up. 


"Everybody down, now!" 


Most did as they were told, men, women, even the pair of security 
guards. Notable, however, was the group clustered near one of the 
tellers. The rest of the town knew them as simply employees of 
Soap from Corpses Products, Inc. A motley crew that certainly didn't 
look like soap makers, all of them looking a little tired, or distracted, 
or like they were in a hurry. One in a lab coat stared at the bank 
robbers for a second, before speaking. 


"Are you fucking kidding me? On payday?" 


There was a beat of silence, somewhere between tense and 


awkward, and the men holding weapons reacted first. 
"Are you deaf or something? Stupid? Get down!" 


The group in lab coats stayed standing, looking from one to another 
before one of them — a short, stout woman with long, dark hair 
pulled back into a ponytail — snorted loudly, bringing a hand to her 
mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her choked-back, muffled 
laughter. The men frowned under their ski masks and narrowed their 
eyes, while another man in a lab coat sighed heavily, bringing his 
palm up to meet his face. 


"Rights, stop it." 
"I'm trying." 


"Look, gentlemen, this is patently ridiculous." The large tattooed 
black man looked rather out of place, especially with the golden 
bling around his neck. "Do you in fact intend to rob this 
establishment in such a manner? | mean-" 


"Shut the fuck up, or I'll shoot you." 


"Come now, that type of talk is completely uncalled for, and useless 
besi-" 


BLAM! 


The large black man stared down at the hole in his torso, and sighed 
resignedly. "And | had just got this body in the shape | wanted too." 
His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor, dead 
as a doornail, his pretty necklace sliding across the floor. 


"God damn it," the woman called Rights, muttered, but kept giggling. 


A tall man with a shaved head stepped forward from the group, 
appearing remarkably calm for the situation, and addressed one of 
the men in a oddly toneless voice. "Sir, | would request you leave 
the premises immediately. Your actions may cause a unnecessary 
delay in our return to our duties, in addition to the delay already 
created by your neutralization of Dr. Bright." 


A man with lank, stringy hair and a small beard stepped forward, 
pointing a shotgun at the bald man's face. "Are you serious? you're 
trying to argue us out because you're going to be /ate?' He laughed, 
and jabbed the bald man with the barrel of his gun. "Does nobody 
here get this? Does nobody see the dead man? We are not 
SCREWING AROUND!" He fired a round into the ceiling, causing 
most of the bank patrons to flinch or drop to the floor. The bald man 
continued to stare, unfazed. 


"Your attempts at intimidation are misdirected. Even discounting my 
unique mental state, a shotgun is not the proper tool to elicit 
compliance from myself or my co-workers. Firearms and the threat 
of being shot are relatively low in our estimation of dangerous 
situations, so much so that some members of staff use it almost as a 
form of greeting.” At this, a man in a ball cap and another with a 
hook nose and a wide grin began to snicker. "You lack the ability to 
incite the level of fear needed for immediate compliance with your 
requests. Your current course of action will not, in any way, lead to 
your desired resolution." 


The man with the long hair and shot gun cocked his head to the 
side, confused. "The hell... who the hell are you people?" 


"Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Gears... use less words. | think you've made 
the poor robber confused!", the woman snipped again. 


One of the gunmen — the shortest of the bunch — snagged the 
necklace from the floor and slipped it on over his head. Hey, loot 
was loot, after all. He never even noticed being replaced in his own 
head. He did however, subtly shift the gun in a new direction, and 
give a wink and a thumb's-up to the rest of the group. 


"Do you think this is some kind of game?" the long-haired man 
continued. The shortest robber ever-so-slowly began to redirect his 
aim. Originally aimed at the woman, it now pointed at the man with 
the shaved head. "Is this some kind of joke to you?” The short man's 
gun moved a bit more towards the man in the ball cap. "Do you think 
that this gun is a fake?" One last tiny shift had the barrel pointed 
squarely at the long-haired gunman's back. At the same time, the 
long-haired gunman pointed his shotgun at the still-giggling Rights. 


Peace. | would settle for that.