| remember watching this movie in a Best Buy once where this guy 
was shooting at snipers. Of course, once the store clerks saw me, 
they called the police. One even decided it was time to take me 


down himself with his black belt in Ti Kwan Doe. | went down like a 
sack of bricks. 


Jesus Christ, my feet hurt. | oughta see if a homeless shelter will 
take me for the night. Although, last time | tried they thought | was a 
drug dealer. Even patted me down multiple times. One of them even 
did a cavity check. 


Maybe I'll just sleep outside tonight. 
Previous: 3. Mr. Money by Tanhony 

Next: 5. Mr. Mad by The Deadly Moose 
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5. Mr. Mad 


That goddamn bastard Stripes. | just heard the news - he's killed two 
of the others. At least it's not a discontinuation. But still. 


Dr. Wondertainment did it, of course. Stripes never thought a fucking 
thing that Wondertainment didn't think first. Or someone at 
Wondertainment, fuck if | know. Is there an actual, singular Dr. 
Wondertainment? They don't fucking tell us nothing, though Stripes 
always did seem to know more than he should. Him and Redd. 
Goddamn son of a bitch Mr. Redd. 


Things were going so well until we reached the End of the World. 
That's when the plan fell apart. 


We had a plan. We had a plan. If the others had just motherfucking 
stuck to the plan, we'd all be sitting pretty, but no, they just couldn't. 
Bastards! Goddamn bastards! Goddamn- 


* 


Sorry, where was I? Ugh. Fucking Wondertainment shtick. The last 
parting insult. When | get 'too' angry, | pass out for a little while. 
Needless to say, this happens a lot. That pisses me off too. 
Sometimes it sets off a repeating cycle, get mad, pass out, get mad, 
pass out... Christ. 


Mr. Mad, they call me, ha ha very funny. Stamped and sewn 
together like the others. Were some of us people, real people, 
before this? | don't know. Was |? | really fucking don't know. Maybe 
this is all some sick joke by Wondertainment. Putting us through 
these paces. Letting some of us get thrown at that... what do they 
call it, the Foundation. Bunch of fucking assholes there too. They 
killed Mr. Onion, did you know that? For no good fucking reason. 
Peeled apart his layers and set them on fire. If the Foundation ever 
finds me... Well, let's just say they'll find out why you really don't 
want to make me angry. 


That was a joke. Get it? Mr. Laugh would be proud. Especially 
proud, if Mr. Redd hadn't... ugh. Pisses me off just thinking about it. 
That goddamn PIECE OF SHIT! MOTHERFUCKING— 


* 


Well, lost it there again, didn't |? 


Mr. Mad, indeed. Maybe Light was right, maybe that's why 
Wondertainment did what he (she? they?) did. "You're too obvious," 
Mr. Light had said. "You're this guy who... gets angry. 
Superhumanly angry. You can't even affect other people." 


Well, they underestimate Mr. Mad. You ever hear about ordinary 
people lifting cars when their adrenaline is high enough? Well, | can 
do that. | can do that whenever | want. Does it piss me off that | 
didn't get something more interesting as a Little Mister shtick? Of 
course it fucking pisses me off. How do you THINK | FEEL ABOUT 


* 


Okay. Just need to stay calm. Just long enough to do what | need to 
do. 


I'm not going to wait around for them to get their act together. I'm 
going to find Redd myself. I'm going to find him and I'm going to do 
for him what he did for the others. 


The others are afraid. Chickenshit little bastards, | say. I'm a little 
afraid of him too, I'll admit that much. But that never stopped me 
from goddamn anything and it sure as fuck is not going to start now. 
After what he did, not just the Ms. Sweetie thing, but the rest... 


But I'll get him. Oh yes. 
That goddamn sonuvabitch will never know what hit him. 
Previous: 4. Mr. Lie by Salman Corbette 


Next: Interval 1 by Salman Corbette 


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Interval 1 


"Hello little children!" | shouted with glee as | moved around them, 
"What a lovely couple of children you are! What's your name?" 


They giggled. A boy looked at me. "I'm Tommy. I'm six and a half 
years old and I'm not afraid of anything!" 


The children giggled again. "Do you know any magic tricks, 
Tommy?" 


"Well..." Tommy made a strange face and put his thumb's knuckle 
against the other, with his index finger covering the connection. He 
slowly moved his thumb forwards. All the children oohed and aahed. 


"Wow! | can't remove thumbs! But | can show you ano-" | was 
interrupted by a scream and suddenly Tommy was picked up. All the 
other children became scared. 


"What are you doing, Thomas! You get away from that.... thing right 
now! All you other children, scoot!" A terrifying woman came onto 
the scene and scooped Tommy up. All the other children fled. 
Tommy began to cry as the woman carried him away. 


"B-but | was just talking with Mr. Sillybug!" 
Previous: 5. Mr. Mad by The Deadly Moose 
Next: 6. Mr. Stripes by TroyL 


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6. Mr. Stripes 


| have very long legs. Very long. Long enough to stretch over a 
canyon, when | want them to. When | need them to. And long fingers 
as well. The fingers of a pianist, or a strangler. Long and slender. 
Made for choking. Not a pianist. 


| laugh, surprising myself. There is so little cause for laughing these 
days, especially since Ms. Sweetie went to the trashcan. | used to 
like Ms. Sweetie. She was kind to me. So few of the others were 
kind to me. Called me an afterthought. But she was kind to 
everyone. But not anymore. 


My legs stretched, climbing up the forested foot hills, long fingers 
wrapping around trees and pulling me along. | rather distantly note 
how the branches died where | squeezed them, but | was used to 
that. It was what | did after all. Kill. Remove. Destroy. 


| correct the errors made by my creator. All of them. I've been 
marking them off as | go. I've nearly finished. All nineteen. 


| stretch and warp, knowing I’m going somewhere, but not where. 
Well, no. | know where. To them. To all of them. One at a time. But 
they were moving together now. Drawing close to each other. So 
close... 


| wonder if Mr. Redd will be there. We two have a score to settle. 
And | did have very, very long fingers. Fingers made for choking, | 
remind myself. 


Long fingers. Very, very long. Very ready. Ready to choke. Ready to 
squeeze the life out of anyone. Anything. To fix things. To fix 
everything that was broken. 


Mr. Redd and | did have a score to settle after all. 


Previous: Interval 1 by Salman Corbette 


Next: 7. Mr. by Dr. Mann 


over... All the fresh paint and fumes... 


Agent _ : The fire was an accident. | just need you to 
focus on the incident. 


Ms.H — : There was something dark staining the 
wallpaper and it started peeling away all over the room. | 
think there was writing under the paper, some of it was 
already there. This wind came from nowhere, like 
everything was being sucked towards the dark spot in 
the wall, but it just made the flames get bigger. The 
flames were between me and the others, that's why I... 
When it came through the wall _—just broke... like a 
statue. Like she was frozen. It was like waves of black 
curtains blowing out of the wall, and there was this 
wailing. There were hands and faces and other things 
grabbing at the others, smothering them, but they 
couldn't get through the flames to me. | ran downstairs 
and the basement door was slamming open and shut. | 
had to pass it to get to the front door and that thing, the 
dummy, it skittered up the stairs like a bug and its hands 
were covered with blood. It was climbing the walls and it 
tore at all the wallpaper, smearing that blood all over. It 
wouldn't let me leave, it never touched me but it would 
get in my way. Make me look at it. 


Agent _: Was it writing on the walls? 


Ms.H — :ltwrote STOP STOP STOP all over the walls 
and doors. The fire was coming closer so | shoved at it. It 
started burning and then it was bleeding, blood was 
gushing from its stomach and face while it tried to crawl 
out of the fire. Some of its blood got on me as | ran out 
the door. 


Ms.H — :1| could see the fire trucks coming, but when 
they came, the firemen ran right past me. They didn't see 
me where | fell in the bushes, and they never came back 
out. | didn't feel it at the time, but that thing's blood, it 
made my legs numb. They're broken too, aren't they? 
They broke apart like — did. Please tell me, the doctors 


7. Mr. 


Ah yes. Yes, | think | am the one you've come to see. I've been 
expecting you, to be honest. Oh, please. Don't sit there. I'll come 
along quietly, but you must... Well, anyway, please don't make any 
fuss, if you have to sit there. | don't deal well with stress. 


Yes, | do have a tattoo, and yes, | do mind showing it to you. It's 
somewhere rather private. I'd be terribly embarrassed to have to 
show it here, in public, and embarrassment makes me... Oh, let's 
just forget about it for now. You can see it later. 


To be honest, it's rather a relief. I've been wandering around for a 
week now, wondering just who would find me. We hear stories, you 
know, of you, and the GOC, and what's that club? Marshall's 
something? Anyway, | don't think those groups would do me any 
good. 


Where will we be going, anyway? | understand if you don't want to 
tell me in particulars, but | would like some idea. | don't like 
surprises. | can't enjoy them at all anymore. 


Excuse me, but could you put out that cigarette? No, | don't have 
asthma, but | really feel it would be best if... Well, it's your health. | 
do wish you'd be more careful with it, though. 


Ah, yes. I'm not entirely sure how | left the facility. | woke up in an 
alley. It may have been deliberate release, or a kidnapping. Or it 
might have been... Well, if they were transporting me, and weren't 
careful... These things happen, you know. 


Mr. Redd won't be there, will he? |... | don't think I'd enjoy meeting 
Mr. Redd, if he's there. Wouldn't do anyone any good, | daresay. 


Do you have some water? Only, | find myself somewhat thirsty, 
and... Well, I'm sorry. I'm feeling a little warm. Perhaps it would be 
good if you'd sit back? | don't think you should be sitting right there. 


And your cigarette isn't helping matters. Look, I'm not trying to be 
difficult but... 


Oh dear. I've done it again. And he was such a nice young man. 


Oh, hello. Were you a friend of his? Ah. Yes. | see. Well, | tried to 
warn him. 


My name? It's Mr. Combustible. I'm pleased to meet you. Pardon if | 
don't shake your hand. 


Previous: 6. Mr. Stripes by TroyL 
Next: 8. Mr. Moon by Anaxagoras 
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8. Mr. Moon 


1am Mr. Moon. 


You may think me the most unfortunate of this production cycle, but 
you'd be wrong. | am well taken care of by the Foundation, who look 
after my needs when | am faced and see to it that | am left alone 
when my true sight returns. As it has now. 


My eyes are now in the craters, keener than any man's. | peer down 
to where my face drifts over. | will find Mr. Redd, for where can he 
hide from the moon? 


There | see a man running through alleyways from thugs with 
knives. He is not Mr. Redd. My attention turns elsewhere. | see a 
parade, and the one who leads it looks to be a sister of mine. But 
Ms. Charm is not Mr. Redd. There is a man leaping from a building. 
Though | wish it were otherwise, he is not Mr. Redd. There is a 
businessman. He is not Mr. Redd. There is a baby. It is not Mr. 
Redd. There is an elephant. It is not Mr. Redd. There is aa man. 
There is a man. There is a woman. There is a bench. There is a 
woman. There is a man. There is there is there is there is there is 
there is 


| do not see Mr. Redd. 


My time is up soon. Already an eye has migrated back to my face of 
flesh. | leave it closed, but my sight is still diminished. | can search 
no more for now. No matter. The moon will remain. | am patient. 


Previous: 7. Mr. by DrMann 
Next: 9. Mr. Clumsy by Tanhony 


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9. Mr. Clumsy 


Dear Diary 
My name is Mr. Clumsy and | have died forty seven times today. 


| think the first time was when | was walking down the trail. | just 
went over to a cactus, thinking | could get some water. So, | took out 
my penknife and tried to cut a tiny gap in it. What happened instead 
was | stumbled, ended up with the knife in my heart and fell 
backwards onto the cactus. 


Yep, that's my thing. | die horribly and then come back to do it again. 
And for some goddamn reason, no matter what | do, it'll more likely 
than not kill me. At least if | sit in this cave and don't touch anything, 
I'll be reasona 


Sorry, heart attack. Guess that showed me. God knows how I'm 
going to walk all the way to the place. Can't exactly take a car, can 
|? Last time | tried that, it exploded. Third degree burns and 
everything. Lasted a bit before dying, hurt like hell. All the others 
have fun gimmicks, or at least ones that don't kill you, but no, not m 


Got the pencil in my eye. Took me a few deaths to get that out. | 
heal my wounds, but | always have trouble with things getting stuck. 
Mr. Redd used to make a game of it; he'd impale me on a pipe or 
something and watch me die again and again. Not my idea of fun, 
but what are you going to do? It's nothing personal, after a while you 
just get used to dyi 


Fell over and hit my head on a brick. | am sure that brick was not 
there when | found this cave. See, that's another thing, sometimes 
I'll go near a cat and start choking or something! I'm not allergic to 
cats! | know, | checked with a doctor. Died three times, but | 
managed to get there. 


| know if I fall asleep, a bear will eat my head or something. But | 


can't just walk, this is the desert and it's night. I'll freeze to death 
again and agai 


Previous: 8. Mr. Moon by Anaxagoras 


Next: 10. Mr. Mission by Gerald 
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70. Mr. Mission 


The time: Midnight. The place: One of the more shadier of the 
establishments the city had to offer. The person: Myself, of course. 
For the better part of an hour | sat there, taking the occasional drink 
of the Sea Fizz that | purchased what seemed like an eternity ago. 
What seemed like an eternity sitting in the dark-lit room as the 
nightclub's deep bass throbbed in time with the collective hearts of 
the lower class citizens to grace the world with their presence. | 
glanced at the barmaid. 


"No luck, sweetcheeks?" 
"No sir, Mr. Mission!" 


| shook my head, leaning forward on the bar stool. The shadowy 
forms of the club's denizens shifted and warped around me as the 
red dial above the bar clicked onwards. Nothing. | waited for the 
contact, and waited some more. They had seemingly gotten cold 
feet at the last second. Cold feet, or concrete shoes, as the saying 
goes around here. The mark | had been tracking was a real bastard 
in this case, and was infamous for taking out my contacts before | 
had a chance to locate them. Time passed, and | shook my head. 
Another one, gone, another doomed soul in this poor world of ours, 
one of a slowly diminishing number. But | was strong. Had to be. 
Soon, | told myself, soon I'd get to where | was going, find what | 
was looking for, and save another from the bleak fate we've been 
consigned to. 


The rhythmic pounding of city feet on city streets. No stranger to the 
sound as | traveled through the crowded city, weaving my way 
through the massive crowds that filled the walks and streets like so 
much blood through veins. Making my way through dim streets 
under high walls, | lowered the fedora to cover my eyes. The 
chances of being recognized in such a crowd was low, but | was not 


one to take risks. 
No, taking risks would find those long fingers around my neck.