Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

Ever heard of an Exquisite Corpse (no, I'm not talking about @Sil at the moment)? an exquisite corpse is a collaborative story, simply put. Each contributor writes a section of the story based on what was written before. Simple enough yeah? Normally, these collaborative projects are disasters, but what if we made it insane on purpose?

Rules:
1) A Brief sign up period of 5 days for anyone who wants to participate (just so I can assign the order in which everyone writes their parts)
2) Each contributor will write 500-1500 words
3) Each contributor will have 24-36 hours to write their parts (quick turn around, funnier results)
4) Each post must be made with a theme in mind that I will provide when your turn has come
5) If you want to derail a story, go ahead, but be prepared to have your part derailed as well
6) Have fun and enjoy how crazy your fellow Plaza-ites can be

Signups begin now!

I want to play toooooo.

*raises hand* Here for the derailing!

I've never played this before & I'm sure the results of my attempt will be disastrous, but I am here for this train wreck! Sign me up! ^_^

Alright folks let’s get this game underway! Anymore wishing to sign up can still do so, you’ll just miss out on this round.

First up: @skekSil
Theme: Loneliness

Story hook:
“Things could not have been going better, he’d gone fishing in the morning and hiking in the afternoon, but everything changed as a thick, impenetrable fog rolled in as the sun set…”

You have 36 hours to complete your response (if you miss your response I'll just move you to the end of the round rather than skipping you)

Take it away!

Things could not have been going better, he’d gone fishing in the morning and hiking in the afternoon… but everything changed as a thick, impenetrable fog rolled in. The sun was setting with brilliant fingers of blushing gold when the fog descended, crushing the golden hour’s final light with cold and gloom. He jerked up from his campfire, startled by the sudden descent of darkness- no, not total darkness; the faintest of glows turned the fog into deep grey, and his campfire still danced, but its light seemed weak and fickle. The man stood, surrounded by fog and silence, broken only by the fire’s deadened crackling. Where before his campsite had been surrounded by mountain peaks and a black lake in the valley below, he could now see nothing but the errant mist. Where before there had been solitude, now there was…. loneliness. The sense that he was the only living being in the world, that the world had dropped out from beneath his feet, that he was suspended in time. His eyes searched the fog. What seemed like hours passed, though it may only have been seconds. A sudden snap caused him to jump, and he looked around for the source of the sound: a log from his fire, a pinprick nearly lot in the gloom of the fog. Somehow his feet had carried him away from it as he watched the fog!

Tripping over unseen rocks, he hurried back to the fire, its light wavering the foggy eddies. At last, the fire’s reassuring warmth touched his bare hands again and he stood close to it, shivering, whether from chill or fright he could not be sure. The silence pushed oppressively against his ears, filling them with fog. He took a step backwards, and cursed as he tripped over a rock, stumbling and falling heavily to the ground. With a floundering of limbs, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position before the fire, arms wrapped around his knees. His heart raced, his breathing rapid and shallow, eyes wide and staring. Where had this fog come from? And why did it seem so different from a normal fog? He was used to the mountains and their changeable weather. The day’s report had showed no prediction of late fog, but fickle weather was nothing new. What was it about this fog that was so different? Why did it fill him with such incredible isolation? The mountains were a place he came to disconnect, but not like this. As he sat, his pulse gradually began to calm, and he took deep, steadying breaths. The compression in his ears seemed to ease, and the homely crackle of the fire returned. Time passed.

Then, from out of the fog came something that dispelled his loneliness, and replaced it with a cold dread that gripped his very marrow.

Whispers.

Brilliant work @skekSil! I love the way you used the theme in your detailed, vivid descriptions of the environment. You used it to convey both wonder and horror in a way that covers both potential sides of loneliness. You set a wonderful, grim tone for the rest of the writers!

@Nessa Saelind, you’re up next! You’ll have 36 hours (more or less) to write up your part of the story.
Your theme will be: “Wildlife”

Go!

I’m belatedly in

They reach out and they reach out and they reach out… By buzzing and cawing, chattering and chirping... Clicking and creaking, growling and howling… Hissing and groaning, followed by moaning and snarling… They reach out and they reach out and in reaching out they find new ways of reaching.

The Wilderness tries to communicate with the Interloper. At sunset it rolls out the fog, controlling the thickness and the coldness of it, adjusting its slow, deliberate movements. Reaching out to him and touching him with the fog’s wet sticky fingers, wrapping them around him. The Interloper responds to the call moving towards the fog, coming closer… But a sudden snap broke the spell, and the Interloper shook himself and stumbled over unseen rocks, consumed with an urge to return to the precious source of light and warmth. The Wild tries again, reaching out to the Interloper with the crackling of dry dead wood in the fire and sees him taking a step back, then falling, then returning to the fire again arms around his knees.

They reach out anew with the murmur of a nearby stream… They call on the wind, using it to move through the trees, to create haunting music by the movement of branches and rustling of leaves which causes water droplets to fall, creating pitter-patter sounds. The same sounds that rats and mice and voles make when they try to outrun and hide from the bats and owls. They reach again with the burrowing of insects underground and tree bark, the flapping of moth wings that dance carelessly around the fire, drawn by the light. They use the silent footsteps of the coyote and the red fox, and the heavy gait of the brown bear...

Still, the Interloper does not move; he continues to sit next to the campfire watching as the dancing flames of his fire drew the wildlife closer to him.

It starts with the annoying buzzing sound of insects and continues with an onslaught of bites. The Interloper tries to defend himself by slapping his arms and legs. The bites continue. The Wilderness’ laughter is heard in the buzzing and chirping noises of bugs and the croaking of frogs. More insects continue their slow crawl towards the fire. At the same time, the dancing flames continue to draw moths to them, the sound of their wings flapping fills the air. Some get too close to the light and burn, but their dance never stops. Time passes and more forest creature are drawn to the Interloper’s fire. The Wildlife reaches out, responding to the siren song of the flames.

The Interloper watches with trepidation as the flames continue to draw out more forest creatures. Soon the tricksters, the coyote and the fox drew near and he senses rather than sees that the brown bear is not far behind them. The Great horned owl hoots in greeting somewhere above him and an answering hoot is heard. The flames crackle, the wind drops and the fog starts to thicken,

The Wildlife reaches out and reaches out and reaches out and then stops.

I loved all the sounds and sensory overload @Nessa Saelind! Wonderfully done. I enjoyed reading all of this. The wilds are closing in on our protagonist now, what's he going to do? Is he safe? Can he escape all the onslaught of the wilderness?

Let's ask @Yávië and she what she can come up with. You have 36 hours to give us your section!
The theme for your turn will be: Anxiety

Go!

"The wild is all the things you do not see."

The old woman squinted into the sun and pointed a crooked finger up at an eagle circling the clearing. "Do you see him?"
"Yes, he's wonderful!"
"Now, look into the canopy and remember that there are a dozen little songbirds that have tucked in their wings to keep out of his way. Look in the grass and remember the mice and the rabbits that have already scurried into their burrows.

A fish leaped out of a lake at dusk, its golden belly flashing in the day's dying light. "Look, I saw one jump!" he cried and hurried to gather up his scattered tackle and clamber over the rocks that rose above the water.
The old woman followed, slowly but still sure-footed, and seemed to peer straight through the reflection of pine trees and sunset into the water. "Remember that there are hundreds more below us," she said, "most so small and fast they dart from nook to cranny in the space you would blink your eyes. Remember the bugs they are hoping to catch, a thousand--a million--that are in our sight though you will never see, or name, even a fraction of their number."

"Remember, the wild is all the things you do not see," an old woman said to a boy.


The Wild reached out, and he saw it. He saw the outline of each mosquito and moth and tick in the flicker of firelight. He knew that if he looked up and to the left he would find an owl on the bare branch of a dying pine tree with his talons digging into a knothole. He remembered the mice that would be hiding from it and found the smallest streak of grey fur in the grass, where they stood frozen between fear and fire.

He felt the weight of the brown bear behind his shoulder. He felt the nerves of the river and the fox and a wakened sparrow stretched thin at this meeting of hunter and prey--and he was both! He knew the hunger of the great bear as winter crept into the mountains and the scrounging nose of the coyote who could smell human food and the quaking hearts of rabbits and the scrambling desperation of tiny grubs.

He sprang to his feet. He would run, he would yell! But he was pulled in a hundred--a thousand--directions by the anxieties of each bird, each insect, each life, and could only stand as if caught in a web. "Food," they said. "Water, warmth, place. Need, need, need! Live."

They drew closer, the fog too. Even the river seemed to rise on its banks. He could feel the bear's breath now, wet and hot on his neck. Only the fox did not move, and he heard it begin to laugh, high pitched and mad with joy at its game. He tried to back away and his toes caught on a pebble.

He pitched and fell forward, kicking dirt into the fire pit as he went, and only then did he realize that the fire was already out.

@Yávië, you are a world class story derailer! I love this so much. Nearly everything is out of left field but they all still stay within the realm of the story. I love the new characters you added and the new dimensions you added to the story. Does it work? We'll have to see!

Up next, @HONK HONK!
Your theme will be: Memory

Sorry I’m on phone so don’t know what word count is

---

The night sits on him like a heavy blanket. The grass prickles coarsely at his belly. His fingernails clutch earth.

The man doesn’t move, prostrate on the too-warm ground. All around him, the air soughs with expectant breaths. He squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s a buzzing in his ear, a tiny tickling voice.

We knew you’d come back

He stifles a whimper in the dirt.

We knew you wouldn’t forget about us. Didn’t we?

didn’t we didn’t we didn’t we chorus the moths and the mosquitoes and the ticks. The fox giggles again with an all-too familiar voice. A slow tear leaks out of his left eye. An ant crawls onto his lips as he gabbles half-remembered prayers into the ground.

He can smell the heavy stink of the bear behind him. There is no running away from this.

you remember what happened don’t you? You remember what you did.

The owl screeches, an angry, biting sound; the fox emits the high-pitched terrified scream of a young boy in distress. The rabbits lollop closer. They’re beating their hind legs against the ground in an erratic rhythm that is thrumming faster and faster and faster, echoing his heart.

are you sorry?

The fog settles its cold, damp fingers on his neck. Another tear burns like acid on his clammy face.

“I don’t remember,” he lies to the dark. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault!”

Let us remind you, says the Wild, kindly.

We were your cousin, once. We went out together, fishing.

It was your birthday...

@HONK HONK That was fantastically creepy! The image of the and crawling over his lip was particularly visceral. It's like a reverse Snow White in there, instead of protecting him they're the ones that will bring about his down. And the Sméagol reference was wonderfully incorporated.

Alright, take us home @WRONG LEVER KRONK!
The final theme for this little tale: Desperation

I will do my best to get this up tomorrow. Yesterday and today were doozies.

Remember, the wild is all the things you do not see. The old woman's voice echoed through his memories. The bear's nose nudges at his feet, and he begins to tremble. She hadn't said that the wild would see him, and a desperate need to run, flee, escape suffused him, but his limbs were frozen, immobilized by the fog and the sound of all the creatures around him.

His reckoning was at hand.

"It wasn't me! It wasn't my fault!" he screams, past the grit of ash in his mouth, his fingers clawing into the nearly-dead coals of the fire.

The bear's teeth clamped around an ankle and dragged him from the ashes. He scrambled desperately at the earth, fingers scraping at the ground until his nails were torn away and bloodied.

You left us. You left us to die and rot, for the beasts to consume, thinking we would be forgotten by all. But the wilderness sees all. Remembers all. Repays all.

The bear dragged him all the way to the edge of the lake. The rocky shore tore his clothes, scraped open the skin of his thighs, his belly, his chest. Gashed open his face, nearly slit an eye, broke a tooth, busted his lip and nose, and the copper taste of blood filled his mouth. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed around his head as the bear dragged him into the water.

He panicked, arms flailing as he tried to push up from the rapidly deepening shoreline, to keep his head above water, even as the bear's teeth sank so deeply into his ankle that they scraped bone, nearly separating the joint from the rest of his leg in searing pain.

Then, suddenly, the bear released him, and he tried to swim back to the bank, but his breath was nearly gone and he only made it a few feet before the bear's jaw clamped onto his shoulder and pulled him back into the water.

He could see the shoreline now, saw all the creatures that had surrounded him at the campfire now lined up, watching him in the early dawn light, but only for a moment. Then the bear pulled him deeper into the water and pushed him beneath the surface.

Remember. A chorus of voices--all the animals and insects--pressed into his mind as he struggled to free himself from the bear and swim to the surface, lungs burning.

He remembered.

They'd snuck out from the camping cabin. It had once stood here, at this part of the lake. Many, many years ago.

But they'd snuck out, in the middle of the night, and taken a canoe across the water to the island in the center of the lake. It was his birthday, but none of the people he wanted were there. Not his own parents, not his friends, just his weird cousin and his parents and the strange old lady who claimed to be their great-aunt. But she never interacted with anyone but the two boys.

He'd left his cousin there, on the island. Rowed back to the lake shore on his own. He'd meant to go back at dawn and get his cousin, but when he returned to the cabin it had been in flames. By the time firefighters arrived, the blaze had been so hot and bright that there weren't even any bones left.

But he hadn't started the fire. At the time, he thought it was fate. And in one terrible moment, he made a decision.

He left his cousin behind on the island. Became the boy who'd miraculously survived on his birthday, while everyone else perished. If his cousin had returned, then he would have been the one with all the attention. Because he'd lost his family.

So he'd left the lake and while he'd come back to these mountains many times over the years, he'd never come back here. Not until now. He wondered what had possessed him to return.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and pull the lake water into his lungs and give in to the urge to escape this all, the bear dragged him above the surface again and back to the shore, throwing him against the rocks. All the other creatures began to creep forward, encircling him as they hissed and snarled, teeth bared. The bear rose over him to its full height and roared.

Your death will not be so easy.

Behind the bear, he thought he saw the figure of an old woman in the fog. For just a moment.

Wow you guys really blew me away! You created a wonderfully weird and almost cohesive story! I'm surprised that no one decided to take it and run in the complete opposite direction, no one took the horror elements and turned them into comedy or decided to have aliens pop out of the woodworks. I don't know whether to be impressed or insulted.

All in all, I think this went over pretty well (I wasn't always the most timely but that's because I'm easily distracted by things). What do you think? Want to do another round? Want to see if more peeps want to join in? Shake up the format? Want me to shut up and never do something like this again?

You should absolutely be impressed with our self-restraint Frost I believe a round of treats for all of us is in order. ^_^

Can I just say how awesome and impressive everyone's storytelling was! I was so impressed and awed with what you folks came up with in such a short time! You're amazingly talented people! <3

If there's going to be a round 2 of this, I'm definitely in ^_^

I'm in if there is another round!

I say you should be impressed rather than insulted because you somehow got all of our muses to be on the same wavelength. As someone who has written themed stories with a group before, that it is downright miraculous.

I would also be up for a second round!

I say props to @Taethowen for pulling it all together in the end! And I LOVED writing after you, @Nessa Saelind. The Wilderness as a character was inspiring.

I'd be in for another round @A BEAR A BEAR. Thanks for your prompts and encouragement. I've never really done horror so it was good to get out of my box a bit. For whackier results I was thinking about what if everyone whited out their posts at first. So you only read the post immediately before yours before writing (pinky swear!), and then reveal the story as a whole at the end. But that might be for sillier things. I enjoyed this as is too! And the pace was *thumbs up*.

Hey everyone! I dropped the ball pretty hard on this thread (among many others) and I apologize for that. However, I’d love to try and revive it as there was nothing specifically tying it to Halloween, and have it around as a general game.

I guess my question would be, is there still interest? Would you like to keep it as an ongoing game?

*raises hand* ME ME ME. That was a ton of fun and I really enjoyed the creative challenge. I'd definitely be up for an ongoing game, but understand if other people want to just take it one round at a time.

Consider me interested! This is a great activity to have running all the time in the Cottage, or for however long you want to run it :)

To paraphrase Oliver Twist: Can we have some more, sir? Please? Eager beaver on coffee is in for another round/rounds of this!

GOOSE IN

Sounds like we are good for another round!

This time around we'll do it a bit differently, to add fuel to the chaotic fire. Everyone will white out their portions of the story except the last sentence. I'm not gonna make a rule that says don't cheat and peek because you're only hurting yourself if you do that and I really doubt any of you would do that anyway

After everyone as posted their portions I'll post the whole wild bag of cats at the end to show you exactly what a mess you made.

I'll come up with the starting hook and the order tomorrow morning (also there will be a much more lax time frame this time around).

May I be so bold as to request a position in line close to the start? My availability after the 20th will be sparse for a while.

*raises paw* His Highness deigns to contribute his obviously superior hunting, clawing, hissing, and tail swishing skills to this meager effort.

I'm late, but would love to play again! Hopefully for many more rounds, but I'm not fussed about how long they take or breaks in between.

@Taethowen Normally, I randomize the list, but I will see what I can do

@MEOW We are blessed that the Prince should come down from his throne to mingle with the plebs. We are not worthy!
Happy to have you on board!

Starting us will be @Nessa Saelind!

Remeber:
1. length doesn't matter, just write what you think your story needs
2. white out everything except for the last sentence
3. you'll have a soft 3-4 days, if you miss the deadline don't worry, you'll just be popped to the bottom of the list and get a chance

*checks the time, yup still on time* :D Hope the formatting is OK *fingers crossed*

((He sighed wearily leaning his head on the heavily reinforced door. For the umpteenth time, Zoltán Juhás cursed his ancestor and the two words that bound him to this inheritance. Pacta conventa – agreed accords. The irony of it all was that his great-great-great-great-many times’ great-grandfather had been an illiterate serf. Géza was hungry, desperate… His wife and children were starving, dying before his eyes… Their vajada could not save them, not that he would, not that he cared. The high lords were always too busy scheming, playing their games of power, too preoccupied with who was wearing or who could or would wear the Szent Korona to pay attention to the small folk like Géza.

What did Géza know about the Nameless Ones? Did he even understand what he was doing when he entered into this bargain? In his desperation, Géza had forsaken his vajada and his Lord and called upon the Nameless Ones, old, dark things that dwelt just beyond the veil. Things humanity should never seek out. These creatures of old sensed the stench of his ancestor’s desperation, drank it in like sweet summer wine. They had gathered gleefully at the threshold of both words the watched and waited for their supplicant to open the gates and let them pass. For his service and fealty and the fealty and service of his descendants, they had offered to save his life, the life of his wife and children. They had offered many things, wonderful and terrifying things to the desperate serf. Thus Géza Juhás, a serf from Siebenbürgen, swore an oath of fealty to the Nameless Ones and the Pacta conventa was struck.

Another thud, this time harder, impatient, jolted Zoltán from his reverie. Still cursing his fate and the desperate decision of his ancestor, he reached for the hunting pack that always stood in readiness next to the door. Making sure that the straps were tight he reached out for his sniper rifle and checked the safety. Everything was as it should be, as he left it. With a resigned sigh, he unbolted the door and stepped out into the cold and foggy night. He turned to lock the door out of habit, despite knowing that no living man would come here. Despite his hatred for the creatures and the sacred pact that bonded him to them, he could not deny that the Nameless Ones protected him more than once. It was time for Zoltán to do his duty.)) It was time to hunt, time to kill.

Excellent work @Nessa Saelind! Well, I can only assume it's excellent because I'm trying not to read it yet either and everything you write is excellent so I think it's very safe to say.

Now, @MEOW! Your Lordship is up next!

Yea Gods and Little Fishes! @Fleeg You're a star!

@MEOW: this is not a "hurry up!" message but rather a gentle reminder, please don't feel obligated to push something out if you aren't in the right work/mind space to do so. (you're also always free to hit me up on Discord). I'll give it the rest of today (14 hours for me) but then I'll pass the torch to @Skwovet.

(("Oh, would you cut that out?" Fex muttered to the beast salivating and baring its fangs at his feet. "It's so uncivilized." Monster's blue fur bristled and it tugged impatiently at the leg of his jeans in an attempt to pull him down the dark hallway. It's razor-edged teeth tore straight through the fabric instead. Fex rolled his eyes ceilingward and stifled a long-suffering groan. He didn't particularly enjoy shopping for new clothes every few weeks, but he had yet to convincingly explain to anyone that his wardrobe of shredded Levi's and beribboned jacket sleeves was simply the height of incoming fashion.

They reached a towering black door trimmed with gold that shone faintly in the moonlight that was filtering in from the window at the end of the hall. Fex crouched in front of Monster and crossed his arms. "We are not here to kill anyone," he said for the fifth or sixth time that night. "I'm here for information, and you're here to be scary. Understood?"

Monster hissed its displeasure and flattened its long, ragged ears against its head.

"No!" Fex hissed back. "I'm in no mood to be shampooing carpets before dawn, and somehow that part of the job always falls to me. Behave yourself!"

The small creature growled with rage and sprang forward in a flash. It fashioned its jaws on Fex's wrist and stared up at him with its pitted black eyes. It didn't bite down, or at least, it didn't bite down very hard. Fex met Monster's eyes grimly and didn't blink--he had gotten very good at that over the last few years. In the dim light it was like staring down a well, but it pulled less on his conscience than meeting the eyes of certain humans. Long breaths stretched between them taut as a wire, then Monster reluctantly disengaged its fangs and slumped on the floor.

Fex snorted--he wondered how many people in the world knew that demons could sulk--and carefully opened the intricately carved door.

The hinges swung noiselessly to reveal a bedroom awash in moonlight from arched, floor-to-ceiling windows. Fex and Monster padded across the floor on noiseless feet to take in the silhouette of the city stretched out many stories below them. It was the quietest hour, just minutes after and minutes before college frat boys fell onto beer-soaked sofas and delivery vans began to circle around coffee shops and bakeries. Only the barest handful of lights remained on in buildings and the occasional car.

"Well, shall we?" Fex murmured after a minute. Monster had already turned to the bed and was grinning up at the hand dangling out of the sheets with vivid anticipation. "Up," Fex instructed firmly, patting the end of the bed. "You know what to do."

Monster gave a pouty hiss and climbed up onto the blankets. Together they crept towards the head of the man in the bed.

The sleeping man had shaggy grey hair and his chin and jaw were patched with unflattering stubble. His eyes were deep set and his nose protruded sharply in a perpetual sneer. Fex looked at Monster and nodded once. He tapped the man's shoulder and Monster drew itself up to its full height.

"Could I have a word with you, sir?"

***

The man woke up to two dozen teeth and four fistfuls of scythe-like claws poised inches above his face. He made a strangled sound and tried to scramble away, but there's really no where to go when you're already lying down on a bed. A throat cleared, and he turned his head the barest of a fraction to see a man dressed all in black looking down on him.))

"I suggest you tell us everything you know about the death of Asri Moon," Fex said--Monster snarled and loomed closer--"or you could be in for a very bad morning."

Owen blinked a few times at the question, then grimaced and recoiled into the back of his chair as Monster’s breath hit him. Here were the scents of decay, of corruption, of filth - all swirled together into a perfect, noxious cocktail. He would have pinched his nose for good measure had his hands not been bound behind his back. As it was, he took small, sharp, shallow breaths - just enough oxygen to stay conscious, but not so much as to be overpowered by the scent of that breath.

A few moments passed. The air cleared enough for him to breathe normally once more. He opened his eyes and stared solidly at Fex. “How should I know anything about this - what’s their name? - Asri Moon? Let alone their death?” Owen asked. His lips were going dry. They always did this time of year; on any normal day, he’d have applied Chapstick liberally to the corners of his lips several times by this hour. Things being what they were on this most unfortunate of mornings, he’d failed to do so. He’d have a split lip by the afternoon - if not worse, judging by the look on Fex’s face.

Fex put his hands on the arms of the chair in which he sat, bound, and pressed his face uncomfortably close - so close that their foreheads nearly touched. Again, he was subjected unwillingly to the breath of another. Fex, for his part, had at least brushed his teeth, for there were hints of mint on the warm, moist puffs of air which hit his face. Owen caught himself feeling grateful that his questioner had brushed his teeth, and laughed wryly in spite of the situation. Fex scowled. “Think this is all very funny, do you?” he whispered. He straightened and removed a small leather case from the inner breast pocket of his coat. He unzipped it. Something glinted in the dim light filtering through the dusty, grimy windows behind Fex. Something metal.

Fex circled the chair and grasped Owen’s right index finger in his own sweaty palms. Owen felt his heart begin to race. What was happening? What were those things in the case? What -

“AAAAARGH!”

The scream erupted from him as suddenly as the pain had spiked at the base of his nail.

“Tell me what you know,” Fex said, his voice smooth and calm.

Breathing fast in panic as much as pain, Owen looked around the room. Monster was still staring him down. His failure to answer earned him another agonizing tug on his nail, then more pain. Concentrated, excruciating pain. The end of his finger throbbed horribly.

“I don’t,” Owen gasped, “know anything.”

There was a third shooting pain. This one was more lasting, deeper, and tore a longer howl of suffering from Owen’s chest. Fex sighed and walked back around to face him while he was still screaming.

“We’ll see.”

He left the room, Monster trailing behind him. Owen’s finger pulsed vividly with remnants of the torment from mere moments before. Those metal tools had likely been pliers, he realized. He was about to lose his fingernails. Sweat poured down his neck and into his shirt, and he could hear his own teeth grinding together inside his skull.

Footsteps alerted him to Fex returning. The door opened, but it was not Fex who walked in. It was a woman. She wore a crisp black blazer over a white top and jeans. Her shoes were ordinary white tennis shoes. She carried a pistol in her hand and folded her arms as she contemplated Owen unhappily.

“So,” she began. Her voice was low and raspy, as if she’d spent all her young years continuously smoking. “Fex tells me you know nothing. Allow me to add a little color to this interrogation. Not red,” she reassured him with a cynical smile. “Not yet, anyway.

“Asri Moon is dead. Asri was my best friend. We had moved beyond friendship in recent years. We were engaged.” She sighed and paced the room. “Asri was caught up in a world I never fully understood. I wasn’t privy to the details. All I knew was that it was always toeing the line of what’s legal. Sometimes there would be detours into the definitely illegal. And those were the things that came back to bite.

“Fex also tells me your name is Owen. And that you saw Asri, definitely dead, very early this morning. From that, what do you think I’ve surmised?”

The woman paused in her pacing and shook out her long, blonde hair. Owen could see several stray strands standing out against the black of her blazer - he chose to focus there to divert his attention from the agony of his hand.

“I loved Asri Moon,” she said, “and I am going to find out why he died. I want to know who is responsible. I want to know who I need to hunt down.”

She perched upon a stool - the kind of metal stool you might expect to find in a middle school art classroom, where everyone is uncomfortable in their own skin, so they might as well be physically uncomfortable while drawing flowers or spinning clay pots, too. She was going to wait. The truth was, she believed that Owen knew nothing. But intimidation was a fun game - she loved the heady sense of power it afforded her - and she intended to play as long as she could.