The World We Knew

The World We Knew

She was a rare beauty. A combination of exquisite physical perfection and a mind as sharp as any genius in her time or any time before her or after. Her skin was flawless and taunt. It gracefully curved around her body, providing only subtle movement from head to face to cheek bones to chin to shoulders and back down her round hips to her long legs. If that wasn't impressive enough, her skin was as soft as warmed cream being poured through one's fingers. No language on Earth could describe her heart or soul and any attempt to do so left the writer or speaker feeling empty and depressed. However, if they managed to catch her presence, there was an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance that chased away those negative thoughts and feelings. It was like standing in the sun after a cold, long night. 

Hundreds died when the first wave of the pandemic swept across the globe on the wings and winds of the airline industry. Thousands died when the second waved came three months later. Complacency was the cause. Millions died when the third wave crashed across the continents, washing away anyone not careful enough to don their masks and suits before venturing out of the house. Society fell. There was no one to run the water plants, the power plants, or the gas plants. Homes fell into disrepair as the dead rotted in the interior like a cancer. Factories went silent. Farms ceased production. People avoided each other and as a result, became distrustful of one another. Even hateful. 

Dr. Arial Teel worked in the labs despite the lack of power. She took extra precautions and did everything in triplicate. Suits, filters, and safety protocols. Her husband, Dr. Johnathon Teel was a robotics engineer and computer programer. They worked day and night to find something, anything that could bring humanity back from the edge. However, their dreams came to an end one night when a roving band of robbers found the lab. Arial and John ran and ran. They knew they couldn't go to far as their work and their supplies were near their work. The snow started to fall in neat sheets as the wind carried the white puffs around them. Arial commented that it wasn't as cold as she thought it was going to be. John agreed. They watched, all night, as the robbers destroyed their work  then set fire to the building. They finally left shortly after dawn. When Arial woke up she was shocked to find them still outside and still in the snow. How could this be, she thought. She questioned John. Something wasn't right and she needed to know. How could they survive a night in freezing temperatures. She was angry, scared, and hot. Too hot. She removed her lab coat and stopped. John stopped her and told her that he needed to show her the truth. 

John turned the simulation off and for the first time, Arial could see what she felt-she was not human at all. Not even remotely. When she said, when did this happen? How could this have happened? John explained that it occurred a year ago when Arial was working with survivors. Despite her best efforts, she contracted the virus. They agreed, he said, that Arial needed to live on. Had too. She was humanities best hope at finding a cure and they could not lose that beautiful mind. But the technology was not there. They lacked resources, a power source being one of them. So John, as he explained, became Arial's storage and battery. In a separate shell, housed in a protective lining, he became Arial's nuclear battery and her memory core. This would permit Arial to work at optimum efficiency. John ended the simulation that hide his form from Arial. When he appeared, so did the harnesses that connected them. While we are separated, we are united forever. I need you to live and you need me, he explained. He had to sacrifice his life to save her mind. 

What happened to, Arial hesitated, our bodies she asked. 

John walked Arial out another hundred meters to a break in the canopy. As soon as they entered the open area, Arial recalled the specifics about the place. This was where they had their first date. This is where they made love for the first time and this is where John proposed. They would come out here, often, to have lunch together and watch the sky. John explained that when Arial got sick, she knew she was dying. She did not want to die alone and she wanted to die in their special place. So they walked out to the clearing together and laid down on that spring night. John put on some music, they shared some wine and talked. Then they watched the stars and shared their dreams until Arial drifted off to sleep. The deepest sleep. John worked feverishly to transfer himself to the suit, leaving his body next to his wife's. As soon as he was up and running he quickly worked to "download" Arial. Time was wasting and every second counted, but he failed her. The download did not work. Arial was gone. 

FRGVN

FRGVN

I put the muzzle of my pistol up against my head and paused. If this was the last thing I was going to feel, I wanted to experience it all. The metal was cool against my skin which was in contrast to the warm evening air that pressed against my face and hands. I put my twitching finger on the trigger then I pulled the level back until there was a loud sound.

I came to work every day and every day I left work and there was not a single care if I repeated this schedule tomorrow. When my father died I was depressed and miserable for weeks, but there were no condolences, cards, or calls. No one said anything. Somebody might say that it's me-maybe I'm to blame and maybe I am. But I don't think so in this case. I was a good worker, I cared about the people around me and I was a shift leader. What it boiled down to was them and their attitude towards me. I was not one of them and in this case, I think it might have been a good thing. They were unethical, lazy, and hardly qualified for their jobs, but they found themselves employed the same as me.

No, this isn't about them. They're hardly worth the time to pen this letter, but they are worth mentioning if anything so that I can tell them to find employment elsewhere. Perhaps as ditch diggers or one of those people that guard the shipping yards. Something that doesn't require any pride or actual work.

I was deployed with the United Worlds of Earth Marines on a far off-planet called M-Tahl. We just called it "Tall." I was fine-even after serving 14 years in the Marines I was doing OK. I had some trouble with crowds now and then, but nothing that started a panic. It was when I accepted the job on the Department of World Justice's Direct Action Teams that I learned what brutality truly is. Or was. I'm not sure anymore. I see the children's faces in my dreams and their cries for help scream into my subconscious until I'm awake and sweating, looking, seeking, yearning to help them, but there is no one there. I started sleeping in the broom closet just so I didn't scramble out of bed and crash into things. I was shot, in the stomach, one day during a raid and that ensured I retired after 20 years of straight service. 20 years and it was over just like that. I didn't get a watch, but I did get this fancy new leg.

I was hired as a terrorism consultant, which is where I was surrounded by the useless and stupid. In that sea of lameness, it wasn't hard to stand out so I was promoted quickly. I felt like my life was getting back on track as I had progressed from sleeping in the closet to sleeping on the floor. Even got a dog named "Dirty." A mutt that I loved.

It was just me and Dirty until I met this beautiful woman. I hadn't dated much or at all in my adult life. I was so committed to my profession that I forgot and when I finally got around to it, I felt I was so damaged that I would be useless to anyone that tried to like me let alone love me. However, she and I hit it off and things were moving along nicely.

I spent a life time saving lives. I was a medic in the Marines. My job on the DAT was hostage rescue. My position as a consultant was to ensure terrorist had a hard time killing children if not found it entirely impossible. I gave my kidney to my father, blood to my brothers, and my soul in exchange for one more chance to save one more life. I didn't do this because I was looking for jewels in heaven. I did this because I felt called to do it. There was something about it that made me feel more me when I was putting everything on the line to give someone one more day. So when that special woman in my life told me she was pregnant, I felt that I had hit the ultimate jack pot. "Father." I was elated right up until the day that she told me she had an abortion. 14 weeks along, my child died without so much as a loving parent around. She did it while I was at work, busy on some paper I was writing. A life time of saving lives and I couldn't save the one life that mattered most to me. Which brings me to this cat walk above my apartment.

I thought, in a sleepless binge, that if I could just see him, I could apologize for not being able to protect him. I failed him and in my failing, he paid the ultimate price. When I put that gun up to my head and pulled the trigger, the idea I had was to prostate myself before him and beg him to forgive me. That once special lady didn't understand, which is why I couldn't face her anymore after that day. She begged for me to forgive her and come back, but I couldn't-not until I made it right with our child. Until then, I put the gun against my head and waited for the light to shine.

The sound of the gun was as empty as my promise to protect that child. But there was something more. The gun did not go off. It didn't even chamber a round and the coils did not magnetize. I lowered the pistol and flipped it over. The information screen read, "FAILED ROUND GENERATED / VIOLATION NANOCODE 1545: FRIEND DETECTED." I let the pistol drop to the salvage grounds far, far below the tower.

I wasn't ready for this next step and I was totally unsure of how to proceed. It had been two years since that day and I had planned for this event and this event only. I had no job, no income, no home, and no vehicle. Just me and this setting sun. I watched it, the last sun set of my old life and for the first time in years, I looked forward to the dawn.

String Theory

String Theory

“Try not to disrupt, distract, or distance yourself from me over the next ten minutes. I have very little time left to warn you, less than that to explain why, and even less to help you live. So pay attention. 

“First, put the gauntlet on and make sure the icon is set to shield. Second, clean your glasses often. Dirty lenses are of no use. 

“String Theory is true. What’s more is the gate between here and theres is large. Too large, to big, to massive and we are going to take advantage of this later. Until then, we have trouble with a capitol T, which rhymes with “P,” which stands for “punk ass bitch,” which they are. 

“The clock is ticking so grab a rifle. Put the magazine in the feeder then check to ensure it’s seated. Grab that “t” handle and yank that thing back until it stops. Let it go. And for God’s Sake, finger off the trigger! 

“Back to the task. 

“The creatures moving about are demons. Not my word, theirs. They call themselves demons. Followers of Satan. Devil’s own. They are mad. Really mad, but they’re physical now, not spiritual. This is critical. You can shoot them. So do. A lot. 

“The men in black armor are not your friends. They want to gather up everything and kill it. They have this screwed up philosophy that they’re superior and their task is to clean the planet. They sound Australian because they are. Mate. Get used to saying that. Also, make everything sound super cute. It is not a lemon, it is a lemmy. Not a dog, it is a woofy. Got it? Shoot these guys too. Not Australians. The men in the power suits. 

“Don’t eat the tuna fish. 

There is a woman with black, curly hair and a beautiful smile. When you meet her, kiss her. Don’t wait. Just do it and trust me, it is worth it. 

“Times are a changing. And it is moving so listen up. You’re going to be scared and you’re going to want to run. It is ok to do both, but always remember that both are temporary and neither one of those actions will kill what needs to be killed. 

”Cats cannot be trusted and you should kick them when you can. I’m not advocating animals abuse, but the cats are now agents of evil and have agreed, as a creature, to assist the armies of South America and their march into Texas. 

Check your watch and make sure it is set to 12:23. That is the time when all this goes down and you need to remember two more things. One, the people to blame for this soup sandwich are these idiot college kids at MIT. Two, I can only do this one more time before the ability disappears forever. Do you understand? Nod for yes, shake for no.”

My dog said as I stood there with a dumb struck look on my face. I nodded and said, “Well alright then, Buster. Let’s go kick some demon ass.” 

Justice For All

 “Mercury must be in retrograde again

But at least it's not just hangin' around, pretendin' to be my friend

Oh, the road to Hell is paved with cruel intention

If it's not nuclear war, it's gonna be a divine intervention“ 

Sturgill Simpson

“Mercury Retrograde” 

2020

“I am Junks. A PI/EP 240 Android designed for executive protection and special operations work. I am 175 years old and I was witness to the single most selfish and selfless act today.” 

Both of the technicians were stunned stupid. Peter, the skinny one with the wiry goatee, swallowed hard. Paul was tapping his toe to the beat of a meth-driven squirrel's heart.

"Junks?" Paul said without thinking. Peter nudged him, "Dude," he said sternly.

"Yes, P-P-l-Paul." Junks said through her busted voice box. The digital feedback was typical of a grounding issue with her vocal cords.

Paul took a long drink of water then he set the shaking cup down on the desk. He felt he couldn't let go of the cup or it would go dancing to the floor with a crash. Junks placed her right hand over the cup and steadied it. The movement was so fast that Paul had a hard time registering it and the feeling of the robots hand over his did little to calm his nerves. Junks moved her head to face Paul then said, "You're scared. Have I don't som-som-som-I-I-something to upset you?"

Paul stammered, "No, no. Not at all. It's just that. Well," Paul looked at Peter, "You're destroyed. Gone. There's almost nothing left."

Junks moved her head about and examined her torso. The vast majority of her body was damaged or destroyed. Wires and cables hung about, some of them melted to one another. Plates were missing, servos twirled about with no purpose. Several exterior cables were tied into her primary interface, but that was burned and cracked. Junks looked at her left shoulder and discovered it missing. The arm, mostly intact, was sitting on a table across the room. It suddenly jumped to life and rolled off of the table. The fingers dragged the 200 pound arm across the floor, scraping as it did so, which sent chills up and down Paul's spine and made Peter's teeth feel dry and electric. Peter got up from his chair and walked over to the arm. He tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy. Paul joined him with a small wheeled lift. The arm clung to the side of the jack and hung on as Peter rotated the "up" grip.

30 minutes later the arm was re-installed on Junks' shoulder mount. It wasn't pretty, but the wires and cables were there. Paul did his best to connect the fibradium strands, but only managed to get two connected. Junks lifted the arm and moved it back and forth then flexed the fingers.

Paul removed the voice box and re-installed a better, updated version. He selected female and let Junks decide on the accent. She picked Scottish.

"That's better, innit?" She said flexing her arms again and moving her head.

"Junks, we have some questions to ask you." Paul said picking up a tablet. "I mean, if it's OK."

Junks nodded, "Questions are fine, Paul. What would you like to know?"

Paul turned the tablet over and showed Junks a picture of a woman. She had beautiful features, smooth skin and shiny black, curly hair. "Who is this?"

Junks slowly reached out with her right hand and touched the tablet, tracing the outline of the woman's face. "Chari Z'Mon de Mann," Junks said sadly. "Where is she?"

Paul slowly backed away and turned the tablet back over so he could access the screen. He moved his fingers quickly over the tablet then he stopped. He turned the tablet back over and and showed Junks. "She died in this crash."

The image was that of a BoXXer Shuttle. Cannon fire reduced the port side engines to ash, the wings were crumpled. The turned over ground indicated that the shuttle hit the dirt at some speed, but the angle was fierce. Outside of the shuttle, to the left of the canopy, were four human bodies that were lined up. A bright red wound was visible on the back of each head. Paul swiped the picture to the right and the next image caused Junks to leap back. "Who is this?" Paul asked quietly.

Junks moved her head about, unable to look at the picture. She stammered and put her hand up over the image, "Please," she said.

Paul quickly turned the screen off. "Who is she?"

Junks turned violently toward Paul and barked, "Chari!" Paul stumbled out of his chair, terrified of the giant robot. Two of the guards in the room lunged forward, rifles at the ready. Junks looked at them, both of them then she looked at Peter, "Who are you people? I don't recognize you."

Paul straightened his jacket and tried to compose himself. He put the tablet down and tried to explain, but Junks did not want to talk to him anymore. She addressed Peter.

Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I think you should know that we did not do anything wrong. We are just scientist. We were hired to, uh, well, to examine your memory for information."

"Information?" Junks said quietly now. "What information?"

Paul was visibly nervous now and it did not go unnoticed to Junks. Junks put her hands up and waved them, "I'm sorry. This is a lot. I was asleep and when I woke up, I was here. My body is in pieces. Maybe, please, help me get together. I will tell you want you want to know."

Paul looked at the guard who shook his head no. Paul talked to the floor, "I'm sorry. We can't."

Junks looked at the man in the uniform. "Hey-fuck you," she said before looking back at Paul. "Fine. OK."

Paul asked  Junks if he could access her video feed. Junks, nervously, said "no." She shook her head and said, "You guys are going to get what you want then what? Shut me down again? I don't want to dream anymore."

Peter sat down and asked, "Ok. But, what if we agreed to not shut you down. We can, transfer you to a better model?"

Junks looked at the guards. They didn't move or say anything. She looked back at Peter and said, "Yeah, Ok." Junks looked at her battered hands and turned them over, "Yes. I think that would be good."

Paul moved a cart over that had a set of computers attached to it. He gently attached cables to the ends of frayed pieces and mocked up jacks to insert into the primary and secondary busses. Paul picked up a wire with two jack heads and said, "This one goes there," pointing at Junks' forehead. "Can you, uh..." he said as the port whirred then opened. The panel had a set of large bolts that took a few seconds to spin out of the lock bins before the jack points were finally exposed. Paul reached over and was about to put the jacks in when he heard a crash. He turned to see Peter backing up and turning for the door. The guards watched him run out of the room then they looked down at the video monitor. Peter was watching the recording of Junks last hour and it was suddenly very clear what they were dealing with. The video clearly showed Junks using an organic port to download Chari into Junks' personality and control primary computer. Chair, one of the deadliest terrorists in modern times, responsible for the bombing of New Brunswick stadium that killed 90,314 people days ago was not dead. She was downloaded into the military robot in the room. The behemoth, 15' tall giant with depleted composite armor and a 7' reach. The robot with a nuclear core.

The guards turned to run, but it was too late. Chari cried out "For Independence!" Then detonated. A plan, five years in the making to get an operative into the military headquarters of the Soviet Federation of Communist Worlds, had finally paid off. The explosion rocked the very surface of the Moon and cracked it to the core. Chari, daughter of the last President of the United States and Governments of Earth, had accomplished what so many failed to do. Vaporized Communist controlled Moon. 

Haunt Me

I managed to swallow the vomit back down, but only at great cost to both my confidence and my throat. The acid, like my will, were eroding my being and what started out as such a noble idea was seemingly heading toward a bitter and irrelevant end.

The lights danced off of the walls, triggering a sort of headache and providing some disorientation. Music thumped in my ears and eyes and I could hardly make out the beat. It sounded more and more like the heart beat of a coked out beast with a raspy roar than music. I finally found the exit and with it, my sanity. I hit the door and tried to get some distance between myself and what had to be some crazy experiment in human tolerance.

I rounded the corner and found the fire escape ladder where it was supposed to be. I pulled the ladder down and locked it into place before ensuring the bag over my back was secure. A few minutes later, I was on top of the old warehouse and heading to an outcrop of old, abandoned air conditioning units that had long since been relieved of their hardware.

I didn’t worry about witnesses. Most people didn’t notice me and those who did never thought to remember any of my plain features. I never thought of myself as remarkably handsome or a standout. I was, however, good at killing what needed to be killed. In that, I found no equal.

I tried a few of the doors and found them locked. Which wasn’t terrible. Their locations were predictable and they would be hard to escape from. Drones would spot me in seconds and the droids would be on me like flies on shit. With no where to run, I would have to pop this clone and rebirth. A painful procedure and one that cost too much for me to do more than a few times a year. It was already getting hard to make a living as a mercenary. I didn’t need to complicate things.

I found a ramp that led to another set of buildings and a roof access that let me explore the top floors of what seemed like a research office. A little lock picking device made short work of the deadbolts. Once inside I finally found the spot. An open window that was covered by a screen.

It is only in the mind of a civilian that sniper’s post up in a window. The truth of the matter is, we post up as far from the window as we can. Trying to get the angle that would provide the most coverage of a zone. The rooms would absorb a lot of sound and hide any flash that might be produced. The confusing network of lights and shadows concealed me and so long as I didn’t draw any attention to myself, the human eye would have a difficult time finding my shape in the confusion. No magic cloak needed.

I was set up in minutes and getting comfortable when the burner phone chimed. Well, vibrated. The instructions provided me with a zone, an abortion clinic, and I was told the target would be marked via the scope.

I moved the rifle down and focused on the clinic. Initially I thought the target would surely be the high tech center directly across from me, but I was wrong. I’d been wrong before, but I never dwelled in such things.

The rifle I used was a coil piece. Electromagnetic coils of wire spun and pushed a projectile out of the barrel at speeds never considered just fifty years ago. The round, a hardened tungsten dart, was enough to destroy the targets. It was messy. It was very messy. Even if I just winged a target, the Kendrick energy from the round was enough to cause massive damage. Twice I’d hit targets in the shoulder and twice I’d seen their arms go flipping into the air.

I should be more clear. I don’t like what I do. I am despised by my employers and I’m probably not popular with the people I kill. I am this necessary evil that must be done, but so few have the stomach to actually do it. I was well trained. I was experienced. And, to be honest, I had no heart. Both literally and figuratively.

Five years ago, this month, I received a text from my girlfriend. I was out shopping for an engagement ring when she told me that she was getting an abortion. It wasn’t me, she said, my body, my choice. I begged her to wait. I pleaded and I ran. I was in my car and racing through traffic when the bullet hit me in the chest. I kept going. I knew I was dying, but I needed to protect that little life. Had to. It was her body, but that life in her belly was at least 50% me. I had a choice too and I wanted it to live. The blood loss was too much for me to bear and the world shrank around me. I fumbled in my bug-out-bag for the medical kit, which somehow I found. I don’t know how, but I did. I jammed the device into the hole and pulled the trigger. The nanobots rushed into my body and got to work, but they were forcing me to pull over. I couldn’t and didn’t want to, but I did anyway. I sat there in a panicked minute, begging, out loud, to go. I had a life to save! My child! My child! I put a hand on the wheel. The person out shooting cops that day had apparently believed I was dead and decided to shoot at a few more. It worked in my favor as the roads were cleared as police flooded the area. I put my foot on the accelerator and pushed. I don’t know how, but I managed to get back on the road. 29 minutes later I pulled into the lot, alive and mostly well. Blood on my shirt and pants was thick and sticky. I was a mess, but I didn’t care, I rushed into the abortion clinic and stormed past the nurses station. Right to the back where I opened door after door until I saw my girlfriend and next to her another man. He was holding her hand when I came into the room, which she shook off. It was too late. She had already taken the termination pill. With a glass of fucking champagne that the male friend brought with him. He had paid for the procedure and he was told the kid was his-but not to mention it to anyone or her boyfriend would find out. Well, I did. I left. I left her and possibly my child who was surely scared and suffering as the medication worked to stop his heart.

In the office again, my thoughts needed to be refocused. To keep the nanotechnology working, I needed a dose of medication every day. I dug through the med kit and stabbed my forearm with the junk. My mind stopped racing as did what was left of my heart. I laid back down and peered through the scope. No, I hated this job. I loved being a cop. I loved being a cook. However, I was good at this and every shot helped me exercise the demons. I pictured me at the end of the rifle. Dying with every pulled of the trigger. Finally achieving what technology had stolen from me. Peace.

Looking through the scope, the target appeared. My former girlfriend who aborted my child. Maybe it was my child. She was walking from the big parking lot to the clinics and when she turned I could see she was pregnant. Maybe 8 months along. The facts of that day, the fact that killed me, was that I was unable to save that little life. I was denied the ability to even try. Now, as fate would have it, the person I have been hired to kill was the very same woman who stopped my heart that day and now, in her womb, and innocent life. I knew what I had to do, I knew and understood the consequences of my actions. I rolled off the table with my rifle and bag and ran out of the 30 story window. The nanobots would never let me put a gun to my head. Poison would just be filtered out. But jumping was an unknown to the brainless civilization that occupied my body and mind. I couldn’t save a life then, maybe, MAYBE I could now. It was worth a try. As I fell, I finally found what I had yearned for all those years. Peace. Finally peace and forgiveness.

Apple Pie and Coffee

The cold fall rain hit the ground with a dead smack, washing away the red and yellow leaves carpeted the small east coast town. There was something in the air that everyone felt that no one could describe.

A crack of thunder then a flash of light following by a deep growl that hung in the air and tickled the guts. Several people were in the small diner on the edge of town, nervously playing at the plates in front of them. One couple, young and stupid, whispered in their booth as their coffee got cold. An old man at the bar watched condensation race themselves down his perspiring pint, lost in thought. The aging cop and his partner at the end of the line hadn't finished their burgers and the fries had long ago gone icy. Tension. The best word to describe the air in the diner was tension and the best example was that of a metal wire stretched to the point where the steel fibers were so tight that you could almost feel them straining to hold on. 

The waitress came out from the kitchen area and walked up to the middle aged couple and their son who were waiting at the bar. "I'm sorry. The cook isn't feeling well so we had to close the kitchen. Can I get you some coffee and some pie?" 

The couple shifted around a bit then the wife spoke over the husband's more timid tone, "Yes. That would be great. Can we just sit where we want?" 

The waitress "mmm-hemmed" them then said, "anywhere you want." 

The husband nodded then turned. The wife and son looked the other way then they all seemed to decide on the booth in the corner near the police. 

The waitress went into the kitchen and cut the pie and carefully put the pieces on a clean plate. She took her time to make the presentation as nice as she could. After all, this was the last night for them all and she wasn't going to let anyone go into the afterlife without doing her best to make it comfortable. 

A minute later the waitress appeared and placed the pies on the table, gently, followed by the steaming cups of coffee. "Hot coco for the young man," the waitress said then winked at the boy. 

"Thank you," he said politely as he took the cup from the tray and put it down in front of him. 

The waitress refreshed a few of the mugs and on the way back to the kitchen she replaced the luke warm beer with a colder one. "Paul, don't let these get too warm. They loose their taste then they heat up, honey," the waitress said heading back into the kitchen. 

"We should probably get going," the older cop said. "We can't stay here all night. Not right to stay in one spot like this." A crack of thunder made him jump and he cussed. "God....da...M. OK. Just thunder," he said to himself as he stood up. The younger officer didn't follow and said, "I want to finish this meal first. Before we leave. There's no need for us to just run out like this when we haven't even eaten a meal yet." 

The older cop must have been waiting for the excuse to stay because he did not offer an argument. He simply sat down and asked the waitress for a fresh plate- "Maybe just some pie?" 

The waitress was pleased to hear the order. She was proud of her new flavor-a pumpkin pie. Just in time for the fall. As before, she carefully cut it out and placed it on the plate and added the fresh whipped cream. Proud, she walked the pies out to the cops when she came to a dead stop. 

"Where are you going?" She asked the two men in trench coats that were at the door. They stopped in their tracks and slowly turned around. One of them cleared his throat and said, "Look, lady. We haven't got time for this. My friend and I have-"

"-no where to go. Not anymore," the waitress said. "Just take a seat and stay out of that rain. You don't need to go out there in this kind of weather. There's no telling what is out there on a night like tonight." 

The men looked at one another then they looked around. The taller of the men undid his jacket then he move it open, exposing a pistol on his hip that was being held in a leather holster. "Lady, we're leaving. And I don't care what's out there. I do care what's in here and we're not sticking around. We had out dinner, thank you, but we will be on our way. There's no need to keep us like this. Playing with us." 

The pistol was suddenly torn out of its holster and went flying into the kitchen. The cook came out, wiping his hands on a white rag that he hung from his belt. The waitress moved to the side and bowed her head slightly. 

Death, in any form, remained an ancient and powerful presence. He leaned over the booth and looked around. "Where do you intend go?" 

The taller felt bold, or must have, because he pointed at Death and said, "If you want to drag us to hell or heaven, or whatever then do it. But I'm not going to sit here all night waiting for something to happen. You got this place-everyone in here is scared. They're terrified and you and her, what ever the fuck that is, are playing this kitchen game with us. Like we're toys or somethin'. Now, I'm heading out of here and you ain't going to stop me!" Then the man turned and headed out the door. A man, or at least it looked like it was a man, came out of no where. He was nude and his stomach had these terrible gashes across it as if someone was dragging a knife, point down, into his guts, but not pushing hard. Just letting the razor cut. The worst part about the image was the fact that the man's face was gone. Someone or something had cut it clean off, leaving these empty sockets and this flapping tongue. Blood, never ending blood, gushed like a hose out of his neck and face and brains slipped out of his sockets and nose. The "man's" fingers were gone, the flesh, which left sharp bones as points that he used to grab the tall man. He tore him off of his feet and threw him to the ground. The people in the diner watched, screaming, begging, as the creature pushed his fingers into the mans neck and skull and the tall man thrashed about the ground, pounding his fists and feet into the wet concrete until they were broken and bleeding. The creature howled or cried. Whatever it did it made everyone in the diner hide their faces and cover their ears. It was a horrible, terrible sound that made their souls cower. 

The remaining man in the diner cried out, "Do something!" He crowded the door, but did not leave. 

Death pushed a spoon around the counter and waited for the remaining man to stop his pointless pleases and crocodile tears. 

"Why aren't you doing something?" A woman screamed. Death paused. 

"I do not control the door. For some, it's locked. For others, it's unlocked. What waits on the other side is not my decision, but yours. It's a decision you made a long time ago. Think of it as the bed you made and I am the will that will force you to sleep in it. When you arrive here," Death said waving about, "in this purgatory of sorts, we are still moving in time. Still on the river. The ports appear as they appear and those who want to disembark do. But what waits on the other side of those doors isn't anything I control. Me and my, uh, assistant do our best to make this transition less painful. We cook, we clean, and we try to be polite. But if you're going to be assholes we can be assholes too." Death lifted his hand and prepared to snap his fingers when the young cop at the end of the bar said, "WAIT. Sir, please. You're right. We know you're right. I knew I was dead when I got here. And I knew what this was. It's just the shock of it all. But the food and the pie," he said putting another bite into his mouth, "are amazing. Really. Please, just" the cop said looking around, "How do we know when we're supposed to leave?" 

Death grinned, "You like the pie?" The Waitress fixed her hair a bit and smiled. The cop smiled too, "Yes. I do." 

"So do I," a child said. "I really like the pie. 'specially the hot chocolate." 

Death stood tall now. His smile was one of both pride and joy. "They like the pie." he said to the waitress. "Do you want some more?" 

The little girl held up her plate, "Yes, please." 

The Waitress seemed to float now. She took the small plate, all smiles, and went to get the pie when the door chimed. She turned to see who had come in. Everyone was suddenly shocked to see the world outside had transformed. Warm sun kissed the tinted glass. The summer sky hosted the tall trees and together they welcomed the birds and cool wind. It was inviting and beautiful. The tension that clung to everyone like a cold, wet shirt had been replaced by fresh, warm cotton sheets. A mans stood in the door and when he saw the little girl he seemed to explode with joy. The little girl did the same and the two looked as if they had known one another their whole lives. The man picked the girl up and swung her around. "I'm so glad to finally meet you face to face!" 

The girl giggled, "Me too! I kept dreaming of you when they were making me sick. When I was sick. I was really sick in the end, I think. But I couldn't wait to meet you." 

The man and little girl left the diner, but not before the man put down a hefty tip. "Thank you for taking care of her while we prepared her place." Then they left. 

Death wiped a small tear from his face then he made some excuse for the pollen. The waitress softly punched him in the arm and said, "you're such a softy." Death happily walked back in the kitchen, "They like the pie!" 

Farmer's Wife

The soft spring wind blew pollen filled kisses on the farmer's wife's cheek. Tabitha pulled her face mask up and around her nose, desperate to keep the sneezes at bay. No one appreciated sneezing into their own mask and no one disliked it more than Tabby.

The fields were greener than ever this year and the wheat was thick and full. She couldn't remember the last time they had such a great harvest. Her husband, Bruce, was happier then ever. They never had much, but the past two years had put more in their accounts than they could spend in three life times.

The big red tractor came to a dusty stop outside of the barn where Tabby was tending to the smaller herb gardens. The diesel chugged and belched before the last piston came to a rest and the door opened. Tabby heard the country music on the radio and knew Bruce was going to come around the big any second. She prepared her garden hose and waited. And waited. When nothing happened, Tabby went to the corner and half expected Bruce to pop out of no where and scare her so she had the water ready. When she discovered the cab to the tractor empty, she sighed and turned around. Walking back to the garden she caught a shadow out of her right eye and turned. The water hit her in the back and Bruce was off and running with an empty bucket in hand. Tabby was soaked from head to food, but laughing. She followed her husband into the house where they got into a brief, but playful fight with flour and what was left of some corn meal from breakfast.

Later that afternoon, while on the patio, Bruce nursed a cold beer and rocked in his chair. Tabby listened to music and was clipping the ends of the green beans for dinner when Bruce finally spoke. "You know-we don't have to keep doing this," he said using the top of his bottle as a pointer to wave at the crops before him. Tabby agreed, "True. We don't. We have enough to do -whatever. But what would people like us do?" Bruce chuffed. He thought about that all the time. He was a gifted farmer, it seemed, and his green thumb had always been a blessing. His grandfather and his father before him also had a gift, but the Earth refused to cooperate. Bruce's mother used to say, before she died, that Bruce just knew and understood the ground. She said, "you know what She needs. That's why the ground grows around you."

Bruce took a long sip. "You're right, Tabby. I like this. I prefer this. These warm days, the cold ones too. I love the looks of the farm and I love my tractor." Bruce smiled, "and I have grown fond of you too." The last comment drew a pinch and a gentle giggle from his red-headed wife.

"I'm glad for all of this, Bruce. I am. I don't want to go anywhere else." Tabby sung to herself. She was about to break the news to Bruce about their milk cow when her cell phone vibrated. She picked it up and read the email. "Oh, good news! The Army is bringing in another three trucks of zombies tomorrow. That is enough to finish the back 40!"

Bruce laughed. "I thought it would take us years to get these fields primed. This is your fault, you know, Ms Scientist. Finding that contract and the idea of burying these Z-bags while they're still kicking and moaning. There is just no way we would have met the corn quota or the lettuce quota without you! The whole world owes you a debt of gratitude."

Tabby didn't miss a beat, "No, they owe you. There probably isn't a table in the world that hasn't got at least one part or partial Z Farms product on it. Hey-when are you going to let me use the dozer to bury those puss pocketed bastards?"

"Uh, when you stop cackling away like a psychotic witch when you do it, "Bruce said teasing his wife.

Life on the farm wasn't always perfect, but when the sun was shining, the soft spring winds blew, and the grounds murmured, it was paradise.

The Truth of the Matter

If you want to know the truth then you should be prepared to understand why I lied in the first place.

There are a number of ways people get high. It's been an issue in the past, it's an issue today, and it is certainly going to be an issue tomorrow. The problem isn't the freedom of choice that a person has to use or abuse their body as they see fit, it's that to get this specific high, they used and abused someone else's body. That's confusing so let me clarify.

The main drug on the market these days is called "Qualify." OR "Q." Q is manufactured off planet, using a mixture of man-made chemicals that are common on the Mar's dig sites, but nearly impossible to get here on Earth OR in the Rockies. Oh, that's what we call the 420 million people living in the astroid belt that sits between here, Earth, and there, Mars.  

Q is brought in through a number of means to Earth where the damage is fairly apparent. While some people get a nice high from it, others experience either rage or hibernation. Those who hibernate can often be found rotting away in their apartments or homes by neighbors who have a keen sense of smell. Rage, well, that is more apparent. In some cases, Rage is what the person wants. Mercenary groups, terror groups, gangs-all of these exist in the future and they are thriving.

I am not human and, for a number of years, I had more in common with your toaster than I did your neighbors. I was selected, at random if that is what you want to believe, to be part of the United Worlds of Earth Federal Police Agency. Or you can call it EFPA. I received upgrades, training, and hundreds of law enforcement experience through "IDEA." A shareable experience chip that can be passed from one person to another-a legacy of experience in a piece of metal about the size of a penny. In a way, I am part of the lineage of a family of officers dating back to 2102. Some of them were chiefs, some were street cops, all of them had decades of experience.

When I left the training center, I was designated "T-900-LA." I preferred "Tom," as people had trouble with the numbers and it is hard to relate to something that sounds like a movie prop.

I proved myself on the streets of Inland Empire and worked my way up to detective in the Narco-Terror Unit. We just called it the NUThouse.

The shuttle I was on was an old, used up Mule, but it got the job done and it was so common out and around Mars that no one questioned the sighting. Mars had been partially terraformed in that most of the surface was under massive, protective shells. Under those shells, cities and dig sites. 910 million people called Mars and Mars Orbit home. There was talk of Mars cutting ties with Earth and it was getting close to becoming a reality. Everyone was on edge.

The shuttle let me off just outside of New Belgrade district and I walked the rest of the way. No way a human could tell the difference between me and a mining bot and we were all over the surface, crawling about like ants on a sugar cube. I was let into an airlock and cleaned. As soon as I left the clean chamber, there was a man with a pressed suit for me. I put it on and checked myself in the mirror. I straightened my tie and it was only then that I felt professional enough to walk into the meeting.

Q was highly addictive and more than that, it was everywhere. What made it better than any other drug was that you only needed a little and a little went a long, long, long way. The high was carried about via nanobots and they knew what and where to go to make you feel your best. They were also preprogrammed with a kill switch, which I activated as soon as I sat down. Video feed across the planet of Mars show people suddenly collapsing and slumping over. Cars crashed, ships collided, and space craft continued into the void. Millions of people were dead. I nodded to another robot at the table and he entered a code. We watched as millions of people across the Rockies and Earth fell down dead. Then we gave the kill code. It wasn't long before the human race was down to a few hundred scampering rats.

I came to the conclusion, after obtaining all of those memories, that people are sick, selfish animals that in no way, shape or form should continue to live. It took me and a few of my colleagues decades to find our way into the right positions and create Q. It took a decade or two to get the drug right, but when we did, we just let human nature takes its course. The dumb animal just ate up their own destruction and they didn't even question it. Why should something like that continue to live? So, I lied to these "people" to get to the truth. You don't deserve OR need to live. In fact, since your destruction, we have enjoyed unprecedented peace and Earth. Well, you should see how beautiful it has become since Earth was finally cured of the virus known as Man.