I felt bones crack and splinter under the force of my punches as I downed the last of the thugs, and I couldn’t help but smile like a shark hiding under a school of overweight carp. Certainly one of the perks of being, in a manner of speaking, on this side of the law: breaking a few backs won’t usually land you in solitary.  The blacksuits arrived a little too late to get anything but more computer work, unfortunately for them. I decided not to stick around and socialise, ducking into a narrow alley and over a steel wall, etcetera, etcetera. The town was little more than a maze of shadows and reflected light, a cold geometric wilderness of architecture and dim, private lighting, and it’s difficult to wax poetry when you can barely see past your feet. There’s only so many synonyms for “black”. Goes without saying that I know my way around Old Anashire regardless. If the place were a person, a woman, I wouldn’t just tell you she was pretty, or ugly: I could tell you the colour of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the texture of the tentacular appendages bursting from her sides. I knew her intimately, and I could tell when something was off, like a hair slightly out of place. Someone had been following me for the last three or four minutes.

I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and felt the warmth of my shooting glove. Concentrating, I imagined myself on fire, reinforcing it with memories of burnt tongues, scorched hands and inhospitable summers. Cruel, but effective, and I wasn’t particularly in the mood for subtlety, having just finished . Ducking behind a large pipe jutting out and down from the side of a building,  I pulled out my glove, aiming my index finger at the huddled shape before it had a time to react, activating the pressure pad on my palm with my middle finger. The bullet hit on the side of the creature’s jaw, and it fell backwards, eyes glazed over with panic.

“Aaaagh! I’m dying! By the blood of Lars I’m burning! WATER!” I pinned the spy to the wall. He was humanoid, with tattered, patchwork clothing, maybe human, noxious smelling. A smell that could make a corpse’s eyes water. “You’re not on fire. Psychic bullet. Who are you and why are you on my tail? Short-hand answers.” “I – but – what – I-I’m thirsty?” his eyes began to refocus. “Ugh. Is that how ya greet people? Hard-working, paying customers? I have half a mind to sue, pal. Well, if I could get a lawyer who’d stay in the same room as me.” I slapped him, for good measure. “Alright, okay! See the teeth? Dead eater. Mutant. I was just in the neighbourhood when I saw what you did to those lumps for your client. And after what you just did to me, I’ve decided you’re just the guy who can help me. And you might not believe me, but I can pay ya more than enough.” I put the man down. I’ve had much stranger clients, and if this guy was lying, it would be better to find out what he was hiding than let him off. For the moment, he seemed harmless, and it isn’t my policy to kill the harmless, without considering my other options first.

“Pal? You still there?” I smiled. “Just considering my options. Better head to my office. Too many blacksuits out to be loitering in the streets tonight.” The man sighed. He seemed relieved, or perhaps just tired. “I’m Sidden. Call me Sid. And I know who you are. Damien R. Drake, Private Investigator, Bodyguard, Procurer of Lost or Stolen Goods of Value, Seeker of Truth and Justice and Protector of the Innocents (Who Can Afford It).” “So you have my bio. By sheer coincidence, no doubt. I suppose it is especially lucky you recognised me, as well.” “Yeah, yeah. Just listen to my story, you’ll understand why I gotta be, how d’you say it, discreet. It all starts, pretty normal really, with a dead guy…”

(to be continued)

I eat the dead. I mean, long dead.

Are you repulsed yet? I betcha you are. You’re probably picturing me as some sort of hideous bug-eyed thing right now, maybe a big, squishy talking maggot. Go on, you can admit it, I’ve heard the worst of it already. Well, pal, it’s just who I am and what I do, and you know what else? I dig it. Let me tell you, you ain’t gonna go starving when your lunch makes most people lose theirs. I like to think of it as a, whaddyacallit, vital service to society: if it wasn’t for me, pal, you’d probably be swimmin’ in corpses. Well, maybe.

I mean, sure, plenty of critters get eaten before they reach my tolerance level. And most decent, respectable folk, they get buried, or burned, or even shot into space if they’re particularly fancy. Critters ain’t always eaten in time, though, and… well… not all folks are decent or respectable. Especially after I’m good and done with ‘em.

In fact, it was just the sort of indecent, unrespectable types that this story is all about. It’s a funny little story, really. Well, if your idea of a laugh is a bunch of dead guys, a bunch of stupid guys shootin’ at each other and becomin’ the dead guys, and plain old me wrapped up in the middle of it ’cause God ‘n his drinking buddies were probably bored. I suppose you could see it as unfunny. Even morbid. I’ve heard the worst of it already, though, and honestly? The more you’ve been around, the worse ya heard.. the funnier everything ya see, everything ya hear, really gets.

“You ended the war last Tuesday, sir. I believe you ordered your chair to be fitted with their President’s spines.” President Axehand caressed the spine-handles of his mahogany chair, and realised this to be true. “Narrator! You should have mentioned my chair was only partially mahogany. How am I meant to notice these things if you don’t describe them in your prose?” “Sorry,” I lied, what a pompous git, thinking he could command me when I created him. Protagonists these days.

Before I could trail into a vague sort of inner-monologue, a giant robotic hand thrust itself into the Chamber of Presidency, making the roof crumble like so many giant potato chips. “PRESIDENT AXEHAND! Prepare to be handed the axe! As in being acquitted of your presidency because I’m going to kill you!” At this point I was starting to get a headache. What time period was this even set in? Anyways, President Axehand leapt from his throne of partial-mahogany, battle lust in his eyes and loins. “Fool! You’ll never take my empire! Prepare to die!” President Axehand thrust madly at the robotic invader, as the Secretary of the State cowered in the corner like some sort of corner. I sidled up to her. I’m allowed to do that. “Hey, baby, are you up for election, ’cause I want you in my House of Representatives – in the pants!” We’ll skip over what happened after that, suffice to say that trying to pick up a chick made out of wood can be rather painful. Oh, yeah, so like, President Axehand totally destroyed the Sentinel or whatever it was. He drunk gloriously and deeply from the skull of the goat. “SECRETARY! THE COFFEE IS NOW COLD! STOP FRATERNISING WITH THAT PERVERTED MAN AND GET ME MORE COFFEE!” That was uncalled for. “Hey, %^#@ you, man. I gave you life. I think I’m entitled to a little private time with the ladies.” “What?” “What??” “How do you pronounce %^#@?” “It’s a censor, man. I was insulting you.” President Axehand’s beard filled with battle-rage-lust, as he prepared to do to me what he would often do to so many potato chips. Luckily, he fell into a pit of ravenous goats at the last moment. I’m allowed to do that. President Axehand was ripped to shreds, so many shreds.

I sat on my glorious throne of glorious mahogany, the Crown of Presidency atop my head as I pondered the future of my glorious nation. But, more importantly, I sulked that the Secretary of the State still wouldn’t go out with me. Why am I not allowed to do that? %^#@.

- Super Smash Bros. Brawl (NTSC)
- No More Heroes (NTSC)
- Big Brain Academy
- Kirby Canvas Curse
-Pokemon Diamond oh wait, I lost that and all I have is the box :[

Life rolls on, though as usual for one so motivated for play and not work, there isn’t much to report in the way of progress. prose writing, game developing, hell, even University has been pretty slow and lethargic. What do I want to do after University? I’m not sure. Sometimes I feel almost dilettantic in everything I do. I guess, ideally, that stupid degree in Computer Science helps me land some sort of job I can stand. Independence, financial independence, would be a great thing to have: I do worry about my ignorance of the real world though (not to mention my familial situation, and the two are linked and intertwined). Life after education is a bit of a black fog for me, for those two reasons, the latter especially. Who can tell what will happen when I try to leave my comfort zone? Do I have the courage?

Ah, but enough of that nonsense. I recently ordered a new laptop. I am excited to get it. Perhaps that will increase my “productivity”? Well, it’ll certainly increase my video gaming.

And I guess, for now, that’s more than good enough for a slacker like me.

Here.

Until next time, and hopefully on a brand new shiny laptop, this is Forte Dante SIGNING OUT. /smoke bombs into the night

As usual, check us and me out at Unspeakable Evil, too. Oh, and by the way: My next real post will probably be more Rat-boy.