Morose, he's calculating every tear. 

It's going to relieve the pressure. 

Bones crushing under the weight of every year. 

I do not believe you can reassure. 

This is what we have been building towards. 

This climatic clash of violence afforded by grudge. 

No one can claim this throne, living ward.

Push them one more step against the edge. 

Bloodied for a treat, you'd gnaw your own arms off. 

Reaching for something to fill the nothing inside. 

This only ends one way, go ahead and scoff. 

Laugh it off, for these feelings are dead in a landslide. 

     The table furnished with a gold tapestry of covers. On top of those covers are glass souffle pans with green bean casserole filled to brim. The turkey sits as a golden baked beacon in the center of the set. A large bowl of mashed potatoes sits, with a large wooden spoon stuck in it, like a stake. Stuffing is flowing out the turkey, with gravy caressing the skin of the bird, running down it's sides with such grace. Candles sporadically placed upon the set, lit, and burning hot. The chairs around the table remain empty.

Kayla walked into the kitchen, with her cellphone hanging from her extended arm. “Kyle just called, he’s on his way. I could hear Marsha yelling about the sweet potatoes in the background.”

“Sweet potatoes? Holy shit, with marshmallows?”

“Don’t swear, hun. My mother is going to be here shortly, might as well curb your tongue now.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be decent”

John walked into the dining room, setting down a tray of lightly singed dinner rolls onto the dinner table.

A feeling of acid wash spread beneath his feet. The burn was enough to make John’s muscles twitch uncontrollably. A look of intense discomfort flooded his face.

Kayla walked over to John, placing her hand on John’s back.

“Are you okay?” Kayla said, leaning in towards John.

“Yeah.” John said, shaking off the violent.

People sat, gathered around the dinner table. Kayla’s Mother, and Brother along with his wife. Her Father next to her, while John sat down in the chair next to Kayla. John’s folks told him before the holiday’s;

‘we’re not going to make it this time, John. I don’t think your father can take the drive anymore. He’s getting older you know?’

John snapped back to attention, Kyle had been snapping orders towards John, making motions at the mashed potatoes and back at his plate. John grabbed the bowl, apologizing promptly.

“Sorry, Kyle! I was spacing.” John said, taking a heap of the starch mashed into a paste, spreading a dollop onto Kyles plate.

“No sweat, man. So, how’s the new job!? I heard they were able to make you editor! That’s gotta be better than writing those crack pot stories, right?”

Marsha snapped at Kyle after he said crack pot. John gave a light hearted chuckle and nodded back at Kyle, putting the spoon back into the mashed potatoes.

“No, no, no. It’s alright Marsha. It is better though, by a long shot. I was done living in that bubble anyways.”

Kayla chimed in, “Whatever he is doing now, it’s better than what he had been doing. One tour was enough, for a whole life time.”

John nodded. He felt something strange wash over him again. He looked over at Kayla’s mother who was staring at her plate, moving food left and right from the center of the plate outwards. It was almost entrancing. John looked up her arms, then to her lips which were moving. He couldn’t hear anything though, it was as if she was trying to say something to him, but the sound just wasn’t coming.

“wha-” John started, but Kayla’s Mother started to move her lips faster, then light sound could be discerned.

“hit him a-”

“hit him again”

“hit him”

John fixated on her lips. He slowly moved his eyes up to hers. She was staring straight through him, like he was a transparent piece of glass standing between her and an unknown abyss.

“what!?” John said finally.

Kayla’s Mother was staring at John with an odd look on her face.

“What is it dear!?” She said, sounding genuinely concerned. John’s face just became abashed with confusion.

“Uh, I, uh… N- nothing.” John said, shaking his head.

Kayla looked over to John.

“Are you okay, honey?”

John nodded, “Yeah. Just tired.” He stated, pulling another piece of the turkey onto his place. He felt a sudden pang against his chest, then a burning sensation behind his eyes. He was wincing from the pain, staring onto the table. The Turkey was covered in maggots, crawling, inching across the dead bird, while the potatoes grew a thick coven of mold on top of them. The stuffing flashed, revealing what looked like flesh pulsating, a long intestinal culmination of sweet potatoes, and gravy slowly moved inching back and forth against the table, reaching out of the bowls with an almost sentience like sense.

John choked on his food, spitting it out onto the table. His brother in-law looked over in concern.

“you okay there, champ!?” he asked, with a milky yet bloody substance flowing from the corners of his mouth.

John felt a pang in his stomach shock him back again.

He was sitting comfortably in the chair at the dining room table.

“Uggghh” John muttered. Kayla was still looking at John with pure concern.

“Hun, do you need to lay down?” Kayla said, reaching over to John to check his forehead.

“No, no, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“…”

“It’s more than tired, John”

“Everything is shutting down, John.”

Both Kyle and Marsha said in unison, looking straight into John’s eyes. Their eyes were not breaking.

“Wha-?”

Kayla’s mother was staring across the table again like she was earlier.

“This journey is over. We wanted to grace you with something familiar before the fever dreams sat in. These things, they never go the way you think they are going to. If it was only two more inches to the left, the story would have been written differently. Alas, this is the story, the narrative we are given to tell. To know your family. To know love, loss, and heart break. We don’t know these things. We don’t know many things about what your kind knows about. We attempt to understand, but we never fully grasp. Understand. This is such a strange word. To understand something. That whole concept of word usage always fascinated us. When you say Understand, are you standing underneath something? Why would this be a significant symbol of congruent thinking!? It’s silly. But it is from you John, it is a part of you.”

John felt his feet going numb, confused.

“I don’t understa-”

“There it is again, so eager, a place for everything and everything in its place. I am afraid this is the end of the ride. We could only keep the toxins spreading for so long. It was vital that you had this last experience. All so vital that you break from the experience as well. In this moment, before your death, we picked you up. We hoisted your strength. We placed trust into your desires, and watched you experience these parting gifts. Even if the gift was stale at the end. You still earned your gift”

…

An operating table, a hand laid over the side. Blood dripped down, slowly pooling beneath his hand. Stomach organs bulging from a cut across his stomach. The men standing around the now dead corpse started removing their gloves. “We tried, we even tried the crash cart. He was just too far gone. The bullets had penetrated through his vital organs. He was going into severe toxic shock. You did what you could.” The assisting doctor said.

This thanksgiving, enjoy time with your loved ones. Tell those who you rarely get a chance to speak to, that you enjoyed their company. Spend time with one another, and learn to love one another.

What's that saying? Once bitten twice shy? Nah, maybe it's the name of some song. I don't know anymore. Nobodies been keeping track for a long time now. You're probably wondering why this paper smells like shit. Turns out, people tend to leave the spiral notebooks over the canned glazed hams. This shit gets left with all the rotting corpses to absorb all the lovely aromas of the afterlife. Who'da thunk it? I've been going back and forth with these idea's for a while now, maybe the Florida Turnpike wasn't the best idea. Who gives a damn though, right? In the sunshine state, a bottle of Malibu, fucking oranges everywhere... Who'd be upset right? Who cares if my chest feels like its' gone two rounds with a semi and loss? Well, I care. I'd be upset. I am upset. My feet no longer feel like mine. They feel like pieces of timber attached to organic stuff. Scuffed down by the road, broken glass doesn't really improve the journey either. I can't step out of the road either, you ever been bitten by those fire ants!? You'd rather let Mr. Shambles get a hold of you. 

I met a dog. He looks more worn out than I do. At first, he tried going for my left leg. I was able to tumble and roll, holding his face, neck, down to the simmering pavement. I wrestled with him until he stopped trying to rip out my jugular. I have to wrestle with the thought of eating him now. I guess being man's best friend doesn't exempt him from being sustenance. 

I found some pieces of wood, well, I found a dresser in the back of an old Subaru Outback, smashed that shit up all nice like. Was able to get a respectable fire going, and found a skiing pike. I don't know what they're called. Those things skiers use to slope down the mountain sides. Some poor son of a bitch was probably on his way to Aspen or some dumb shit. Can't really tell. I used the skiing pike to kebab some meat. Shit was charred to perfection. Delicious. 

Of course, the dog started whining, I tossed him a crisped squirrel leg. Couldn't go through with it. The poor guy could barely fight me as is. His owner must had been part of the great exodus that happened right after everything went sideways.

I don't know where I am going to go now. As far as I can tell, I need to start heading north. Maybe the cold will slow them down. 

Who the hell knows when winter's coming though, nobodies been keeping track for a long time now.   

The page stares back at me. 

Trying to make sense from one to another. 

The white, like it needs that ink smudged across. 

Playing these games, i'm done with others. 

Do you see it? Do you know no one wins? 

Of course you don't, you're still playing. 

A tug of war on the backs of the disenfranchised. 

I fiddle with these bold thoughts, I don't need to win. 

You can have the crown, shit stained red.

Take the throne, careful that you're not thrown off. 

The kingdom is yours, this paper is mine. 

You can own the whole damn thing. 

I don't want what you have. 

I don't desire your realm of bullshit.

Let the seasons change, and the townspeople cry.

You can have the whole damn thing. 

This paper is mine, mine alone.

The ink only moves when I beckon.

Your voice, strain it now, knock yourself out. 

You cheapen everything.

Every little comparative analysis you perform upon others accomplishments.

Trying to relate becomes unrelatable in the end.

For every victory, you lessen the impact.

For every experience, you soften what’s gained.

For every love viewed, your jealousy consumes.

You force down your successes like a teenager forces down whisky.

While I stand there, feeling proud of what you’ve become.

You take my skills, all of my abilities.

You cheapen them.

You nonchalantly act like my challenges were just easy hurdles.

In fact, you act like you could do the same as I do.

There are things that you can do, that I wouldn’t be up to snuff for.

There are things that I can do, you will never have the stomach for.

All in all, what is anything worth?

When anything can be worth nothing at all?

Sitting here with a stomach full of hot damn, apple pie whisky, and an occasional glass of water fills me with a feeling of overt honesty. Lets talk about honesty, I am more in debt than my parents ever were, I still believe in a system that awards educated individuals. Not that everyone who graduates from college is educated, but that those who honestly give a damn are given a real shot at the world around them. I desire to make more than 60K a year, but by student loans are going to equal that rate. Whats the point of making more if I am just going to end up having to pay that back at the end. Who is really winning here? The god damn colleges, hands down. How am I supposed to carry on in a society of doubters when I want to be the bright voice that tells them "NO! it's definitely worth the trouble!?  what am I supposed to say? Sure? Maybe? do you enjoy doing work for almost nothing? I am sitting here with no excuses as to why I don't have more shit together. I should have a better job. I have a bachelors degree for god's sake. I show more motivation than most, I have plenty of experience, and I enjoy work that allows me to be a part of something bigger than myself. I think that is the biggest bummer of all. We're looking at a generation of die hard consumers who are convinced that their economies grow by their expenses. No body stopped and told them that the economy grows by their investments. Houses, Businesses, Corporations and the like really provide the honest growth here. It's not the god damn Iphone they choose to purchase, but its stock into the company that dictates whether or not they are able to do more than babel. 

Taken everything.

Don't pay any mind.

To your kind.

Why you'd fight.

Metamorphosis never sat in.

A useless emotion like might?

Beckons me, pulling me in tight.

Rebirth still born.

Culture mourns.

Alteration didn't take.

Mutation heartbreak.

The immortal formula.

Cocoon chamber orchestra.

A song of confusion,

Trappings of an illusion.

Feel it over coming,

This transfusion. 

     That house, that man in the house, and that man’s gun. Never separable, always together. Jack couldn’t find a reason to holster his snub. The gun loosely hanging off his belt, ready to become dislodged from a mighty swipe of his hand. The beat always seemed blue of shade, breaking his day up into smaller pieces. He’d wake in the morning, sweat just covering his glossed pale skin. His beard unkempt, shrouding his face like a thicket of bushes. His clay brown eyes just stare lifelessly against the nothingness. His transition from ‘home’ to the streets almost grayed out his afternoon. The sun doesn’t shine here, so thoughts of a brighter tomorrow seem eons away. Years, years it has been like this. Jack doesn’t mind though, so long as the day ends with him getting blessed with the sharp end of a needle. Nirvana pulsing through his veins, the only way he knows how. Otherwise, he would melt into a lump of nothing. It kept him sedated, enthralled in his own manipulated sunshine. Junkees, rapists, filth of the city flowed through his streets, and taking them down just seemed like a silly endeavor. No one would notice that he killed these leeches of society, and it wouldn’t be long before other leeches latched on to the corpse that is this crowded sardine can. Smeared in oil, sweat, blood, and fear. At such point, Jack would lay his head down on his pillow, hoping to slip away into the ocean.

A few houses away, and down a dark alley way you would meet a girl who only goes by the handle Johann. Her face fair, her height challenged. It was like having all of the skin color crayons just melt together to form a brand new skin color. Johann wasn’t alone either, walking side by side with a rather taller man in a long brown trench coat, one where the collar flipped up to break the line of sight with his facial features. His curly brown hair stuffed out of his hat, like trying force a hat to catch a hairy mess, and getting some overflow. As the two walked through the back alley, they happened upon a broken window that belonged to an old type shop. Bottles of printing ink were strewn across the floor, like an enlarged speckled dusting. Old printers were still on display, showing off the archaic technology that was replaced by screens that emit light, demanding your full attention, all eyes on the glass. Johann pulled out a small, thin device with a single digit of light. It flashed multiple times as she waved it over several of the printer cartridges as if the device was a wand.

No reason to spend any more time with your mind somewhere else. He grabbed his black faded leather coat, throwing it on over his cotton vest. Jack dressed as if he was expecting an environmental disaster. He also tended to carry a bag full of clothes to wear in case his current gettup was spoiled, blood being unsightly and all. He had just polished his gun last night, so maintenance would most likely not be required. His house sat between a row of small duplexes that ran the course of the street. He threw his slacks on, and fastened his belt tightly around his waist. His snub stuck out neatly from his belt. He stared out of the front window of his door out onto the poisonous city outside that door. The constant night made his duty even more difficult. Years on this beat, this dead, graveyard of a shift. Not many could do what he could though, not since the collapse.

Jack left his apartment complex, shutting the door behind him. He twisted the lock mechanism until he heard the ‘clink’. His job is simple. Anyone that isn’t sleeping in their beds is a suspect, and they are to be treated as such. He strode down the sidewalk from his apartment, taking the path to the right. He immediately turned down the alley by the back side of his apartment complex. This is where ’Night Owl’s would perch, waiting for trespassers to break the ordinances. As he walked into the alley, the moonlight seemed to shimmer. Those shadows consumed everything in the alley until all that was left was the glint of street light shining into the vacant space in front of him. To the right, the ladder to a fire escape hung down in reach. He climbed the fire escape with ease, making it to the top of the escape where a rusty old lawn chair laid open on the grate floor. Jack sat in the rusty old lawn chair, watching the dead silence of the street work its way into obscurity below him.

Ten years ago, something genetic changed dramatically within the general populace. The night owl lifestyle seemed to fade against choice. Now, the human mind, shuts off like a light switch after midnight. Scientists tried to study the event to find out why, or how this change occurred. Some say the natural rhythms within our mind backfired, and rewired to only operate during the day. There were theories about the solar patterns, and how the human mind wrapped around those patterns in an almost self-defense to our life style of defying natural human order. Curiously enough, drugs that alter the brain chemistry called stims, were being used in an attempt to curb the effects. The drugs were highly unstable, and dangerous for consumption. Those afflicted were victims, or made others victims in violence. It was only a matter of time until the world's governments got together to take matters in their own hands. So in light of this new demand to the human condition, new breed of human were created to defend the inhabitants of this world from those who were afflicted by . The term ‘Night Owl’s was coined by one Alfred Dimewise. A method and technique of an experimental surgery procedure was performed on select men and women. The procedure would change the wrinkles on the surface of the brain, and rewrite the circadian rhythm to usher out a need of sleep. It was like constantly feeling the effects of caffeine without any crash. Always awake, always alert without any negative physical or mental side effects. The human mind wasn’t made to be exploited like ‘so’. Many of those men and women who now had this extra time on their hands, changed forever, now and ever. A world without sleep looks like a child had a temper tantrum with an etch a sketch. Lines scribbled like the tall building that used to be the obelisks of praise for the capitalist world. It was a world that ceased to exist after the event. How could an economy with no working force even survive? Quick answer, it doesn’t. The powers that rose, sprung from the ashes of the old world with tremendous force, nothing that could be argued with.

Night Owl’s, a fearsome breed of methodical humans. Everything is now initiated by their own minds, so autonomous behavior is no longer valid. They control their breathing, their heart beats, their muscles every contraction, the tiny little hairs standing on their necks. It is all felt, all controlled. Imagine having control of every single cell within your body, pulsating and pounding its way into your skull.

Jack was a very efficient night owl albeit stubborn, with the purpose of dispatching night dwellers. Those who prey on the world that can no longer stay with the darkness. Soaring with a sense of sensibility, and pride that cannot be faded. He moves from job to job without question. Given an operation, his only concern is to finish his assignment. He broke the promises that were made to his family, those sacred promises that were there to be exposed by those who wouldn’t care a bit, but he would always feel the sting. He was supposed to make something honest of himself, but this wasn’t the truth he seeked, it wasn’t the honesty he wanted to feel. His body ached constantly now, without any forgiveness. This was a common attribute of night owls. They were unable to stop the constant shaking of their tired muscles. Forever to be wired and rattled.

Jack was no different, his gun was an extension of who he was. Most men don’t need a reason to be faithful to their own dignity, but Jack had been on the precipice of doubt for an extremely long time, He was scared to continue forward without some loaded metal on his side, insuring that he would be able to shoot first without too much competition. Like all the other night owls, his iron felt like it needed to be on his hip for himself just as much as others.

The world adjusted at its own pace, and internet media had a resurgence, a reinvention. Night Net was developed to satiate the needs of the many while all slumbered forcefully. It’s an electrical highjack of the sleeping mind. The consciousness is tapped into, and made the user control interface for the internet. There were many obstacles to make this process fully work however. The first obstacle was to make the consciousness fully aware without being awake, and maintain the consciousness through use. The second obstacle was ensuring that the body didn’t exhaust through the period of use, which was done by injecting chemical inhibitors into the user’s neck whilst using the Night Net. The third obstacle was making the user interface completely multi-functional.

Johann sifted through the rest of the printers, then eureka. A red flash emanated from the device, beacon of attention flashing repeatedly. The gentleman walked upside Johann with a closed tightened fist, his other hand loosely fingering his pocket.

“Is that it?” The Gentleman said, sounding exhausted by the night's activities.

“Indeed, Reginald” Johann replied placing the wand device back into her coat.

“We best be on our way Johann, before any more Night Owls meet their eyes on us…”

“Is that fear I hear in your voice, Reginald?”

“Absolutely, M’lady. We don’t want to push lady luck.”

“That’s… Okay, Reginald. I guess we can always come back to scout the area later. Other remnants could be hiding out in this little shade”

The two figures packed up their belongings, grabbed the printer they were examining and placed it into a large tote.

Jack hustled his way down the dank corridors of the broken down shanty shade of a town. The Great Fall, or economic crisis of 2023 had spelt the death for the major operating firms that functioned inside the closed community of York Town. Made sufficient by a local community of labourers, once the major firms and practices closed their doors, the distribution centers nearby up rooted, and replanted themselves with other industrial conflict areas. These areas were breeding grounds for corporate espionage and warfare. Such was the direction of the business world. Capitalism, they used to say, gave way to this violent phenomena, but honestly, it was only a matter of time until companies would view their properties as actual battlegrounds. After a unified group of rule makers had broken down the riots of 2024, we were left with this dilapidated shit hole.

Hearing the rustle of feet down the way, Jack began to move with more of a vindictive speed. The clocks had clearly all ran out, he shouldn’t be able to hear anyone at this time of night doing anything other than sleeping. As he turned the corner, groping his way down the alley, grabbing onto the bricks that were barely hanging from their mortar. The light shined from the moon into his eyes, as he saw a female figure slowly turn, silver threaded hair floating weightlessly without effort to the side as she turned her head towards Jack. She stood there, in front of what looked like an old typewriter emporium. Another thing that hipsters brought back after The Great Fall.

“Reginald, it’s time now” She said, keeping her eyes on Jack. Reginald walked calmly out of the storefront, disappearing into the alley to the side. Jack knew he had to act quick.

“By ordinance of the New York City curfew, you will have to come with me” Jack said, authoritatively while fighting the flood of moonlight in his eyes.

“Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.” Johann said, taking a slight step back towards the storefront.

“Are you resisting?” Jack said, holding a hand over his forehead, trying to block the light out.

Reginald quickly flashed in front of Johann on a motorbike, it was nice, something that was definitely wasn’t street legal, extremely quiet. Johann lifted her right leg over the bike, settling herself on the back seat.

“No, I just really have to be somewhere else right now” Johann said with a curled lip.

Jack snapped his snub nose out, out stretching his arm, drawing the hammer back.

They were gone in a cloud of dust just before the hammer came slamming down.

Jack was left standing with his snub pulled, arm stretched outwards in true wonder.

The rest of the night went as expected, little interruption. Earlier events were still bugging him to no end, he spent the next couple hours trying to understand why they were up and about. They didn’t look tainted, or broken for that matter. Most people can’t keep their ducks in a row after a few days of overexposure. He searched local databases, and contacted the Council. Nothing, nada, zilch. He cross referenced the name she spoke with the databases of known Night Owls. Still, nothing came back. After his shift was over, he walked all the way back to his run down shanty. He climbed the stairs, opening the door with a minor pulse of aggression. He was looking for the nearest chair to sit and forget.

He put his nightcap on, to keep the sun out of his eyes. It distracted him, made him remember everything that came before he had opted into this program. Jack had a modest life before he was a Night Owl. He was a printer salesman at Kinkos. No, it wasn’t glamorous, but it didn’t include the possibility of being shot at, drugged, knocked unconscious, stabbed, mutilated, restless leg syndrome all day (not all of the procedures went as planned). This was the price to pay though, not a bad one either. He was given new purpose, and an escape from the monotonous life he was caged into. Women were never really a concern of his, and this wasn’t to do with a lack of sexual interest. He had become quite comfortable being a hermit. He wasn’t overly attractive, so unwanted attention (yeah, right) would never be a problem for him. Anyways, with his new lifestyle, the only eyes he’d draw would be from lovely junkie's and gang bangers that are too doped out of their minds to make rational thoughts.

The internet was busy. His inquiries had peaked the interest of several parties. They all had jammed his inbox full of responses. He felt wind come over him. The front door was opened. He quickly threw his night cap off and adjusted his eyes to the light. Five sharply dressed, fit men surrounded his chair. Their faces were almost one in the same. The same short fade haircut, the same annoying, old, slavic eastern bloc man smell just oozed of their skin. He shook his head.

“You all smell terrible.” Jack said wiping his nose away from the stench.

“Jack, Jack Dimewise ?” A voice asked from out of view. Jack shook his head, evaluating the room, where the exits were, and whether or not he could accidentally apply too much pressure to one of the slavic eastern bloc man’s wrist, then wrap his other arm around the man’s neck and throw him through the wall. He gave it a decent thought then decided against it. He was out numbered. What ever this was, he felt the need to be patient… for just a while longer.

Out of the five, one man stood out from the rest. This was the one that had spoke first to Jack. His suit was slightly altered from the rest, with a smooth red silk scarf nestled just atop of his shoulders. His face looked slightly less for the wear and tear his other men displayed. He wore a pair of blindingly shined shoes that reflected the prospects of the surrounding room. He was like a beacon of hope in the middle of a tacky dressed ocean of bad tastes.

“Take him in”

Jack felt a needle plunge into his neck, and watched his world go black.

As Jack awoke, he found himself lying in a gurney, with all of the horribly dressed men, with their horrible smells operating these machines that looked oddly familiar. He felt cold, and the metal substructure he was surrounded by suggested that he had been taken somewhere underground.

“I appreciate your behavior, or lack of violent behavior to be exact. It’s refreshing to say the least.”

“I’d rather not pay for damages, Night Owls don’t make that much anymore.” Jack said with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

“A sense of humor, that will help this whole thing from being too boring. A like that.”

“Alright, cut the small talk. You bust into my home, you wake me up, what is it you want?”

“I can also appreciate the forwardness, excellent. You recently made inquires about a strange couple. A girl, small… and a man, large. Burly, even.”

“Yeah!? Your point? I run into people all the time, it kind of comes with the job.”

“Yes, well… These ‘people’... well they’re not ‘run of the mill’. They’re unregistered Night Owls… and my corporation is hunting them for stolen technology.”

“Night Owls… No they’re not! Are you kidding me? I mean, they definitely are up to something, but they’re not Night Owls. My tech would have captured their tags anyways. Night Owls get Optic implants, we’d be able to see each other's tags if that’s the case.”

“I said I liked you, but you’re not being very bright. I said… Unregistered...They have no record.”

“You know… Only two corporation make Night Owls anymore… Dimewise Corp, and Broken Corp. Only two…”

“I’m a representative of Titan Applications… We are a military funded organization that has ties with over ten countries, and defense contracts that would make Dimewise and Broken seem like jokes.”

“Never heard of ya.”

“And you never will. We operate on a different level. The point, Titan Apps is looking to recover this stolen tech from those two you ran into earlier tonight. They have been sabotaging Titan warehouses in New York for the better half of a month now. Our investors are not enjoying this behavior, so I was sent to correct it. On that note… I am formally offering you a job.”

“See, we’ve heard of you, Jack… The son of the great Alfred Dimewise. You denied your inheritance, became a test subject in the most dangerous project known to man… and you were commonly known as the Beast during the the Brooklyn Riots… You single handedly tore down the city's biggest drug supply rings and kingpins… Don’t play coy…”

Jack looked around the room, eyes darting for a little piece of clarity, maybe an oppurtunity to escape. He didn’t enjoy talking about what he had done, and the things he had done just in the name of the greed filth full corporation's controlling his actions down to the people he had to eradicate. As he looked around the room, he started recognizing the tech that was running on the computers, they were all Dimewise operating systems.

“You’re lying.” Jack said with conviction.

“...” The sharp dressed man was filled with silence, then started grimacing, upset by his ruse that was already foiled.

“You’re right. My name is Cameron. I work for an organization, on the down low… or how many of you refer to the underground.”

Jack sat in silence, waiting to hear the explanation.

Footsteps could be heard outside of the room coming from behind a set of double doors. They swung open to reveal Johann and the burly bodyguard walking through.

“M’kay, that is enough Cameron. Just hang your head in shame already, I told you that he would catch on quick enough.”

“ Alright, boss. You were right.” Cameron walked away letting out a huge sigh.

Jack laid upon the gurney with a look of pure shock on his face.

Are we fit, ready to trespass?

Especially when one does it so fast?

Seems foolish, as foolish as to not

do it. Placing trust in a few to trot

over the line.

Melding molds seep into our debris.

Asking you, asking me,

are we really ready to see?

Break it down,

force on the crown.

A science fiction showcase

Making our reality brace -

for impact. Mighty minds fuel

their journey of discovery.

Is it considered cowardice?

or bravery? 

Our sharpest blade is the unwilling,

so don’t allow them to dull the feeling.

They want you to look the other way,

never question, stay night and day.

While you’re screaming, don’t give them reason.

They will lift their swords, they will yell treason.

Instead, stay quiet for a little while longer.

You will grow, a life quite larger.

Broken and ashamed, appearances can deceive.

The moment is coming, the tension snapped to receive.