Penned-The Final Chapter of the Emil DeTorres Trilogy

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 1-"The Forever Child"




The world the man known as The Broker was born into was quite different then from the one we know today. Massive walls of ice greeted expansive grasslands throughout most of the northern hemisphere. Strange beasts of gargantuan size roamed freely among these plains, corralled only by the towering peaks of jagged mountain ranges. As for the species we call man, he had only just begun to assert his dominance over the rest of the animal kingdom.

It was here, in the damp belly of a limestone cave located somewhere along the southern shore of what would one day come to be known as Spain, a child was born. Birthed screaming in the firelight beneath a magenta, finger-painted depiction of a mighty bull. His mother had barely survived his birth, complications that are much easier remedied with the conveniences of modern day technology, yet proved deadly among the primitive tribes of the time. Yet she and the child lived, a boy, seemingly no different than any other that had been born into their tribe.

Seemingly.

As the harsh years of post-ice age Europe dragged on, the other children of the tribe grew up. Their parents grew old. The old passed on. But this child we speak of did not age. Generations would pass, each new one inheriting the responsibility of caring for what, in their rudimentary grunts and hand gestures, would roughly translate to "The Forever Child." In their eyes, the boy was nothing short of a living deity.

Each member was expected to share responsibilities for the child's care, given that his own parents would pass away so early in his existence. The women would share their milk with him, coddle him, make his stunted upbringing as comfortable as possible. A God would expect nothing less after all. This small band of hunter-gatherers may very well have been the first cult in human existence. Worshiping a beautiful, healthy baby boy who, like Peter Pan, never seemed to grow up. His cries would reverberate through the cave for a thousand years to come.

What was imperceptible to the clan was that the boy did, in fact, age, just much... much more slowly than a normal human. A lifetime can pass for you or I, the ravages of time robbing us of our good looks and strength until old age gives way to the grave. Decades of scars and grey hair and wrinkles like notches on the wall of existence. Pacemakers and respirators and dialysis created to save whatever precious, yet miserable time we can squeeze out near the end.

These early people without knowledge of the wheel, let alone basic healthcare, did not live the longest of lives. Thirty, forty years at best. That is if you didn't get your head crushed beneath the foot of an angry mammoth or become a meal for a hungry saber-toothed tiger.

The Forever Child would not know such things, at least not for eons to come. A long mortal life was but a day for this little boy. It's amazing it took as long as it did for for contempt and descent to rear its ugly head.

The boy was no god, as they beloved, but an aberration of nature. A freak. A mocking of the natural way. Members of his tribe began to see this as well. Tired of offering up their own meat and gatherings to a toddler. Jealous of the perception of his eternal youth. A split among the faithful and those who'd grown weary of caring for The Forever Child would erupt into an attempt on his life. And then a few centuries later, another. A thousand years on, another. He still had not learned to walk.

While those who loved and venerated the boy would always refer to him as The Forever Child, those who loathed him would christen the the little one as "The Bull," as though he were too stubborn to age and die like he was supposed to.

The attempts on the child's life would become more frequent in the subsequent millennia, forcing his flowers into secrecy. The desire to kill The Bull became just as much of a religious crusade as any played out by the Christians much later. Hunting and scheming to bring about his end. The quest went on for so long that most forgot why the boy needed to die in the first place. The lust for blood had given way to routine.

As for his followers, The Cult of the Forever Child would protect their living god for thousands of years, keeping the knowledge of his existence from one fallen empire to the next. Constantly on the move. Jumping from one continent to the next, living in shadows. It was their belief that, should the child die, then the world itself would come to an end. The spilling of his blood could be enough to wipe entire lands from the face of the earth. They loved this boy as if he were their own child, and would gladly give their lives in his honor.

Until one day... he abandoned them.

The Bull had finally become a man. A calf truly becoming a bull. An independent man with little use for a coven of religious fanatics doting over him as though he were still an infant. He would leave in the night, in secret, knowing his followers would do everything in their power to stop him. The Bull was ready to make his own way in the world.


It was on that day when the oldest religion on earth finally died.

It was on that day when Emil DeTorres was truly born.




End Part 1

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 2-" A Deal with the Devil."




"Drop it!" Mr. Rudolph shouted.

I turn to look in the direction of the bodyguard, finding a .45 magnum pointed directly at me.

DeTorres's revelation about my mother... that the woman I assumed had dead for the last decade was, in fact, still alive... had caught me off guard. If only for a few seconds. Unfortunately, it had given Rudolph, DeTorres's mountain of a henchman, a window of opportunity. He had the drop on me, despite the pair of slugs imbedded in his kneecaps. Yes, I'd disarmed him, I'm not stupid, but he must have had another pistol stashed somewhere close by. He lay on the floor in the entryway to the living room of DeTorres's Beverly Hills home with both hands wrapped around the handle of the gun, two smears of blood leading back towards where I'd shot him. Very sloppy, Danielle.

I kept one firearm fixed on the homeowner, then quickly unholstered a second from my hip, Lara Croft style. Suddenly I was locked in a Mexican standoff with a wounded goon and a skinny multi-billionaire with a sleazy pencil mustache. Though one party in this three way stare-down only wielded a cocktail glass in need of a top-off, with the shocking information I'd just received, he still held all the power.

"Say the word and she's dead, boss!"

"A drop of sweat so much as hits the floor and I put another one in ya, this time right between your eyes!" I screamed back.

DeTorres released a dismissive laugh and tried to wave us both off like we were misbehaving siblings, "now now, you two... there's little need for such theatrics. Miss...?"

"Clark... like my mother, you bastard."

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, "before we engage in parlance over the authenticity of the information I have just provided, would you mind if I hailed an ambulance for Mr. Rudolph here?"

"What?!" I scoffed, "so you can flood this place with the cops you've bought and paid for?! I think not."

DeTorres's calm, passive demeanor remained unchanged. "I assure you, such that my assurances may be taken by a young woman with revenge on the mind, that the police will not be informed. I keep medics on payroll for this very reason. I vouch for their discretion."

"You can't seriously think I can believe a word you fucking say?!" I replied.

"And yet you have not fired that weapon you insist on burying into my forehead."

I was ready to pistol whip that smug grin right off his weasely face.

"So, I propose this," he continued, "I am quite fond of Mr. Rudolph, despite his knack for allowing situations like this to continue plaguing my quiet evenings."

"I don't think it was really up to him," I said.

"Nevertheless, I'd prefer not to watch a man who has been as loyal as Mr. Rudolph has been bleed to death on my hardwood floors. So, I present my proposal: Mr. Rudolph's life, as well as my own, in exchange for your mother's whereabouts."

Jesus, this was so fucked up. Just moments ago I was ready and willing to paint the walls with this man's brains. I'd prepared myself for it. Still feeling her absence and aching for my revenge. Now the hand holding a gun to the space between DeTorres's eyes trembled with uncertainty.

"I need proof," I told him sternly, "Like I said, there's no world where I can trust you."

"Fair enough," he replied, "but I will need access to my phone to do so. It's in my jacket pocket." DeTorres nodded towards the white coat folded neatly over the arm of the sofa. A waved him towards it with the barrel of my gun. Somehow, feeling his head pull away from its end felt like a defeat in itself and I considered blowing him away right there...

...but...

...what if he was telling the truth? Could I live with myself if I didn't know for sure?

DeTorres scrolled through his contacts, leaving one hand raised in the air to assure me of his submission. When he found what he was looking for he pressed the round, green call button. I caught a glimpse of the name before he brought the iPhone to his ear: Hutch, Eva. I wondered... could this be an alias? Could this actually be my mother?!

As the phone began to ring, DeTorres lowered it from his ear and tapped the speaker button. After a couple more rings, the party on the other end answered.

"Yeah?"

"Ms. Hutch?"

"Who else would it be? What's shakin', Mistah D?"

"Would Mrs. Clark happen to be with you at the moment?"

There was a slight pause before this Hutch woman answered, "yeah. Why?"

I felt my heart leap into my throat.

"Can you attest to her well being?" He asked.

"Huh?"

"Her well being, Mrs. Hutch," DeTorres repeated with a slight roll of the eyes, "she's alive, yes?"

Eva paused again before answering, "well, yeah... but since when do ya give two shits about Alex-"

DeTorres hung up on his contact without answering. His crooked grin returned. I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

"Where is she?!" I wanted to scream, but it came out as a cracked whimper. "I want to speak to her!"

"Ah!" DeTorres exclaimed, startling me a little from the tension built up in the room. He's lucky I didn't accidentally hollow out his face from the jump. "In due time, but trust must be reciprocated between both parties. Especially in what amounts to a handshake deal, Ms. Clark. I require my own reassurances, seeing as you came here to kill me."

I wiped my wet cheeks against my shoulder and sniffed, "what do you want?"

"Only that which I've already requested, to help my long-time associate here. Call it... a show of good faith."

I looked from DeTorres's grinning face to Mr. Rudolph, still holding his gun on me despite how pale and weak he was beginning to look, then back again.

"He drops the gun first," I conceded.

DeTorres clapped his hands together joyously, "wonderful! Now you're playing the game!"

"Some game," I spat back.

"Oh, Ms. Clark, if you'd lived as long as I have, you too would have come to the same conclusion as I."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

He replied, "everything is a game. Losing just has greater consequences in some more than others. Mr. Rudolph, please lower your weapon."

I'm sure he could sense my nerves. Could see the sweat dewing on my brow. "Make your call, but if I see a single shade of blue or red shining through these windows, the both of you die."

Without missing a beat, DeTorres had his contacts open again, but this time he didn't make more than his side of the conversation available to the whole room.

"Yes, it's Emil... gunshot wound... two... kneecaps... about fifteen minutes ago... thank you, and inform Horace I'll be requiring someone to fill Mr. Rudolph's position until he recovers... yes... thank you." He hung up. "You see? Painless as can be."

"Easy for you to say, boss," Mr. Rudolph wheezed. He hadn't set his gun down so much as it fell from his hand out of growing weakness. The beast of a man slumped to the floor, looking like he could pass out at any moment.

"Oh dear," DeTorres expressed what felt like feigned concern for his bodyguard, "would it be too much of an ask of you to assist me in propping poor Mr. Rudolph here up against the wall? We need to try and stop his bleeding."

I didn't know what else to say except, "are you fucking with me right now?!"

"As you may have noticed, Mr. Rudolph is a rather... girth-some individual... and I'm afraid I'm not capable of lifting him myself."

I didn't say anything.

DeTorres rolled his eyes once more, "fine. I'll offer you more information in return."

"My mother's location?"

"Ah-ah," he literally wagged his finger at me, "I'm not prepared to show those cards just yet... but I will explain how your mother came into my, albeit brief, employ."

The fuck?! Is he really insinuating that my mother abandoned my stepfather and myself to what? Work for this slimeball?! I knew my mother was ambitious from a young age, but she would never leave us behind unless it was somehow against her will.

"I'm unarmed, never had a taste for weapons myself. Too many years of rocks and arrows and swords and, eventually, bullets hurled in my direction. Come now, give us a hand."

Stating the absolute fucking obvious, but none of this was going as planned. I apprehensively holstered both of my guns and followed the man I came to kill over to play medic for his henchman, whom I'd just shot. DeTorres extracted a first aid kit from a side table drawer. The opening of which gave my nerves another jolt, thinking he was going for another gun. I nearly drew down on him once again. Together we propped Rudolph up against the wall, a task I'd care not to repeat In the future. Rudolph was, in fact, a very large man, and even with two of us it was like trying lift a boulder, if that boulder was made of lead and dark matter.

"Here," DeTorres said as he handed me a gauze pad, "press this to his wound and keep pressure on it."

"I've dressed a wound before."

"No doubt, Ms. Clark."

"Fuuuuuck meeeeee dead!" Rudolph exclaimed from the pain. "Thank this man, bitch... fuuuuck! If not for him... I'd snap your spine like a glow stick right now!"

"Don't forget, I got the drop on you first, you fucking silverback."

The two of us sat there on the floor, pressing our blood-soaked gauze to Rudolph's knees, listening to the man groan and curse from the pain until the "ambulance" arrived. Just a pair of men driving a hearse, neither of whom appeared to be associated with any hospital. If the rumors about Emil DeTorres were true, an astronomical wealth, unfathomable in any conceivable way, then these men were probably employed directly by him. His own personal hospital on wheels.

But I had no interest in riches. I wanted my mother back, and I wasn't leaving that house until I knew she was safe, or I made a meat geode out DeTorres's head with my gun. As you may have surmised by now, just like my assassination attempt, things would take a strange and unforeseeable turn, at least for me. I'm sure anyone reading this confession is already screaming at me to just kill the bastard and get the fuck out of there.




End Part 2

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 3-"The Last Ten Years"




After Mr. Rudolph had been whisked away in the clandestine medical hearse, a followup team arrived to clean up the bloodstains in a surprisingly efficient and thorough manner. I was impressive, I'll have to admit. By the time they left you'd think it had just been another quiet night at the DeTorres residence. No shooting. No blood.

I found myself alone with the one and only Broker. Sitting across from him in his home like a pair of old friends about to catch up on one anothers' lives. DeTorres had poured me a drink, scotch I think, but I hadn't sipped it. I didn't dare. His reputation proceeded him as a serial poisoner.

"So," he began as casually as if the night's events up to that point hadn't even occurred, "The Danielle Clark!"

"In the flesh," I replied. "Though I didn't think my name warranted celebrity."

"To the contrary, Ms. Clark! Your mother spoke of you often! More than I'd care to hear, in fact!" He chuckled lightly to himself before sipping from the clear, boozy drink in his hand. I didn't like the way he referred to my mother in the past tense.

"Funny, I'd never have even known of your existence had she not disappeared," I snarked back.

"Indeed. Amusing how life lays down so many paths before us, isn't it? A home. A family. That prestigious job some slave away for years to obtain. But then someone cuts that path off before you even set foot on the road, didn't they, Ms. Clark? Leading you down a much darker one. Leading you to me... as though it were... destiny."

"I'd heard you liked to hear yourself talk," I replied.

"Now, now... I promised you information in exchange for your help with Mr. Rudolph, and I've never been one to renege on a deal. Where was I? Oh yes, the road less taken. What your life could have been versus what brought you to be sitting here, right now, in my living room, ignoring a very fine scotch I have graciously placed before you. You're obviously a smart girl. You could have been anything, but your own tremendous roadblock had other plans... and has brought us together instead."

Consider my patience tried. "Is there a point to all this?"

"This impediment I speak of, the sole reason you've been set on this demon path to revenge, was... your own... dear mother."

Reflexively, I removed a pistol from my holster and pointed it at the man once again for the insult. "How dare you. You don't know what I've been through! What my father has been through all these years! What losing her has done to us!"

"Ms. Clark, please. We're only exchanging in a dialog here. There's no need to let the conversation regress into another altercation. You should be aware though, had I desired your untimely demise, it would have occurred already."

"Pffft, you're bluffing."

"Am I? Do you truly believe a man of my means and status would rely on a single armed bodyguard as hopelessly inept as Mr. Rudolph to ensure my wellbeing? No, Ms. Clark, I could have had you killed the moment you stepped through my door, but as I previously stated, I've had an eye on you for quite some time. I knew one day you'd come searching for me. Looking to set things right, in your eyes. Tell me, do you know how your mother and I crossed paths? What she did for a living?"

"Dad said she was a spy or something. I assume she was trying to catch you doing whatever illegal shit you do."

DeTorres burst out laughing, "Ha! Oh! Oh, that's excellent! Mr. Simpson is a good man indeed. Protecting you from a truth even he chose not to admit to himself. How is the man?"

"Peachy," I growled, "the point, sometime this century, please."

"Your mother, Ms. Clark, was a thief. A burglar. A very good one, I must say, but a petty thief nonetheless."

"My trigger finger is getting reeeeal itchy, DeTorres."

"I offer you nothing but the the truth. Your mother, as well as an associate of hers, broke into my home with the intention of robbing me. An incident occurred between the two of them, a double cross, and that man wound up dead. As for your mother..."

I'd had about as much of this conversation as I could stand, "quit stalling."

"Lets just say she failed in her endeavor, and as penance for her indiscretion, she wound up... an... indentured servant, of sorts." His grin made my blood run cold.

"So you've been holding her against her will?! All this time?!"

"In a manner of speaking. Let's just say she found herself in a position where, even though she wanted nothing more than to return to you and the noble Mr. Simpson, physically it became impossible to do so. I offered your mother a chance to serve me in exchange for her life. A merciful offer, if I do say so myself. And yet, even in my employ... as in her chosen career... and as your mother... she was an abject failure."

"Watch your tongue, motherfucker."

He continued as though he hadn't just kicked the hornet's nest with his previous remark. "My mercy has its limits, and had it not been for my almost... fatherly... affections toward the woman you heard me conversing with earlier, Alexandra Clark would certainly not be alive today. A simple favor to a trusted colleague, that is all that saved your mother from being snuffed out beneath my vintage Italian leather boots."

I scoffed, "so I suppose I'm supposed to thank you or something?"

"Not at all! As I've already stated, I knew our paths would cross eventually. You know, you are the first person to break into my home in a very long time with the sole intention to kill me. Most intend to rob me first, but not you, my dear. Nothing but red behind your eyes."

"I don't care about your damn money."

"Exactly! That's precisely what makes you so interesting, Ms. Clark! I have to tell you, I'm actually quite excited to reunite you with your mother! I've anticipated the coming of this day for some time!"

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I didn't like the way he phrased that at all. This was getting too weird. Even as weird as the night had already been so far. At that moment, DeTorres stood up and lifted his drink as though he were about to toast the groom at a wedding. Yep, really fucking weird.

"I propose a toast! To... to... to warm reunions!"

"I'm not drinking that," I replied.

To that, DeTorres lifted my drink to his own lips and took a small sip, "just in case you suspected I'd laced it with something, my dear." He handed the glass to me, but far enough away that I'd have to stand to accept it. "Now, a deal has been struck, and you've held up your end marvelously. I and Mr. Rudolph thank you for empathy, difficult though as it may have been for you. I don't expect you to shake my hand, but I do expect you to share a drink with me. To cheers an amicable solution to our little pickle here."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but found myself standing just the same. I took the expensive looking lowball glass in my hand and rolled it with my wrist.

"To warm reunions," he repeated.

I didn't reciprocate, but clanged his glass against mine just the same. He swallowed what was left in his glass in a single gulp, I mirrored his actions. Scotch... yuck.

DeTorres placed his glass precisely in the center of a coaster resting on the coffee table, then clasped his hands together. "Well then! What do you say we get on with it! I feel like we've both endured an excruciatingly long ten years for this, I'd hate to keep you from your mother any longer!"

"The more you talk, the more I wonder how you're still alive. You're the one who's been dragging this out, old ma-"

It started as a slight tickle, a dry feeling... a scratch in the back of my throat. Then it grew... intensified... and bit down with a vengence.

Fuck.

How could I have been so stupid? This guy was a master of manipulation, and I'd taken the bait... hook, line, and sinker.

DeTorres must have slipped something into my drink before he handed it back to me. Slight of hand... well played, the motherfucker. Jesus, what had I done?! I should have just killed him when I had the chance! As I gasped for air, I was sure my mother was already dead, and that I would soon be joining her.

I felt my windpipe close off first, now completely unable to breath. Adrenaline coursed through me as crippling anaphylaxis took effect. Panic. I fell back into my chair, clutching my neck as I slowly choked on my own throat. I dug my nails into my skin, wanting to tear a hole open to allow air into my lungs. My vision blurred and the room swirled around me. I braced myself for the inevitable end.

Then, as quickly as the sensation had arrived, my windpipe opened once again, and I took in long, gasping breaths.

And then things got even weirder.

I was taken by and ever growing euphoria. The room seemed to expand, stretching and growing like that famous effect in Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. DeTorres himself seemed to change. The grinning man before me didn't move but seemed to loom over me more and more with each new breath.

"Take it easy, Ms. Clark," he whispered, "you'll be fine... just as soon as the effects wear off. Let go. This is how it has to be. You've made it abundantly clear that you would do anything to see your mother again. This is the only way I can make that possible for you, and I am a man of my word. It will all be over soon."

I felt like I was sinking into the chair, my clothes becoming heavy and pooling around me. The very seat I sat in seemed to be moving beneath me like an one of those walk-on airport conveyer belts, only in every direction away from me. My head spun as the world continued to warp and disorient. I tried to reach for my guns but they'd already slipped away, carried off by moving seat like a polar bear on broken sheet of ice. Whatever he'd slipped me had one hell of a psychedelic effect.

The last thing I remember thinking was hoping there really was a heaven. That my mother was indeed waiting for me in some unfathomable afterlife. A paradise where we could be together once again...

Then... everything went black.





End Part 3

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 4-"The New World"




Two men, each clad in medieval armor, a large crimson cross stitched to the front of their tunics, race down the darkened hallway of a chateau in the French lowlands. The clanging of their heavy metallic gear making it all but impossible to make a stealthy getaway. They duck into a little used chamber, one they know has a second exit so as not to wind up corned by the angry mob pursing them.

They are knights of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. Better known to history as The Knights Templar, a group whose vast power had spread from France across the entire European continent for two centuries during The Crusades. The group had set itself up as one of the world's first banking systems, and with that kind of power over many nations' worth in currency, the Templars had attained not only great wealth, but also many enemies. Rumors of strange rituals and initiation practices only served to hasten the order's fate. The date was Friday, October the 13th, 1307, the day the order's monetary empire would fall. That morning King Philip IV of France ordered every Templar arrested.

"Do you think this will hold, brother?" One knight asked the other as they shoved a heavy piece of furniture in front of the door.

"I sincerely doubt it. There's far too many of them. If they can't break through, they may easily set the door ablaze."

No sooner had this man, a certain Emilio DeTorres of Spain, spoken when an axe head burst through the arched door and right through the upper section of the armoire blocking it. Splinters of wood spread through the air. Both men jumped back to avoid impalement.

"I do not understand," said Marseille Mimmeaux, the name of the second Templar seeking refuge in the room, "these men are not soldiers! Why do they give chase?"

"Fear," DeTorres replied. "The King has spread it like the plague. They believe us devils!"

Marseille still found himself confounded, "but... we serve none but the church... the lord!"

"The right lie can prove more deadly than any arrow, my dear Marseille."

The smell of smoke alerted the men that DeTorres's suspicions were true. The angry men just outside the chamber were already trying to smoke them out.

"Go," Marseille ordered.

"I beg your pardon," Emilio replied.

"Take the passage, make your way to the ships. I'll try to draw them away."

DeTorres was shocked, "I will not leave you to face these bloodthirsty fiends on your own!"

"Ha!" Marseille laughed, already removing his armor. "You think so little of me, brother?"

"You know that is an untruth!"

Marseille smiled, dropping his chainmail to the floor. "We can't have them following us to the boats. You know this, brother. You must get word to the shipmen that we leave in haste! The treasure must be protected at all costs!"

Emilio stepped forward, pulling his comrade so close that their foreheads met. "My brother in purpose... my love... do be careful!"

The smile returned to Marseille's face, "these fools will only track me for as long as I allow it. Save me a day, and we shall set sail before nightfall on the morrow!"

The two men kissed passionately, a sight uncommon in such a religiously oppressive time and place. Rumors of "abhorrent" practices such as homosexuality among the Templar ranks had reached the king's ears, among so many other charges. Even the church itself, whom the order served, wanted them squashed out.

Neither wished to pull away, but Marseille made the difficult move. "Go now! Godspeed, my brother!"

Apprehensively, DeTorres did as instructed, pushing through a false wall into a secret passageway that would lead down through the castle walls and into a narrow river valley. He paused momentarily, looking back at his lover through the cracked door.

"Tomorrow, my brother!" Marseille exclaimed. DeTorres nodded wordlesssly, then disappeared into the tunnel.

Grabbing only his sword, Marseille leapt onto the window sill, still unsure of how he was going to escape this bloodthirsty mob. A narrow ledge just below the portal awaited, not much, spanning merely a few inches in width. One misplaced step and a four story drop onto the jagged rocks below would seal his fate.

The brave knight waited as his pursuers continued to smash and burn their way into the chamber. They had to witness him flee out the window, hoping they'd be stupid enough to try and follow him out. With smoke filling the air, the thrust of a heavy battering ram toppled the armoire and blew the door apart. Marseille locked eyes with each person standing in the door frame, then carrying only his sword, he crawled out of the window.

The drop below him was dizzying and the ledge so narrow that the toes of his boots hung in the air. Had he remained in armor, he surely would have fallen to his death. Men gathered at the window, each first looking down to see if the knight had jumped to his death. When they realized he had pinned himself to the outer castle wall, they shouted at the man, and hurled what they could in an attempt to knock him off.

"Heretic!"
"Blasphemer!"
"Sodomite!"

Marseille easily shrugged off the insults, but the flying candelabras and bricks were another matter entirely. The pain from each blow of the heavy stones sent waves of pain coursing through his body. A corner rounded at a ninety degree angle and if he could just reach it he'd be free from the impact of dangerous projectiles. The turn itself was enough to make the man, who'd faced down an attack of oncoming Moors by himself and walked away to tell the tale, feel like he may soil himself in fear. Still, on nervous legs, he slid along the wall and into the shadow, free from the mob.

A hanging banner offered Marseille an escape once out of range. He slipped down its length like a rope and crashed through a window on the third floor. It offered a small chance to catch his breath, but he knew the hoard would be hot on his heels. The Templar darted out the room, down two flights of stairs, then waited at the open double doors for the crowd to catch up.

Within minutes, the first of the mob came into view, caught sight of the knight "just" as he was fleeing the castle. Exactly as Marseille had hoped. From there, all he had to do was make it into the woods. There, he could lose them at his leisure. Marseille had grown up in these woods and knew them better than anyone. He wouldn't shake them right away, of course. Tiring them out was just as much a part of the distraction. Night would fall, and the violent mob would never see Marseille Mimmeaux again.

Dawn greeted the fleeing man, as well as a sore back from an uncomfortable night's sleep propped high on a tree branch out of sight and untraced. He made his way down, then began his hasty return to his order... and the man he loved. A horse stolen from a local farmer would provide Marseille with swift travel to the shore.

Across country side and small villages, the Templar knight raced. He prayed that Emilio had made the docks ahead of him. The horse's hooves chewed up the ground and the sound of its labored breathing roared like a steam powered machine of the distant future. After a day's journey, Marseille reached the port city. Winding his way through the maze-like streets and rocky cliffs, the exhausted man stumbled onto the docks... and fell to his knees in disbelief.

It couldn't be... there was... nothing.

The ships...

The ships were gone.

They'd left without him... his dear Emilio had left without him.

"No," he cried, feeling all the will and strength remaining in his body leave him, "it cannot be! Surely, my eyes doth cheat me?! Why EMIIIIIILLIIIIOOOOOOO?! Whyyyyyy?!"



Emilio DeTorres stood at the stern of the ship, one of three convoying treasure galleons bound for the Straight of Gibraltar. Each massive sail crested with the same crimson cross emblazoned across his torso. So far out to sea were they that Emilio could no longer see the shore. A gull floating on the breeze screamed overhead as though it knew what he had done, chastising DeTorres for leaving his fellow knight and love behind. A tear threatened to escape the corner of the knight's eye, but Emilio stiffened his upper lip and would not allow it to do so.

It was always like this. DeTorres had lived hundreds of lifetimes by the time the Middle Ages rolled around. He'd loved many men before Marseille, and would love many men afterward. 'Twas the nature of being "The Forever Child," though he'd long since become a forever man. He was destined to outlive everyone and anyone he cared for, something that had simply become a part of his strange existence.

Still... this one hung especially heavy on his heart. Emilio truly loved Marseille. Maybe more so than any before. A man whose bravery and gentleness he would never forget.

But in the pursuit of power, sacrifices would always have to be made.

A new world awaited Emilio DeTorres. Past the Pillars of Hercules. Across a vast and turbulent ocean. There and there alone would he be allowed the freedom to truly build something. Nearly two centuries before Columbus would stumble onto the same mysterious lands and change the world forever, DeTorres would already have set up shop in secret. This was the very reason he'd joined the Templars to begin with. DeTorres wasn't a religious man. Hell, he'd actually seen this Jesus of Nazareth speak during his brief time in the Holy Land. He found the man unremarkable at best.

No, what Emilio saw in The Order was the massive power and wealth they had attained, and he wanted in. Their acceptance of his unconventional sexuality endeared them to him. Then Marseille came along and... complicated things.

Always subject to his own instincts of self preservation, DeTorres made for a lousy knight, but positioning himself among the ranks would catapult the ambitious man further in his quest for absolute power. None had seen a treasure like the one he now lorded over on those breezy waters. Not the emperors of the Far East or even the pharaohs. It was not just the three ships convoying into the unknown, but dozens that had already fled persecution from all the corners of Europe.

As he breathed in the salty Mediterranean air, the knight watched the waters put increasing distance between him and his past. Marseille was a blink of the eye in the life of man who had lived as long as Emilio DeTorres, but a single blink can still be enough to squeeze out a tear.





End Part 4

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 5-"The Tank"




"What you think, Yuri? Pretty little thing, she ith, no?"

The unfamiliar voice was the first thing I remember before opening my eyes. Full consciousness was slow coming, my vision blurred with vague shadows looming over me, backed by blinding light. Was this... death? Heaven? Hell? I could feel cold glass against my bare skin beneath me, which quickly made me realize my clothes were gone. A jolting thought like that will sober a person up quick.

As I looked down my own body, I realized what I'd feared to be true. Save for a coarse blanket haphazardly thrown over top of me, I was, in fact, naked. Even worse, there were people standing around, staring at me. I shot backwards, finding my bare back hitting against a glass wall, the only thing separating me from a vast inky blackness beyond. I gathered the blanket up around me, covering anything that had previously been exposed.

"Whuh... what is this?! Where am I?!" I exclaimed in a panic, still feeling very nearsighted.

"You want arm wrethle for her, my friend?" The same voice asked the other shadow. It didn't answer him back. "Perhapth we thnap her like withbone. Then we both get a pieth."

"Who are you?!" I demanded. I rubbed my eyes until my vision finally cleared. I nearly shat myself at the sight of what stood before me.

Two men, one terribly pale. I took him for an albino. The other, a square-jawed monstrosity with long, greying hair. He was smiling at me, but most of the front teeth in his mouth were missing. Both were garbed in crudely tailored orange jumpsuits and stiff looking slides. They stared at me unblinking, like wolves sizing up an injured fawn.

But that wasn't the most distressing part...

These men were enormous. Not enormous like someone would describe a roided-out bodybuilder or a six-hundred pound lady straining the motor on her scooter. Like, physically gargantuan. Biblical. Hell, Greek even! Each of them had to stand at least three times higher than your average man, and that was with them still crouching over me.

"What the fuck?!" I screamed, less than eruditely. "What the sweet absolute fucking christ?!"

The toothless man reached out and took me by my leg, using it to lift me off the ground with terrifying ease. I found myself dangling in front of his massive face, the smell of stinking hot breath washing over me like a summer breeze over a landfill. I desperately clung to my blanket, but with his other hand he snatched it away like it was a sheet of paper.

And there I was, naked, exposed, completely at this monster's mercy. Screaming at the top of my lungs. That's when I noticed movement in the background. From what I could make out in my inverted position, I was in some kind of cell block. Many rooms facing a single large glass wall. My screams had drawn their occupants out into the open. More giants! Men and women both! The second they laid eyes on me they began to laugh.

One woman hollered, "haha! Fresh fish!"

"FISH FISH FISH FISH!" A chant rang out amongst my them.

"Not much of her, ith there, Yuri," my captor said to his companion, now noticing his thick Russian accent. His stinking breath made me physically wince.

He raised a finger to my leg, then traced his way down... across my thigh... across my sex... down my stomach... stopping on one of my breasts. He pressed harder, then laughed as he watched it jiggle after removing the massive digit.

"Thshe ith pretty one though. You and I, Malenkaya Zhenshchina, we have much fun together. You sthee."

I'd never felt such terror in my life. Whatever happened after DeTorres drugged me, I certainly could never had expected... whatever the fuck this was. I'd never really thought about how Ann Darrow felt in King Kong's mitt, but I sure as hell know now. Out of nowhere, I suddenly felt another giant finger poking me in the ass, squeezing each cheek playfully. This digit was much, much paler.

"Ah, Yuri like pretty malenkaya zhenshchina ath well! Perhapth I let him play with new toy firtht! We get tho few new toyth thesth dayth!"

"Put me down, you... you... monster!"

Trust me, it felt just as cliche and embarrassing coming out of my mouth. The roar of laughter at my expense coming from the growing crowd of at least two dozen others didn't help.

"Now now, pretty blonde girl, ith no way to thpeak to new ownerth! Naughty naughty!" He said patronizingly, "good peth ith peth that give... how you thay... thubmithive."

I screamed again, louder than ever.

"Alright, you Russ-holes," a new, confident, feminine voice said, "let's not scare the shit out of the new girl right out the gate."

The two men burst out laughing, leaving me feeling very scared... and very confused.

"You know I jutht fucking with new fith, EvaHutch," said the lispy, toothless man.

Hutch... that name sounded familiar. I was still in such a drugged out haze that I wasn't sure what I was seeing was even real, let alone remember a name.

The shiny floor rushed back up at me and I felt the pressure of the giant's grip release. My fist instinct once free was to dive for the blanket. I brought it to my breast as quickly as I could, while simultaneously scooting back further and further. Trying to put as much space between me and these freaks of nature as possible.

The woman the toothless giant called Hutch stepped forward. She was wearing the same frayed out jumpsuit as everyone else. No shoes. A handmade yellow eyepatch with a smiley face drawn on the outside curled its way through her fiery hair to cover left eye. Nasty looking scars peaked above and below the patch like she was some ginger gender-swapped version of Nick Fury. She was about half as big as the two men, but still mindbogglingly enormous. The closer she got the further backward I went, until the huge glass wall once again prohibited my escape.

She stopped just a couple of feet away from me and crouched down, "hello there, little minnow. Welcome to the Tank." She offered me a hand, from which I recoiled.

"Wh-who are you people?!" I stammered. "How did I get here?! Why is everyone so fucking huge?!"

Again, the gallery of onlookers laughed at what had to be my expense.

"Taker 'er easy," she tried to calm me with her smooth, southern accent. "Those two idiots didn't mean you any harm. Just a little hazing. The pale quiet one is Yuri and the one with the $2 smile is Boris. My name's Eva, What's yours, sweetheart?"

The fact that this woman was being kind to me didn't squelch the unnerving nature of her being twice as tall as I was. Still, I tried to answer, "D-D-Danielle."

That's when it hit me, Hutch... Eva... holy shit! This huge bitch was the woman on the other end of the phone! She knows where my mother is!

"It's you!" I said, still lost in my own thoughts.

The Hutch woman looked confused, "come again?"

"Alexandra Clark! Do you know where she is?!"

"Why th fuck is Alex so goddamn popular all of a sudden?!"

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS?!" I repeated even louder.

"Well... yes, but...," in that moment, it was like all the color and warmth had drained from this woman's face. Gone were the friendly pleasantries. With her massive arms, she lifted me off the ground and pinned me against the glass wall so she could look me in the eye. My feet dangled beneath me, making me feel like a small child compared to her. I don't know what about my mother had set her off, but she suddenly looked furious.

"Dannielle? You're Dani?!" She asked, staring me down.

"Why does everyone I've met this evening seem to know who I am?! What the fuck is going on?! Where's my mother?!"

Eva dropped me and I crumpled to the floor at her feet. She turned her back on me, clearly pinching the space between her eyebrows in frustration. "You stupid... stupid girl."

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed.

The giantess turned back to face me. "Do you have any idea what your mother went through to keep you out of this place?! What she sacrificed?! Stupid, stupid girl."

I struggled on wobbly legs to climb to my feet, "if you know where she is, you have to tell me! I thought she was dead!"

"It'd been better if you still thought that... better for you anyway."

"Please," I pleaded, finding myself tugging at the back of her pant leg like a bratty toddler, "if she's here, please take me to see my mother!"

Eva sighed, then looked up at the gallery of onlookers, "alright everyone, show's over." She looked back down at me, a feeling that still had me reeling, "stupid, stupid girl... alright. You wanna see your mom? Then follow me."





End Part 5

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 6-"Warm Reunions"




The huge redhead led me up two flights of stairs that seemed to be far better suited to these colossal people than for a normal sized person like me. It was a struggle to say the least. The "Tank," as she and the others referred to it, was made up of four sets of two cell blocks, one stacked on top of the other. So of course, her cell had to be situated at the very top.

"It used to be women on the top two floors, men on the bottom two," she explained, "but there's only three other women in The Tank, other than you, your mom and I that is. Everyone kinda comes and goes as they please. You can sleep wherever and with whomever you want. Mistah D don't care about any of that."

"Uh... thanks," I said, probably a little sarcastically, "but as soon as I get my mom, we're getting the fuck outta here."

Eva snorted a laugh, which didn't exactly give me the warm and fuzzies.

While the cells themselves were made of metal, the entire rest of the facility appeared to be made from thick glass, including the facing wall which I couldn't find a single seam in its entire eight story surface. An engineering achievement I couldn't even begin to process. Not that I really cared, I wasn't exactly there to marvel at the architecture.

We finally reached the top of the final flight, and even though I'm in excellent shape, it still left me huffing and puffing. Eva opened the door to her quarters, which looked more akin to a high school locker door, only wider.

"After you," she said, gesturing me inside.

I looked up at her apprehensively, but did as she asked. The cell was dark until Eva flipped on a cartoonishly large light switch situated just inside. A single bulb buzzing at the far end illuminated the space, which was much larger than I would have thought it would be. Extending deep into the building, the rooms had to have been repurposed shipping containers or something of the like. The walls were painted a deep red color and I could tell Eva had taken some effort to make her prison accommodations feel quite homey. A soft looking bed, sofa, kitchenette, a large tv. There was a door near the rear that I assumed was a restroom. All of it twice as large as it should be to accommodate her considerable size. Prints on the wall of far off locations. The metal door clanged as she closed it behind us.

"Hey, Alex?!" She said in her now familiar twang, "someone here to see ya... and ya ain't gonna like it none!"

I didn't get it. The room was empty, save for the two of us.

"Ah, there she is," Eva said breathily, "go on, talk to her. This is what ya came for, in'it?"

Great, I thought, this woman was insane. Talking to fucking ghosts. Then she leaned down and placed a hand on my shoulder, pointing, towards a side table near the sofa. With her resting hand, she nudged me forward.

"She's right there," Eva stated.

I looked again at the table, and that's when I saw the tiny figure I had initial dismissed as an action figure or something. I was even more confused... at least... until I saw it move. "What the fuck?"

I stepped closer to the little person, seeing that she was female. My heart sunk into my stomach and I swallowed hard as I took another step forward. The little figure placed her knuckles on her hips, akimbo-like, tilting her head inquisitively at me. Another step forward. I could now see this tiny person's hair was the same color as my mother's, save for a few new grey streaks that had developed since I last saw her. She wore a primitive looking two piece, a top that exposed her midriff and a loincloth. I immediately assumed her clothing had been stitched together from Eva's auburn hair, as each shared the exact same color. With another shaking foot forward, I could finally make out my mother's face.

In my dazed shock, I hadn't noticed the giantess had stepped around me and positioned herself next to the table as well. She knelt down next to it, something I wouldn't need to do myself as high as the pice of furniture stood next to me. Almost the perfect height for me to stare eye to eye with what was left of my mother.

She was still eyeing me, confused as to why this stranger was suddenly standing in she and Eva's living room with tears welling up in her eyes... and then I saw it. That moment of recognition, call it a mother's intuition. Her eyes went wide and her jaw fell. Then her legs lost all their strength and she buckled to her knees. Reflexively, I reached out to catch her, my own palm looking grotesque and monstrous next to her tiny, frail-looking form. I couldn't hear her, but her lips seemed to be forming the word "no" over and over again. Now she too was in tears.

"Mom?" I whimpered.

The little woman reached out and pulled my ring finger close to her body, embracing it, wrapping her arms around the digit like a warm, fleshy body pillow. I knew then what Eva had meant earlier, about it having been better if I'd thought my mother was still dead. That me standing here in that strange prison had been the last thing my mother had wanted for me. As much as I hated to admit it, DeTorres's rambling speech about paths and destiny held a lot more weight as I coiled my fingers around my shrunken mother, offering her the only solace I could. You have no idea how hard it is to see someone you love in pain, someone you never thought you'd see again, and not be able to hug them back.

"Told'ja, kid," Eva quietly mused, "ya fucked up."

I looked up at Eva, who wasn't crying, but still had a sadness in her eyes. "How is this even possible?"

Eva replied, "the same way we all ended up here."

"DeTorres," I spat with disdain.

"Your mother tried to rob him. I did too. Just about everyone in The Tank has. Especially after we botched the Fulci job."

"That was you?" I asked. My stepfather had spent a lot of time digging into the case. A hit put out on a ranking member of the D'Amato crime family. Strange details. Gruesome. Brad, my stepfather, had thought there could have been a link to my mother's disappearance somehow. He never explained why, just another of the many rabbit holes he'd fallen down in the time since her disappearance.

Eva nodded, "your mother and I both. At the time there were only a handful of us in here, but word got out that it was none other than the elusive Broker who'd put the hit out and The Tank exploded with new fish. Every swingin' dick who'd ever so much as stolen a car wanted their shot at Mistah D's money. Before that, He was thought of as much a myth as a man. After Fulci's death, it was like he had a target painted on his back. None have been successful in... fuck-a-duck! I can't believe it's been ten years."

"But how? How is this even possible?" I found myself stroking my mother's hair with my opposing hand to try and calm her.

"It's a compound. Something foreign. Far as I know, he's the only person on earth who has access to it."

Feeling I needed to hear the next part, Eva continued, " she tried to kill him, you know... and...," she nodded towards mom without finding a way to finish her sentence. "He was going to kill her, Danielle. Kill her and bring you and your stepfather here as punishment. I talked him down... but... she paid a high price to keep you outta here. And yet, after all that... here you are!"

I felt my stomach sink with guilt.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she apologized, "but I hope you can understand why. She talks about you all the time. She misses you so much Danielle, but if it meant you'd never see the inside of this place, she had to make peace with never seeing you again."

DeTorres had been telling me the truth. I found myself trying to choke back the vomit climbing up my throat.

After that, neither Eva or I said much. She just sat on the floor and watched the two of us as we silently reconnected. I gazed down at my mother with my head resting on the edge of the side table. The woman I only ever remember looking up at, now so small, pathetic and fragile in my hands. She still hadn't spoken, but her lips kept forming the words "I'm sorry" over and over again.

The blanket I had wrapped around me kept slipping and Eva seemed to notice. "We'll get you something more appropriate to wear tomorrow. Everything has to be hand made since we never know what size anyone will be when they get here."

I barely heard her, still entranced by my mom and lost in thought about the last tie I saw her. Dropping me off at her parent's house, my biological grandparents', for a long weekend.

"What's wrong with her... I mean... other than... shit... I mean... why can't I hear her?"

"We're not really sure," Eva replied. "Best we can figure, the pitch of her voice is so high that even she can't hear herself speak. It's just a guess though, neither of us can claim to be scientists."

"That doesn't make any sense," I refuted, "I mean, she's small, yes... but she's about the size of a mouse. You can still hear a mouse when it squeaks."

Eva just stared back at me with what started out as confusion, but which turned into deep concern.

"What?" I was now more confused than ever.

"You still haven't figured it out yet, have ya, kid?" She said, cryptically.

"Figured what out yet?!"

"Danielle... your mother isn't three inches tall..."

I looked down at the clearly three inch tall woman crying in the palms of my hands, then back up at Eva, "maybe I'm off by a half an inch or so, but-"

Eva stopped me with the most devastating news I'd received in my life... or... at least the last hour or so. "No, you're not listening to me. Alex isn't three inches tall... but you might be."





End Part 6

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 7-"Big Bad World"




Eva had to be fucking with me.

"What?! No... no... there's no way! I'm not... I can't be... it's not possible!"

It's amazing how your brain can rob you of anything resembling an intelligent response when faced with the horribly impossible becoming very, very possible. Even when, in my case, that news should have been obvious from the very fucking beginning. The drug DeTorres had slipped me. This is what it did.

I started backing away from my mother and Eva, not even fully conscious of doing so. My heart rate picked up at an ungodly pace. My breathing quickened. I'm certain I'd never experienced a panic attack before in my life. People tell me all the time that they can't believe what cool head I keep. That was all about to change.

"Take it easy, Danielle," Eva followed me slowly, extending her hands in a non-threatening display. "Just breath. Don't go all black-Friday-at-Walmart on me."

I looked away from her, taking in my surrounding as if seeing them for the first time. The side table my shrunken mother was still sitting on, the sofa, even the kitchenette... all of it was doll furniture. The big screen television wasn't a television at all, but an old cell phone mounted to the wall. The very fibers of the fabric making up Eva's jumpsuit revealed how bulky and thick they really were. Even the "blanket" I still clung to to hide my nakedness. A monogram resided at one of its corners, cursive stitching spelling out the letters EDT. Emil DeTorres. It wasn't a blanket at all, but a goddamn, motherfucking handkerchief!

"Danielle... Dani...," Eva continued her slow approach, trying and talk me down as I must have looked like I was about to explode. "It sucks, I know. It fucking sucks... but you're alive. Your mom's alive. That's something, isn't it? Just try to remain calm. I've watched grown men at the peak of health drop dead from a heart attack when they realized what had happened to them. Breath, Dani... breath."

I did not take her advice.

Before I knew it, I was running out of Eva's cell and down the stairs. My head was spinning and my stomach wanted desperately to void its contents. Have you ever been so scared that you didn't even know you were screaming at the top of your lungs? Well I have.

Once I reached the transparent floor, I rushed the enormous glass wall that every cell faced as though they were on display for whatever lie waiting in the darkness beyond. I threw my body against it. Pounding on the clear, but impenetrably thick barrier. I couldn't even see what was out there, only my own reflection rushing up to greet me with each ramming attempt. Whatever awaited me out there had to be better than this prison. Only one thought penetrated the mind-crushing fear, that I had to get my mother and myself out of there. I couldn't bring myself to face what Eva had tried to help me understand. Even after witnessing a gallery of giants and mom's shrunken state with my own eyes.

The towering redhead padded her way down the stairs in pursuit, her bare feet slapping the at the glass with urgency. She yelled at me as she ran, "don't pound on the glass!"

She was too late. The pale, LED lighting flashed to flashing emergency red and a high pitched deterrent pulse filled The Tank with deafening noise. I dropped to my knees and cupped my hands over my ears, the alarm so loud that I was unable to hear my own screaming. Within seconds, Eva was at my side, ripping threads of fabric from the frayed ends of her own clothes and stuffing them into my ears. She did the same to her own.

I couldn't think. Nothing beyond needing to get away anyway. I could almost see my own abject horror reflected in Eva's face. She too fell to her knees, and to my surprise, she wrapped her arms around me. Pressed me into her large, warm, comforting body. Using her hands to cover my ears instead of her own. An act of caring and love I'd never experienced from a complete stranger.

The blaring noise continued for a few long minutes before everything just stopped. The pulsing, ear-shattering sound, the strobing red light. Gone. With the exception of the lingering ringing in my ears, it was as if it had never happened. Muffled groans and curses from inside the other cells replaced the noise that had been, the other inmates understandably displeased by what I had done. I half expected one or more of them to step out and start something, but none did. All of a sudden the blackness beyond the colossal glass wall burst to blinding white light.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but what I saw took my breath away. It was some kind of chamber. Huge. Larger than any aircraft hanger I could ever imagine. Stark white walls, ceiling, and floor. The wall to the left housed an enormous circular structure imbedded within it, one with wheels and gears and other mechanical aspects that I immediately recognized as a vault door... though seemingly made to pass a cruise ship through with its size and grandeur.

Across the expansive room, on the opposite wall, was something else that I didn't recognize. A pair of towers of curious construction. Skyscrapers to my eyes, emitting a weak blue glow. To my right, the fourth and final wall, was completely barren.

All I could muster was a whisper, "Eva, what is this place?"

"His vault," she replied. She didn't need to explain who, as if I didn't already know. As though on cue, its owner made his entrance.

The mindbogglingly huge, round door clunked and whirred, the gears turning, the large hatch wheel spinning to a stop. It swung outwards from the room with an echoing creak and a grown. Then, almost casually, in stepped a giant. Not a giant like those I'd already encountered, they paled in comparison. Mere playthings for this absolute unit of a being.

The cream colored tailored suit. The slicked back head of hair. The thin pencil mustache. I knew it was DeTorres, but my mind struggled to convince itself that this colossus was the same man I had almost killed that very same evening.

He approached the glass, and like any tiny creature, my first instinct was to hide. The transparent walls of The Tank had been designed to prevent just that. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere his huge, predatory eyes could not see me. The giant bared his teeth in a wide, victorious smile. I felt like a lost minnow swimming up on a hungry shark.

In an instant, the glass wall separating us from him slid away into a pocket inside the wall itself, exposing Eva and I to this real life monster in all his terrifying glory. I wanted to scream, but the terror I felt just then was like nothing I'd ever felt before. My limbs wouldn't move. My voice had left me. My mind went blank, as though my thoughts and wants and memories had all been washed away. All that remained was the terror.

"Ah!" His bellowing voice echoed through the glass walls, "I see acquaintances have already been made. And how is Ms. Hutch this evening?"

"Fine, Mistah D!" Eva replied with a sickening amount of enthusiasm.

"Splendid! I assume our newest resident got a little... overexcited?"

"Nothin' I can't handle, boss! You know she's in good hands!"

DeTorres cooed a little, then reached inside. His gargantuan hand cast a long shadow over the two of us. I couldn't take the thought of being held by those trunk-like fingers and retreated beneath the floating staircase. The giant extended a single finger and used it to brush the side of Eva's cheek with a gentleness I would have found impossible between their disparaging sizes. Eva placed an affectionate hand on the huge manicured nail before DeTorres recoiled it.

"My sweet, sweet Eva. I know she is." *hiccup*

I noticed the strong smell of booze wafting through the space from his breath.

"Pardon, that was quite unbecoming of me," he said before hiccuping again. "Has the Clark family had their... little... reunion?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good, though I'm sorry to say I missed such a momentous occasion. After im afraid I imbibed a bit too much this evening and fell asleep on the sofa." He yawned into another hiccup.

"Happens to the best of us," Eva tried to assure him.

DeTorres extended his arms above his head with another overly dramatic yawn. He scratched an itch on the side of his nose then informed us, "I suppose I'll retire for the evening then. Take good care of our new little friend here. I expect great things from her."

"You got it, boss!" Eva said with a double thumbs up gesture.

The titan began to shut the sliding door, but stoped himself before closing it all the way. The sight of a wall of glass two hundred feet tall sliding back open greeted us again.

"Hmmmm... while I'm down here...," he said ominously.

"Anything else, boss?" Asked Eva.

DeTorres ducked down, mostly out of sight. There was a commotion, the sound of metal clanging followed by some terrified male screams. When his face returned to our level, he was holding one of the two Russians I'd "met" earlier, wriggling in his grasp. The one with the broken teeth.

"Bathtard!" The little man exclaimed. It felt odd to think of him that way considering he'd held me in a not too dissimilar fashion less than an hour before. Still, he looked so helpless and scared, pathetic even, as he tried to pry the long, spindly fingers away from his waist. "No do thith! No again!"

DeTorres finally replied to Eva with a wink, "oh... just picking up something to help me sleep."

The glass wall closed for the final time that night. DeTorres disappeared through the round portal with his living, flailing toy. Then the lights went out and the darkness filled the world outside my prison... my cage. Eva immediately came running to my side.

"Danielle... oh fuck, Dani, are you ok?"

I tried to push her away, as successfully as anyone could push someone twice their size away could anyway. "Get away from me! Oh fuck, I'm gonna be sick!"

The miniature giantess sat down on the floor a few feet away from me, crossing her legs in front of her. I could feel her concerned gaze on me, though I couldn't bring myself to look back at her.

"Oh god... oh fuck... oh god... this is really happening!" Again, shock and eloquence don't exactly make for the best of bedfellows. "What the fuck was that?!"

"Boris is his favorite... toy. Poor, dumb Russian."

My eyes finally met hers, feeling the fire building within me focus solely on her. "No! You! What was that?! What are you? Like... like his fucking pet?!"

"It's... it's complicated," she said as she looked away.

"Complicated my ass!"

"Look, little miss," she put extra emphasis on the little part, "I don't owe you a goddamned thing! Not one goddamned thing, you understand?! You can accept my help, or not. Your choice. All I know is that Alex, your mother, is like a sister to me! I'd do anything for her, and that means looking out for you!"

"I don't need your help!" I spat back.

Eva probably sensed that I was lashing out at anything lash-able, which was true. I was lucky she didn't just kick my ass right there because there was literally nothing I would b all to do to stop it. She took a breath and collected herself so that the shouting match wouldn't escalate any further. "Look, I know you're scared. I get it, I really do. Any sane SOB would be. I am not your enemy, Danielle."

"No?! You sure looked pretty chummy with the bad guy back there!"

Eva exhaled, "like I said... it's complicated, but right now you're looking for too many answers that are way too nownced to explain to you right now."

"Nuanced."

"Huh?"

"It's pronounced noo-anced."

"Oh. Huh. Learn somthin' new everyday."

Jesus, was this woman for real?!

There was a bit of a lull in the conversation after that. Then Eva stood up and outstretched her hand to offer me some help to my feet, "I promise, I'll explain everything, but you're tired and yer nerves are completely shot. What do you say we sleep on it and start over in the morning?"

"Don't think I'll ever sleep again," I replied.

"Eh," she shrugged, "only one way to find out."

There was kindness in Eva's eyes... er... eye, but I still wasn't sure I could trust her. Still, she had been with my mom all this time and mom clearly trusted her. My head was in such a spin from the night's events that I thought I might black out again. But she was right about one thing, I was exhausted. Emotionally and physically. So, with much apprehension, I took Eva's hand and followed her back up to her cell.





End Part 7

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 8-"The Gand Tour"




Contrary to what I expected that evening, I slept like a rock on Eva's huge dollhouse sofa. Sure, it was just as stiff as you'd think, but I'd been through the ringer and probably could have passed out on a bed of rusty nails slathered in habanero hot sauce. When I finally awoke I nearly rolled off onto the floor, which was a substantial night at my new size. It felt so weird to think of things that way: at my size. The towering redhead and my mother were both up before me. I wrapped my hanky blanket around myself and wobbled to my feet.

"What time is it?" I asked anyone willing to answer.

"Almost noon," Eva replied. Damn, I really was out. "You should eat something."

"Yeah." I wandered over to the Barbie Dreamhouse table, which was too large even for my host. I felt like a little kid Trying to climb into a high chair. All of this oversized furniture tucked with mind. On one had, I was too small to properly use any of it, but on the other, I was so much smaller than this illusion even hinted at.

I realized the plates stacked up near the sink were actually bottle caps. Eva removed one from the top placed a single Cherrio in its center. Honey nut, nearly the size of my head. It looked like a freakishly large, crusty bagel. She opened her fridge, one of those tiny ones you see at Walmart meant to hold like two cans of soda, to retrieve a pitcher of milk. She dripped a single drop of into the center of the 'O' shaped cereal, which the liquid's surface tension held in place without pouring over the edges or spilling out the bottom.

"This is so surreal," I mumbled. I didn't even notice my mother sitting across from me with her legs kicked out to her side. She was nibbling on a crumb of the same breakfast cereal. She waved to me, then made a series of hand gestures I associated with sign language. Makes sense, considering she couldn't even hear herself speak. I'd imagine she and Eva had nothing but spare time to learn how to communicate with each other. "What did she just say?"

"She asked how you are feeling," Eva translated for me.

"Oh... uh... well... you ever been on a freeway when you're trying to pass a semi?"

"I don't know how to drive," Eva replied, then clammed up realized that wasn't the point of the analogy.

The way your anxiety starts to build as you creep up along side their trailer? Like, it's just too huge to be traveling that fast and it could easily run you off the road at any second and the driver would never even know you were there? Yeah, so that... but every-fucking-thing I see is the truck."

Eva laughed, "you got a way with words about ya, Dani."

Mom made a few more hand gestures and Eva instinctively translated, "she says she knows exactly how you feel."

"Sorry," I replied, ashamedly. "I didn't mean to..."

The tiny woman waved me off dismissively. She walked across the table and sat down next to my hand, laying her upper body across it and looking up at me. She signed again.

"She says she likes your hair," Eva chuckled. Even I couldn't help but laugh at that, running my free hand awkwardly through the side of my pixie cut.

"Thanks, I've been cutting it a lot shorter since...," I stopped myself from finishing that sentence.

Eva translated more of my mom's signing, "she says she's sorry for abandoning you and your stepfather. She didn't mean for any of this to happen."

I just grinned warmly back at her, "I'm just glad you're alive, mom. And don't worry, dad took good care of me." The fact that I'd referred to Brad as my father seemed to light up her face.

Eva interrupted, "hurry and finish your breakfast, then what'dya say we go find you something to wear other than one of Mistah D's snot rags?"

"Yeah... ok."


After breakfast, Eva led me down each floor, explaining how the place worked. That we'd eventually have to be sent out on what they referred to as "work release," which was essentially whatever dirty work DeTorres needed done. Usually burglary, but sometimes assassination. I had a hard time picturing my mom being capable of killing anyone, but I also hadn't pegged her as a world class burglar either, so what the fuck did I know.

She explained how there used to be a lot more room in The Tank until all these others started showing up. DeTorres had to completely reconfigure the place to accommodate so many tiny people. Having to do the work himself since he didn't trust anyone other than Mr. Rudolph with the knowledge of these people's existence. She worried that soon they'd be forced to double up prisoners in each cell.

"Your mom and I, we've been here the longest. No one else from that time is still around."

"Did he let them go? Does that mean there's a cure, an antidote... whatever?" They seemed like stupid questions the second I asked them.

"If there were an antidote, Dani, don't you think we'd have used it on your mother by now?" She replied.

Great. Stuck at three inches tall for the rest of my life. Got it. I took the news reasonably well, if I do say so myself. I only cry to myself to sleep every night to this day, but now I manage to do it without screaming at a single other person. We're all capable of growth.

"As for the others," Eva continued, "they didn't make it back from their missions. Nearly didn't make it back from one myself about two years ago. That's how I got this happy little beauty mark," she said, pointing at the smiley face on her eyepatch. "Fucking crazy goddamn house cat."

Fuzzy, cuddly house cats. Now a force to feared and reckoned with. Got it. This is just wonderful.

"As far as your usual prison bullshit... fights, drug use, rape... we don't really have that in here. Mistah D provides us with just about anything we could need, except internet access."

"Tell that to that Russian guy last night," I snarked. Eva didn't respond.

"It goes a long way with people to have a common enemy, and most of the people here are too busy hating Mistah D to care about fucking each other over."

"Everyone but you?" I said, instantly regretting it when Eva shot me a look. "Sorry."

"Mistah D was there for me at my lowest. He was like the father I wished I'd had. I would have done anything for him. A funny thing happens as you get older though, you realize your parents aren't exactly the people you think they are. Even if you love them, you can easily grow to resent them. It's..."

"Complicated," I finished her thought for her. "I get it. There was a time when I was so angry at my mother when I thought she'd abandoned us. A whole lot of teenage angst looking for someone to blame for all my problems."

Eva's voice grew more serious, "Alex would have been there is she could, Danielle."

"I know that now."

We pass by several of the other inmates, either watching tv in their cells with the doors open or milling about in the common area. Others were working out by lifting weights made from coins and D cell batteries. Some of the cells are much larger than others, especially towards the bottom, intended to accommodate the larger victims of DeTorres's shrinking compound. A few look like you could fit a dozen of Eva's cells within them.

It's a while before we reach the bottom floor, given we're basically descending an eight to ten story building. One I had to wrap my head around the fact that it was actually only about the size of a walk-in freezer. The stairs soon disappeared into the base of the structure near the bottom. There, a segmented wall divided a long corridor, very limnal and very uncomfortable feeling.

"The showers are down here," Eva informed me, "and don't worry, there's separate male and female rooms. I'm sure you'd like to clean up a bit. Why don't you go take a a few minutes to yourself while I dig 'round in storage for something that might suit'cha?"

I nodded and made my down the grey hallway into the bath area. It was empty save for myself, which made sense since it was already midday. With there only being six women within The Tank, I couldn't imagine it ever getting all that crowded anyway. Eva had told me that one of them was a Russian exotic dancer named Tatiana who arrived alongside Boris and Yuri, which had me pondering what use a gay man like DeTorres's could possibly have for a Slavic stripper.

Even with Eva's assurances that there weren't any serious occurrences of violence inside The Tank, finding that I was an exceptionally small female, even among the shrunken, and trapped with a bunch of sex-starved criminals... well, it didn't exactly put my mind at ease. At least Eva had the warden on her side, which helped me see her side, especially through the lens of self preservation, rather than collaboration.

The "showers" were a series of faucets lined up along a wall made up of huge pieces of grey stone tile, partitioned off by gender just as Eva said they'd be. At the center of the women's chamber was a massive floor drain, one whose drainage holes were large enough I'm sure I could easily lose a foot into if I wasn't paying attention.

I tossed my handkerchief covering aside and stepped up to the faucet furthest from the entrance. The handles were grossly oversized, but I was begrudgingly grateful that my captor had had the forethought to install something like this. It took both arms and some considerable upper body strength for me to rotate one of the levers, but the water began to flow nonetheless. It ran down hard and fast from the arching faucet above me, like someone had opened the floodgates of a damn. I had to keep my feet about me to ensure I didn't get washed away, but fuck did it feel fantastic! I lowered the lever further to warm the water even more. I closed my eyes and braced myself against the wall, letting the powerful column of water envelope me. For just a few minutes, I could forget about everything. And then I burst into tears.

When finished, I used the hanky as a towel to dry myself off. Eva was waiting outside, just as she said she would be, with a pair of orange jumpsuits. Both clearly to large for me. "I know," she admitted, "but they're the smallest we have. We can take them back upstairs and cut them down."

"Uh... right... sure," I said, still drying my hair against the handkerchief.

So, we began our arduous, at least for me, ascent back to the top floor of The Tank. The thought came to mind that I staying in shape wouldn't be a problem if this is what I had to go through each day just for a shower. As we pass by the same people on our way back up, I couldn't help but make an observation.

"You say you don't have the things other prisons have, but I've noticed that everyone seems to stick to their own race like they do in any other." I point at a small group of African American fellows in one corner of the floor and to a group of white guys with Russian mafia tattoos in the other.

"People always feel more comfortable around others like them, even if we're all in the same boat. Yes, there's a Hispanic gang, a black gang, the Russians, the Brotherhood, etc. etc. They know better than to get in each other's way. Fighting isn't going to get them out of here, not serious fighting anyway."

"Um... what does that mean?"

"It means boys will be boys. They spar every now and then, gamble on it a little to entertain themselves, but everyone shakes hands afterwards. Like I already said, no one hates anyone else inside The Tank more than they hate Mistah D."

"I can't picture any of these guys shaking hands with the Aryan Brotherhood."

"Aryan Brotherhood?" Eva paused, perplexed. "We don't have... ooooohh! No, not a bunch of Nazi assholes. It's those three Spanish guys on level 2. They're always huddled together in one of their cells, chanting some bullshit mantra. The Brotherhood of the Slaughtered Bull, they call themselves. Some kind of ancient order, they say, you know the kind. Robes, rituals, self-serious."

"Soooooo... dorks?"

"Oh, you have no idea. They claim to have existed for thousands of years, with the sole purpose of ending Mistah D's life."

"They're obviously doing a bang-up job," I said sarcastically. "Wait, so what? Why would an ancient order be after DeTorres? Have they killed his ancestors or something?"

Eva sighed, "this will probably need to wait until you're sitting down. You're probably not going to believe this next part."

"I've been shrunk to three inches tall and am being held against my will inside a prison the size of a vending machine. Try me."



End Part 8

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 9-"The Ranch"




July, 1947


"Who's that?" Private Otto Lionberger asked his fellow soldier and best friend, Jack Clump.

"Who?" Jack inquired, his attention devoted solely to the task they'd been called out into the desert to perform.

"Him, the fella standing at the top of the hill," Otto replied, "talkin' with Major Marcel?"

Jack quit digging, choosing to rest his chin on his hands on the end of his shovel's shaft. He squinted in the bright, oppressive sunlight as he wiped the pouring sweat from his brow with the brim of his cap. "Don't know. He ain't military."

"I can see that, jackass. Is he government? CIA or somethin'?"

Jack sniffed a wad of snot out of his sinus down into his throat, then spat it into the dirt. "How the fuck should I know?"

Otto scratched his head, "seems queer, don't it? I mean, we get rounded up early this mornin' to waltz out into the middle of the goddamn desert to do what exactly? Clean up some rancher's trash? I enlisted to kill Krauts, not sweat my balls off collecting scrap in the New Mexico desert. Now there's some civy here in a black, three piece suit, just casually chattin' it up with the Major?"

"So? What of it?" Jack scoffed.

"So," Otto snarled back, "what if this shit ain't just scrap? Think 'bout it! This is a fuckin' crash site!"

"Yeah, could be" jack agreed, "that would make the most sense. You think it's one of ours. Maybe somthin', 'sperimental?"

"Nah, man... you know this shit's gotta be Russian! Look at the markins' on some of these pieces. That ain't 'Merican. Ain't Chinese neither. Why else would some suit drive all the way out to fuckin' Roswell of all places, the chafing taint of the American west?! He ain't here just to take take in the scenery and watch us die of heat stroke! There's no way!"

From on top of the hill, Major Jesse Marcel barked down into the ravine at the pair of soldiers who appeared to be slacking off on their duties, "back to work, you two! Unless you wanna scrub the barrack toilets for the next week!"

The major returned his attention to the mysterious man in black to continue with their conversation, "I apologize about that, now... where were we?"

The man replied, "you were about to inform me of what you found at the end of the debris field."

"Ah yes! Right! Well, like I was sayin,' wasn't like nothin' I'd ever seen before. I'm not sure anyone has, for that matter. It was round, disc shaped. No wings at all. No observable propulsion system. The brains back at base are completely stumped."

"You believe it's Russian?" The stranger asked, lightly flicking the end of his pencil mustache with the tip of his pinkie finger.

Marcel replied, "if the Commies have something like this, then we're in some serious trouble, sir. Real goddamn trouble. But... from what I've seen... I'd have to say no, it wasn't. There were bodies, sir, and they t'weren't no soviets."

"Oh?" The man in black raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "And what exactly makes you so certain of this?"

"Well, that's just the thing. You're gonna think I've lost my marbles, but... they weren't people, sir. Human I mean. They weren't human."

The man in black didn't say a word.

"I know how this is gonna sound... but... I don't think this thing is from here." Marcel looked up toward the sky to suggest the very thing he didn't want to have to say out loud.

The man in black thought quietly to himself for a moment, then gave the major his orders. "Not a scrap left behind, you understand? Not a single nut or bolt... or however this thing was held together. It cannot can make its way into public knowledge. What about the property owner, this Brazel fellow?"

"He's seen the bodies too, sir," Marcel informed him. "He's actually the one who came across 'em first."

"Then we'll need to deal with him as well. Make sure he doesn't talk to the press. From here on out it's need to know personnel only allowed within ten mikes of this area. Keep a lid on this thing, Major. This is now an issue of national security. Eyes only."

"Y-yes, sir."


The next day:



Three days later:




One month later...

Wright-Paterson Air Force Base


Emil DeTorres walks into the office of the military-contracted scientist placed in charge of analyzing the foreign material acquired outside of Roswell. "I trust you have something to show me, Dr. Roman?"

Dr. Martin Roman spun a round in his office chair, a look of excitement plastered across his face. "You know I wouldn't have contacted you if I didn't have exciting news. Follow me!"

The white-haired old man leapt from his seat with the spryness of a man a third his age. He led DeTorres through a pair of swinging doors into the hanger reserved for top secret experimental projects and research of the aerial nature. They moved deep into the facility, past an array of constantly clicking machinery printing out analytics of the strange objects retrieved from the crash. They passed beneath what was left of the craft itself, suspended off the ground and cloaked under a black tarp. A half dozen individuals in clean suits worked diligently beneath it, documenting every bump and scratch. Near the opposite end of the hangar, the two men finally came to what Roman had been dying to show his mysterious associate for over a week. There, a pair of alien-looking towers, each standing about waist high next to the Doctor, hummed away in a calm, ambient tone.

"You know their purpose," DeTorres stated as much as asked.

"Observe," the doctor beamed. He moved towards a nearby table, removing the sheeting that covered it to reveal a series of tools and various other devices. The most conspicuous item among them though was that of a severed hand. Not one anyone on this planet would recognize, but a hand none the less. Only three long, spindly fingers. No real palm to speak of, just a tripod at the end of the wrist.

The doctor lifted the alien appendage from off the table and waved it playfully at DeTorres. "Freeze-dried. Should last forever this way."

"Why exactly did you freeze-dry an extraterrestrial hand, Dr. Roman? I can't speak for its kinsmen, but I'm sure even a race as advanced as theirs would find it in poor taste. What happens when others come looking for their lost comrades, only to find them dissected and experimented upon? Or in this case, a novelty trophy dangling from your car keys?"

The doctor ignored this line of inquest, having grown quite used to DeTorres's manner. He approached the twin pair of towers, the hand extended out in front of him. Remarkably, the device reacted... as though they could sense the alien hand growing near. A compartment near the top of the one positioned to the right opened up. Inside said compartment awaited a spherical pad of sorts, glowing a subtle shade of blue. On its surface, a three pronged indentation mirrored the hand almost perfectly. When Dr. Roman placed the hand on the metal hemisphere it amazingly acted as a key opening a lock to the strange device. The blue light faded away and between the towers a dark, rectangular portal blinked into existence.

Emil DeTorres had lived a very, very long time. He'd thought he'd seen everything there was to see under the sun, but the misfortune of these visitors from another world had brought him something very special indeed. "Now, my friend, this is quite interesting, indeed."

The doctor ushered the mustachioed man inside, "it's quite safe, I assure you." The two men entered the daunting void, one after the other.

Inside, DeTorres found it difficult to comprehend the space. It was black, pure and impenetrable. Yet, all kinds of strange objects could be seen stacked up or sprawled out in perfect light. Alien artifacts the likes of which neither man could even begin to theorize about.

"They were explorers," the doctor said matter of factly. DeTorres noted mentally how odd it was that in a chamber so vast, that the man's voice did not echo. "We may not know what any of these items are, but you can see stylish differences from one stack to the next. Like all travelers, they wanted to bring souvenirs home to show their friends."

"I'd imagine it's more complicated than that," DeTorres grumbled. "What is this space exactly?"

"It's their version of a cargo hold, but even more incredibly, it's also their means of travel, in a way. A dimension unto itself. I'm sure you've noted how small their craft is, small even for creatures of their size. This race has figured out how to traverse the galaxy as easily as we bound around town in our automobiles. And this device, this device is the key. It can expand as wide and as far as your imagination can perceive, or shrink down to the size of an atom."

"Fascinating," Emil whispered.

The doctor continued, "the ship itself has a propulsion system, though we're still trying to unlock its secret. This though... this is what allows them to cross unimaginable distances in a matter of seconds. The ship is, kind of... filtered... through it with energy. These beings can place one of these on any planet, forging a shortcut across the universe for others to come later."

DeTorres turned to look the doctor in the eye, "so it's just as we feared then... the first stage of an invasion."

Doctor Ramon sighed, "we obviously don't know that for sure, but yes... I believe preventative measures should be taken, just in case this is the beginning of a hostile occupation."

"Their machine is here," DeTorres observed, "why would they not have made their move by now?"

"Our best guess," Ramon said, scratching his head, " is that the others don't know the ship has crashed."

"That would prove very luck for us," DeTorres said, playing with the tip of his mustache. "A fleet of similar ships arriving through this gate, a race technologically superior to us immediately viewing what we've done with their scout ship and its occupants... I don't need to tell you they might not prove so understanding."

"I think we may have an advantage though," Ramon explained, "the key is this machine itself. It runs on some unimaginable power source that, from our comparatively rudimentary tests, appears to never deplete. I thought if anyone on earth could relate, it would be you, Mr. DeTorres."

Yes. Dr. Ramon was aware of DeTorres's exceptionally unique nature.

"What exactly are you getting at?" The undying man asked.

Ramon wagged an excited finger knowingly at Emil, smiling, "I theorize that since this machine wasn't destroyed in the crash, the others still think their comrades are out there, doing whatever it is they do. They're still skipping across the galaxy like a flat stone over water, still searching for a new planet to potentially conquer. Even at the speed of light, it would take generations in our short lifetimes just to reach the nearest star. This race has learned to be patient.

"Perhaps... perhaps that's why they crashed! The pilots would have to be maintained in some kind of... some kind of stasis to make the long journey. Essentially frozen until they reached their destination. Thawing out every now and then to service their ship and orient themselves. Something went wrong and no one was conscious to deal with the problem. In fact, I'd wager this sort of thing happens all the time. The price of knowledge is often paid lives, and perhaps in that way alone, our races aren't that different.

"But as long as we have this device... we keep using it... keep using this hand to open it I mean, then the others will have no reason to believe these beings aren't just... just doing business as usual out there among the stars."

Emil understood immediately. He couldn't believe his good fortune. How could such a series of conveniences confluence in this one single moment in time? He was the perfect man to entrust to such a device, and to the fate of the human race. He may not live forever, but he'll certainly outlive the next few millennia of people to come.

On top of that, his massive wealth had always been burdensome, having to keep his fortune secretly moving at all times to ensure its safety. It had become a logistical nightmare in an increasingly global society, even in 1948. He had just been presented with a machine that could generate an infinite amount of space that could be transported in the trunk of a Cadillac.

"I want it," DeTorres stated.

"I knew you would, sir."

"Can you reverse engineer the device to operate compatibly with our current technology?"

Ramon thought about it, "I can certainly try, especially since that's what we're already trying to do with the ship itself."

"Fine," Emil said as he exited the amazing pocket dimension. "Empty it, take what you like as payment for services... and your discretion. As soon as it's ready, I would have it delivered to my home. I'll contact you later with the address. I need to make some preparations for its arrival myself."

"And if the brass start asking questions?" Ramon asked.

Emil placed his wide rimmed hat back on his head and turned to make his exit, "you let me worry about that."





End Part 9

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 10-"Conspiracies"




"Let me just back up and see if I've got this shit straight," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose and wincing from the growing headache behind my eyeball. "Just to be sure I'm keeping track of all this insanity. DeTorres is some kind of international political puppet master, who has somehow been alive since before the giant sloth went extinct. Nothing terrifying about that. He has a secret compound that can actually shrink people, whom he forces into a life of imprisonment and servitude. Also, those towers across the room are a mysterious device that opens a portal to a pocket dimension where he stores his gold, jewels, rare antiquities, and items thought to only exist in myth. And on top of all that... we're all expected to be his army of toy-sized hitmen and burglars in exchange for allowing us to live?"

Eva shrugged, "that's the long and short of it, yeah."

"What kind of sci-fi bullshit is this?"

"So says the little dumbshit that got herself shrunk down to the size of a Swiss Army knife," Eva huffed.

"Hey, you're not exactly waiting for the WNBA to come calling yourself, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Eva dismissed me with a flick of her wrist.

We were once again back inside Eva's quarter's, me struggling to see over the crest of the pink, Barbie-sized kitchen table, my mother seated on top of it, and Eva sitting on the floor playing seamstress with my future attire. She was actually using a regular sized sewing needle which made it look like she was trying to stitch with a sword.

"Alright, let me process this for a second. I need to think of a way to get a message out to dad." That's when I remembered that DeTorres had called Eva, "wait, don't you have phone service?"

"No."

"But I was standing there when DeTorres called you earlier!"

Eva pointed to a device next to her bed that appeared to be a dog collar. Jesus Christ, he really did great her like a pet. She seemed to sense that I was judging her again and explained, "he only makes me wear it when I'm on a job, to keep track of me and stay in contact. There's a communicator imbedded inside it. It only links up to Mistah D's phone though."

"That's still not a bad thing! That means he's not blocking signals coming in or out of The Tank!"

Mom began to wave her hands at me, vigorously shaking her head. She signed something and Eva acted as translator once again.

"She said exactly what I was about to tell you. It's no use. There's no getting out of here, and if you really care about your stepfather you'll leave it at that. This is a black hole, Danielle. If you cross Mistah D, you either wind up here... or you wind up dead. If it's here, then it means he has leverage against you. He'll hurt your dad, or your mom... or get to you some way you haven't even thought of."

"So what? I just give up and accept this bullshit as a done deal? Fuck that! I'm not spending the rest of my life just milling around in this shithole! I won't just sit and watch my mother die here either!"

"Just forget it, kid. Do you really think you're the first one to try?! Hell, if Alex hadn't tried to kill Mistah D and escape, she wouldn't be... like this." She looked to my mom and apologized, "I'm sorry, Alex, but she has to understand."

"What makes you think dad isn't already on his way here?" I asked them. "Do you really think I'd have set foot in this house without letting him know what was happening?!"

"If your father comes for you and your mother, then the absolute best case scenario is that we'll have to make room for one more," Eva warned.

"Don't sell him short like that! You don't know him! How determined he's been to find out what happened to mom since she disappeared. When he doesn't hear back from me, he's going to expect the worst, then come looking for blood."

"This place is full of people who thought the same thing. I may not know your father, but I do know Mistah D, and I guarantee the guy is always three steps ahead of any play make. Here," she said as she tossed the orange rag she'd been working on at me. "Try it on."

I slid off the high chair and let the hanky drop and pool around my feet. Quickly, I pulled the garment over myself, feeling conscious of the the two sets of eyes one me... well, one and a half anyway. The jumpsuit hung quite heavy and baggy on my frame, and the coarseness of the rope-like fibers of the fabric was less than the most comfortable thing I'd ever worn. The stitching was large, as to be expected with what Eva had to work with, and of a different color to the rest of the material, beat wandering around this place clutching something DeTorres had used to wipe snot off his face to my breast.

"Not too bad, if I do say so myself," Eva mused at her own work, "your mom is the one who taught me how sew."

"Thanks," I replied, "I really do appreciate it, Eva. I don't mean to keep arguing with you, but I just can't accept that this is where everything... my life... just... ends."

"You really are your mother's daughter," she replied.

"How so?"

"Shit, she and I fought like cats and dogs before the Fulci job. Now I wouldn't know what I'd do without her."

My mother playfully blew Eva a kiss using both hands.

I continued to explain, "I can guarantee my father is already on a plane. He's our best chance of getting us, and everyone else out of here. Eva, I know you hinted a bad home life, and I'm sorry about that, but you're a grown-ass woman now. You don't have to serve him, or anyone else for that matter. Think about all the people these others have left behind. Family. Friends. People who would give anything to know what happened to them. How thrilled they'd be to find out they're still alive. Who cares if they're all criminals in one way or another. I can guarantee none of their loved ones would care about any of that, or small they are. What DeTorres is doing here... its... sick."

For the first time, the feisty redhead didn't have a retort. She just looked down at my mother, as though she were seeking her approval.

"Lets pretend what you're saying is possible, how exactly do we let your father know where we are. This vault is in Mistah D's basement, and the only access is through a secret elevator with coded access. After that, there's a primary chamber, just outside the main vault door, designed specifically to trap and shrink anyone who tries to break in. Mistah D himself has various means to neutralize intruders on his person at any given time, including more of the shrinking powder. And that's just what I know about. We don't have internet access, and I've been here so long I'm not really sure I know how to use one of these new genius phones. They were just smart phones when I got here. This is what I'm talking about when I tell you it's a lost cause."

"And what I'm saying is you won't have to. One of the check-ins dad came up with was to leave our cell phones stashed outside any location that might prove hostile. That way, when the other comes looking for them, and they find the phone unmoved, then we know for certain that the other didn't make it back out."

Alex signed and Eva translated, "she asks how many hostile locations, as you call them, have you had to escape?" No matter how long you've been apart, you can never quell a mother's concern.

"None really," I climbed back up into the steep chair and settled back in. I couldn't help but release a sigh when I began to explain the rest. "Dad went kinda dark after you disappeared, mom. Then Aunt Crystal disappeared too, a couple of years later. That's when he got really paranoid. Two women in his life had dropped off the face of the earth. He got into all this doomsday prepper stuff online. Not that he was waiting for the end of the world or anything, but he was petrified that someone might come looking or us."

Mom knew Aunt Crystal as Imogene Spaak, a former colleague I guess. It was through her actually that she first met my dad. I could tell this was the first she had heard of her sister-in-law's disappearance. Since she wasn't there in the room with us, mom and I could only assume the worst. Neither of us wanted to say it out loud though. Eva was right, like mother like daughter.

"We moved out of the city,". I continued, "Dad bought some property near the Canadian border, a few acres. A little house. He could work remotely, so that wasn't a problem. Unfortunately, that also meant he spent a lot of time alone when I was at school. He wanted to home school me but I flat out refused that. Anyway, he found others who were into the same things online, militia types. Right-wing nutjobs. Don't worry, he didn't turn into a fascist or anything. Other than their specialized skills, he had no use for them. 'Bunch of dumbass fuckin' Nazis,' he always joked, 'but they sure know how to protect what's theirs!" I felt like I could see my mom's heart breaking all over again, so I quickly moved on from the subject of my father's questionable hobbies.

"So, once I was old enough to get involved, I did. The cell phone thing was just one of the ways he came up with so one of us communicate to the other that something had gone wrong."

"I still don't know how that helps us with no cell phone service," Eva rebutted.

"No, but just because DeTorres has cut us off from the outside world doesn't mean he has himself. His phone has internet, which means we can use it as a hotspot."

"And how exactly do we do that?"

"I don't have the best tech skills, and you pretty much just admitted to the same, but I'm willing to bet someone in here is smart enough that they could hack his phone with a fucking calculator. Then all we have to do is send a message to my phone. The one on your wall is an iPhone, so is mine. It won't even need a SIM card since they're the same manufacturer, we can just use my email to send a text."

"And what exactly are you going tell him? You really think anyone, even if he is your dad, will believe any of this?"

"So yeah, maybe we leave the parts out about magic vault doors and shrunken burglars. All he needs to know is that we're being held in the basement. That DeTorres has booby trapped the place, and that he needs to protect his lungs. That's it!"

"That's it, huh?" Eva repeated, skeptically. "And when it all goes tits up?"

"Then we either have our big, happy family reunion from inside The Tank, we all end up like mom, or we all fucking die. All I know is I can't not try. And if it all goes 'tits up,' then at least we can say that we gave it our best shot."

Mom and Eva looked at one another. Mom nodded.

The towering redhead placed her hands on her hips and stared at the floor in silence for a moment before replying, "alright, I'm in... we're in... but if you get me killed I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

A change of air and the wooshing sound of the sliding door to TheTank drew all of our attentions away from the conversation. Almost emotionlessly, Eva said, "looks like Boris is back."





End Part 10

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 11-"Boris Mikhailov"




Growing up on the mean streets of Moscow, Boris Mikhailov he'd earned himself a reputation. The kind of guy that could beat you senseless, but do so with a smile plastered across his face. But also the type who'd swipe a bottle of vodka from the corner shop and share a drink with you afterwards. A bully, for sure, but a bully most found it difficult to dislike.

Mikhailov's mother raised him alone and spent most of her time drinking to cope with the loss of her husband. Boris's father had been a miner, but contracted radiation poisoning as a member of the soviet era crew tasked with digging a tunnel beneath the Chernobyl power plant after the famous explosion. The goal was to channel water beneath the radioactive core to cool the deadly molten material before it could fully meltdown and begin its journey to the center of the planet. None of the miners would survive the operation, but were touted as heroes by the Russian government. A slow, agonizing death by radiation poisoning was nothing any such hero, or anyone else for that matter, ever deserved.

So in a sense, Boris raised himself.

His infectious personality would catch the attention of local members of organized crime, and into his early teens, Boris would graduate from petty street crime to a low-level, but full-fledged member of the Russian mob. The boy was already built like a brick shit house and made for just the kind of heavy that made-men liked to have around when things got dicey.

There's a story about young Boris that stands out, mostly because he tells it over and over again to anyone who will listen. One night, while riding the Moscow underground, a group of gnarly teens stepped up on the kid while dozing off on a bench near the rear of the car. Four of them. Each brandishing a stiletto and a shit-eating grin that told him they meant business. Feeling particularly tired that evening (he'd been standing guard over a card game that felt like it would never end), Boris didn't even stand up. Didn't say a word. Just stared the four thugs down.

Any other night the young Russian would have taken great pleasure tussling with these shitheads, especially when the odds were stacked against him. That'd just make it more challenging... more fun. Boris Mikhailov was willing to press his luck a little in the name of some violent fun. But not this night. He just continued staring at their leader, barely hearing the thug's demands to hand over his wallet and watch.

Boris just kept staring.

The others in the gang grew restless. Uneasy. Looking to one another for an answer as to why this lone guy on the train, an easy mark on any other night, wasn't... well... wasn't really doing anything. Sweat beaded on their leader's brow, his voice getting shakier with each ignored demand. Then, and only then, did Mikhailov speak.

"You've stepped in something here, comrade. You don't know it yet, but you have. If you continue to press me, I'm going to be forced to take that knife from you. And if I am forced to take that knife from you, well... let's just say things are going to go very... very... badly. For you and your friends, that is."

"Oh, yeah," the thug countered in whatever version of 'oh, yeah?!' that exists in the Russian language.

"Yeah," Boris affirmed, "but I'm feeling generous this evening... I'm giving you an out. It's been a long night and I'm fucking tired, but I can still smash all four of your skulls in before that knife hits the floor. It wouldn't even be a challenge. But... I'd rather just let you walk away and continue with my nap."

To their astonishment, Boris just closed his eyes. That's it. When the train stopped at his station, he opened his eyes and the four would-be thieves were gone, like ghosts in the night. Now, most men would brag about the fights won or lost, but not Boris Mikhailov. There were too many of those to know where to begin. It was this singular moment he was most proud of. That he had become such a force to be reckoned with that he could scare off a bunch of small-timers with little more than a threat and heavy eyes. If you ever meet Boris, I'm sure he'd love to tell you the story himself.


It was in these early days that Mikhailov would meet another other young man he would consider his most trusted comrade, Yuri. The only name he or anyone else would ever know the bald-headed albino by, just as Yuri preferred it. A man of few to no words, he fit alongside a boisterous, alpha type such as Boris like onions and vodka (trust me, it's a whole thing). The pair became inseparable, even sharing their women on a regular basis.

After the fall of the Soviet Union, the higher ups in the organization wanted to gain a placehold in the west, and Mikhailov was more than eager to sign Yuri and himself up for the task. They started out running drugs for a few years, then money laundering. When they grew bored with that, the pair dipped their toes into human trafficking and prostitution. This work was more Boris's style anyway.

Yuri and Boris spent years building up their business and making millions for them selves and their superiors in the process. But even someone like Boris Mikhailov can grow weary of his chosen profession. Middle age had snuck up on him quickly and the man found he hadn't the heart for the game anymore. While still officially tied to the organization, Yuri and Boris entered semi-retirement by doing the one thing they'd always dreamed of, even since their boyhood days... opening a strip club. In New York City, no less!

Sure they still had dues to pay, and family business still cropped up from time to time, but Boris had finally found his place in the world. His little gentleman's club meant more to him than the love of his own mother. Love what you do and you never work a day in your life was a cliche the extroverted Russian took directly to heart.

And then... the Broker stepped into his club one day and took all of that all away. Sure, he and Yuri had been ordered by the suits back in Moscow to take control of the mysterious man's assets, and to do so at any cost, but he never could have suspected what DeTorres was capable of... and how much it would cost him personally. DeTorres ruined four lives that day. Now, the life he loved was a distant memory. His bartender was dead, having never returned from work release. At least he still had Yuri... and his favorite dancer, Tatiana, to keep him company in his own miniature hell.

Because it wasn't bad enough that DeTorres had to shrink him, robbing him of his standing and self worth. No, the Broker had taken quite a shine to the man with the once infectious smile. Even without a good chunk of his teeth, something else DeTorres's shrinking compound had robbed him of, and his long, scraggly hair, Boris was still a handsome individual.

DeTorres sure thought so anyway. In the years since that fateful morning, Boris Mikhailov had been reduced to nothing more than a sexual plaything for the man known to many as the Broker. Treated like a lowly dog for his master's enjoyment. Raped and humiliated like so many of the girls he'd moved across international waters to be sold into slavery. Boris was not a religious man, but even he could see how God might have found this a fitting punishment.

Mikhailov fought DeTorres every time he came to take him. For ten long years, but it never did any good. Luckily for him, it was only when his warden was sufficiently intoxicated that he found himself at his mercy. Still, this absolute lack of power changed Boris Mikhailov... perhaps for the better.

Like any other night he'd been taken, violated and tossed aside like a dampened cum rag, Boris silently marched into his cell... slammed the door behind him... crouched in the corner next to his bed... and sobbed. He'd tug at his hair, ripping out clumps that tangled in his fingers. Yuri could not comfort him, he'd learned over time to just let Boris be after one of those terrible nights.

This day was different though. Someone unexpected came wrapping at his cellblock door...

"Boris? Can we talk?"





End Part 11

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 12-"Fuck off! Go Away!"




"Fuck off!" The three of us heard Boris shout through the door. Both my mother, who was riding on my shoulder, and I recoiled at the booming sound of his voice.

"Come on, Boris!" Eva shouted back, "ain't like I never seen ya cry before!"

The cell door, which was much taller than Eva's, flung open. The Goliath I'd first seen when I arrived in this glass cage stood in its center, forcing me to crane my neck skywards just to make eye contact. His face was red with rage, but Eva's assumptions were true... he had clearly been crying.

"I tell you, EvaHutch, to fuck off! Go away!" He would always say her full name like that, as if it were one word.

"Maybe we should come back later," I suggested, fearing what a man his size might be capable of when pushed too far.

Eva was unperturbed. She just pushed past him and entered his cell like she owned the place. Sinking into my shoulders, I reluctantly followed.

"You have thshit clogging earth, EvaHutch?" He growled, his broken-toothed lisp more pronounced than ever. "You leave Borith the fuck alone and maybe Borith not dropkick bothsy redhead acroth Tank!"

Boris's cell was much larger. Perhaps twice as tall and wide as Eva's, appropriately. The gigantic man filled it out with an imposing presence. His scarred fists clenched at his sides and his breath grew more aggravated with each passing second.

"Come on, Boris... isn't this what you commie pinkos are all about, ain't it? What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine?" She said, brazenly.

"Juth like you Americanth, your underthtanding of thothalithm ith limited to what your countryth propaganda hath taught you. Now, pleathe... if you will politely get the fuck out!"

"Please say socialism again," Eva teased, "come on! It'll make my whole day!"

"Eva," I pleaded, "maybe you should ease off a bit?"

She ignored me and continued speaking to the enormous man as if her were harmless, "we have a proposition for you."

"Not interethted! Juth go! Pleathe!"

"You want out of this place or not?" Eva finally got to the point.

At this, the gigantic Russian's entire demeanor changed. "Bullthit."

"New girl here says we have a shot," she explained. "We just need to talk with someone in possession of serious hacking skills. Someone we can trust not to rat us out."

"Ha! You? Brokermanth loyal bitch want talk trutht with Borith?! Good Luck! And bethidth, every fith think they break out of Tank. Tiny blonde girl learn like retht."

"The new fish is Alex's daughter, Boris, and I want to help her. Both of them. It's her father, Alex's husband. Girl says he's most likely on his way here."

Boris scratched his chin, "thound like trick, EvaHutch. What game Brokerman playing?"

"No game," Eva replied, "and that's precisely why I need your help... because... like you said... no one here trusts me." Eva looked down at me, a quiet shame building behind her eyes. "Don't assume I don't know what people say about me when they think I can't hear."

"You Brokermanth number one, EvaHutch... what you exthpect?"

Eva hated to admit he was right, which is exactly why she made a point of getting the conversation back on track, "look, I know you want out of this place more than anything. You try to hide behind all your macho bullshit bravado, but I've spent ten years watching Mistah D chip you away bit by bit, like a dead fox on an anthill."

Boris turned to face the wall, trying to hide how vulnerable he still was after another terrible night forced to satisfy his warden. How Eva was correct, that years of trauma truly had broken him down. "Thay we do ethcape? What then? We join freak thow in traveling thircuth?"

"I don't think they have those anymore," I chimed in, missing his point entirely like the idiot I am.

"Ok, tho we end up in lab? American government uthe Borith and EvaHutch and Alexthandra and pretty new blonde girl to make more of poithon to make thmall people? No EvaHutch, we better off Brokermanth dirty thecret."

"You can't seriously believe that?" The fiery redhead shot back.

Boris just shook his head. "Even tho... Borith not detherve anything but Tank."

I found myself stepping forward. It terrified me to do so, but for some reason I couldn't stop myself. The back of Boris's calf was about all I could reach, so I took a breath and placed a trembling hand on it. I was beginning to realize this guy wasn't the monster I thought he was at all. Maybe he was once, but I think his time inside had given him some perspective... that, or it had completely destroyed him. I felt his muscles tighten slightly at my touch, but I didn't get kicked across the room like I'd startled a horse as expected.

"Please help us," I begged. "Boris, is it?"

"Every little fith want out of Tank," he repeated, then elaborated on it, "they thwim along glath, corner to corner, thometimeth thwim in thirclth. They want tho much get away. What little fith not underthtand ith world outthide Tank not made for them. No cool water to thwim in. No one to feed them. Little fith fall onto ground and dry up, gathping for air. Little fith not underthtand... only death wait outthide glath."

As vulnerable and honest as he was trying to be, his heavy lisp didn't help and Eva was clearly trying to refrain from laughing.

"Look," I tried to reason with him, "I don't have the right to ask anything of you. You don't know me. I don't know you, but that also means I don't know why you're punishing yourself. Whatever happened in your past, that stuff doesn't matter now. This place... whatever sick things DeTorres does to you... you've paid for it as far as I'm concerned. And if you help the others get out of here, that too will go a long way towards the redemption you're looking for. I just want to see my dad again. I don't care if I'm three inches or three hundred feet tall when that happens. Please, Boris... will you help me? Will you help my mom?"

I caught Boris looking over his shoulder at me before he threw himself against the wall, slamming his fist against it. I felt the vibrations right up through my bare feet. He slid down until his knees touched the floor, forcing me to jump out of the way. The big Russia fell backwards against the side of his bed, both hands yanking at the hair on the sides of his head. His face contorted into a red grimace, like an old decrepit dam struggling against the weight of its own ocean of sadness.

I stepped up along side him again, my head barely clearing the top of his propped up knee. Boris stared right at me, his eyes so red and longing for the sweet release that not even a good cry could cure. That's when my mother tapped me on the side of the neck. I shifted her into my hands, where she began waving at the enormous Russian man.

"I think... I think mom wants to tell you something."

Boris flipped around onto his stomach, sniffing back tears that were already breaking through his efforts to suppress them. He brought his head down as low as he could so that he could get a better look at my tiny mother. She beckoned him closer still, waving him in until his massive nose met the tips of my upturned fingers. As soon as it did, my mother opened her arms as wide as she could and wrapped them around the bulbous end of his flat nose.

That was all it took. The forgiving embrace from this tiny woman was all he needed to completely let himself go. Boris's head fell into the back of his arms and he cried like the weight of the world had been lifted off from him. I looked up to see Eva staring at me in complete shock. I don't think either of us had expected our meeting with Boris to go quite like this. I'm not sure Eva had ever seen a grown man cry the way Boris did that day... I'm not sure most people have.

We sat there with the sobbing giant for some time. It's strange how much easier it can be to unload your trauma on a complete stranger versus someone you've known your entire life. I can almost guarantee his friend Yuri had never seen this side of Boris. For a while, the only thing our Russian friend could say was "I'm sorry." It wasn't for us, but for some unknown party or parties he'd wronged along his journey to the Tank. Boris needed anyone to forgive him, and I was glad to do it.

"I help you," he sniffed once he was able to control himself a little more. "I help you, you help Borith get away from Brokerman?"

"That's the idea," Eva said compassionately.

"Good... we go thee Arthur."

Eva sighed, "I was afraid you were gonna say that."





End Part 12

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 13-"The Office of Arthur Pendleton"




Again, I found myself standing before a massive aluminum door. Easily on par with Boris's. The big Russian had joined our party, just as he said he would, and took it upon himself to knock on its owner's, a certain Arthur Pendleton, door for us.

"Is there anyone else?" Eva groaned.

As a brief background on Mr. Pendleton, the gentleman was formerly in the employ of Emil DeTorres as his tech specialist. DeTorres had caught him embezzling money from his accounts about a year and a half prior to my arrival, earning himself a spot inside The Tank for his indiscretions. Eva hated his guts, for reasons that will soon become evident.

"What do you want?" A garbled voice yelled back from inside.

"Ith Borith. Open up."

"Unghf... just a second," the voice grumbled and grunted.

Eva hung her head and shook it disparagingly, "really. Anyone else. I'm very open minded."

"He ith betht," Boris replied. "Uthe thome of that openmindedneth."

The door swung open to reveal what might very well have been the fatest man I'd ever seen standing in its frame. An individual so large that he had to step sideways through the portal to exit. His enormity was only exaggerated by the fact that he was even taller than Boris was. I felt like I was standing at the base of one of those big-ass Buddha statues that American tourists are always getting in trouble for climbing on. Where Eva managed to bully her way into Boris's cell, I don't think anyone but mom could have snuck in around this guy.

"Yeah?" He grunted, wiping what appeared to be cheese dust off his fingers on the front of his jumpsuit. I remember thinking about how Eva had to dig to find anything that would fit me, but DeTorres had something ready to go for this guy? His gaze fell from Boris's face to Eva's with disdain, "oh... it's you."

Guess Eva really wasn't very popular with the other inmates.

Boris spoke up first, "We need your thkillth, ArthurPendleton." Apparently Boris said everyone's name in this same way.

"Get in line," the chubby man replied. He retreated back into his lair, about ready to slam the door behind him when Boris caught it. "Ith very important."

"It always is," Arthur replied, "well, if you're gonna come in, come in then... but not her. She waits outside." His finger pointed accusingly at Eva.

I looked up to Eva, who conceded, "fine, I'd probably get Dorito-lung just from breathing the air in there." She took mom from me and walked away, seating herself on the stairs. Some guys had stopped working out with their battery barbells and were staring at us.

I followed behind Boris as we entered Arthur's living space. If you can call it that. Rat's nest would be a more applicable description. The place was littered with spent wrappers to candy bars, potato chips, and Five Hour Energy shots. All blown up in proportion, making it extremely difficult for someone my size to navigate through. I couldn't help but cringe as my bare feet stuck to the floor with each step like an old movie theater.

"Step into my office," the fat man greeted, "take a seat." Neither Boris or I took him up on his hospitality. To be honest, I don't think either of us knew where to begin looking for any furniture.
"So, what can Arthur do for you two?" As he asked, he made a complete spin in his desk chair.

Boris spoke first once again, "Malenkaya Zhenshchina here thay sthe can get uth out of Tank... for good."

"You can call me Dani, Boris, " I told my companion. I still don't know what the fuck it means.

"Dah... Dani... my apologieth." Boris continued, "sthe thay her father on hith way here. He could be movie ticket out of here."

"It's just ticket, Boris. You don't have to say the movie part." Trust me, it felt just as strange correcting someone who could snap me in half like a twig as it sounds.

Arthur seemed unimpressed... perhaps because he wasn't, "so?"

"What you mean, tho?!" Boris was genuinely taken aback by Arthur's reply.

"It ain't so bad in here," the fat man said, reaching into an open bag of Extreme Pickle Spice Ranch Doritos the size of a king bed. "Cool, hot, sour and most of all... EXTREME!" The ads said; just the latest gimmick flavor to turn your stomach inside out. Arthur took an almost dainty nibble out of a triangular chip nearly as tall as I was.

He turned his back to us, swiveling in what, upon closer inspection, appeared to be a gaming chair, one that was struggling to support his considerable girth. A gaming chair for someone barely taller than a Ken doll? There really is no limit to what one can find on Etsy these days! The rotund giant's attention was drawn toward one of the six cell phone screens attached to his wall. Once situated, our host pulled a gigantic gaming controller onto his lap, his forearms situated tactically next to the oversized control pads as though they were arm rests. Boris and I looked at one another, each waiting for the other to say something. I suppose it was my turn to try anyway.

"Whatcha playin' there?"

"Call of Duty: Ukraine Resistance."

Hard to believe a war we were all alive to witness had been reduced to nothing but entertainment for CHUDs like this guy. I'm sure it was more than obvious that I was feigning interest in his little hobby.

"Cool."

He didn't respond. Just took another minuscule bite out of his monster Dorito.

"So, Boris here says you're the best hacker in The Tank."

"He ain't wrong."

I pressed forward, clearly walking on proverbial eggshells... or in this guy's case, literal Junior Mints stuck to the floor. "We were just wondering if... you might... be able to access DeTorres's phone's internet... so we can use it as a hotspot? Is such a thing even possible?"

"Done," he said nonchalantly.

"Really? You can do it?!"

"No, I mean it's already done. I hacked into that shit, like, my first week here."

"For real?!" I was genuinely shocked.

"You think a guy like me is gonna survive without Internet?" Bits of chips sprayed out of his mouth onto the oversized controller.

"I don't understand... why haven't you tried to contact anyone on the outside?!"

Arthur paused his game and spun back around, "its like I said, it ain't so bad here. I don't have to find a real job. DeTorres provides me with anything I want as long as I keep his stock holdings in the black, which is easier than he seems to think it is since he's been around since the dawn of time. Plus there's all of you perverts."

My head reflexively cocked back, "excuse me?!"

"You have any idea what people will give for five minutes of porn time?" He chuckled. "It's raining crypto on Arthur Pendleton!"

"Gross."

"Hey, ask your Ruskie buddy there."

I looked up to Boris, who's face would have turned beet red had it not already been that color from all his meltdown earlier. It made perfect sense now, Boris already knew this guy had what we needed.

"Look," I decided to cut to the chase, "we need your help. I just need to get a message to my cell phone, it's stashed outside the house. My dad knows it's there, I need to warn him about what he's up against."

"Why not just text him directly?"

"Without getting into it, dad is extremely paranoid. His phone blocks any number he doesn't recognize, but he'll check mine for sure."

Arthur took in another mouthful of chip. This time I actually felt crumbs rain down on top of me. He took a cautious breath through his mouthful of food so as not to choke before speaking again.

"And what do I get in return for helping you?"

"What do you want?"

"Tatiana."

"Who the fuck is Tatiana?"

"The stripper on level three."

Boris chimed in, "done."

I swung my head back towards my companion, "what?! No! We're not selling another human being to this guy! Especially not for a text message!"

"Suit yourself. That's the price," Arthur confirmed. "Porn only takes care of the... biological stresses. The emotional ones require a warm body. It's slim pickins' in here and I'm not exactly Ryan Gosling."

My morning headache was threatening to develop into a full-on migraine.

"Maybe not permanent," Boris began to negotiate, "but perhapth we could arrange vithit for...thay fifteen minuteth?"

"No!" I continued to protest, which continued to fall on deaf ears.

"A day," Arthur countered.

I squinted my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose, "you fucking sickos can't be serious?!"

"Thirty minuteth," Boris compromised, "and you mutht clean up. That mean thower and clean bed. Tatiana ith lady, not cummy thex doll."

Arthur scratched his chin in thought, then set his cocktail of a corn chip aside, wiped the dust away on his clothing again, then extended his hand, "deal."

"You're pigs! Both of you!"

As Boris took the fat man's hand, Arthur added, "I want her to wear a diaper. I like that stuff."

The Russian laughed, "Tatiana can wear burka for all Borith care!"

"Unbelievable," I grumbled, apparently to myself since no one else seemed to give a rip-roaring shit about what I thought.

Arthur spun back around towards his screens, closing out his game and pulling up text messaging. "Alright, folks! You bought yourself one text message! Make it count!"

I gave the disgusting letch my phone number and he typed out what I dictated:

Dad, I'm alive
Being held in basement vault with others
Entire property is booby trapped
DeTorres is armed with bio weapon
Proceed with extreme caution

The air smelled almost sweet once we finally exited Arthur's chamber of type two diabetes. Eva was still seated next to mom on the stairs, their legs dangling through the guard rails and both of them resting their heads on the heels of their hands. It would look kinda cute in any other situation. As soon as she saw us, Eva pulled her legs up and scooped mom up into her hands to greet us.

"So? How did it go in there?" The southern redhead asked.

"It's done... but..."

"But what?

"I think I'm a white slaver now."

Eva laughed with a powerful slap on my back, "first time, huh?"




End Part 13

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 14-"Housekeeping"




Eva, mom, and I stood by and watched a pair of doll-sized giants shout at each other in Russian, while a third stood by and covered his mouth as he laughed. Boris had let Yuri and Tatiana in on what was going on, and needless to say, she want happy about her role in it. The albino found the entire situation hilarious.

"How long you think they've been goin' at it?" I asked. Not one of the three of us could pull our eyes away from the spectacle.

"They don't exactly make watches in my size," Eva snarked back, "an hour, maybe more. I think that's the most sound I've ever heard come out of that guy," she remarked in reference to Yuri's restrained giggling.

"Think she'll actually go through with it?" I asked. "Tatiana, I mean. My skin is still crawling from walking through that room barefoot. I couldn't imagine actually having to.... with him."

"I doubt it. Best to let Arthur think she will though. We don't need him alerting Mistah D to what we're up to out of sheer spite."

"I don't get it..."

"Get what?" My taller companion asked.

"Arthur. The guy is still working for DeTorres, despite what he did to him. He doesn't seem like he hates being here either. Why exactly does he have it out for you? And don't tell me it's complicated."

"Because... for a long time... I enjoyed working for Mistah D. Like, a lot. I liked being small, I guess I still do to some extent. I liked feeling important for the first time in my life. And I do like Mistah D, despite his many faults. Arthur hates the bossman as much as anyone else here, and the fact that he and I have been friendly for so long really irks him."

"That's it?"

"That, and the fact that he's just a bitter incel who's mad he'll never get a piece of this." She slapped her ass to punctuate her point. "Yeah, that's about all there is to it." Quickly switching gears, "so he's had internet access the entire time he's been here and just about everyone else knows it but me, huh?"

"Really puts your theory about sharing a 'common enemy' to bed, don't it?" I snarked.

"Yeah. This actually makes more sense. Nothin soothes the savage beast like a clean head and empty balls."

"Gross."

However deadpan the picture painted in your mind of how this conversation went, trust me, it isn't dry enough. My mother patted me on the side of the neck where she had reclaimed what had become her favorite seat on my shoulder. She pointed in the direction of the three Russians to alert us that Boris was returning.

"Everything ok?" I asked sarcastically.

"All under control," the gigantic man replied.

"Yeah, it looked it."

"Yuri and Tatiana will thpread word of breakout," Boris informed us, "and anyone wanting join need ready themthelvth."

"Excellent," said Eva, "so what's next?"

Both of them looked to me for an answer, which felt very, very strange considering they were both significantly older than I was. Like having your parents ask you how to fix their phones.

"I suppose all we can do is wait." It sucked as a plan, I know, but with none of us breaking the one foot mark and trapped inside the world's most elaborate and depressing hamster cage, our options were considerably limited.

"Your plathe," Eva asked Boris, "or would you like to try and cram into mine?"

"Very funny, EvaHutch."

We were about to make our return to Boris's cell when the room beyond the glass door lit up like a baseball field at night. The round vault door slowly opened. Before I even realized I was doing it, I found myself cowering behind one of Boris's legs. No matter what you may think, nothing can mentally prepare you for the sight of a person the size of The Chrysler Building approaching you.

DeTorres entered the chamber, a roll of paper towel in one hand and a bottle of Windex in the other. He stopped in front of the sliding glass door, but didn't open it. At least not yet.

"Why is he down here at this time of day?" Eva asked rhetorically.

I could feel Boris's muscles tense up beneath my fingertips. I can't imagine what it must be like for him. Constantly under the thumb of this lunatic... and fuck, you can probably take that literally.

"Does he usually not?" I asked.

"Mostly at night," Eva replied, "or if he needs to retrieve something from the vault for one of his meetings. He never comes down here to... clean? I mean, Mistah D is a neat freak, but not so much so that he wouldn't rather delegate the task to someone else."

"Normally, Mr. Rudolph do thith work,". Boris added.

"Ah... well... about that," I explained, "Rudolph is currently dealing with the pair of bullets I put in his knees." Both Eva and Boris looked down at me in astonishment. I just shrugged.

The massive glass door slid open, exposing us directly to our titanic menace. This gargantuan monstrosity. This...

"And good morning to all of you," the monster said as cordially as if we were his houseguests and not, in fact, his prisoners. "I'm sure your new companion has explained why Mr. Rudolph is unavailable to perform his duties, so I'll refrain from boring you with a rehashing. I trust Ms. Hutch has taken the opportunity to show you around your new home, Ms. Clark?" He sprayed some of the blue cleaning fluid onto the top "shelf" and we could see him wiping it clean through the glass floors two stories down.

"Yes, sir!" Eva replied with her usual enthusiasm when in the man's presence.

"Good, good."

He sprayed the next shelf/floor down and the massive paper towel swirled across the glass like a paper tornado. Dark patches accumulated at the damp edges from a day's worth of tiny footprints collecting on the translucent floor. My anxiety began to nag at me... what happens when he gets to our floor? Obviously, I wouldn't need to wait very long to find out.

In a flash, a flesh-colored kraken of long, spindly fingers had surrounded all four of us, squeezing us together. My bare feet felt the cold glass disappear beneath them.

"Up we go," said DeTorres, simply moving us out of the way like we were nothing more than knick-knacks on the fireplace mantel. My face plunged into Eva's crotch from the pressure of the giant's grip, while Boris's shin pressed my into back, burrowing my head even deeper in-between Eva's legs. Meanwhile, mom held onto my hair for dear life.

The experience was over quickly, but it shook me to my core in a way I couldn't have imagined. There was no consent. No warning. No apologies. All four of us, fitting as easily in his grasp as the bottle glass cleaner. In a tiny way, I understood what Boris had been going through. Emil DeTorres could do with us as he pleased, and there wasn't a goddamn thing any of us could do about it.

"And back down you go," the giant mumbled in a sing-songy voice, releasing his hold and setting us back down. He squatted down to finish the final floor. When finished, he stood back up to his full height, placed his wrists against his hips, and admired his work. "There we are! All neat and tidy for the arrival of our coming guest."

For a second, I thought he was still referring to me. I wish that were the case.

"Um... another one, boss?" Eva asked, apprehensively.

My heart sank in my chest and I could feel my muscles tense. DeTorres didn't have to say it, I could see the mischief in his eyes. The way he looked right at me with that slimy grin of his.

"Why yes," he said with what had become a beaming smile, "it would seem that all of us will soon be treated to a long-awaited family reunion!"





End Part 14

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 15-"Longevity"




I felt sick again. The way your body reacts to the kind of news that can take your knees right out from under you. I tried to maintain my poker face, but I'm sure DeTorres could read my tells. Even when my face spanned less than a half an inch wide from where he and stood.

"I knew someday your entire family would find their way into my vault, Mrs. Clark," the giant bragged, "Assuming that is you down there. My! You've grown so teeny-tiny that it's become quite difficult to discern any identifying features."

I didn't need Eva to translate the crude gesture mom gave him in return.

"Why, Mrs. Clark?! Is that any way to thank someone for returning those you care so dearly for to your substantially minuscule graces?! Was I wrong to assume your elation?" DeTorres's smarmy grin stretched across his face like the diabolical Svengali that he was as he poked and prodded her with his words.

"Boss, what are you talking about?" Eva tried to play dumb, but she wasn't fooling anyone.

"Like I told the young Ms. Clark here when her pistol was aimed at my forehead, I've had my eye on her for a long, long time. Ever since you came into my life, Mrs. Clark. What I withheld to inform her was that my observations extended to her adoptive father, Mrs. Clark's husband, as well."

My head felt light. I could just feel our plans going up in a puff of smoke.

"It wasn't at all difficult to deduce that a man wallowing in as much self pity as our Mr. Simpson would come looking for his retribution. If I were in your shoes, Ms. Clark, the smart play would have been to inform him of my location, which is exactly what you did, isn't it?"

I tried to swallow, but my throat was as dry as the Mohave.

"And once Mr. Simpson lost communication with the young woman he had grown to consider a daughter, his actions have been most predictable. While he's been quite mindful of concealing most of his payments, Cash purchases mostly I presume, the gentleman in question was still forced to use his credit card to purchase a plane ticket. One way... to Los Angeles."

"Leave him alone!" I shouted as though it would make any difference. Eva placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me back behind Boris and herself.

DeTorres relished in his taunting revelation, "if time serves me correctly, Mr. Simpson's plane should be landing shortly, which means I must get on with a few more preparations, as much as I've grown to enjoy our conversations, Ms. Clark. I do not believe your father will receive the warm reception gifted to you though. No... Mr. Rudolph's absence has left me in dire need of an individual to take over his services, and such a person is yet to arrive. Short notice, you understand. So, when the form of Bradley Simpson appears on my doorstep, I'll simply give the man a quick dose from this..."

DeTorres reached into his jacket pocket and brought into view a device that appeared similar in design to a digital oral thermometer. "Quick and easy. Perhaps not painless, as all of you have experienced the effects first hand, but I'll not disservice the gentleman with a drawn out introduction. Though... there is still one thing I've not yet decided..."

"Yeah?! And what's that, you fucking bastard?!" I screamed back up at him, trying to choke back my tears in the process.

"I have not decided just how small I'll choose to make him."

I didn't even try to suppress my gasp.

"Should I be generous and only shrink him down to our dear Boris's size? Maybe a little more so he can stand shoulder to shoulder with Ms. Hurch? Or... which is the solution I have been leaning towards, I'll leave Mr. Simpson in such an insignificant state that the already microscopic Mrs. Clark will tower above him as I do you now."

"No!" I gasped again. "You wouldn't!"

"Must be careful," he continued as if I'd not said anything at all, "too small and his body might not be able to process oxygen molecules anymore. We wouldn't want Mr. Simpson to simply suffocate before I can return him to you, now would we?"

"Boss, please," Eva interjected, "is any if this really necessary? It just... it seems like... this is just cruelty for cruelty's sake."

DeTorres answered his favorite with a affectionate boop on the top of her head, "quite the contrary, my sweet little Eva." Even I knew it was strange for this monster to be so informal with anyone, which spoke to his attachment to my redheaded companion. "There's something I haven't shared, even with you, my number one. Something none of you know about your situation. I've been keeping it from all of you for some time now as I've studied your condition. But... now seems as appropriate a time as any, I suppose."

Our captor's taunting monologue had drawn the others out from their cells. All of them leaning on the guard rail and looking up at him with burning hatred in their eyes.

"Has not one among you noticed the strangeness of your cohabiters?" He asked cryptically. Of course no one answered, what could possibly be stranger than a space the size of a standup deep freeze filled with people shrunken to all manner of sizes? "Look at your colleagues. Those of you who have endured an extensive stay here especially. Look hard... notice anything?"

People began to murmur. Each, including my companions, looking at the other faces around them. Still, no one understood what the giant was getting at.

"A bit of a trick question, for sure,"he said, "of course you don't. Why would you notice that which has t changed?"

Again, the crowd murmured in the growing restlessness caused by DeTorres's riddle.

"Look again. Shouldn't you see more wrinkles in their faces? Maybe the sagging of aging skin here and there? Ms. Clark, you're the newest member of our little family. Take a good, hard look at your mother... I mean really look at her. Other then an errant grey hair here or there, does she not look exactly the same as when you last saw her? Reduced state aside?"

I tore my eyes away from the titan in a silk suit and lowered my mother from my shoulder into my hands. I brought her close to my face, inspecting every tiny detail that I could.

Fuck me. He was right.

Through the shock of everything else, I hadn't noticed this subtle detail. Other than the grey streaks in her hair, my mother hadn't aged a day since the moment she walked out of my life. My eyes left the tiny woman and returned to DeTorres's.

"An unexpected side effect of the shrinking process I've discovered," he gloated. "Through my own unusual nature, I tend to notice the ravages of time on human beings more than most, yet the years have not affected a single one of you. Think about it... have any of you fallen ill in your time here?"

Again, silence from the gallery.

"You have not, and that is because the germs and diseases of the world have evolved to attack cells, but yours are now too small for them to even take notice. Cancer cannot spread. It's as though the natural processes that break down the human body... aging it, destroying it, have slowed in all of you. I don't expect this surprising biological anomaly compares to my unique longevity, but I can guarantee that every one of you are capable of living lifetimes."

What was the point of this, you might ask?

"Now, I'm sure all of you are contemplating what relevance this revelation has to the matter hand," he said, mirroring my thoughts. "The point, such that it is, is that fate has thrown us together. And by that measure of fate, all of us will be together for a very... long... time to come."

Maniacal laughter has become such a cliche in popular culture. The villain chuckling himself silly at his own wittiness is as prevalent in our lore as the square jawed hero arriving to save the damsel in distress from that dastardly do-badder. This was the first time I'd ever seen it for myself... and the first time I'd ever needed that square jawed hero.

DeTorres's boisterous, self-aggrandizing cackle was cut short by a flash and a roar of an explosion. The foundation wall buckled inwards, sending cinderblocks and his precious mineral specimens flying through the glass of the outer chamber and into the vault proper. DeTorres himself left his feet and was tossed against the wall opposite the blast, getting pummeled by debris in the process. Concrete, broken lapidary equipment, and precious stones scattered across the once immaculate floor. The entire chamber was instantly clouded with the blinding white dust of granulated drywall.

Within that cloud of nearly impenetrable thickness stood a dark shadow. Another giant, this one decked out in tactical gear and a respirator obscuring his identity. A man DeTorres had underestimated. A man ready for war.





End Part 15

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 16-"The Previous Night"




I already knew this phone call was not going to go well.

Each preceding ring felt like a rope tightening across my chest. There I was, sitting outside the home of the man I'd assumed at the time had murdered my mother, and breaking into his home didn't scare me in the least. I was more terrified of how my father would react.

I should have waited for him. I know that. But DeTorres was right there. Sitting on his sofa with the second cocktail he'd consumed since I'd arrived. Thirty yards away. All I had to do was cross the street, cross his lawn, break through that door and put a slug in his skull. Then, we'd finally be able to let go of this. To move on. To heal. If you've made it this far, then you already know things haven't gone according to plan.

"What's up, Dani-Banani," my stepfather's warm voice finally cut through, using his pet name for me. It never made any sense to me either.

"I found him, dad."

"Found who?"

"You know who... him."

His voice took on a mor serious tone, "where are you?"

"California. Beverly Hills," I made sure to give him the address in the off chance this didn't go well for me. So much for it being an off chance.

"Don't make a move until I get there," he instructed.

"I can see him, dad. I can do it right now. In and out and it'll all be over."

"Danielle, listen to me, do NOT do that. You know he's dangerous. Your mother was the smartest woman I've ever known and he made short work of her. DO NOT go in there."

"I can do it, dad. I can end this, for both of us."

"Listen to me, goddamnit! Dani!"

I cut him off, "I'll leave me phone under the shrub to the right of the door. If you don't hear from me in the next hour... you know what, no. It won't come to that. I'll talk to you soon. I love you."

"Dani, stop!"

I ended the call and muted the ringer. You know the rest.


That night, while I was reuniting with my miraculously-still-alive-but-micro-sized mother and coming to terms with my new life as a living action figure, Dad was pacing his way around the living room of our remote cabin until his legs were sore. He didn't sleep, understandably terrified that he was about to lose the third female in his life to the very same man. By midnight, he was already making calls. Not to me, he'd given up on that after the fortieth time trying to call me back.

The first person he contacted was a fellow prepper living about thirty miles away from us. Dad had already made up his mind to come after me, and he knew DeTorres had connections. He had to get to LA fast, and without raising flags. After explaining the situation, he paid this associate in cash for a favor, to use his credit card in order to purchase a plane ticket.

Living remotely has its perks, but access to a major airport was not one. It normally took over two hours just to get to Buffalo. That night, he did it in an hour and half. No luggage to speak of, no amenities. Those things were for vacations. With a connection in New Jersey and another in Denver, dad sprinted across the country as quickly as commercial air travel would allow.

If this DeTorres was as smart as his reputation, and if he had done something terrible to me, then dad knew he'd be expecting someone to come after him. This was the inherent nature of being the kind of man DeTorres was, conducting the kind of business he did. Dad decided to play into that.

While laid over in Denver, he purchased another plane ticket. This one very much in his name. If his movements were being tracked, he'd actually be six hours ahead of where DeTorres thought he'd be. Giving him time to prepare. Time to meet up with the second person he'd called that night.

This "friend," and I do use that word in the loosest way possible, was waiting for dad at LAX, a pair of associated goons in tow. More doomsdayers, each one aching for the kind of fight they'd brag and shit-post about in their crazy, extremist 4Chan ramblings.

"You get the stuff?" No hellos. That was how dad greeted them. To be fair, with what he'd told them they were about to do, a simple hello might have come across as odd.

The second call, a man dad only knew as Jed666, answered by popping open the rear hatch of his camo-painted 1999 Chevy Blazer, special rust bucket edition. Three bags of fertilizer. A dozen foot-long cuts of metal pipe. And of course, guns. Lots and lots of guns.

"Did you get the phone?" Dad asked.

One of the other men reached into his pocket and handed over my cell phone. Apparently dad had thought this through as well, sending a man ahead to stake the place out and retrieve the device, "it's locked, but it dinged with a new message just as we pulled up."

Dad clamored to punch in my passcode, hoping to god I was safe and that he could call this whole operation off. When he read what I'd sent, he knew that would not be the case. He asked Jed666, "do you have gas masks?" In response to the scant information we'd managed to provide.

Jed666 unlatched a small crate among the arsenal, revealing five pairs of gas masks, "never leave home without 'em."

"How long will it take to get to Beverly Hills from here?"

Jed666 replied, "traffic permitting, an hour."

Dad climbed into the back of the Blazer and said, "then I better get busy packing these things. We need to make a stop at a hardware store first."

"What for?" The second goon asked.

Dad replied, "an auger. Looks like we're doin' foundation work, boys."






End Part 16

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 17-"The Wrecking Crew"




Three more enormous figures entered through the dust-hazed portal, each clad in heavy military-grade tactical gear like the first. Their faces also obscured by respirator masks. Long red beams of light from laser-sighted semiautomatic rifles danced around the vault as these mysterious invaders scanned their surroundings. One gigantic human being was as overwhelming a site as it was, but five within the same increasingly cramped space was a whole other matter.

Instinctively, the gallery of onlookers took cover within their cells, fearing another potential blast. Boris, Eva, mom and I sheltered beneath the nearest staircase. How any of us thought it would protect us from men the size skyscrapers is beyond me. When you're this small and vulnerable, all you can think to do is hide.

The first man stomped towards the body of DeTorres, sprawled across the floor and pinned beneath a pile of rubble. The crisscrossing laser beams suddenly fell to a single point, lighting up our warden's face in red. The first man knelt down and grabbed the unconscious one by the jacket and violently threw him against the wall to prop him up. DeTorres awoke, screaming out in pain, and as one of the busted up cinderblocks fell aside, fractured bone was visible sticking out of his leg.

Good, fuck him.

"Where's my daughter?!" The first man's growl muffled through his gas mask.

I never doubted the man for a second, but the sudden realization that the first man was none other than my father still just about made my heart leap out of my chest. "Dad?! DAAAAAD!"

DeTorres coughed the gypsum dust out of his lungs, "I apologize, but you're going to have to be more specific, my good sir."

Dad belted DeTorres across the jaw with the butt of his rifle, "that specific enough for ya?!"

The undying man spit an arching stream of blood from his mouth before answering, "ah... Bradley Simpson, I presume?"

"Dad!" I continued to shout at the top of my lungs, yet the crunching of boots on busted concrete was more than enough to drown out my tiny voice. I coaxed the others to join in, "come on, everyone shout! DAAAAD!"

This time it seemed to be enough to gain his attention, but DeTorres used this brief lapse in concentration to his advantage. He reached up with his bloodied right hand and tried to pull the mask off my father's face. He gripped the device he'd shown us earlier in his left, and attempted to jam it underneath the respirator. A boot from one of the unknown goons came down on the side of DeTorres's face, pinning it against the wall, allowing dad to back away just in time. The powdered shrinking compound ejected from the tip and fell uselessly to the floor, mixing with the falling dust of drywall. DeTorres covered his own face with the lapel of his jacket just to be safe.

"What in the fuck-all-Christ is this," said the man dad would later inform was none other than the Jed666 he'd been in contact with for years. His eyes grew wide, viewable even through his goggles, as he approached the Tank. He moved to remove his mask to get a better look at that which he was certain his eyes were deceiving him of... namely, us.

"No! Don't!" We all shouted at him, waving our hands in the air, "don't take it off!"

He stopped himself short, then readjusted the mask into position. "Hey, Simpson... you better come take a look at this."

"He moves, you put a bullet in is belly," dad instructed the man I'll refer to from now on as Goon #1. He stepped away from a DeTorres and joined Jed666, creating a wall of intimidating masked faces in front of us. His eyes though, I could see his sweet, caring eyes as clear as day. "What in god's name? Dani-Banani? Is that... is that really you?"

"Yeeeees!" I shouted back. "That fucker did this to us!"

"This is some fucked up shit, Simpson," Jed666 mumbled. "I didn't like this one bit."

Eva told them to, "just keep your mask on! If you take it off, you could end up just like us!"

The man I'll call Goon #2 was clearly getting antsy in the background. "Jed! What is this voodoo shit, man?! What the fuck is this place? Where's the fucking loot?!"

DeTorres started to laugh, but ended up coughing up more blood instead.

Goon #1 applied a little more pressure to the bottom of his boot, "what's so funny? Huh?! What kind of sick shit you into, dude?!"

DeTorres tried to remain eloquent, despite the restrictions of a soldier's footwear smashing his face, "it's always the same thing with you people. Smash, grab... take what I've worked for my entire life! No matter what ethos a man claims to subscribe to, in the end, all they desire is that which isn't theirs."

Dad flew into a rage, Turing away from us with the fires of hell burning in his eyes. He grabbed DeTorres by his jacket and dragged him up the wall and out of the rubble. Slamming his head against the wall until it too was bloodied, dad shouted right in DeTorres's face, "what the fuck did you do to her?!"

"Ms. Clark invaded MY home, Mr. Simpson, and shot my manservant. And she did so with the clear intention of executing me as well, and on my very beautiful and expensive danish modern sofa, no less! All I am guilty of is defending myself against a home invasion." This answer earned DeTorres a swift punch in the gut.

Jed666 was still transfixed by the four of us, just staring in shocked disbelief, "this is some seriously fucked up shit."

"Just end him and get us out of here!" I screamed.

Eva pleaded, "no! Please don't kill him!"

My head shot around and I found myself staring back back up at her in disgust.

Tears were streaming down her face, "we can just go. We don't have to kill him. If it were your father, you'd want the same thing!"

"I'm afraid I thtand with EvaHutch," Boris tossed his two cents in.

"Are you two fucking with me right now?!"

Boris ignored me and shouted in my father's direction, "don't you dare kill Brokerman before Borith can climb up hith athhole and tear him apart from inthideth!"

"Seriously, motherfucker," Goon #2 said to dad, "you said they're be gold here! Where's the fucking load, man?!"

It would seem dad had made a few errant promises in his desperation.

"Eva, he ain't your father!" I tried to reason with my hard/redheaded acquaintance. "And if he walks away from this, he'll only come after us later!"

Mom signed away frantically, but no one paid her any attention.

"He's the closest thing to one I've ever had!" Eva sobbed, wiping her tears away with the heels of her hands.

"Shut up," dad replied to Goon #2, "I'm dealing with it!"

DeTorres laughed, finally seeing a way to use a very volatile situation to his advantage, "oh! What did Mr. Simpson here promise you men? Riches? Rarities? Please gentlemen, all of my money is tied up in stocks and real estate. What self respecting multi-billionaire would keep such laughably cartoonish luxuries stashed away in his home?!"

Dad punched him again, "unless you're about to explain how to fix my daughter and these other poor people, I'd recommend keeping your mouth shut."

Again, DeTorres just laughed, "he used you, gentlemen! Used you to get to me and nothing else! I trust the lot of you have mentally prepared yourselves for prison time! The police in this city are well cared for in no small part by my considerable donations to their bank accounts. You cannot win with them so you'd better be prepared to kill me. That is... unless..."

Dad hit him twice more, "shut your goddamn mouth, for christsakes!"

Blood trickled from DeTorres's mouth and nose, "...unless... the four of us can strike a deal."

At that very moment, my father found a handgun placed at the back of his skull.





End Part 17

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 18-"Merry-Go-Round"




With the sliding door of the Tank left open, the other inmates were already beginning to pour out onto the floor. The larger ones helped the smaller down the final rise into a landscape that had to have looked apocalyptic. Jed666 backed away, as nervous about the shrunken men and women as he would be of a hoard of rats swarming around his feet. A line of them weaved their way through the canyons of broken concrete and twisted metal as they made their way towards the exit. Only Yuri and Tatiana remained behind with the rest of us, the latter still berating Boris for his deal with Arthur Pendleton, who I'm sure never even left his cell.

"This fucker jewed us, Jed!" Goon #2 complained in the most racist way a racist might. He drilled the barrel of his assault rifle into back of dad's head.

Dad dropped his weapon and raised his hands above his head, mumbling to himself, "this is what I get for trusting a bunch of goddamn prepper Nazis."

While dad was more than happy to utilize the skills of these people, he did not share in any of their political ideologies whatsoever. Where these bozos were misguided racists who wanted to play soldier, dad had become involved in their twisted little world out of sheer necessity. Whether they want to admit it or not, preppers want the world to end just to justify their psychosis. Dad, on the other hand, had a real reason to be afraid. Both his wife and sister hthad disappeared. As much as he hated these people, they were all he had.

"Put a bullet in that man's skull," DeTorres coughed at Goon #1 regarding my father, "and I'll make it worth your wild."

Goon #1 pulled his gun off from DeTorres and pointed it at my father as well. He said, "what'd ya say, Jed? Sounds like the best deal I've heard all day."

Out of absolutely fucking nowhere, DeTorres made a desperate dive for dad's pistol. Before either of the nameless goons could react, the billionaire dropped them both with a single round to the face each. Then he trained the barrel on Jed666.

"A man is only as good as those he surrounds himself with. With that morsel of advice in mind, I cannot say I think too highly of your instincts, Mr. Simpson."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing myself," dad grunted back.

You sir," DeTorres addressed the dumbstruck prepper, "I believe I heard your imbecilic associates refer to you as Jed?!"

"What of it?" Jed666 replied down the barrel of his weapon.

"Well, Jed... I have not been entirely truthful with you and Mr. Simpson here. I take no pleasure in lying, but I'm sure you can understand the position you and your cohorts placed me in. Most of my fortune is in fact here, on the premises. Right behind that wall in actuality, but you will not get inside without me, I can guarantee that. Now, I would be more than happy to oblige you free reign to procure all that you can carry with you when you leave here today. All I ask of you is to remove Mr. Simpson's mask."

"Nice try, rich man. We gonna hug it out afterwards too?" Jed666 replied.

DeTorres reached into his inner jacket pocket with his free hand and removed a single gold Krugerrand. He flicked it with his thumb towards Jed666, who caught it mid air. The confused prepper looked over the coin, then tested its authenticity with a nibble at the edge. "Fuck me," he said with surprise.

"It has many, many friends, Mr. Jed."

Jed666 stared at the coin, then at DeTorres, then at dad... then at us. "You gonna make him like them, ain't ya?"

"Ah!" DeTorres feigned enthusiasm, "I see now why you were the elected leader of your little conspiracy! Indeed, Mr. Jed, I plan to add Mr. Simpson here to my little... collection, seeing as most of it is now fleeing this room as we speak."

"Don't do this, man," dad interrupted. "You can't trust anything this snake promises you. He just killed two of your friends. No matter what happens here, you do as he asks, the only one who will benefit is him."

"On the contrary, Mr. Jed. True, the world has come to value truth as little as the rubbish we discard, but consider my motives old fashioned. I believe a man's word is his bond, and not even a man of my means is immune to that bond. I'm not asking you to kill Mr. Simpson here, not that I sense you harbor any strong bond to the man. In fact, he will very much remain alive! He will be returned to his family, just as he wishes. In a way, you will resolve this conflict in a way that will prevent any further violence. And for that, you will be handsomely rewarded. My, one might say commended!"

Jed666 thought it over for a moment, "yeah, I think I can live with that."

He reached around the back side of dad's head and took hold of his face mask. DeTorres retrieved the device filled with shrinking powder from the dust and readied himself. Me... I screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

By the grace of whatever deity you subscribe to, my shriek created enough of a distraction that dad was able to swipe his gun back fro DeTorres. He quickly spun around and placed the business end against Jed's nose. The stupidity of it all was not lost on any of us observing.

"Around and around we go," DeTorres chuckled. Despite what had to be excruciating pain in is leg, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

As I watched on, I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind me. When I turned around there were three men standing before me, each a little taller than Eva, heavy dark stubble coving their faces. All at once they knelt down on one knee as though paying me some kind of tribute.

"The fuck?" I said, already overwhelmed by the revolving Mexican standoff happening outside the Tank.

"Danielle Clark," the one in the middle asked in a thick Spanish accent. "We have heard of your attempt to save the world from the Forever Child and-"

"The-what-now?!"

"DeTorres," he clarified, "he is known by many names, but the oldest by far is The Forever Child. Our order has hunted him for many millennia and-"

I cut him off again, "yeah yeah, I've heard of you guys. If your order were worth a damn it wouldn't have taken "many millennia" just to kill one person."

He bowed his head back in line with his fellow brethren, "as one who has put themselves at great risk to face down The Bull-"

"Wait, he's The Bull now?! Can't you fuckers see we're in the middle of something here?!"

He continued, "-we offer up our swords-"

"What swords?!"

"-metaphorically speaking, to join our forces and rid the world of The Forever Child once and for all-"

Boris had disappeared briefly, heading back to his cell and returning with a giant spoon of all things. One probably twice as long as I was tall. The big Russian pushed his way through the kneeling... knights(?)... knocking them over like dominos in the process.

"Out of way, dorkth! Borith hath had enough!" He walked to the edge of the glass shelf and attempted to wave down one of the two remaining colossuses... is that the plural? Colossi? Eh... who cares.

"Hey! You! idiotskiy Cowboy Dipshith! Yeth, you! Borith ith bored of thtupid American cowboy bullthit! You want inthide vault?! Borith get you inthide vault! Yuri, you come with me!"

The foot tall former members of the Russian mob swung themselves down over the edge of one shelf and then the next until they both landed safely on the floor. Boris tossed the spoon over his shoulder and approached the three sparing giants with a strut in his step that Yuri had not seen since their strip club days.

The three members of The Brotherhood gathered themselves up off the floor and stared at me, expecting to receive my allegiance. I just shrugged and walked away, then gestured to Eva with a nod that she, mom and I should just follow Boris and Yuri. Tatiana just stood there with the Spaniards, tapping her foot with disgust.

The three giants stared quietly at the doll-sized man and his companion as they drew nearer, which only seemed to make Jed666 uneasy all over again. The amused smirk on DeTorres's face disappeared.

"You want in vault?!" Boris repeated, "Borith know how!"

"Well? Out with it, little man!" Jed barked.

Boris dropped his spoon from his shoulder and playfully tapped it against his open hand. He looked to Yuri with that big, toothless smile of his, "remember the Thtalingrad job, comrade?"

If Yuri were a chatty person, which he most certainly wasn't, he still wouldn't have needed to reply. The knowing grin on his face was enough confirmation for Boris.

"Well?!" Jed barked again.

"You want in vault? Alright then, idiotskiy cowboyth, Boris make happen... but firtht, you mutht latho that Bull!"





End Part 18

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 19-"Other Realms"




Boris stood proudly atop DeTorres's chest, his sandaled foot pressing uncomfortably into the giant man's chin, looking as though the Russian native was about to plant his county's flag directly into The Broker's face. I won't lie, he looked pretty badass.

Dad and Jed666, fresh from nearly killing one another just minutes before, were each now kneeling down on one of DeTorres's arms to pin him in place. Yuri quickly joined his longtime friend on top of the silk-covered chest. Mom, Eva and I were completely unprepared for what we were about to witness, which could best be described as... back alley surgery.

"Hold hith head. Thteady," Boris ordered the two men who dwarfed him substantially. Dad and Jed would look to one another from time to time, each wondering just what the hell they'd gotten themselves into.

Boris and Yuri took an upwards step onto DeTorres's face, with the latter taking pause to kick the restrained giant directly in the side of the nose. It would seem the quiet albino was non too pleased with how DeTorres has treated his friend. The way the two shrunken men were behaving, almost... with joy, it was plain to see that the two of them had been waiting for a moment like this for a very long time. The albino reached DeTorres's forehead first and knelt down with his knees digging into the larger man's eyebrow. Boris stood proudly on the giant's cheek, planting the tip of his spoon just below The Broker's eyelid and leaned on it with both hands resting on the butt.

"Ith funny how thingth turn out, no?" He asked, rhetorically. "What ith Englith exthprethion? Eye for eye? For Boris and Brokerman, ith now thize for eye."

"You wouldn't dare," DeTorres gasped. "If you think you know what suffering is, little man, I promise the moment I'm free you'll wish for what came before."

"Talk talk talk," Boris mocked, "tho much talk ath alwayth."

"Boris," I called out to him, "what are you doing?"

"Please, don't kill him!" Eva followed.

"Ha!" He blurred out. "Borith not ready to kill Brokerman, not yet. What Mr. Brokerman not know about Borith ith thpecial thkill learned in Thtalingrad. Tho many rich men uthing... eye lock(?)... for to protect thecret roomth... thafth... you know."

"A retinal scanner?" Jed asked.

"Yeth! Thank you, large redneck man," Boris replied. "Ret-in-al thcan-ner. Make thafe cracking very difficult, so... Borith and Yuri get creative, though. Learn to extract eyeball."

On cue, Yuri took a hold of DeTorres's eyelids, one in each hand, and held them pried open.

"You're not really gonna...," I gasped feeling horrified by what Boris was suggesting. "He's just bluffing... right?"

Boris waved me off, "do not worry yourthelf, Malenkaya Zhenshchina... I mean Dani. Borith exthpurt thurgeon with thpoon. Can exthtract entire eye without cruthing."

"Remove yourself! Now," DeTorres barked. His eye began to tear as he struggled to close it against Yuri's determined grip. "I'll smash you into paste! I'll grind you into cat food and feed you to and the strays! I haven't survived a hundred wars just to lose to some low-level Russian trash!"

Boris placed the tip of the spoon just above the lower eyelid so the stainless steel just met the veiny pink bottom of the eye. DeTorres's eyes darted about, looking desperately for anyone to stop what was about to happen.

"Only problem," Boris said with relish, "operation take gentle touch and Borith very much out of practithe... altho, Boris much bigger then." He smiled as he placed a foot on the back of the spoon like he was about to break ground with a shovel. He shifted all of his weight forward with a grunt and drove the improvised spade deep beneath DeTorres's eyeball. "Ith good thing Brokerman have two eyeth, jutht in cathe Borith need second try."

Eva, mom, and I had arrived near the base of the human mountain that was DeTorres. My introduction to what it's like to stand beneath one of these titans. Eye to eye is intimidating enough, but having them loom over you like living buildings is downright pants-wetting.

I tried to focus on what Boris and Yuri were up to to try and suppress my growing lightheadedness. Lot of good that did. From my perspective, all I could really see was the Boris wiggling back and forth as he tried to sever the optic nerve. Blood began to pour over the side of DeTorres's face like a crimson waterfall. That was more than gore than my stomach could take. I turned away just in time to keep from vomiting on Eva.

The shriek the restrained man ripped loose was unlike anything I'd ever heard another human being make. He tried to struggle free of our liberators' grasp, but dad and Jed held him firmly in place. The torturous sight ended almost as quickly as it had begun, thank god. having finally cut through the nerve, Boris dipped the spoon handle down low and then jumped on the end, popping the eyeball free of the socket. A geyser of squirting blood followed like the tail of a gory comet.

"Catch it!" Yuri shouted, perhaps the first time anyone present had ever heard him do so.

Jed dove forward, stretching out his gloved hand. He caught the gooey sphere on its downward arch, which freed DeTorres's arm just enough t o rip it away. He continued to scream, testing the bloody hole where his eye had been with probing fingers, like he couldn't bring himself to believe what had just happened without feeling it for himself. Boris and Yuri were knocked from off his head, landing in a cloud of dust on the vault floor.

"Jesus," I thought out loud, "I'm never gonna be able to unsee that."

Eva replied, "remind me to tell you about the Fulci job." Just the mention of it made mom shudder.

"Borith do hith part, now go! Take what you come for, cowboy!"

Jed reached into one of dozens of pockets covering his cargo pants and retrieved a series of heavy duty zip ties. He linked a pair together and pulled them tight around DeTorres's wrists behind his back.

"You've had those this entire time?!" Dad asked in annoyance.

Jed666 ignored him and stood up, his attention now fixed on the blank wall and the symmetrical pair of towers where he was told the real vault was hidden. "Alright, now how do I get in?"

Boris replied, "hold eye to thmall thcreen at right. Real key inthide."

DeTorres stopped screaming for just a second, enough to shoot Boris a death look with the eye he had left. It wasn't bad enough that he'd just scooped an eyeball out of his head, but the little bastard was revealing just how closely he'd been paying attention to his business. "You're a dead man, you know that?! A dead man walking!"

"Perhapth Mr. Brokerman not want tethtidcle next, yeth?" Boris taunted, tapping DeTorres on the forehead with the bottom of his spoon.

Jed did as instructed, holding the bloody eyeball's iris out and showing it to the digital scanner. A green beam descended from top to bottom and then shut off again. From just below the screen, the sound of electrified gears began to rotate. A small drawer emerged from the wall and within it lied a truly strange object. It looked mummified, like some kind of hand except there were only three fingers and the skin was a sickly color of grey.

"W-what is that?!" Jed said, backing away slightly.

"Ith key," Boris answered. "Pick up, cowboy. Hold near tower."

Jed, who was literally still holding a disembodied human eyeball, felt disgusted at the prospect of touching the alien-looking appendage. "Jesus fucking Christ, this is the weirdest fucking day of my life."

As much as it grossed him out, the confused prepper had come to far to stop now. He reached in and removed the hand, the hair on his arms and neck standing up on end at the touch of its leathery skin. The moment it was removed from its little drawer, a hatch slid open on one of the towers. He looked down at the little man, who just nodded without speaking and waved him on.

"Hold on," I said to Boris once Eva and I rejoined him, "what was all that for exactly? Couldn't they have just stood the bastard up and scanned his eye without you prying it out of his face like root ball?!"

Boris replied with a mischievous grin and a wink.

A rush of air enveloped me from what felt like out of nowhere. I felt pressure at my waist and my feet leaving the debris covered floor. Mom and I rising fast, whisked up into the air on a speeding elevator made of human flesh. I sheltered her against my chest as we climbed higher and higher. Thankfully the massive hand wrapped around us was one the only one we would have trusted with our lives. It was dad, eager to get me to safety.

"Sweet mother of God," Jed gasped as he placed the strange hand in the compartment. The towers glowed and hummed as if coming to life. A pale blue light and a slight electric charge filled the dusty chamber. A rectangular portal appeared almost instantly. Opening a gateway that didn't into the wall itself, but actually seemed to float between humming towers. "What in the name of god is this?!" Jed could hardly get the words out.

"My vault," DeTorres replied, "and you're best served close it back up and forget its existence entirely."

Dad had finished hog tying the newly-minted cyclops, leaving him face down in the dust and rubble. Yuri kept guard, as laughable a sight as that might seem. Any time DeTorres spoke, it gave the little albino man the opportunity to kick him in the nose again.

Those remaining inside the room stared into the dark cosmic doorway in a state of complete awe. The strange hand-key-thing, the energy coming off of that impossible gateway... it was difficult to believe any of it could be of this world, which it very much wasn't. The man who'd opened it stood in its threshold, cautiously reaching the tips of his quivering fingers inside.

"Ith thafe," Boris assured him, "Brokerman go in and out, in and out, all of time."

Jed666 eyes bounced from one of us to the next as though he hoped there was one among us that could explain what we were all seeing. No such luck, Jed. He turned to face the portal once again, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into he mysterious void. A few moments passed before his head peaked back through.

"My god... it's... it's... incredible!"

"You alright in there," dad asked.

"It's... indescribable!" Jed replied. "It's..."

The words were completely lost on him.




End Part 19

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 20-"The Simpson House for the Criminally Reduced"




"And how is everyone doing this morning?" The sweet voice of my grandmother, my adoptive father's mother, announced her entranced into the room. I opened my eyes to find her looming over the bed with a massive silver platter and a loving smile. That would fade quickly as she perplexedly searched for an open place to set it down.

It had been about a month and a half since dad rescued us from The Broker's... The Forever Child's... The Bull's... whatever the hell you want to call the man's basement. From my jewelry box bed sitting on the nightstand in my father's childhood bedroom, I rubbed my eyes free of sleep and stretched my arms into the sky. The sweet smell of grandma's breakfast cooking was enough to rouse anyone from their slumber.

The others began to stir as well. Amongst dad's grade school accomplishments, trophies, and toys was what one could only describe as a shanty town that had developed inside the little bedroom. Dozens of makeshift beds sprawled across the actual bed like a refugee camp, as well as anywhere else DeTorres's other victims could claim as their own.

"You mind if is set this here, sweetheart?" Grandma asked me, yet still used her pinky finger to scoot my bed aside anyway.

"Mmmm... morning grandma. It smells really good!"

"Everyone loves pancakes," the titanic elderly woman beamed. "And its so fun to make them in teeny-tiny sizes for all of your friends here!" Grandma always loved to have guests in her home, now she had more than she could have ever hoped for.

With so many of the other shrunken hailing from all corners of the globe, it took some time to get them in contact with their loved ones so they could go home. The three members of the Brotherhood of the Slaughtered Bull had two men in robes show up to take them back to Spain yesterday. I'm sure they'll have grand stories of their bravery to share with the rest of their little secret society.

Eva, Boris, Yuri, and even Tatiana are here. I don't think they really have anywhere else to go, which even though I don't know them that all that well still kinda breaks my heart. And yes, Tatiana made good on Boris's deal with Arther Pendleton, for which she's still making the toothless Russian make it up to her. Everyday. In whatever way she decides he needs to punished that day. Good for you, girl!

"Make sure your parents get some of that," she instructed me, "I know how you like to inhale your food, young lady." She gave me a wink and a bop on the top of my head and then began to hand out perfectly curated little meals for the other grateful guests.

"You hear that, you two? If you don't get out of bed right now I'm going to eat your breakfast!"

I knocked on the roof of the little Lego house sitting just a few feet from my bed. Just a few bricks, which provides more than enough private space for them. After about a minute, a pair of tiny figures emerged from the little doorway, stretching and canoodling with one another before waving good morning to me.

"Jesus, you guys! Get a room, will ya!" I joked. Mom just gestured towards their tiny dresser top bungalow and laughed. Dad laughed as well, not that I could hear either of them.

Yes, I know. After all of our efforts to stop DeTorres from shrinking my father, here he is, just as small as mom. Trust me, both she and I protested his decision to do so. It seems DeTorres's little shrinking thermometer-looking-thing had fallen out of his pocket and dad swiped it before he torched the place. Initially hoping it might be used to cure us if the right people could get their hands on it. It was Eva who finally convinced him that the stuff was nothing but a weapon. 'About as curable as a nuclear bomb,' she said. She suggested that turning it over to the government would be a terrible idea, and mom and I completely agreed. We urged him to destroy it, but the man already had a plan B. He was going to be with the woman he loved, any of our thoughts on the matter be damned.

So, we started slow. Microdosing. None of us knew how the stuff really worked, and with DeTorres gone, I don't think anyone left on earth did. It pained me so much to watch him suffer through the horrible shrinking process, choking and gasping. Turning blue, over and over again. But the man wouldn't stop. He needed mom. As far as dad was concerned, too much time had been wasted living without her.

"Lay off 'em, will ya?" Eva said mid-yawn, plopping herself down next to me to join our little breakfast get-together. "You'd wanna fuck yer brains out too if you were in your mother's shoes."

"Gross."

Dad tried in vain to sign something, which mom quickly corrected him on.

I asked, "what'd they say?"

Eva replied, "you don't wanna know."

"Gross."

Funny story, mom has been trying to teach all of us sign language so we can communicate better, except... she and Eva had no access to the internet for ten years. What they're doing isn't ASL! What they came up with is completely of their own creation, so there's no way to actually study it! We're trying though, and dad especially is picking it up quickly.

Eva runs her fingers through her wild red hair to untangle her eyepatch strap that's gotten wrapped up in the follicles. Our ginger friend has been staying on one of the shelves just above the night stand, the one filled with dad's old track and field trophies. "Fuck, I slept like shit. Fucking Boris and Tatiana were going at it all night."

"They're still fighting?!" I said laughing.

"When they're not fucking like rabbits on PCP," she groaned, "and even then, that doesn't stop them."

Eva seemed in good spirits that morning. She'd taken the loss of DeTorres especially hard, as anyone who'd lost a father figure would, I suppose. For the first few days after we got to grandma's she wouldn't speak to anyone, not even mom. Since then she's tried to put on her usual tough Texas-gal front, but mom says she's caught her crying alone more than once in the last few days. The two of them had grown so close in their extend sta inside The Tank, and I'm glad mom can still be the friend she needs to help her get through this. Particularly since so few of the others can sympathize with her at all.

Maybe one day Eva will wake up and realize she never needed the man. That she is a strong, independent woman who has done nothing but take care of herself since she was a teenager. Until then, mom is more then happy to be her rock... and I have to admit, the mouthy redhead is starting to grow on me as well.

So... this is the new normal. None of us really know what to do from here. We're all just trying to feel things out as we go. All I know is that my family is back together and with that miracle none of our sizes matter. I never thought I'd see my mother again, but there there she is, right in front of me, stuffing a tiny rolled up pancake into my dad's overstretched mouth. Both of them laughing. Both of them happy again. Sure, mom and dad are now so small that they can both fit in the palm of my own tiny hand. And yes, they're too small to be heard, even by one another.

None of that matters.

Love is all that matters, and no treasure on earth can compare to that.

I think a lot about DeTorres's final revelation to us. The one about living a lot longer because of the shrinking process. It may be true. It may prove to be completely bullshit, just another one of his power games. If it is true, then... and I can't believe I'm about to say this... but thank you, Emil. What you'd hoped would be another way to control us is now a gift. One that won't make up for the time he robbed from us, but it's a good start.

None of us laid eyes on DeTorres's loot. None other than what Jed666 wheelbarrowed out of that portal to fill up the back of his truck anway. We didn't care. We were already the richest people on earth.



So... I guess that's that.

Ten years of pain and loneliness and heartache are finally over.

I don't really know what else to add...







Oh, come on!

You really didn't think I was gonna leave you hanging did ya?! Of course I'm gonna tell ya what happened to DeTorres! You folks need to lighten up!





End Part 20

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 21-"Father Figures"




The camouflage-draped form of Jed666 appeared in the portal for a second time as he rolled his next wheelbarrow load full of precious gems out of DeTorres's own private pocket dimension. I sat in dad's hand, watching him look over the strange towers, an actual alien artifact that could power an entire alternate reality. His free hand lightly touched one of the towers. Taping it with contempt. I knew that look in his eyes, the look of resentment he had for it... hating it even.

"This is it then," he quietly asked, mostly to confirm it for himself, "what she was after, isn't it?"

I replied with a question, "what?"

"Your mom. This is what she came for. Ten years ago. She was trying to get inside this place... inside of this. Then he took her from us." I'd seen my dad reach some seriously low points in the last decade, but I'd never seen him cry. Not until that moment. "All for this... fucking..."

That was the moment when it finally struck me... he still thought mom was dead! She was far too small for him to notice that she was right there, in the palm of his hand! Well, in the palm of my hand in the palm of his.

"Dad, mom isn't dead! She's right here!"

His eyes ripped away from from the machine and fell straight on me. They were red and full of tears, but... intense, and filled with more hope than I'd seen in years. "What did you say?!"

I raised my mother as high as I could for him to see, her tiny hands grasping to my fingers in response to the sudden jerk upwards. Dad brought us in closer, but still struggled to make out what had to look nothing more than a tiny speck in my minuscule hands. The walls flashed by as he whisked us away once more. Through the vault door, past the destroyed outer chamber, and into DeTorres's lapidary shop... or what was left of it anyway. Imagine riding a rollercoaster without a safety bar, but that rollercoaster is also warm and sweaty and made of hand, and you'd get a pretty close approximation to what being carried at three inches tall feels like.

The other miniaturized people that had gathered outside the vault cleared a path for my father. He gently set us down on a portion of the wraparound workbench that hadn't been destroyed in the explosion. Far above us, what looked like a fucking flying began to descend from the sky, a blinding white light flashing to life and engulfing us as it came in to either abduct us or lan. In reality, it was one of those desk lamps with the articulating arm and a magnifying glass built in. Dad's eyes appeared in the lens, warped and contorted and blown up to an even greater scale.

Once again, I held my my mother up for him to see, like I was reenacting the opening scene from the Lion King or something. Dad's eyes narrowed, the UFO... I mean magnifying glass... moving up and down as he adjusted it for a clearer focus. And then that moment... when his squinting gaze softened and the recognition he'd been seeking found him. Dad stumbled backwards, tripping and falling over the debris littering the basement floor. I brought mom back down to my own eye level. She too had burst into tears. I held her closely while watching what my dad did next.

The man looked... dumbstruck, for lack of a better description. He just stared back up at us from the floor. I'm not sure he even knew where to begin processing what he'd just seen. The woman he loved, my mother, whom he'd presumed dead, was right there in the room with him. So small that he couldn't make her face out with the naked eye. You'd have to excuse anyone who'd just had this dumped on them if they needed to take a moment.

Then, dad's head turned. Back inside the vault chamber. He'd caught sight of the man inside the vault out of the corner of his eye. Still hogtied. Bleeding. Broken. Dad's head turned back in our direction just long enough to show us that the tears and confusion and sadness were gone from his eyes, replaced the spark of rage. Dad stumbled back to his feet and stormed back into the chamber.

"Watch it!" Jed said, returning from his truck for a third load. Dad nearly knocked him over on his charge back in.

"This is over!" My father shouted. Upon entry, he reached down and took hold of the zip ties binding DeTorres's hands and began to drag the man across the floor towards the portal.

"No! Wait! What are you doing?!" DeTorres pleaded.

Dad kicked concrete and timber out of his way to clear a path, completely ignoring the bound man's cries. "You fucked with the wrong family, motherfucker!"

"No! Please!" Eva cried, giving as much chase as someone her size possibly could in relation to these enormous men. "Mistah Deeee!"

"You can't do this!" DeTorres pleaded as pieces of his precious gemstones littering the floor cut into his flesh. "I'll make you rich, just say how much! It's yours!"

Dad snarled back, "I don't give a good goddamn about your fucking money!"

DeTorres became increasing desperate as they inched closer and closer to the cosmic gate, "you can't do this! You don't understand! You'll doom us all-." The sound cut off as his head passed into the glowing doorway.

Eva's bare feet pounded the dusty concrete, weaving her way between broken blocks and twisted rebar to try and, well... even she wasn't quite sure. All she knew was that she considered Emil DeTorres to be the only man that ever see value in her... and she was about to watch him disappear. Her heart pounded like a racehorse's in her chest, her breath labored by the chalky air. "Mistah D! Emil! Emil!"

Dad stepped back out of the portal, which froze the much smaller redhead in her tracks. Her boss was right there, just on the other side of the door between my father's legs. He was screaming at the tops of his lungs, but those his cries were completely inaudible. With one last dash, mustering the last of the energy she had left, Eva darted towards the portal. Far above dad had removed the alien hand from the box and placed it on the Tower scanner once again. Eva locked eyes with DeTorres, her employer... her mentor... her friend, desperate to reach him before it was too late. She'd never seen him afraid before, in fact, she'd never thought him capable of it. Tears poured from his remaining eye as it penetrated her soul.

Eva dove to reach the portal in time... but only found the wall behind. The portal had closed, taking DeTorres with it.

"No! No! Mistah D! Mistah D! Emil!" She pounded on the wall as though he were only laying on the other side, where in actuality, Emil DeTorres was... nowhere.

Picking up a length of rebar, dad choked up on the end like a baseball bat and swung the heavy iron at the first tower, smashing it with the fury of a man possessed, completely unaware of Eva's presence beneath him. The distraught shrunken woman could only cover her head as huge, jagged pieces of extraterrestrial metal showered down on top of her from above. Boris and Yuri saw what was about to take place and rushed to take cover back inside The Tank.

"What the fuck, man?!" Jed chastised my father, grabbing him by the wrist to try and stop him from smashing the alien device any further, "we're gonna lose all that loot!"

Dad shoved the angry prepper away and quickly went to work on the second tower, "I don't care about any of this shit!"

With Jed causing a brief pause in the emotional giant's vengeful fury, Eva managed to scrape herself up and attempt an escape from the wall. It wasn't much time, as heavy pieces of alien tech nice again came crashing down around her within a matter of seconds. She slid into the first solid structure she could find, taking shelter within a cinderblock that had been blasted in half. There she was at least able to catch her breath.

Eva pulled her knees up to her chest, and as hard as she tried to hold them back, the tears came anyway. She couldn't believe it... he really was gone. She would never see Emil DeTorres again. Eva's heart shattered into as many pieces as the portal towers that had claimed him.

When my father finally ran out of the white hot rage it took to destroy the alien contraption there was little left to suggest its original design. He stood in the center of the room, huffing and grunting, but not saying anything. The rebar fell from his bloodied hands and clanged against the floor.

Jed lost his shit, "you... fucking idiot! Do you have any idea what you've done?! I should have listened to that old queen and shot you dead!"

Sweat poured off my father's face. He side-eyed Jed and through gritted teeth told him, "you have fifteen minutes to get whatever valuables you can from the house. After that, I'm burning it to the ground."

Jed made a move to lift his weapon, but dad was quicker on the draw. "Go. And I never wanna see or hear from you again."

"Trust me, fuckface... the feeling is more than mutual." The prepper tipped his fingers to his forehead, then filed through the gawking tinies, making his way for the elevator to clear out whatever he could upstairs. Little did he know that there were more than enough of DeTorres's mineral specimens littering the basement floor to sell and live on for several lifetimes.

A tap on the shoulder startled Eva. Her face had been buried in her arms crying, so she didn't see or hear Boris approaching. "Come, EvaHutch. Ith time we mutht leave thith plathe."

Eva didn't protest or make a scene. That was never her style. She took orders and fulfilled them, that was how Eva found her self worth. With DeTorres gone, she would have followed anyone who would lead. It's honestly a miracle the woman hadn't been sucked into a cult or something before crossing patches with Emil DeTorres. Her tears would not stop falling, but Eva knew there was nothing left for her there. DeTorres was gone forever.

Dad disappeared briefly, climbing out the same hole he and the other had made in the foundation, only to return with two canisters of gasoline he'd retrieved from Jed's truck when he wasn't looking. He didn't wast any time, marching back inside the vault and pouring the volatile liquid over the bodies of the dead preppers. That's when I began jumping up and down on the work bench, trying to get his attention.

"Daaad! Daaaaaaaaad!" He'd already filled DeTorres's lapidary workshop with two gallons of gas before he noticed.

"We're almost out of here, Dani-Banani. We'll torch this place and then we can go home...and then the three of us can finally wake up from this nightmare."

"No! Dad! We have to get these people out of here first!"

He stopped splashing the gas along the walls. His eyes fell on the tiny men and women gathering by the elevator. They were looking up at him with fear, clutching their hands over their mouths to avoid inhaling the noxious gas fumes.

"Alright... everyone," he said, "follow me."

Two at a time, dad lifted each of DeTorres's other victims out of the foundation rupture until the only two left were mom and I. He ditched his tactical gear, then retrieved the two of us from the workbench and carefully deposited us inside of his shirt pocket. I strange feeling in and of itself, being pinned against someone's chest like that. I could actually feel his heart pounding. I peaked out over the edge of the pocket to take one last glimpse of the vault.

"You ready?" Dad asked me.

"Light 'er up," I replied.

Dad flipped open his zippo and tossed it into the pooling gasoline. I never understood why he carried the thing until that day. He didn't smoke. As soon as it ignited the gas and his body turned towards our exit I knew. This was the moment he'd been waiting almost half my life for. He'd bought that lighter with the specific fantasy of burning whomever had robbed him of his beloved's life down around them. This was his hero moment, and he was welcome to it.

Outside, we watched as DeTorres's beautiful mid-century modern mansion went up in flames. Jed had not yet left, still securing his haul before readying his escape. He gazed over at us one last time, hardly believing his what his eyes were showing him. Dozens of shrunken human beings, all surrounding a single regular-sized man, standing motionless while watching the homeowner's estate burn to the ground. What a waste, he thought to himself, they'll never know what they gave up when he smashed that machine. Jed did. The things he'd seen in the short time he'd been inside would drive Warren Buffet mad with envy. The billionaire was a popper when stood up against what this DeTorres fella had stashed away in secret. Jed had made a significant haul, but thoughts of what could have been would plague him for years to come. In the distance, the sound of sirens were drawing nearer.

"Hey, Brad!" Jed called out. He'd been about to round his way to the driver's seat when a tinge of... call it guilt... held his feet firmly in place.

Dad turned around, his hands resting on his hips. His stubbled face coated in a thin dusting of gypsum and his clothes just the same. The tired look on his face said enough without speaking.

"They gonna have a lot of questions fer y'all when the man gets here!"

"Yeah," dad replied, "figured the walkin' talkin' G.I. Joes here would occupy most of their questioning though."

Jed paused for a moment, then offered, "you wanna avoid all that?"

For the first time since getting to California, a grin crept across my father's face, "you offering us a ride?"

Jed666 grinned back, then opened the truck door and nodded towards the backseat. If there's one thing a pair of men ideologically at odds with one another could set their differences aside and agree upon, it's that they stood a better chance together than talking to the LAPD.





End Part 21

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 22-"Mikhailov's Secret"




Several weeks later...


With a belly full of Grandma Simpson's home cooking, Boris Mikhailov bid adeu to Yuri and the rest of us for the evening to retire. He staked out his own little makeshift apartment among the dust bunnies underneath dad's childhood bed. There, he had a nice comforter Grandma had supplied him with, which was actually just one of her Halloween themed hand towels that saw use for about a month a year, waiting for him.

More importantly for Boris, the space provided some much needed solitude, peace, and quiet from the often bustling nature that came with sheltering dozens of people in one room. He was also feeling quite drunk. Boris had convinced the kindly old lady of the house to spare some of the wine she had secreted away behind the baking goods in the pantry, knowing grandpa would never look there. She had taken a bit of a shine to little Boris, and he her. Well, mostly her cooking, but the two had become quite friendly in a very short amount of time.

Stumbling into his bed, Boris rolled over onto his side, as he always did. He would not scale the nightstand and the subsequent shelving for his nightly tryst with Tatiana that evening. He was far too full and far too drunk for anything like that. There's just something about roasted turkey and booze that makes a man want to pass right the fuck out. But, like most nights since our escape from DeTorres's Tank, Boris wanted to check one more thing before shipping off to dreamland...

His muscles screamed for him to let it go for just one night. He'll still be there tomorrow, and the night after, and the night after, he tried to tell himself. Alas, the intoxicated Russian knew he wouldn't get to sleep until he at least took a peek. You see, my father may have snuck the last of the shrinking compound out of DeTorres's home, but he wasn't the only one who smuggled something out before the place went up like a dead, dry Christmas tree.

Stashed behind a pair of old baseball cards that dad had lost between the wall and the bed when he was a kid was a cell phone. This was not just any cell phone though, this was Emil DeTorres's cell phone. It had fallen out of his jacket pocket while dad was dragging him into the portal and it got mixed up in the mess on the floor. Boris found it as he and and Yuri helped Eva out of the vault chamber. Boris may not have been the bastard he once was, but old habits die hard. He'd been forced to bed with DeTorres enough times over the last decade that he knew the sorts of information stored within. More importantly, he also knew the passcode.

For the last several weeks, Boris had been watching DeTorres waste away inside his gold-laden prison. By some technology I can't even begin to comprehend and with the towers powering the dimensional portal completely destroyed and burned, somehow the live feed from inside the vault was still sending a signal to DeTorres's phone. He was there, surrounded by more riches than this world or any other could possibly comprehend, now rendered worthless in their inaccessibility.

The man himself looked thin and desperate, propped up against one of the walls of the Amber Room and rocking slightly forward and back. Unfortunately for DeTorres, his unnatural longevity had made starving to death a much more drawn out affair than it would have been for the rest of us. Could he have opened his wrists and quickened his inevitable demise? Of course, but DeTorres was too stubborn for that. He was The Bull, after all.

One could liken DeTorres's deterioration to the effects of ASMR relaxation videos on some members of the population. Watching DeTorres suffer brought a strange sense of catharsis to Boris. The end of ten years of smelling alcohol on the man's breath as he forced himself upon him... of his probing fingers taking what they wanted... of the shame that followed each new instance of abuse. Boris had earned this.

DeTorres continued to pendulum back and forth, repeating the same words over and over again to himself, "they're doomed... doomed... doomed... they're all doomed." Boris assumed them the ramblings of a madman, completely lost to his pomposity and narcissism. Christ, was DeTorres's misery delicious!

Feeling properly relaxed, Boris finally reached for the power button on the side of the phone to shut the device down for the night. Time always flew when watching DeTorres. In his drunken state, Boris was surprised to learn that over an hour had passed... just laying there, watching a man slowly wither away. With his motor skills significantly impaired by the alcohol, Boris only managed to knock the phone over onto himself for his efforts.

As he set it back up, he noticed something new. He'd accidentally opened a hidden feature, one that showed the exact dimensions of the vault dimension. Curiously, he began to toy with the features... and that's when he realized he now had full control of the treasure realm.

With the swipe of his finger, a wall closed in. Then the ceiling. He even brought the floor up a few notches. Each time he did so, the live feed showed DeTorres jumping as his treasures crashed down around him.

"Hmmmmm," the doll-sized Russian hummed to himself.

Another reduction here, another wall moved there. Before long, DeTorres was scrambling to stay above the heap of gold and jewels and rare artifacts threatening to bury him. Just as he'd find his way free, Boris would cruelly move another wall closer to bury his former tormentor once again. It became a sort of rudimentary game. Bury the Bull, Boris mused to himself.

As the ceiling drew nearer, Emil struggled to breath from the immense pressure being forced upon his body. The crushing weight of so much gold was too much for any human body to endure, let alone one that had become as frail and emaciated as his. The crunching of metal drowned out the sounds of Emil's bones cracking as he was compacted, but didn't quite drown out his screams. If there really was a heaven and she'd somehow made it there, Imogene Spaak (real name Crystal Simpson, Brad's deceased sister) would most certainly be looking down on the events with a smile, especially after what DeTorres had done to her.

With the man known as The Broker pinned against the ceiling with his neck cocked at a terribly painful angle and nowhere left to move, Boris finally stopped. He thought about releasing the pressure, giving DeTorres room to move and breath once again... only so he could do this all over again the next night. And the next. And the next. What a lovely thought.

But...

Boris Mikhailov was not the same man he was back in Moscow. He'd learned the importance of human life and mercy from the man who'd showed him neither. Boris placed his fingers at the four sides of the now much smaller square in the middle of the screen, readying himself to finally move on with his life.

"Do thvidaniya, Brokerman... Borith will thee you in hell."

Without drawing things out any further, Boris pinched his fingers together, causing the cube to shrink into nothing. The live feed cut off. With the flexing of a few muscles in Boris's fingers... Emil DeTorres was no more.

The inebriated Russian shut off the phone and laid back down in his craft store novelty washcloth bed, staring up at the box spring of the larger one above. When I asked how he slept the next morning, he answered:

"Never better, Malenkaya Zhenshchina... never better."





The End.

[Flippity-Floosy]

Had to log in for the first time in ages (I've just been lurking since I'm extremely busy these days) just to tell you what an incredibly marvelous story you've woven! What a satisfying way to end a trilogy! Definitely had some nice twists and turns to keep me guessing where it was going to go, and you managed to surprise me by pulling in a happy ending that feels natural and doesn't seem contrived when I thought it would be significantly more bittersweet than I'd thought (I was going to guess that Alex and/or Eva was going to die and Boris would have been a bigger obstacle).

Don't know how long it took you to master your craft, or if you've just innately always had the talent, but your ability to create relatable, realistic characters and such a vivid world and scenario really knows how to pull me in like meth to an addict. Excellent job! I'm genuinely excited for the next incredible prose you have in store for us!

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Had to log in for the first time in ages (I've just been lurking since I'm extremely busy these days) just to tell you what an incredibly marvelous story you've woven! What a satisfying way to end a trilogy! Definitely had some nice twists and turns to keep me guessing where it was going to go, and you managed to surprise me by pulling in a happy ending that feels natural and doesn't seem contrived when I thought it would be significantly more bittersweet than I'd thought (I was going to guess that Alex and/or Eva was going to die and Boris would have been a bigger obstacle).

Don't know how long it took you to master your craft, or if you've just innately always had the talent, but your ability to create relatable, realistic characters and such a vivid world and scenario really knows how to pull me in like meth to an addict. Excellent job! I'm genuinely excited for the next incredible prose you have in store for us!

You always know how to make me blush! I’m really glad you liked it! The third part of a trilogy is always a tough nut to crack and I wasn’t exactly sure I had when I finished writing it. In all honestly, I’m still not lol. Because the last two installments were so dire, I really wanted to inject more humor into this one, and yes I think the characters (and the reader) had earned a version of a happy ending… even if it may not end up that way off the page in the distant future.

As far as any kind of process I have, I pretty much just read a lot and watch a lot of movies lolololololol. I can sit Don and watch a film and just sense the story beats coming at this point, so I just try to translate that into the stories I want to tell. I love working within different genres to try and see how I can incorporate shrunken women into different situations. Like, the story I’m kind of working on right now has a futuristic/cyberpunk theme. One of those where I know how I want to start it out, but have no idea where I’m going with it yet, so it’s been a slow process.

Anyway, thanks again for reading! I really do love to hear feedback from people. It helps to fuel the creative fires for me.