Robb Sugar: Marine Who Loves Prison in...Well..."Marines Love Prison"

 

Garrison Kelly vs. The Military a.k.a. the Cult That Nobody Should Be Pressured to Join

 

Meat Squadron Soldier from "The Meat Squadron" (DUH!)

 

Lucy the Hammer, Squadron Soldier from "Rainbow Ranch"

 

Stanzi Potenza vs. Gun Waifu

 

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 5

The top octave was alive with buzzing noises that prickled Lucy’s ear hairs. Must have been another lightning spell that King Harrison was conjuring up. Must have been how this story was going to end: the same way King Harrison’s life ended before he had stolen Loki as a bodily vessel. This was Lucy the Hammer’s destiny: a half-wiener dog cooked like the piece of meat she was named after. She held her friends tightly as if her armor was enough to shield them from a visit from the Angel of Death. If they were leaving Rainbow Ranch together, they’d cross the Rainbow Bridge together. The silver lining in that cloud? They’d never have to see King Harrison again and they’d never have to fight another pointless war against forces they couldn’t understand.

 

“Out of my face, you annoying tart!” belted Harrison. The buzzing continued, but was now accompanied by sounds of heavy swatting. “Go on, get out of here! Move it!”

 

Confusion didn’t weigh on Lucy’s heart nearly as heavily as grief and despair. She welcomed the new emotion as she turned to see what was up. The buzzing was not from a new lightning spell that would send them into the nothing. It was but an amethyst-colored fly flapping its little wings around Harrison’s face, a ghost of sorts. For someone who loved animals, he was quick to annoy when the lifeforms were slightly uglier than a puppy.

 

Harrison continued to swat at the ghost fly and the “annoying tart” dodged and weaved out of the way with minimal effort. His teeth gnashed together and his fists tightened as this microscopic creature got under…whatever was left of his skin. Even when the ghost fly tried to swoop out of Ozzie’s humble abode, Harrison, visibly frustrated, floated after the little dickens and swatted some more while grumbling and groaning through his slime-covered teeth.

 

Lucy, Ozzie, Callie, and Loki looked at each other with their heads tilted in perplexity. Lucy shrugged her shoulders before the four of them leapt to their feet and pitter-pattered outside to see what was going on. Lucy’s eyes widened and her tiny jaw dropped at the sight of their saviors. “Wow…it can’t be…I don’t believe it…” she whispered.

 

On one side of the snowy hill floated the ghost of King Harrison, a disgraced politician and sorcerer who couldn’t let go of his own demons, even at the expense of those who loved him. On the other side of the hill…King James stood with folded arms and a death stare scrawled across his bearded face. And speaking of death stares, nobody did them better than his necromancer confidant himself, Razor Ripley, whose magic was used to resurrect the fly and cause the momentary distraction. With a flick of Ripley’s bony finger, the magic left the fly’s body and drifted into the dark of space.

 

Both sides of this confrontation stared at each other with murderous intentions, fists clenched, lungs expanding and contracting with raspy flows, and deadly eyes that could have been weapons by themselves if not for the necessity of forged steel. Still in Ozzie’s doorway were the four animals who were responsible for exorcising Harrison’s ghost from Loki’s body. Razor Ripley knew they bore the responsibility and gave an ashen-eyed wink at Lucy, which instead of reassuring her, caused her to gulp and shiver. She could never get used to how creepy the necromancer looked even during moments of happiness.

 

King James uncrossed his arms and took a few steps forward, his steel boots crunching in the thick snow. His eyes never disengaged with Harrison’s furious gaze. “It’s over, brother,” said James. “Your quest for revenge was never going anywhere to begin with…and it has nowhere to go now. This whole conflict was little more than a waste of our time and resources. You could have ruled Rainbow Ranch with a kind heart and a wise mind. You could have asked for help if you needed it. And yet…you continued down your self-destructive path. For what reason, dear brother? Why did this need to happen?” No answer from Harrison, only fury. “Answer me, damn it!”

 

“And how exactly did you plan on helping me?” asked Harrison. “What could you have done to make this pain more bearable? I know! You could reach inside my head and pull out every demon that has ever spoken to me and told me this was a good idea! You can still do it now even as my physical form has turned to rotten waste! What are you waiting for, dear brother?! Do it! It’s the only way!”

 

Razor Ripley took a few steps forward until he was side-by-side with his royal master. “This sarcasm is unbecoming of you, Harrison. You bloody well knew what you needed to do. Talk through it all. Identify your emotions. Process the worst parts of your trauma. The healing would have been most difficult, but not impossible. All that being equal…you couldn’t be bothered to participate in your own rescue. That’s why you’re a ghost and everyone else is alive. And I do mean…everyone.”

 

From the bottom of the mountain, Lucy the Hammer’s old squad mates marched up the hill with weapons in hand and stoicism plastered on their jowly visages. Granted, they didn’t quite dry off from being washed down the power station, they were dogs and hygiene was at least the fourth or fifth item on their list of priorities. As Lucy’s heart dropped to her guts, she clutched her chest, smiled weakly, and tried to stifle a flood of tears that would for sure recreate what happened at the power station. Loki licked her face and got a giggle out of her. The tears would have to wait.

 

“As I said before, brother man…it’s over. Your worthless crusade is over,” said James.

 

The ghost of King Harrison cupped his hands and gathered an ample amount of fire energy, which swirled all around him, igniting a furious passion that was par for the course for a man with his demons. “Nothing is over until I say it’s over! This war will continue whether you’re too lazy to continue it or not!”

 

And just like that, Lucy had enough of this arrogant posturing. She proved him wrong before and she would do it again. She furrowed her eyebrows, set her hammer down, and rolled a snowball into her paws before launching it at the back of Harrison’s head.

 

“Ouch! You stupid dog!” bellowed Harrison.

 

“Death Rattle! FIRE!” commanded Razor Ripley. The snowball strike distracted Harrison long enough that he failed to defend himself from the one spell that could send a ghost into the endless void forever: the Death Rattle. That poor fly’s spirit floated away in short order, may his sacrifice never be forgotten. And after a jagged mini-tornado zipped across the hill, the Death Rattle spell found its mark.

 

Harrison’s ghostly essence contorted and twisted into multiple positions as it struggled to resist its inevitable fate. The morphing proved to make Lucy’s eyes widen and heart race faster than actual combat with this foe just moments earlier. Harrison’s head expanded like a balloon. His arms were growing and shrinking willy-nilly. His legs twisted up in a little knot. His stomach gurgled and boiled audibly enough to gag the dogs standing behind Ripley and King James. And then…Harrison’s ghostly body stretched and thinned out as it expanded to the sky. It stretched…and stretched…and stretched…until it was too thin to even exist anymore. And then…POOF! The glowing energy snuffed out and Harrison was but a distant memory. Such a shame he couldn’t get a proper send-off with his own funeral service, but coming back to life and fighting a meaningless war was a decision he made by himself…and one he would carry with him to eternity.

 

Silence took over the battlefield as everyone involved slowed down to process everything they just went through and saw for themselves. Lucy’s heartbeat steadied. Her eyes dried out and returned to normal size. Her heavy breathing had grown shallow. Everyone stood there and let the moment sink in. No more pointless revenge quests. No more insanity. No more wasted motion. Just a land of animals called Rainbow Ranch, where the abandoned and unloved could finally have a community of their own.

 

After a while of taking it all in, Lucy’s smile started to grow and she let out a few giggles. She picked up her oversized hammer and leapt into the air holding it overhead. “We did it!” The Shut Up Stupid Dogs squadron cheered, barked, and howled at the realization that this brutal struggle was over. Ozzie and Callie hugged each other and rekindled the love that was lost so long ago. Loki rushed over to his true owner and licked his bony toes while King James patted him on the head. Lucy continued to run, jump, and play while swinging her hammer in the air. “We did it! We did it, everyone! We gave that mean old man the old One, Two, Buckle Your Shoe!”

 

In her overexcitement, Lucy swung her hammer in the same spinning motion that caused her to belly flop at the power station. But this time…she landed on her feet. Silence overtook the mountain once again as everyone stared at Lucy’s celebratory dance. She actually did it. She landed on her feet. This just made her smile, spin, and dance even more. Wasn’t that what life in Rainbow Ranch was supposed to be about? Smiling, spinning, and dancing? Running, jumping, wrestling, and playing?

 

But now looking at the weapon of war in her hand, Lucy had a decision to make. She had grown comfortable enough in her role as a soldier protecting Rainbow Ranch from the worst of the worst. At the same time, she longed for the feeling of a tennis ball in her mouth, long-nailed hands scratching her belly, and eating sausages that exploded with juice in every bite. This wouldn’t be a decision she could make lightly, but it was one worth considering now that King Harrison was in the rear view.

Christian Savage

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THE BASICS

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Name: Christian Savage

Nicknames: Hawk-Eye

Gender: Male

Age: 33

Birth Date: 467 AM

Birth Place: Morgan Town

Currently Living In: Shadow Asylum Headquarters

Species: Human

Ethnicity / Race: White

Citizenship: Honey Valley

Religion / Beliefs: Right-Winger

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FAMILY

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Father: Cletus Savage

Age: Dead

Relationship: Strict

Mother: Unknown Rape Victim

Age: Unknown

Relationship: Never Known

Twin Brother: Kody Savage

Age: 33

Relationship: Close-Knit

Cousin: Kyle Savage

Age: 29

Relationship: Close-Knit

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PHYSICAL FEATURES:

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Height: 6’3”

Weight: 210 lbs.

Frame / Build: Athletic

Hair length: Bald

Hair color: Blackish Brown

Eye shape: Wide

Eye color: Hazel

Complexion: Dirty

Face size: Round

Voice type: Mute (but with throaty groans and grunts)

Foot size: 13 Men’s

Tattoo(s): Dagger on Forehead

Scar(s): Bruises and slashes from fighting

Other notable accessories: None

Any other identifying mark(s): Long Goatee

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SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL

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Political Affiliation: Conservative

Economic Class: Green-Collar

Social Class: Freelancer

Occupation: Mercenary

Income: Upper Class

Residence: Morgan Town

Transportation: Sometimes Horses

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INTERESTS

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Favorite Food(s): Barbecue Wings and Beer

Favorite Sport(s): Football and Cage Fighting

Favorite Book(s): None

Favorite Show(s): TV isn’t a thing yet

Favorite Music: Gongs

Favorite Color(s): Red and Black

Clothing Style / Preferences: Red Tunic, Black Pants, and Leather Boots (Shadow Asylum Uniform)

Hobbies: Pranks, Setting off Fireworks, Taxidermy, and Hunting

Role Model(s): Orpheus Rinehart

Likes: Brutality, punch-down comedy, torturing people, and bullying

Dislikes: “Pussies”, women, elves, and bad food

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PERSONALITY

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Good Qualities / Trait(s): Sadistic fighter, loyal to Rinehart, intimidating, and scary

Vices / Negative Trait(s): Mute, too destructive, easy anger, and alcoholism

Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Drooling, chewing tobacco, and spitting

Phobia / Fears: Gay people, beatings from his father, and pissing off Rinehart

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

PROTECTORS

[X] Defender (ISFJ) – Puts the needs of others before themselves, to a point where they tend to give more than they receive. Quiet and conscientious. Modest and tends to be a spectator. They do what is expected of them without attracting attention to themselves. Sensitive to the feelings of others, and has a very good memory, especially when it comes to observing other people. Can be easily hurt. Very painstaking when it comes to detail.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically: Terrifying, off-putting, ugly on the outside and inside

b. Psychologically: Sadistic, hateful, murderous, psychotic

c. Spiritually: Hates religion

d. Emotionally: Angry and numb

e. Socially: People are afraid of him and that includes his coworkers

Others things to know:

=========================================

HISTORY

=========================================

1. Describe the character’s childhood. The sons of a nameless rape victim, Christian and Kody had toxic masculinity beaten into them at a young age, contributing to their mute and lifeless expressions. They eventually killed their own abusive father and impressed Rinehart to where he wanted to recruit them.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? Playing immature pranks and playing football have given them sadistic joy.

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? The physical abuse he and Kody suffered at their father’s hands turned them into mutes. They in turn became more sadistic, hence why they killed their father.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are his goals at this point?

4a. Do these goals change at any point in the story? He and Kody are fighting with Tarja Rikkinen in Rinehart’s office over who gets the task of bringing Windham Xavier back to home base. The battle ends when the twins accidentally knock over Rinehart’s bookshelf full of business ledgers. Instead of joining Rinehart on his mission, they are in charge of torturing prisoners.

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STORY DEVELOPMENT:

=========================================

CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[X] Addict (Conspicuous Consumer, Glutton, Workaholic–see also Gambler)

[X] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)

[X] Athlete (Olympian)

[X] Bully (Coward)

[X] Destroyer (Attila, Mad Scientist, Serial Killer, Spoiler)

[X] Threshold Guardian

[X] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)

[X] Victim

[X] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)

[X] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? Satisfying sadistic urges and getting amusement out of it.

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? To make money torturing and bullying people so that the twins can spend it all on beer and wings.

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Tarja and Windham outsmart and outfight the twins just to stay alive. Their plan is to be even more frightening and sadistic than before. Rinehart’s bootstraps mentality contributes to this.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Christian wants to forget about his father’s abuse, but can only do so whenever he’s torturing his victims and getting those dopamine blasts.

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AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY

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Character theme song: “Torture” by Cavalera Conspiracy

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: A more disgusting Luke Gallows

Juliet Birdwing

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THE BASICS

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Name: Juliet Birdwing

Nicknames: Big Bird, Mother Ruth

Gender: Cisgender Female

Age: 32

Birth Date: 468

Birth Place: Xavier Village

Currently Living In: Atwood Queendom

Species: Elf

Ethnicity / Race: Green Skin

Citizenship: Atwood Queendom and of their territories

Religion / Beliefs: Brainwashed Cultist

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FAMILY

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Father: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Relationship: Absent

Mother: Betsy Birdwing

Age: Unknown

Relationship: Abandonment

Sister: Bijou Birdwing

Age: 27

Relationship: Betrayal

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PHYSICAL FEATURES:

=========================================

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 115 lbs.

Frame / Build: Skinny

Hair length: Shoulder Blades

Hair color: Brown

Eye shape: Wide

Eye color: Purple

Complexion: Green

Face size: Heart-Shaped

Voice type: Gentle High Pitch

Foot size: Women’s 9

Tattoo: Heart with sword going through it (forearm)

Scar: Bruises on her knuckles

Other notable accessories: Nose ring

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SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL

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Political Affiliation: Conservative

Economic Class: Upper-Middle

Social Class: Green-Collar

Occupation: Soldier

Income: Rich

Residence: Atwood Queendom and all of their territories

Transportation: Horse

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INTERESTS

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Favorite Food(s): Chocolate and funnel cake

Favorite Sport(s): Amateur Wrestling

Favorite Book(s): Romance with toxic characters

Favorite Show(s): TV isn’t a thing yet

Favorite Music: Flute

Favorite Color(s): Purple and Red

Clothing Style / Preferences: Atwood Queendom robe and hood

Hobbies: Gambling, shooting clay pigeons, playing with dolls

Role Model(s): Shelly Atwood and Torger Manson

Likes: Comfort, money, winning fights, lusting after Windham

Dislikes: Her own race, Magetan theology, poor people

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PERSONALITY

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Good Qualities / Trait(s): Good fighter, loyal, persuasive

Vices / Negative Trait(s): Backstabber to elves, reckless with money, blinded by “love”

Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Twirling hair and inappropriate touching

Phobia / Fears: Going back to poverty, having to face Llewellyn’s wrath, permanent abandonment

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

[X] Supporter (ESFJ) – Popular, and most sociable of all the types. Respects authority and values traditions. Has a strong desire to be liked, and therefore tends to want to serve others’ needs, sometimes at the expense of their own.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically: Pleasant to look at (when she’s not wearing her robe)

b. Psychologically: Manipulative and cunning

c. Spiritually: Mocks Magetans whenever she has the chance

d. Emotionally: Goes from sweet to angry in seconds

e. Socially: She’s respected among her peers, feared by ordinary people

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HISTORY

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1. Describe the character’s childhood. She and her sister Bijou were abandoned by their parents and left to raise each other. But when Atwood cultists and Shelly Atwood herself started love-bombing Juliet and brainwashing her, she jumped at the opportunity to abandon Bijou for wealth and power. She’s been living well ever since while Bijou is a psychological wreck.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? She and Bijou played with dolls often, which was what made Juliet’s betrayal all the more hurtful.

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? As I’ve said, Juliet’s parents abandoned her, so she jumped at the chance of being loved again when Shelly offered her a better life.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are her goals at this point? Do these goals change at any point in the story? She’s helping Shelly shave Windham’s chin after he grows some stubble during his imprisonment. Her goal is to live as comfortably as possible while also manipulating Windham. She’s only around for one chapter, so that’s not enough time for her goals to change.

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STORY DEVELOPMENT:

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CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[X] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)

[X] Bully (Coward)

[X] Femme Fatale (Black Widow, Flirt, Siren, Circe, Seductress, Enchantress)

[X] Gambler

[X] Hedonist (Bon Vivant, Chef, Gourmet, Gourmand, Sybarite–see also Mystic)

[X] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)

[X] Turncoat

[X] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)

[X] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? Abandonment issues and a deep need for family, even if she’s just a useful idiot to them

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? To eat as much candy and live as comfortably as she can. To that end, she’s living her dream right now.

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? She wants to hold Windham down and shave him, but after he learns that she’s a Mother Ruth elf, he refuses to cooperate.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Constant need for Shelly and Torger’s affections, which is made difficult by the fact that they’re never satisfied.

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AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY

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Character theme song: “Our Love Will Always Remain” by The Aquadolls

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: Daniela Ruah from NCIS: Los Angeles

Chainsword Chester John

VERSE 1

Give a man a chainsword, he’ll decapitate your ass

Teach him how to use it, he’ll cut the planet in half

He’ll turn alien warriors into soft mashed potatoes

Leave them stinking up the air like rotten tomatoes

Such is the life of Private Chester W. John

A space marine hero and a political pawn

Fighting a war across the dark side of the universe

Where treaties are nothing more than useless words

VERSE 2

If he questions the Sergeant, he’ll get locked in a cage

If he keeps it bottled up, he’ll have no outlet for his rage

“The hideous creatures have no dreams of their own

It’s either you with a medal or them with your bones”

Hack and slash while never sleeping a single wink

Chester’s meant to follow orders, not independently think

He’s got a construction job waiting at the end of his duty

Be a good little capitalist, not a pixie boy cutie

VERSE 3

The space war is over and he gets a shiny medal

Chester wanted a parade, but he’ll have to settle

For a discount at Hooters and Dave & Busters

With the little bit of money that he’s able to muster

His body’s back on earth, but his mind is out in space

It’s an ordinary life, but he’s got blood on his face

The tears never came and he’ll never be the same

But at least he got his fifteen short minutes of fame

VERSE 4

He tosses and turns in his bedroom at night

Submachine gun to his left, chainsword to his right

Everything around him looks like alien slime

In civilian life, they call his violence a crime

Nobody taught Chester how to turn it all off

If he tried it in the war, they’d call him soft

Those alien planets were where he truly belonged

Here come the hot tears, there’s no need to be strong

Orpheus Rinehart

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THE BASICS

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Name: Orpheus Rinehart

Nicknames: Commander, White Snake

Gender: Cisgender Male

Age: 50

Birth Date: 450 AM

Birth Place: Morgan Town

Currently Living In: Shadow Asylum Headquarters

Species: Human

Ethnicity / Race: White

Citizenship: Morgan Town

Religion / Beliefs: Far Right Capitalist

=========================================

FAMILY

=========================================

Father: Miller Rinehart

Age: Dead

Relationship: Abusive

Mother: Quinn Rinehart

Age: Dead

Relationship: Protective

=========================================

PHYSICAL FEATURES:

=========================================

Height: 6’5”

Weight: 350 lbs.

Frame / Build: Chunky

Hair length: Horseshoe with a Long Dreadlocked Beard

Hair color: Brown

Eye shape: Wide

Eye color: Hazel

Complexion: Dirty

Face size (broad, narrow, etc.): Round

Voice type: Angry

Foot size: 17 Men’s

Tattoo(s): “Death Before Dishonor” on his arm

Scar(s): Burn marks from childhood

Other notable accessories: None

Any other identifying mark(s): None

=========================================

SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL

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Political Affiliation: Far Right

Economic Class: Upper-Middle Class

Social Class: CEO

Occupation: Mercenary

Income: High

Residence: Shadow Asylum Headquarters

Transportation: Horse

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INTERESTS

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Favorite Food(s): Steak

Favorite Sport(s): Football and Wrestling

Favorite Book(s): Murder Mysteries

Favorite Show(s): TV isn’t a thing yet

Favorite Music: People screaming in pain

Favorite Color(s): Red and Black

Clothing Style / Preferences: Red tunic, red pants, metal boots, and black trench coat

Hobbies: Hunting, taxidermy, smoking cigars, drinking beer, playing pool

Role Model(s): His abusive father

Likes: Toxic masculinity, violence, bigotry, money, and torture

Dislikes: “Pussies”, elves, women (except ones who will have sex with him), poor people

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PERSONALITY

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Good Qualities / Trait(s): Leadership skills, hard-power authority, intimidation

Vices / Negative Trait(s): Racism, anger, sexism, unable to break abusive cycles

Strengths: Fighting skills, leadership, ruthlessness, business acumen

Weaknesses: Generational trauma, quick to anger, sadistic, can’t take criticism

Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Chain smoking and finger drumming

Phobia / Fears: Gay people, his father’s beatings, disappointing his father, being poor

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

CREATORS

[X] Persuader (ESTP) – Realists. Enthusiastic people of action who like to explore and use their senses to explore the world. Likes sports and are risk-takers. They live in the (preferably) fast-paced here and now, and thrive on problems and crises. Often fearless and dominates conversations. Blunt and very straightforward. Does not necessarily follow the law if it gets in the way of what they want.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically: Intimidating, loud, beefy

b. Psychologically: Quick to anger, quick to judge, and will lash out at whoever he wants to

c. Spiritually: openly mocks the Magetan religion every chance he gets

d. Emotionally: Extreme mental toughness, expects the same from his employees

e. Socially: Despite being afraid of him, people believe he’s good at his mercenary job and will pay his exorbitant prices if it means procuring his services

Others things to know:

=========================================

HISTORY

=========================================

1. Describe the character’s childhood. Despite pleading from his mother, Orpheus’s father abused him constantly with beatings and insults, instilling toxic masculinity in him at an early age. Orpheus started the Shadow Asylum mercenary guild as a way to avoid his father’s wrath while also putting his fighting skills to good use.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? The only joy from Orpheus’s childhood were the many hunting trips his father took him on, but that only added to his sadism.

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? Aside from his father’s abusive ways, his father also killed his mother during a petty argument. That was how Orpheus learned to solve his problems with violence.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are his goals at this point? Negotiating a deal with King Lars Stonewall to take down the Atwood Queendom. This is just another job to Orpheus, which means more money to spend on drugs and alcohol.

4a. Do these goals change at any point in the story? I can’t tell you due to spoilers.

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STORY DEVELOPMENT:

=========================================

CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[X] Addict (Conspicuous Consumer, Glutton, Workaholic–see also Gambler)

[] Advocate (Attorney, Defender, Legislator, Lobbyist, Environmentalist)

[] Alchemist (Wizard, Magician, Scientist, Inventor–see also Visionary)

[] Angel (Fairy Godmother/Godfather)

[X] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)

[] Anti-Hero

[] Artist (Artisan, Craftsperson, Sculptor, Weaver)

[X] Athlete (Olympian)

[] Avenger (Avenging Angel, Savior, Messiah)

[] Beggar (Homeless person/ Indigent)

[X] Bully (Coward)

[] Catalyst

[] Child (Orphan, Wounded, Magical/Innocent, Nature, Divine, Puer/Puella Eternis, or Eternal Boy/Girl)

[] Clown (Court Jester, Fool, Dummling)

[] Companion (Friend, Sidekick, Right Arm, Consort)

[] Damsel (Princess)

[X] Destroyer (Attila, Mad Scientist, Serial Killer, Spoiler)

[] Detective (Spy, Double Agent, Sleuth, Snoop, Sherlock Holmes, Private Investigator, Profiler–see also Warrior/Crime Fighter)

[] Dilettante (Amateur)

[] Don Juan (Casanova, Gigolo, Seducer, Sex Addict)

[] Engineer (Architect, Builder, Schemer)

[] Exorcist (Shaman)

[] Father (Patriarch, Progenitor)

[] Femme Fatale (Black Widow, Flirt, Siren, Circe, Seductress, Enchantress)

[] Gambler

[] God (Adonis, see also Hero)

[] Gossip (see also Networker)

[] Guide (Guru, Sage, Crone, Wise Woman, Spiritual Master, Evangelist, Preacher)

[] Healer (Wounded Healer, Intuitive Healer, Caregiver, Nurse, Therapist, Analyst, Counselor)

[] Hedonist (Bon Vivant, Chef, Gourmet, Gourmand, Sybarite–see also Mystic)

[] Hermit (see also Wise old Man)

[] Hero/Heroine (see also Knight, Warrior)

[] Judge (Critic, Examiner, Mediator, Arbitrator)

[] King (Emperor, Ruler, Leader, Chief — see also Politician)

[] Knight in Shining Armor

[] Liberator

[] Lover

[] Martyr

[] Mediator (Ambassador, Diplomat, Go-Between)

[] Mentor (Master, Counselor, Tutor)

[] Messiah (Redeemer, Savior)

[] Midas/Miser

[] Monk/Nun (Celibate)

[] Mother (Matriarch, Mother Nature)

[] Mystic (Renunciate, Anchorite, Hermit)

[] Networker (Messenger, Herald, Courier, Journalist, Communicator)

[] Pioneer (Explorer, Settler, Pilgrim, Innovator)

[] Poet

[] Politician (see also King)

[] Priest (Priestess, Minister, Rabbi, Evangelist)

[] Prince

[] Prostitute

[] Queen (Empress)

[] Rebel (Anarchist, Revolutionary, Political Protester, Nonconformist, Pirate)

[] Rescuer

[] Saboteur

[] Samaritan

[] Scribe (Copyist, Secretary, Accountant–see also Journalist)

[] Seeker (Wanderer, Vagabond, Nomad)

[] Servant (Indentured Servant)

[] Shape-shifter (Spell-caster–see also Trickster)

[] Slave

[] Spectre (Ghost / Apparition with Unresolved issues)

[] Storyteller (Minstrel, Narrator)

[] Student / Scholar (Disciple, Devotee, Follower, Apprentice)

[] Teacher (Instructor, see also Mentor)

[] Thief (Swindler, Con Artist, Pickpocket, Burglar, Robin Hood)

[] Threshold Guardian

[] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)

[X] Turncoat

[] Vampire

[X] Victim

[X] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)

[] Virgin (see also Celibate)

[] Visionary (Dreamer, Prophet, Seer–see also Guide, Alchemist)

[X] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)

[] Wise old Man (see also Hermit)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? Money, cigars, alcohol, and not angering his father even though he’s dead and only exists as a voice in Orpheus’s head.

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? To become the most “badass” mercenary anyone has ever crossed, to strike fear in the hearts of the entire world.

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? Completing missions on time.

3a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Windham is slow in delivering the blueprints from Shelly’s castle.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? Shutting up his father’s head voice.

4a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Head voices don’t go away on their own. Plus, Rinehart thinks that therapy is for “pussies”.

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AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY

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Character theme song: “American Capitalist” by Five Finger Death Punch

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: A fatter version of Chris Kael

Dean McLean the Macho Marine

VERSE 1

I call it ethnic cleansing, you call it spring cleaning

Took the word democracy, completely changed its meaning

Then you come back to the world to yell at your wife

And make a living hell out of my own goddamn life

Dropping your pants, showing me your dirty ass

Teabagging on Halo like you’re teaching pimp class

Ding-dong-ditch while you call me your little bitch

But these are just jokes designed to rip the last stitch

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

VERSE 2

You blame your worst mistakes on PTSD

It’ll take more than that to fool little old me

I set my boundaries and you knock them down

Play the biggest victim in the whole damn town

Everyone around you thanks you for your service

“Freedom isn’t free!”, now where have I heard this?

They’re buzzwords to justify machinegun fire

If only more people would see you as a liar

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

VERSE 3

I don’t give a damn about your Star Spangled Banner

It doesn’t mean shit when you lack basic manners

I don’t give a damn about your big fucking truck

You can drive it through sewage, get yourself stuck

I don’t give a damn about your precious Purple Heart

You probably dug it out from a box of Pop Tarts

Your insults and pranks were disguised as friendship

“Marine humor” to get you through a war so endless

PRE-CHORUS

The only twenty-one gun salute you’ll get

Is when they aim the rifles right at your head

Sociopathic brains run down the sewer drain

Thank you for your service, you little shit stain!

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

Lost Without You

Chun Li tapped her white-booted foot repeatedly while crossing her arms, impatience bubbling inside her. She didn’t want to be down in this bunker. She wanted to be out there in the field lightning kicking Bison’s head off. She wanted to hear the sounds of bones crunching against her boots as she performed her Spinning Bird Kick. She wanted to hear Bison scream in agony as her fireball scorched and crisped his skin. Those sounds would have been more heavenly to listen to than a classical Mozart symphony. After all those lonely nights without her now murdered father, Chun Li believed she wasn’t asking too much in return. She just then noticed her jaw was aching from clamping down too hard.

If there was one thing that could distract her from her own impatience and the darkness of the bunker, it was seeing young Cammy White resting peacefully on a soft enough mattress. Waiting for her to wake up and give away Bison’s location would have eaten away at Chun Li since time was a factor. But there was something about Cammy’s beauty that extended beyond the surface level. Anybody could look good in a green legless leotard and black combat boots. Even Chun Li had her own moments with her blue kung fu dress, also legless. But Cammy had an air of mystery about her. She had a softness to her that Chun Li always liked in the company of women.

Crush on her later. You have a job to do once she wakes up, Chun Li thought to herself. And just like that, her sweet smile disappeared and gave way to tight-jawed intensity. She knew it wouldn’t be right to flirt with Cammy anyways. The poor girl had been through a lot, which was why she was taken to this bunker to begin with. And then, her eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to whatever light was left. Chun Li rushed over and sat on the mattress next to her.

Don’t mess this up. You’ve got one chance to get the most out of her…

Still groggy and dazed, Cammy languidly reached out her hand and cupped it in Chun Li’s, prompting the latter’s face to go slightly pink. Even after lecturing herself about the importance of finding and destroying Bison’s Shadowloo base, Chun Li made no effort to pull her hand away. The touch was too smooth and too warm to just let go so easily. And then it became clear why Cammy was reaching out in the first place. “Bison…is that you?”

“I…no, it isn’t, Cammy.” Chun Li knew her charge was out of it, but was still hit with a pang of disappointment.

Cammy pulled her hand away ever so slowly. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what I was…I mean…”

“It’s okay, Cammy. Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. Are you able to sit up? That might help you reorient yourself.”

She did indeed sit up, but not without slouching her head over like she was about to pass out again. “Where’s Bison?”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d know. You were closer to him than anybody else we’ve rescued so far. Do you remember where his Shadowloo hideout is?”

“I…I can’t remember much…Everything’s a blur…” Failing to compose herself, Cammy slumped over to the side and (unknowingly) rested her head on Chun Li’s shoulder, prompting an even darker shade of pink to scrawl across her face. “Am I doing that again?”

“Cammy, it’s okay. I don’t mind, really. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to feel sleepy after all of that. Do…do you seriously not remember where Bison is hiding out?”

“I…I don’t remember much of anything lately…”

Chun Li grabbed Cammy by her shoulders and lifted her into an upright position, steeling herself for the gravity of what she was about to say. Cammy’s head still slouched over, but hopefully Chun Li’s message got through. “Listen to me…this won’t be easy to hear, but…we believe you’ve been brainwashed by Bison into becoming one of his soldiers. The effects are just now wearing off and that’s probably why you don’t remember much about your past.”

“…Who’s we? Who are you, anyways?”

“I’m from Interpol and we’ve been building a case against Bison for years now. He has entire governments in his back pocket and has been using his influence as part of a campaign for world domination. Anybody who stands in his way or even mildly disagrees with him is promptly murdered or incarcerated. To put it in shorter terms, he’s a dictator and he’s getting too powerful for our liking.”

Cammy lifted her head as if to give some kind of hopeful answer. But…”I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. I want to help you, but I can’t.”

And just like that, the best lead Chun Li had turned out to be a dead end. Lord knew what Bison had done to this poor girl prior to the amnesia. The possible answers, even the darkest kind, swirled in Chun Li’s head and angered her to where she unintentionally squeezed Cammy’s shoulders too hard. After a hiss of pain from her charge, Chun Li apologized and dusted her own kung fu dress off (despite there being no dust).

The two of them just sat there on the mattress together awkwardly staring into space. If Cammy really was as amnesic as she claimed to be, then what else was there to do? The logical answer would be to take her to the Interpol medical wing, but if that was a viable option, they wouldn’t be in this bunker in the first place. They needed to hide out for a while. They needed to strategize. They needed to…spring to life on their feet as soon as a crashing sound erupted at the front entrance.

The steel door came loose after a few hard punches and tumbled down the stairs into the bunker’s common area. Emerging from the chaos was exactly what Chun Li feared this whole time: Shadowloo warriors. The punches obviously came from Balrog, the ultra-muscular boxer with a ripped bare chest and baggy purple shorts. Flanking him was the steel masked Spanish ninja Vega, bearing a claw that could tear off limbs with a single stroke. While Chun Li prepared for battle with her kung fu stance, Cammy looked dumbstruck as her bare legs quivered.

Balrog pointed his boxing glove at Cammy and said, “I believe you have something that belongs to Shadowloo.”

Chun Li’s normally soft voice had extra mustard behind it. “That ‘something’ has a name, you dumb bastard. She’s not an object for Bison to play with. She’s a living, breathing human fucking being!”

Balrog and Vega laughed their heads off. Vega removed his mask and licked his claw in a sensual, creepy way. “She may be a human fucking being…but living and breathing? Ha…that’s debatable!”

“Don’t you lay a finger on her!”

“Or what?” snapped Balrog. Not wasting any more time smack talking, he initiated the battle with a rush punch aimed at Chun Li’s head.

Staying close to Cammy, who was still frozen with amnesic fear, Chun Li dodged and ducked every punch Balrog threw at her. She counted with a sweep kick, but his legs wouldn’t budge. Instead, Balrog grabbed the sweeping bare leg and squeezed it like the pervert he was, toothless grin on his face the whole time. Chun Li threw a Kioken fireball from her laying position and almost singed Balrog’s disgusting face. Once she was free, she nipped up, wanting to go in for the kill with a Spinning Bird Kick.

In doing so, she left Cammy wide open for Vega to swan dive and suplex her into the bed. This distracted Chun Li long enough for Balrog to throw a dashing uppercut, flipping her upside down and dazing her senses. He continued the punishment by picking her up and head butting her repeatedly in the chest. Every time his cannonball noggin struck her sternum, her heart skipped a few beats. She faded in and out of consciousness the whole time, but mustered enough strength to throw another fireball, forcing Balrog to let go.

That fireball proved to be her last hoorah. It bought her enough time and enough conscious energy to see something disgusting unfold before her eyes. Vega had Cammy’s arms pinned to the bed and with his mask off, he began licking his claw like he wanted to butcher her. Chun Li wanted to help. She wanted to stay conscious long enough to Lightning Kick his head off. Her wish was only half granted as the anger burning in her gut kept her awake this whole time. And then…

Just as Vega leaned down to try to give Cammy a kiss, the latter sprang to life like she wasn’t crippled with amnesic fear just a few minutes ago. She punched Vega in the face and split him open. He screamed and held his broken nose, bemoaning the fact that his “handsome” features were ruined by this “bitch”. He swan dived towards her again, but was met with a spiral kick called the Cannon Drill. Off the bed and ready to rock and roll, Cammy hit a thrust kick to Vega’s ball sack and ruined his face even further with a spinning knuckle. She never let up, just kept pounding and pounding him like a fighting machine was awakened inside of her. There may have been hope in finding Bison after all.

This newfound hope gave Chun Li enough energy to pull herself to her feet and dodge another oncoming rush punch from the now recovered Balrog. Awake and alive, she threw multiple Lightning Kicks around Balrog’s sternum, listening to his ribs crackle and pop. He backed off a little bit and spit out some blood, but ultimately shrugged off the pain like it was nothing. Boxers were used to this kind of pain, after all. Then again, so were kung fu masters and British soldiers. Chun Li winked at Cammy, who stood over Vega’s broken body with confidence and anger etched in her battle stance.

Balrog stormed in with another rush punch, but was met with a double team move from Chun Li and Cammy. Cammy went low with her Cannon Drill and Chun Li went high with the move she’d been itching to use on Bison this whole time, the Spinning Bird Kick. Bones crunched, cracked, and shattered underneath the boots of these two badass women. With a distorted face and ribs puncturing his lungs, Balrog dropped to the ground twitching and coughing up blood, which only aggravated his rib injuries even further. Cammy finished him off with a hard stomp to the balls. Balrog’s face contorted even further before he fell backwards and slipped into the dark side.

Bruised, but not broken, Cammy and Chun Li breathed heavily after their hard-earned victory and sat back down on the bed together full of piss and vinegar. If anybody else wanted to come through that doorway, they too would be beaten within an inch of their lives.

After a while of huffing and puffing, Cammy finally spoke in a tone unlike her dazed and confused persona from earlier. “I know where Bison’s hideout is…I know what he did to me…He erased my memories…Made me his slave…I want to kill him…I want to burn him alive….”

“Listen to me, Cammy…I’m glad you remember where Bison’s base is, even if it was triggered under the worst circumstances. But I’m afraid I can’t let you have that kill. Interpol will take care of everything. The important thing is that you cooperate.”

“Oh, I’ll cooperate alright. And to think, Bison thought I was in love with him. Truth is…I don’t even like men.”

Chun Li’s face reddened once again, but for more reasons than being in a brutal fight. “You…you don’t?”

“I’ve always preferred women. I don’t go around advertising my sexuality to people, so I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet too.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Cammy. Bison may think there’s something wrong with it, but I don’t. In fact…I like women too.” That last sentence was punctuated with a tiny smile.

The two of them looked in each other’s eyes, but ultimately thought nothing of it. Cammy said, “I’m not sure if I can…you know…not right now anyways. I have to wash the stench of Bison off of me before I can do anything serious…”

“I understand, Cammy. Maybe we’ll just have to settle for a nice cup of tea together.”

Cammy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

“I, uh…sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

After a while of awkward silence, Cammy’s hand met Chun Li’s. “Sure, I’d love to get tea with you sometime. Maybe when this Shadowloo bullshit is over, though.”

“Of course…once it’s all over…”

“Hey…thank you. Thanks for everything…” Cammy kissed Chun Li’s forehead and made her blush. “Come on, let’s get out of this bunker before anybody else finds us and wants to brawl.”

Chun Li just now remembered that she had a job to do this whole time. It was easy to get lost in Cammy even after all of that. It was easy to feel…lost without her.

Blood Rain

One shot would be all it took. A flying diamond-tipped arrow to Shatter Man’s life core would earn Ino Kara the respect she deserved from her mercenary cohorts. No more jokes about her equine features. No more jokes about being ridden like a cowboy. They could forget about trying to feed her hay. They could spare her the horse dick references and anything else that had to do with bestiality. “You fuckers will put respect on my name,” she said in a low voice to nobody in particular.

Shatter Man was ripe for the snipe. Surrounded by a cluster fuck of dead bodies lying on the dirt and bone-covered ground, the necromantic machine sat cross-legged while his exhaust pipe belched red filth into the gray skies above. Ino could smell the ashen cloud it all the way from her sniper’s nest in the treetops. She had to be careful not to hack up a lung if she wanted to stay hidden.

With a bandana tied around her muzzle and stillness taking over her body, Ino pulled one of her diamond-tipped arrows out of her quiver and took aim with her golden edge bow. A shot to the head would have been her preference for any sniping mission, but Shatter Man’s mechanical dome wouldn’t allow it. She had to pierce through his chest at the exact spot and splatter his life core all over the ground. A filthy death indeed, but no more filthy than speeding up climate change with this necromantic smoke. Ino had to find her exact shot and make it quick.

She breathed deeply not only to calm her nerves, but steady her aim. Just when she was ready to release her arrow, a crow flew from out of nowhere and began pecking at Ino’s mask. “Shoo! Go away! Beat it!” she angrily whispered while swatting the bird away. She didn’t want to whack the poor guy too hard due to her respect for animals, but this wasn’t he best time to horse around. There was another mercenary joke that needed to be eradicated forever: horsing around.

Ino steadied her breathing once more and made a second attempt at aiming for the life core. “Easy…easy does it…you’ve got this…now take a shot!” she whispered to herself. The damn crow served as a distraction yet again, but this time perched its claws right over Shatter Man’s life core. The robot didn’t move an inch, just kept spewing garbage into the cloudy skies. “You asked for it, you stupid bird.” Respect would only go so far as Ino Kara finally took her shot.

Shatter Man looked so still and unaware this entire time, not unlike the zombies he was trying to wake up with his putrid smoke. Ino gasped when the mechanical nightmare grabbed the arrow just before it could pierce his life core. He crushed the arrow into dust, including the diamond tip, before ejecting bird seed from his hand as a reward for the crow.

“That little bastard,” whispered Ino, clutching her edge bow so tightly that a little crack formed.

Shatter Man spun his head towards Ino’s sniping nest. His visor flashed an eerie shade of red, making Ino’s heart race no matter how much she tried to suppress her fear. He pointed a drill bit finger at her and puffed even more pollutants into the sky. “My sacred ritual is not your payday!” he said in a monotone, demonic voice. “Arise, my children of the dead!”

A sprinkle of water landed on Ino’s furry head. And another. And another. When she wiped them away, her teeth and legs vibrated at the crimson color. The tiny droplets became heavier and denser until a full-on bloody rainstorm drenched Ino from head to hooves. Her purple battle dress and blue thigh high boots clung to her body like a frightened child wanting his mother’s undying love.

Ino’s own blood grew ice cold and a knot welled up in her stomach when the bloody rain caused the army of dead bodies to twitch. Limbs and heads awkwardly twisted around. Rotting flesh peeled and rolled. Bulging eyeballs retracted back into their owners’ skulls. Slowly and creepily, the shit-smelling dead bodies rose to their wobbly feet until Shatter Man and his crow informant had their own necromantic army.

The horse woman swallowed a golf ball sized lump while clutching her chest, hoping she wouldn’t die of a heart attack before this battle had a chance to begin. “Fuck it,” she said, tossing all caution to the wind. Even as crimson rain pelted her clothing and soaked her fur, Ino tossed aside her growing fear and ran into the fray.

“I want some goddamn respect!” she shouted, knowing assassinating Shatter Man was the only way she’d get it from her fellow mercenaries. As hordes of zombies trudged towards her with their rotten arms extended and their bloody mouths wide open, she fired multiple arrows at once and each one hit their marks. Chests exploded. Throats splattered on the ground. Guts spilled all over the dirt like a gory mudslide. When Ino ran out of arrows, she continued her assault by swinging her edge bow and smashing the skulls of anybody who dared take a bite out of her horse meat.

Shatter Man’s arms folded while the crow sat perched on his shoulder laughing his ass off at the equine warrior. “You little bastard!” shouted Ino as she trampled fallen zombies on her way to snatch the bird, wanting so desperately to rip his feathers out and snap his beak. The zombies wouldn’t stay down for long. As the blood rain continued to pour, they stood back up even with their detached heads and exploded bones. They grabbed at Ino’s shoulders with broken fingers, but she beat them down with her edge bow until they were little more than rivers of blood and organs.

Despite the aching in her own ribcage and limbs, Ino wouldn’t allow her waning energy to get in the way of her quest for respect, coin, and ultimately her life. She smashed more skulls, stomped on fallen bodies, ripped out spinal cords, but the zombies kept getting back up for more. Even the crow got in on the action when he pecked behind Ino’s ears. She swung at the bird, but he kept dodging and laughing the whole time, turning Ino’s ice cold blood into boiling magma. Even as more zombies grabbed her, she ripped her flesh away from their sharp grips and chased after the bird.

When Ino finally latched onto the crow’s tail feathers and seethed with bloodlust as she imagined ripping the little guy apart, a heavy metal punch to the gut doubled her over and caused her to dry heave on the ground. The zombies were called off as Ino touched her damp wound. She knew it was her own blood and not that of the crimson weather. She could feel her naked ribcage because there was no skin to protect it. That punch came from Shatter Man himself, who stood over her with his red visor glowing and blinding her with every flash.

“Go ahead…finish me off…what are you waiting for?!” begged Ino, spitting out blood in between words.

“You exhausted your body, battled my minions, and put your life at risk for a little bit of respect?” said Shatter Man. Ino tucked her head in shame as she laid in the fetal position waiting to die. “Everybody who tried to claim my life has the same story: a minority mercenary looking for acceptance from their peers. Killing me will suddenly net them the happiness they believe they’re entitled to. Truth is, young lady…you could cure cancer and end worldwide hunger all in the same day. You’re still going to be laughed at. You’re still going to be hated by society. Why? Because ignorance and fear are easier to accept than progressive values.”

Tears welled up in Ino’s eyes as this truth bomb hit her harder than Shatter Man’s punch to her guts. “I don’t want to be a horse anymore,” she sobbed. “If being a normal human will get them to leave me alone, then I’ll take it. I never got racial pride anyways.”

“It doesn’t get more ordinary and boring than laying six feet deep in the ground, no matter what race you identify as. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to please others to get the respect you deserve. You don’t have to conform to tradition. If you want respect, you’ve got to beat it out of those who deny it to you. You think I chose to be a robot? You think I was born with the name Shatter Man? I didn’t win any popularity contests with my background. Why do you think I have a price on my head? It would have only been a matter of time until you had a price on yours.”

Ino spit up more blood and wiped away her tears with her dress sleeve. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I’m already on my way to hell. At least in hell, they’re honest about what kind of torture they’re going to give me. Here on earth, they just disguise it as making whatever country they live in ‘great again’.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said Shatter Man, waving his arm in the sky to show off his bloody rain. “You can have a second chance at life just like my minions. As zombies, they don’t have the highest social ranking. But they take full advantage of their second chance. They hunger for revenge against a society that never wanted them when they were alive. They were and still are weirder than any horse woman they’ve ever seen. Let the blood rain flow into you. Join my army. Don’t wait for respect. Take it from them with both hands.”

The bloody rain poured through Ino Kara’s wounds as she laid on her back waiting for sweet necromancy to overtake her. A warming sensation spread throughout and she didn’t feel like shivering anymore, whether it was because of fear or cold weather. Her eyes rolled back in her head like she was in an orgasmic trance. Her tired body blazed with energy and happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her pain numbed out and was replaced with a massaging sensation throughout her chest, legs, and head.

Slowly and shakily, she rose from the ground. Her stomach pounded with hunger, but not for food and certainly not for hay. She hungered for flesh. She thirsted for blood. Her tormentors would turn into victims. Her cannibalistic meals would taste juicier than a steak dinner. She licked her blood-covered lips and groaned with lust.

Shatter Man placed a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome to my army. You can stay for as long as you desire. They say the taste of vengeance is bittersweet, but you’ll find it to your liking. You will be loved and respected…or else!”

Ino Kara had no words for her seductive master, only groans. Then again, she wouldn’t have to debate the harmful effects of racism with the world ever again. Either her victims took yes for an answer…or they would get chewed up and spit out with no remorse. Ino smiled at that idea. Her newly rotten teeth would make her face look even more horrifying to the racists she would eventually devour. She was strangely okay with that. Fuck beauty. Fuck love. Fuck everybody in this butt ugly world!

Cuddle Therapy

“I’m too ugly for this shit,” grumbled Fergal McQueen as he glared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his hands flat against the sink with his fingers tapping impatiently. His scaly green orcish skin, his thinning black mullet, his brown fangs, his ill-fitting Sepultura T-shirt and blue jeans, they came together to give him more than enough reason to want to punch the mirror. The shattered glass in his knuckles wouldn’t be worth it, so he refrained.

Fergal gazed around the bathroom with sandy yellow eyes and became jealous of the decorations he believed were more beautiful than him. The black marble sink, the red glass butterflies hanging over the mirror, the green paper lanterns with runic symbols on them, they made him shake his head and then face-palm for a while. He sighed through his pierced nostrils and said, “Here goes jack shit.”

He stormed out of the bathroom and stood at the lobby desk with his beefy arms folded, waiting impatiently for the owner of this establishment to show herself. A few long minutes later, she finally did. Flapping her butterfly wings and flipping her silken brown hair, she descended into her seat gracefully, but nearly shot up like a fountain at the sight of her latest customer.

“Um…uh…” said the owner with wide eyes and quivering lips. She fidgeted with her white halter top and black yoga pants to stall for extra time. “Um…welcome to Galatea’s Cuddle Sanctuary. I’m Galatea Lyon. How can I, um…help you?”

Being as socially awkward as he was, Fergal slammed a bag of money on the counter and had Galatea huddling on the floor. Once she slowly lifted her head, Fergal said, “I didn’t come here to be ridiculed. I came here to cuddle. Do you have an opening or not?”

With shaking legs, Galatea returned to her upright position and stumbled through her words some more. “Um…sure, I have an opening right now if you’re ready. Uh…follow me, if you will…” Her flapping and flying became more disoriented as she guided her customer down the hallway. “So, uh…what do you do for a living, Mister…?”

“McQueen. Fergal McQueen,” he grunted. “I’m a soldier in the Dragon Rider’s Army.”

“Oh, uh…that’s…cool…”

“What do YOU do for a living: pretend to speak perfect English?”

Galatea giggled nervously, still struggling to keep it together. “You’re funny, Mr. McQueen. Uh…yeah…here we are.” She pulled back the bamboo curtain and revealed a room with a red velvet bed and white crystalline walls, which meant more decorations for Fergal to be jealous of for their comparative beauty. “Have a seat on the bed, if you don’t mind.”

He did just that, not at the plush pillows, but at the foot, keeping a comfortable distance from a woman who clearly was anything but comfortable. She said, “Um…so since you’re obviously new here, I’ll explain to you how this works. This is a cuddle therapy session. This is a non-sexual service, so everything we do here is strictly G-rated. If you’re uncomfortable with what I’m doing to you, say so and we’ll try something else. Any questions before we begin?”

“Yeah, I have a question…so you’re all about unconditional love and being accepting of everyone just like your ad says, yet you can’t even put together a sentence around me. How does it feel to be a hypocrite, Miss Lyon?”

“What? No, no, no, it’s not like that at all.” She scooted across the bed and reluctantly placed her hand on her client’s shoulders, squeezing them as gently as she could without getting her hands too dirty. “To be honest, this is all new for me. You know, the, uh…uh…”

“Look, if you don’t want to get your perfectly manicured nails dirty from touching my disgusting orc body, then say so and I’ll go somewhere else. You didn’t even have to complete your sentence. I’d know that look anywhere. You’re a racist.”

“Mr. McQueen, it’s not like that at all.”

“Of course it is!” he snapped, causing his cuddle therapist to scoot back in fear. “Everywhere I go, people look at me like I’m a six-foot tall horse turd walking by. They back away like I’ve got the plague. They think just because I’m ugly as fuck that it’s okay to walk faster down the street to avoid me. I seriously thought this place would be different. But no, not you. You’re about unconditional love as long as your clients are a bunch of sexy princes with more abs than hairs on my ball sack.”

Galatea gulped. “Um…Fergal, please listen to me. This has nothing to do with you looking a certain way. It’s just that…um…how do I say this without sounding insensitive? Um….you…don’t look like you’ve washed today.” Her voice became squeakier as she finished her sentence and shrugged her shoulders.

Fergal took a whiff of his arm pits and said, “That’s not BO. That’s just me looking like a giant green turd.”

“Please, stop saying those things…”

“Look at you!” he shouted as he stood up. He pointed an accusatory finger at the trembling Galatea and yelled at her some more. “You can’t even look me in the eyes! You can’t even stand up straight when you’re around me! Sure, I don’t have the best social skills in the world and I don’t look like a fucking supermodel, but I still need this service, damn it!”

Unwrapping her hands from her head, Galatea shakily stared into her client’s yellow eyes and tried her damnedest to keep it together. “You…you need this service? Why?”

“Because I can’t get it anywhere else, that’s why!” snapped Fergal while throwing back the red blanket. “Nobody wants to be around me! Hell, I don’t want to be around me half of the time! And don’t give me crap about how it’s because I’m yelling all the time! If a sexy supermodel was yelling at you, you’d think it was some kind of BDSM fantasy or some shit!

Who else am I supposed to cuddle with? A wife I never had? My fellow soldiers? Yeah, good luck with that! I’m not so sure even a human or a pixie like you would ever want to snuggle up to a bunch of rowdy ass soldiers who make fun of everything and call everyone fags! So what am I supposed to do, Galatea, if that is your real fucking name and you didn’t just steal it from a poetry book?!”

Fergal’s heavy breath filled the air and intensified the silence between himself and the shivering pixie before him. The more he stared down at her, the angrier he became as visions of racist bullies and loudmouthed politicians swarmed his mind like a war flashback. Rocks thrown at him, laughing, pointing, running away, and every racial slur in the book pelted his brain.

To him Galatea was no different despite her pretty disguise. If anything her prettiness made her casual racism even worse because she clearly hid something from him while others were at least honest about it. But maybe the thing she was hiding wasn’t an agenda after all…

“I think we can come to a compromise, Mr. McQueen,” she said with her hands raised defensively. “If you promise to calm down and take deep breaths…we will continue our cuddle therapy session…in a bathtub. Of course, you’d have to change into a pair of swim trunks, but…it’d be the answer to both of our problems. Clients are encouraged to show up to these sessions clean and spotless, because…well…it’s my job to hold you and touch you and…”

Fergal held up his hand and cut her off, taking even more intense breaths, but not out of anger. He was actually trying to calm himself down long enough to listen to reason. He wanted to give this a shot. It was his only chance at getting the affectionate touches he needed. “Okay…I give up. Let’s do this.”

“Great!” said Galatea with a little more pep in her voice. “There’s a pair of swimming shorts in the drawer over there. I’ll leave the room for a while and give you some privacy while you change. Okay?” She smiled with a lingering hint of nervousness and tiptoed her way out of the room.

Once she closed the door behind her, Fergal went to work in stripping down and changing into a pair of red shorts. They were a little tight around his waist, so he walked like a penguin in an attempt not to rip them. From there he followed Galatea down the hall and into the bath spa.

Sure enough, there was a black marble bathtub in the center of a white crystalline room. Red paper lanterns gave the room a dimmed lighting affect that did its job in soothing Fergal’s nerves. Galatea flew to the tub and filled it up with warm water before dropping a bath bomb inside and creating a mountain of suds and trippy colors. Holding a sponge in one hand, she waved Fergal over with her opposite finger and patted the rim of the tub. “Come on in,” she said in her cutesy-wutesy voice, giving a light shade of red to Fergal’s green scaly complexion.

He dipped his foot in the water and hissed at the warmth, slowly lowering himself in and accidentally letting out a bubbly fart upon parking his ass in the tub. “Sorry about that. You probably don’t want to…”

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” interrupted Galatea with a smile. Without hesitation or nervousness, she gently ran the sponge across Fergal’s arms, chest, and shoulders while resting her head on top of his. The warm water, the massaging touches, the extra affection, and even the potent lavender smell was enough to make him want to squeeze his legs together so that he didn’t accidentally become…you know…

“What happened to your chest? You’ve got some nasty cuts and bruises there. Is that from your job?” she asked.

“No, those aren’t war wounds…unless you’re talking about my war with the racist assholes who pummeled me with stones all my fucking life. Sharp stones, big stones, little stones, they all feel the same to me. I was actually kind of hoping one of those stones would be powerful enough to kill me, but as it is…”

“Oh my god…Mr. McQueen, that’s terrible! I truly do feel awful for my reluctance around you. I didn’t realize…I mean…Look, I’ll tell you what. For what I did tonight, your first cuddle session here is free.”

“You…you don’t have to do that, Miss Lyon,” said Fergal as a singular tear ran down his face, a face he still believed was the ugliest thing on the planet. “Sorry, I don’t normally cry like this…”

“It’s okay to cry here, Mr. McQueen. I’m not one of your fellow soldiers. I won’t call you horrible homophobic slurs. Let the waterworks out. You’re not the first to cry under my care and you won’t be the last. You are loved, Mr. McQueen, whether you realize it or not.”

Fergal let the waterworks flow indeed as Galatea continued to gently scrub and massage him into relaxation. No more droughts tonight. Not now. Not ever. The tears had been a long time coming. They were greasy. They were oily. But they were less messy than any drop of blood he spilled on the battlefield, be it with the racist mobs or the enemy he fought in the army. Crying sucked and felt good at the same time.

"Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic

AUTHOR: Marie Krepps

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Fictional Short Stories

SUBGENRE: Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror

GRADE: Pass

Marie Krepps has written a lot of short stories over the years and now they’re conveniently collected in this omnibus for your enjoyment. Whether you want sci-fi action, terrifying horror, heartfelt drama, or bloody violence, you will get what you came for when you pick up this amazing collection of stories. Once she has your attention, she won’t let go until you’re jolly-well finished with this one hundred plus page book.

Of all the stories in this collection, my absolute favorite would have to be Coffins, a graphically violent horror story about a teenage undertaker named Pablo who dismantles dead bodies after using them to smuggle contraband across the Mexican border. This whole story is basically a clinic on showing instead of telling and Ms. Krepps has every right in the world to show off her skills. The supporting character, a gangster named Mick, gets so ill watching Pablo do his work that there has to be multiple creative ways to describe said sickness, whether it’s his body language, his face changing colors, or the good old fashioned loss of lunch. Take notes, fellow indie authors. Professor Krepps’s class is now in session!

My other favorite story would have to be Too Late, which is a picture-perfect deconstruction of romances being rainbows and unicorns. In this story, a highly-trained soldier named Sarah must rescue her ex-boyfriend Jonas from an old neighborhood suffering through a horrific sandstorm. Their relationship was never going to work because Sarah is too battle-hardened and Jonas is too pacifistic. But even so, Sarah uses the memories of their romance to bring herself comfort on this dangerous mission. Ms. Krepps reinforces the idea that you can still care for someone long after the relationship is over. Being able to get along is a powerful thing that we don’t see too often among broken up couples. This brings me hope. Lots of hope!

And of course, if you’re looking for a revenge tale bathed in bitter blood, look no further than Sister Princess. It’s a medieval fantasy about two princesses, Greta and Angela, who compete for their father’s affection and throne as he’s getting ready to pass to the other side. While Angela is unwanted, lonely, and depressed, Greta is pretty, pompous, and arrogant. It’s pretty clear throughout the story who you’ll be rooting for to get the final nail in the coffin. Revenge will taste sweeter than an Oreo milkshake. Savor the flavor of delicious blood. It’s all yours! Cue the evil laughter.

My complaints about this short story collection are minimal at best. There are just a few typographical errors here and there. Some of the dialogue in Mason’s Promise is a little too Shakespearean for me to take seriously, especially when Celeste says that her arm was gnarled “lustily”. But it’s nothing an extra round of beta-reading can’t fix. The collection overall is fun to read and it’s another shining example of a struggling indie author making her dreams come true. If you look up to her and pay attention to what she says, your dreams will come true as well. A passing grade will go to this wonderful omnibus of short stories.

A Weasel and a Thief

The early morning darkness did wonders in comforting Private Laurel Tate’s battle scarred mind. Maybe it was the way her platoon snored like little kittens as they laid in their sleeping bags on the desert ground. Maybe it was the vanilla ice cream-like texture of the full moon that night. Maybe it was the way the stars twinkled brightly across her field of vision. Whatever this comfort was, Laurel envied her platoon mates as she marched back and forth with her AK-47 drawn ready to shower any insurgent with bullets at a moment’s notice.

There seemed to be no need for such a brutal weapon that moment. It was surprisingly quiet for a war-torn desert. No bombs going off, no machinegun fire, just peace and quiet. Because of the strangeness of it all, Laurel had to be extra vigilant and the caffeine pills she took before her shift would help her do that. Every once and a while she would drift off while she was on her feet, but only for a few seconds at best. A lifetime of drinking coffee made her somewhat immune to these military-grade caffeine pills. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast in her night watch.

She reached for the radio on her hip and said into it, “Coast is clear, over.” But when she hit the button, the entire device popped like a balloon and gave Laurel a quick jump scare. “What the hell?” she asked herself as she saw that her radio was indeed a clown’s balloon. With wide eyes and a tight trigger finger, she looked around at her platoon and saw that their weapons had been replaced by balloon animals and their radios were replaced with bicycle helmets.

“Hey! Wake up! We’ve been made!” shouted Laurel, but the mechanical snoring continued. “I said wake up, goddamn it! We’re under attack!” Still no answer from the drowsy crew. “Fucking morons! Wake your asses up, now!” she barked with even more sauce in her voice. She even squeezed off a few rounds of her assault rifle in the air, but that too turned out to be an exploding balloon animal. “What the fuck is going on here?!” she asked while tightly squeezing the remains of her inflatable giraffe.

“You can yell all you want, sweetheart, but they ain’t waking up!” said a cartoon voice with two honks of a bicycle horn to follow. Private Tate’s what-the-fuck face was cranked up to eleven when she saw a tiny gnome in a clown suit waving at her and peddling a child’s bike with a wagon full of AK-47’s and other military equipment. “Turn that frown upside down! Without these bad boys, you won’t have to go to war anymore! Smile, you silly goose!” From the gnome clown’s gigantic sleeves shot a volley of crepe paper in Laurel’s now red hot face.

The marine private slowly wiped the paper off her face while maintaining a contorted look of disgust and vitriol. “You little shit weasel! You better give that shit back or else…”

“Or else what? You’ll get a spanking from your daddy?” mocked the gnome with a sarcastic hand of concern over his mouth. “You really need to loosen up, baby cakes! Here, have some music to brighten your day!” The clown flipped the switch on a radio mounted to his handle bars and played church organ circus music. He laughed like a hyena and started peddling away in his little bicycle while waving goodbye.

While she wouldn’t get “a spanking from her daddy”, Laurel would get an earful from her commanding officer if she allowed this little freak of nature to get away so easily with expensive military equipment. Physical training until her body resembled a skeleton. A firing squad that put more holes in her than a mesh fence. God knows how many years in a military prison that would rival most shit houses. Any one of these possibilities shook Laurel to her core and her nerves fired off like the assault rifles stolen from her platoon.

“Get over here, you little creep!” grunted Private Tate through gritted teeth while she darted after her thief at a deadlier speed than when she ran obstacles in boot camp. With every ounce of strength she pumped into her thick legs, she crept inches closer to her elusive assailant. Her heart pumped at a million beats per minute and sweat poured from her brow like a water park. She reached out her hand only inches away from her slick thief’s rainbow-colored hair. Two fingertips turned into three and three turned into an entire handful of clown hair.

With one clean jerk, Private Tate yanked the little fucker off of his bike and started raining punches down on his face. She could feel the molten lead pumping through her veins as well as the blood and juices splashing against her already red eyes and face. She finally relented her attack when she saw that she had been punching a watermelon this entire time. The burgundy in her face flashed a mixture of boiling anger and douche chills of embarrassment.

Standing right beside her and laughing like a lunatic, the gnome clown said, “Gotcha! I gotcha good, didn’t I!” before cooling off Laurel’s face with a spray of lapel water. The clown rolled on the floor laughing and kicking the air while slamming his fists into the desert sand.

With her anger hot enough to make her head explode like a car bomb, Laurel finally got her hands wrapped around the little bastard’s throat and squeezed so hard that the gnome’s facial redness was easily visible through his white makeup. “Alright, you little shit head! Tell me who you are and what the fuck you’re doing here! I’ll make your death quick and painless if you listen to reason!”

The clown’s head popped in balloon fashion once again and his real head slid through the neck of his jacket. “Gotcha again!” said the diminutive booger as he rolled around laughing yet again. Laurel could do nothing but remain on her knees and watch this nut job with burning red eyes.

Upon witnessing the marine’s frustration, the clown stopped laughing and changed his expression to mock sadness. “Aww, what’s wrong? Don’t be sad, little girl. I’m just having some fun with you tonight. I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Ozzy May. Nice to meet you!” The two of them shook hands only for Laurel to get a jolt in her fingers and for Ozzy to have another reason to chuckle and hee-haw.

“I give up. I fucking give up,” said Laurel with a low and solemn voice. “I didn’t sign up for this goofy shit. I’m supposed to be shooting terrorists, not little shit stains like you!”

Ozzy nipped up and sat on the seat of his bicycle with his legs crossed and big red feet swinging. “So what of it? You want to go home? You want to see your husband and daughter again? Have you finally had enough of this god awful war that nobody needs to be fighting?”

“I need to fight it!” barked Laurel. “I joined the marines so that I could protect my country and if I have to protect it from little punks like you, then I’ll gladly do it!”

Ozzy May rested his jaw on his fingertips and said, “Really? Who told you that? A politician? A recruiter? A TV pundit? Come on, little girl, you can’t really be serious about all of that rhetoric. The only reason why there aren’t any bullets flying tonight is because nobody’s alive to shoot them. I’m not just talking about whackos with bombs. I’m talking about women and children too. You’ve seen their bodies up close and you can’t get those images out of your mind. Those aren’t caffeine pills you’re taking. That’s trauma medication!”

Laurel’s facial expression melted into softness upon realizing that this little guy had a point. The tears were building in her eyes, but she didn’t want them flooding and Ozzy noticed that. She couldn’t let this clown see her cry. Instead her sorrow turned to rage when she bolted to her feet and spear tackled Ozzy to the ground with her fist raised high. “What do you know about the shit going on in my head?! Huh?! What makes you a fucking authority?!”

“I know this because that’s how my gnomish race was wiped out,” said Ozzy with rare seriousness in his voice. “Too many of them were blown to bits while others lynched themselves into a peaceful death. That’s the reality of war, but no politician will ever tell you that. But of course, what does a gnome like me know about war? I’m too small to fight other people’s battles for them. Even if I wanted to be a soldier, nobody would recruit me because I’m small enough to get my ass kicked by normal sized men. If you need proof, just look at you and that raised fist!”

Slowly lowering her hand, Laurel’s tears burst from her eyes, but she refused to sob in front of this tiny man. “Why are you telling me these things? You’re just a clown. You’re here to torment me!”

“Exactly!” said Ozzy. “If I don’t set you straight, these desert warriors will. I’d much rather you’d be pranked by a clown instead of blown up by a rocket launcher. Is that really what it’s going to take to get you home? A blown off leg? A mindful of shitty memories? A hole in your chest the size of a sewer lid? Or maybe you prefer to travel home in a wooden box with an American flag draped over it!”

Even more tears poured from Laurel’s eyes as she rolled onto her back and gazed at the night sky. It still looked beautiful despite her tormented mind. She could have more nights like this if she came home alive and well to a family that depended on her for income and love. She didn’t want to admit it, but Ozzy May was right. But the more she pushed away his talking points, the stronger they hit her.

“How the fuck am I supposed to go home now?” asked Laurel wearily. “It’s not like my commanding officer is just going to let me go. He’ll probably punish the shit out of me before that happens.”

Wrapping his tiny arm around her shoulders, Ozzy said, “Did I mention that those weren’t caffeine pills you were taking? At least those are allowed. Illegally obtained prescription drugs? Not so much. The marines don’t want drug addicted trauma victims on their team. They want young healthy soldiers who can run into battle and beat some ass with the best of them. Your CO will find out sooner or later. But in your case, it’s as soon as you decide to wake up!”

That final sentence was punctuated with a cream pie to Laurel’s face. She coughed and spit up the pieces of whipped cream before angrily wiping it from her field of vision. By the time her eyes were clear enough to see, it was the break of dawn and her once snoring marine friends were gathered all around her with scornful looks in their eyes. Was this whole thing just a dream? A fucked up god awful dream about midget clowns?

One of them had a prescription bottle of pills with the name Dr. Ozzy May on the top of the label. That same marine knelt down to Laurel’s side and said with stern conviction, “We need to talk.”

“Am…am I busted?” asked Laurel.

“You’re goddamn right you are,” said the head marine.