2nd Breath

---

 Module 1: A Glitch
 
Ben York was bouncing his knee up and down, wondering if he would have enough time to get up and go microwave a cup of noodles. He passed an anxious glance at the clock on his desk, it's electric green digits showing 2:32 PM; it had been almost two hours since Mr. Jacobs had entered the 2nd Breath pod.

Ben admired Jacobs, almost to the point of idolization, but as he looked away from his clock and back to the man laying down in the see-through pod with nodes attached to his temples, Ben felt what was pretty damn closed to fear. Mr. Jacobs was a devil of a man, always firm with any requests, and one of the most recent requests was for Ben to keep eyes on Jacobs at all times during his stint in the pod. 

There was no telling what would happen when Jacobs emerged from the pod (if he did emerge). The man looked like he was laying in a coffin; hands resting on his chest, clasped together. If it weren't for the monitors flashing Jacob's vitals on the screens sitting to the side of the clock, Ben would have certainly thought that the multi-trillion dollar technology mogul had been dead. Boy, wouldn't that have been something to tell the journalists about.
 
"Fuck it," Ben said lightly. The growling in his stomach had escalated to a ravenous roar, and he was ready for some goddamn lunch. He stood away from the table, rubbing at his numb ass with sweaty palms. The break room was small and meager; Jacobs didn't believe in such things as "breaks". He was all business. But that was his business. Ben's business at the moment was deciding between chicken or beef flavored noodles.
 
He flipped a quarter that had been in his pocket, caught it, slammed it on the back of his palm, and then realized that he hadn't decided which side would represent what flavor. He flicked the quarter into the air again, this time settling on chicken for heads, because the last thing Jacobs had called him was a cockhead. He gave a small chuckle at that when he caught the quarter, then slammed it on the back of his hand.
 
"TRINA??"
 
Ben screamed, flinging his hands in the air, subsequently launching the quarter off somewhere on top of the refrigerator.
 
"WHERE THE FUCK IS TRINA?!"
 
Ben ran out of the break room, heart pounding in his ears and a sour taste in his mouth. The voice that had been yelling was almost on the verge of breaking. It sounded like whoever it was had lost their mind. It didn't sound like Mr. Jacobs at all.
 
And there, sitting on the edge of the pod, was Mr. Jacobs. His eyes were red, god how they were so fucking red. There was blood dripping from his nose down into his gums; his lips were pulled back in a snarl as his bloodshot eyes gazed around the room. They locked onto Ben. God how that man looked at Ben.
 
"Were you the cunt who fucking did it, huh? YOU AUTOMATED BASTARD!" Jacobs screamed. Ben was shocked to see how fast Jacobs moved across the room. So shocked that he didn't even move when Jacobs reached out with a hand and gripped him around the throat.
 
"YOU FUCKING BROKE IN?! IT WAS YOU?"
 
"No, ech," Ben coughed, "I didn't do anything. Mr., Mr. Jacobs, you were in a simulation, it was all fake, it was all fake."
 
Jacobs squeezed harder with a hand that felt like it had been resting in a pail of ice for the past two hours.
 
"Oh I know they were fake, you son of a bitch, I know they were all fake, but not Trina! She was the only real one! And you fucking killed her, didn't you, you fucking A.I.! You artificial piece of shit, I'll fucking rip out your goddamn throat!"
 
Ben felt Jacobs squeeze harder, and finally his instincts kicked in. He brought up his knee into Jacobs' crotch as hard as he could. As kneecap connected to groin, Ben could feel the erection that Jacobs had been sporting snap. Immediately, the crazed man released Ben's throat, then crumpled to the floor, grasping his mangled dick.
 
The confrontation was probably over by then, but Ben made sure with another kick to the back of Jacobs' head. The man who he had once called boss stopped thrashing on the floor. He was back asleep, just as he had been before Ben had left the room with thoughts of noodles.
 
/************************************************************/
 
"How're you feeling today?" Ben asked.
 
"You can take these damn straps off, boy," Jacobs responded.
It had been three weeks since Mr. Jacobs emerged from the pod a broken man. He was now admitted to a special hospital room that he had personally rented out before entering the pod. It was a safety precaution that he made only after Ben had constantly prodded him to do so. It's a fucking waste of money, but if it'll shut your goddamn mouth, then so be it, Jacobs had said to Ben.
 
Waste of money it hadn't been. Thank the lord in the sky that Jacobs had finally caved.
 
"No, the straps stay on. I told you before you went under that this was well worth the expenditure," Ben said, waving a hand to the surrounding hospital room. "Do you remember what you did to me after you left the pod?"
 
"Of course I do, you little shit. I had just woken up from that life, I was disoriented. We talked about this. We talked about the possible aftereffects of living another life in the 2nd Breath pod. Why the fuck didn't you have the tranquilizer gun ready? And did you really have to break my goddamn dick? I can't fucking take a piss without seeing blood."
 
Ben shifted in his seat, the clipboard in his hands almost slipping out of his grip due to now sweaty palms.
 
"And where the fuck were you? You weren't sitting at your desk."
"I, was, uh," Ben stumbled, "I was getting food from the break room."
 
"Goddammit Ben," Jacobs chuckled. "It's a good thing your scrawny ass got hungry. If you had been sitting at your desk, I probably would've bashed your head in with one of those damned monitors. Speaking of which, how were they throughout?"
 
"Your vitals? They were close to flat the whole time. Heart rate stuck around 60 bpm -
 
"Bpm?"
 
"Beats per minute, your heart was beating 60 times a minute. There were several moments were it would spike up to 67, but that was as high as it got. It got no lower, well, other than 0, but that was when you ripped off the nodes, I'm guessing."
 
"Good," Jacobs said quietly.
 
"Mr. Jacobs, who was Trina, and why did you try to kill me?"
Jacobs rubbed at the hospital bracelet on his wrist, several times putting a finger under it as if he were going to pop it off, but he always ended leaving it be. He finally looked to Ben, his eyes no longer bloodshot like they had been.
 
"When I was about nineteen, I met Trina at the University of Texas. She was attending one of the lower level math classes I was taking, I think it was college algebra, I don't know, I can't remember. Fuck, that was fifty years ago," Jacobs said.
 
"No it wasn't," Ben interrupted, "your whole session didn't even last the full two hours-
 
"You shut the fuck up Ben, I know the specifics."
 
Ben swallowed down sticky saliva and promptly shut-ted the fuck up.
 
"I know it was all fake, and in there, I knew it was fake. After meeting Trina, I knew all of it was fucking fake. I started realizing how fake the peoples' personalities were. I started realizing that they felt pre-programmed. I even began to doubt if the professors knew what they were talking about."
 
Ben wanted to say that all the professors were programmed to be as accurate as modern day college professors. Ben had oversaw a team of programmers who entered all the information, who had programmed the A.I.'s of the avatars. They were all supposed to be as real as everyday real people. Jacobs shouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
 
But Ben kept his mouth shut, and let Jacobs continue.
 
"I told Trina, I told her that they all weren't real. At first she thought I was crazy. It had put a bit of a bump in our relationship, but over time, she began to believe me when I pointed out when the professors would sometimes stutter, or when other students would bump into things, or would walk into wrong classes."
 
Glitches, or maybe the programmers gave certain avatars quirks, Ben thought.
 
"She believed me, and I knew she wasn't a fake like all of them. She was as real as I was. I knew she was real, because the love we had, the love we made, that shit was fucking real. God, the nights I spent holding her in my arms, feeling her heart beat in tandem with my own, that's how I fuckin' knew she was real."
 
Ben finally spoke, "Mr. Jacobs, you were the only one in the simulation. The next step is to make it fully functional with more than one person, we're hoping millions, but all of those people were A.I.'s, including Trina."
 
"SHE WASN'T A FUCKING A.I., SHE WAS MY FUCKING WIFE!" Jacobs yelled, struggling against the restraints that had kept him strapped to the bed. "And they took her away from me, the bastards took her away! She was fucking screaming for me, screaming for me to help her, goddamn it those fuckers in black held me down as they dragged her away!"
 
The monitor that Jacobs had been connected to started beeping rapidly, and a nurse dressed in white entered the room.
 
"Mr. Jacobs, you need to calm down," the nurse said.
 
"Fuck you you goddamn cunt! You're not real, none of you are real, where the fuck is Trina?" He yelled, continuing to thrash against the straps.
 
"I think you should leave," the nurse said to Ben as she began digging through drawers of a nearby cabinet, pulling a syringe from one and a small bottle from another. "Wait about another week, and come back again if you can. He needs time to get reacquainted with reality," she spoke softly.
 
Ben didn't need another reason to get out of the room with the screaming man.
 
God, how that man screamed as Ben walked down the hallway. Jacobs sounded just as he did whenever he first emerged from the pod.
 
"YOU'RE ALL FUCKING FAKE. WHERE IS TRINA?!"
Ben continued to hear Jacobs' screams as he walked all the way down the hall.
 
Later that night, Ben would have trouble sleeping. His dreams would often start out normal, but then he would see those eyes, those goddamn red eyes staring into the pit of his soul, and he would hear that scream that sounded on the verge of breaking, "where is Trina?"
 
It was an early build of 2nd Breath. All of the avatars were pre-programmed, static, unchanging. The next thing in the morning, Ben would pay a visit to the avatar division, and he would see what he could dig up on the avatar that Jacobs had interacted with. This Trina.
 
 The only "real" one.

---

Module 2: Null

"You did what to his dick?" Jerry spurted from behind his coffee mug, nearly spilling hot chocolate all over his workspace.
"I'm pretty sure I broke it," Ben said, doing his best not to break into a fit of laughter.
 
"Jesus Christ on the cross, you have no idea how much we have all wanted to do that to that man." Ben shifted back in his rolling chair, a small sliver of a gut-in-the-making peeking out from under his t-shirt. Fifteen years ago, Jerry had been the track star and Ben had been the water boy. In a weird way, the tables had turned, and now Ben was the second in command (probably the first now that the chairman had emerged from the pod a raving lunatic). "How is he?" Jerry asked, a serious tone creeping into his voice. He sat his mug (decorated with #1 Mom) on the table next to his laptop, uncaring of the harms a liquid could do to that kind of hardware.
 
"Well, he did try to kill me after emerging from the pod, and he probably would've tried again if he wasn't tied down to the hospital bed."
 
Jerry only nodded, urging Ben to continue.
 
"He was screaming about an avatar named Trina, I-
 
Before Ben could finished, Jerry was already whirled around in his chair, hacking away at his laptop with the dexterity that probably was the last remnants of his track-day athleticism.
 
"They're all pre-set," Jerry said.
 
"The avatars?"
 
"Right. In the build that Jacobs was in, there was, uhh, probably only 100,000 avies in there with him. On release day, if there is a release day still, the avies will be dynamic, created on the fly. We still got guys working on that. They're going to take the 100k avies and make an algorithm that will create more avies from their traits, mixing and matching personalities and other quirks."
 
"Do you know who made Trina?"
 
Jerry didn't answer. Instead he continued typing away at his laptop. Finally he slammed a pinky on the ENTER key, then scooted to the side, hand pointing to the screen as if saying here you go master.
Ben stepped forward and looked at the monitor. Displayed there was a picture of a woman. She had dark shoulder-length hair, high cheekbones, a small pursed set of lips, and light brown eyes. 

"That's Trina?"
 
"That's the one," Jerry said. He rolled back in front of his laptop and starting banging away at the keyboard again. "Here's her details, created with the last bunch of avies, introduced to Jacobs' life around his college years-
 
"You can tell when was the first time they interacted?" Ben interrupted.
 
Jerry spun around in the chair, a smile stretching wide on his bearded face, "Buddy, I can tell you how many times they fucked if you asked me."
 
"I don't really want to know-
 
"Three thousand five hundred sixty eight times."
 
"Goddammit Jerry."
 
"I swear to Jesus, man," Jerry said between laughs, "they screwed sometimes up to five times a day."
 
"I really don't need to know that about our boss Jerry."
 
Jerry raised his shoulders and giggled like a schoolgirl.
 
"I really just need to know who made her, that way I can go have a talk with them."
 
"Right," Jerry said, once again spinning around in his chair. After a few more clicks and clacks on what was probably a mechanical keyboard, Jerry's shoulders slumped. "Huh."
 
"What is it?" Ben asked.
 
"It says null."
 
"Null?"
 
"Yeah, null." Jerry slid to the side again to allow Ben to look down at his laptop.
 
"And what does null mean?"
 
"There's just no data to say who made her. It's blank."
 
Ben sighed, "What in the fuck."
 
"I dunno man," Jerry said, sighing as well as he placed his hands on top of his head. "That shouldn't even be possible. Avies shouldn't be able to run without all the right qualifications, one of them being an owner."
 
"Are there any other avatars like her? Any others without an owner?"
 
"I can do a quick query," Jerry said.
 
Ben's thoughts began to race as Jerry searched through the thousands of avatars. He specifically remembered being a part of the security meeting involving avatar qualifications. He specifically remembered OWNER being at the top of the list.
 
"No, she's the only one with a Null owner."
 
"The fuck does that mean? How did she get in there like that?"
 
"There had to have been some sort of error. There's no way she could've gotten in there like that. Something must've happened."
 
"Can you figure it out?" Ben asked.
 
Jerry swiveled back to his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard even more rapidly this time.
 
"What do you got, tell me Jerry."
 
He slammed the ENTER key again. "Right here," he said pointing his finger at the screen, "right here is where things went to shit."
Ben looked at the screen and only saw a series of green-text messages. Lines of numbers that he assumed were codes as well as other error messages.
 
"The bitch went a little nutty right here," Jerry said, pointing to a message that said errno.EIO. "I've never seen anything quite like it, but there's a chance it fucked with her qualifications."
 
"And she's still in there like that?"
 
Jerry nodded.
 
"Is there, like, I don't know, some way to refresh her qualifications? That way we can know who put her in there?"
 
Jerry grabbed his mug and took a long sip from it. He sat it down and sucked on his upper lip, nodding his head to some quiet beat that accompanied the gears turning in his head. He turned back to his laptop and prodded the keyboard some more. Finally, he stopped.
 
"We can jump start her. That should refresh her info."
 
"And how do we do that?" Ben asked, his stomach suddenly starting to feel like stone.

---

Module 3: The Jump Start

Within the next hour, they were back in the room that housed the first and only 2nd Breath pod. First and only so far. Ben's stomach was still in knots after hearing what Jerry meant by doing a "jump start".
 
"I'm going to load your conscious into the placeholder Jacobs left behind," Jerry had said on the walk over to the pod housing. "I'll drop you in a few minutes before Trina had her error. If my thinking is right, if you get past the moment she had the error without her bugging out, I can pull you out and her stats should be refreshed. Good as new."
 
"I'm going to be in Jacobs' spot?"
 
"Yes, to every avie in 2nd Breath, you will look like Jacobs. We only had time to create one player placeholder, and it is one of Jacobs, since, you know, he wanted to be the first person to test it."
 
"How long am I going to be in there?" Ben asked.
 
"Like I said, a few minutes your time, just a moment in my time," Jerry said, stepping towards the pod. There was a plug-in at the head of the pod resembling that of a USB port. Jerry pulled a small device out of his pocket, resembling a phone. He plugged it into the port. "For me, I'll just load you into 2nd Breath, and then I'll immediately pull you out."
 
"What are you doing now?"
 
"Loading the settings. I don't want to drop you in there too soon. I also don't want to drop you in there without all your previous memories."
 
"What do you mean?"
 
"Jesus Christ, Ben. Do you not know anything about 2nd Breath?"
 
"Shut the hell up Jerry, it's not my job to code the damn thing," Ben said, lightly punching Jerry on the shoulder.
 
"Right, whatever. When this bitch finally goes public, people who play will be first loaded in as infants. We take their current memories and load them into an external storage, that way they enter the game completely fresh. I'm changing that parameter so that you won't have your memories stored to the side. That way you won't jump into Jacobs' 40 year old avatar a babbling baby."
 
"Putting peoples' memories off to the side, that sounds kind of dangerous, how the hell we get that approved?" Ben asked.
 
"There's multiple fail overs," Jerry said, removing his device then walking back over to the computer monitors where Ben had originally been seated the night Jacobs' lost his mind. "Not only are memories saved to an external storage device right there in the pod, they're also saved offsite in our own databases. And really, as of right now, they aren't fully erased from a players' mind. They're just sort of "locked", so if worst comes to worst, we can just unlock them," he punctuated with a key press on the laptop. The pod door swung open like the lid of a coffin, accompanied by a hiss. "Your bed awaits, sleeping beauty."
 
"Fuck you, Jerry," Ben said, removing his shoes and climbing into the pod. The last thing he would remember from this lifetime is how cold the pod cushion felt against his ass.

---

Final Module: Trina

When he opened his eyes, Ben instantly knew that he wasn't in the real world anymore. Jerry had succeeded in allowing him to keep his memories. The hairs on his arms immediately stood on end as his heart began to pound at the excitement and nervousness of finally being inside 2nd Breath.
 
The room he was in was dark and it surprisingly took him a few moments to realize that he was laying down in bed, and that it was nighttime. He looked to his left and saw that there stood a nightstand with a digital clock resting on it, oddly similar to the clock that was sitting on the desk that Jerry would currently be sitting at out in the real world. The only difference with this clock was that it also showed the current date and month.
 
The green text glowed 2:32AM 11/29
 
Ben looked to his right and realized that there was someone in bed with him. It had to have been Trina. She was laying on her side, facing him, with her left arm curled under her pillow and the other hand resting on his stomach. As his eyes adjusted to the dark lighting, her facial features finally started to become more visible.
She resembled the photo that Jerry had shown him earlier in the day (back in the real world), but he could tell that that old photo must have been taken when she was in college. The Trina laying here in bed with him was older. Age hadn't done much to decrement her beauty, if anything else, it made her appear more attractive. He noticed that there were strands of gray in her hair (which was still the short cut she was sporting in the college photo). Ben wondered how old the body he was in was and even thought about getting up to look at himself in the mirror, but decided against moving.
 
All he wanted to do was lay still for the few moments it would take before Jerry would pull him out of 2nd Breath.
 
a few minutes your time, just a moment in my time
 
Any moment now.
 
Ben let out a slow sigh, then his breath caught when he felt Trina's hand twitch on his stomach.
 
/**********************************************************************/
 
"What the fuck?" Jerry exhaled, eyes squinting at the monitor. He punched in the small command,
 
2ndBrthAdmin -> EJCT
 
only to be dumfounded when he saw the response,
 
COMMAND NOT AUTHORIZED
 
"I'm the goddamn administrator!" Jerry yelled, "I am authorized to do whatever the fuck I want!"
 
He punched in the command again, only to be told the same answer.
 
COMMAND NOT AUTHORIZED
 
"Oh fuck," Jerry wheezed, running a hand through his hair, smearing the beads of sweat that had been poking out on his forehead all over his scalp. He looked away from the computer monitor and towards Ben, who had been laying in the pod. The vitals monitor sitting to the side of the laptop beeped.
 
It had raised from 60bpm to 64bpm, and was beginning to steadily climb.
 
/*********************************************************************/
 
Her hand twitched, then settled back down onto his stomach. Her breathing was coming in quick gasps.
 
Ben just laid there, wondering when in the fuck Jerry was going to pull him out of the simulation.
 
Finally, Trina's breathing settled, and her hand stopped moving.
Ben let out the breath he had been holding, then stopped again when he felt Trina's hand slowly begin to slide down his stomach.
 
Oh what the fuck.
 
Her hand slid under his waistband, then gently grabbed a hold of his babymakers.
 
He looked over at her, and saw that her eyes were open, and she was looking right back at him.
 
"Hey," she whispered.
 
"Hey," he carefully said.
 
Her brow furled for a moment.
 
"Chris?"
 
Ben almost recoiled at the name, but then realized it was Jacobs' first name. He had been so used to calling him "Mr. Jacobs" that he almost didn't realize Chris was his actual name. "Yeah?" he responded.
 
Her grip suddenly tightened on his jewels, sucking out all the air from his lungs like a vacuum. "You're not Chris!" She hissed.
Ben grunted and tried to punch at Trina's face, only managing to slap her across the cheek. He reached again to maybe try and gouge out an eye, anything to make her relinquish her grip on his testicles. He yelped in agony when his fingers found her mouth instead of her eyes.
 
Trina bit down hard.
 
He felt blood run down his arm, and for that brief moment, he forgot that his nuts were being crushed.
 
The left testicle burst, followed by the right, and Ben blacked out with his hand still being munched on by the woman Jacobs' had fallen in love with.
 
/********************************************************************/
 
Pain was still radiating in his crotch by the time he came to. Ben tried to sit up but found that his hands and feet had been handcuffed to the bedposts. He jerked around to see if he could break free, but immediately stopped when he felt the metal cuffs begin to cut into his wrists. He looked up to the dull pain in his right hand and saw that he was missing an index and middle finger. Blood was still seeping out of the stubs and steadily dripping down his arm and into his armpit.
 
"FUCK!" he yelled. "What the fuck?!"
 
He thrashed around some more, then screamed out in pain when he felt sharp stabbings of pain etch out from his crotch and up into his stomach. Whatever food Jacobs' had eaten during his time in 2nd Breath began to swirl around in Ben's stomach, then finally decided to force it's way up to his throat. He spewed an unidentifiable concoction of vomit down and onto his chest. He tried to turn on his side and vomit onto the bed, but it was no use. The cuffs kept him from turning.
 
The door to the bedroom slammed open, and standing there in the doorway was Trina, wearing an almost see-through blue nightgown. In her hands was an clothes iron. She walked over to the side of the bed opposite of the nightstand and plugged in the iron. There, she poked the stubs where Ben's missing fingers had been with her own finger, inciting a cry from Ben.
 
She flicked the blood on her finger at Ben, nailing him square in the mouth with it.
 
"I don't want you bleeding out," Trina said, licking the same bloodied finger, and then pressing it into the iron. It sizzled and she pulled her finger away, almost giggling to herself, "Ow, I didn't think it would heat up that quickly. Jacobs did a good job buying this for me."
 
"The FUCK do you want?" Ben cried out.
 
"I want to make sure you don't bleed out before I figure out how you got inside my husband's body," Trina said, grabbing the iron in one hand, and Ben's mangled hand in the other. She pressed the hot iron to his stubs.
 
The pain was excruciating. He thrashed in the bed despite the cuffs cutting in to his wrists and the pain in his crotch. He slammed his head up and down in the pillows, then swung his head to the left, looking at the clock on the end table. It read 5:56AM 11/29.
 
It had been a few hours in this world, which meant seconds or minutes on the outside.
 
Ben screamed in agony as he realized that Jerry was having trouble getting him out of the pod. The smell of blood filled the small bedroom, mingling with the scent of fresh vomit that was now steadily soaking the sheets that Ben had been writhing in.
 
/***********************************************************************/
 
3:49PM 12/23
Trina had made a habit of jabbing Ben's legs with a small knife and then going over the wound with the iron. She admitted to not having a nursing degree, but figured cauterizing the wound would be enough to keep Ben alive. She started low, towards his ankles, then had worked her way up his calves and towards his thighs as the days dragged on by.
 
Earlier in the day she had joked about how his sack was going to be next, poking the mangled piece of flesh with her fingers.
 
7:23PM 3/09
It was Trina's birthday today, or so she said. She celebrated the day by switching out Ben's normal feeding of overcooked ground beef and milk to birthday cake. An entire birthday cake. She force fed him fistfuls at a time of the overly sweetened cake until he vomited, and then continued force feeding him. The fourth time he vomited, he had nearly choked, and there for a brief moment, he saw her scramble to find the key to his handcuffs so she could turn him over.
 
In one last fit of desperation after not being able to find the keys, Trina climbed onto the bed and stomped on his stomach, forcing the half-chewed cake up out of his airway and out into the open air.
After that episode, Trina didn't feed Ben for three days straight out of fear of him choking again.
 
/**********************************************************************/
 
3:31AM 3/13 
It was after those three days that Ben realized the quickest way he could get out of the pod was to kill himself.
 
He laid there in the mess of all the muck that had gathered over the months: blood, vomit, food, piss, shit. He didn't smell it anymore. He had grown used to it. His mind jumped around, trying to figure out how he could manage to get Trina to kill him. His first thought was to intentionally inhale his food the next time she fed him, and hopefully choke before she could do anything about it.
 
But then he realized that she would probably just stomp on his stomach again. Maybe he would get lucky and she would rupture something?
 
He didn't want to take that chance.
 
He heard something slam around outside of the bedroom. It was Trina, probably doing some sort of redecorating. She had talked about that a lot during the previous days' moments with her as she snapped his fingers back one by one.
 
Ben sighed and shifted around on the bed. He had thought about ripping his hands through the cuffs before, but she must've read his mind. She now had him completely strapped down to the bed, along with the cuffs. It was impossible to move now.
 
It was quiet in the room. So much so that it was making Ben uncomfortable. He blew a raspberry to break the silence, his tongue vibrating between his lips. It made his lungs hurt (Trina had taken interest in acupuncture earlier in the week, starting her learning on his ribcage), but he kept blowing.
 
Then he caught his tongue between his teeth, and realized he had all he needed to suffocate right here and now.
 
He tried to swallow his own tongue, but found he couldn't manage.
Then he started to chew. He ripped into his own tongue with his molars, feeling the blood pool in his mouth.
 
It felt right, he knew he had enough.
 
He took in all the blood in one breath.
 
/********************************************************************/
 
Jerry glanced at the clock on the desk and dropped a massive f-bomb as he realized an hour had passed. The monitor that had been flashing Ben's vitals has last said 80bpm, but when Jerry switched his sight over to it, he saw that it was sitting back down at 60bpm.
 
"The fuck?"
 
He looked up to the pod and saw that the door was swinging open.
Jerry ran to the pod and looked in, and saw Ben laying there in the pod, eyes open, and a wide smile on his face.
 
"I didn't do it, didn't I?" Ben asked.
 
"You didn't do what?"
 
"I need to do it again, huh, before she comes back in the room."

Jerry jerked back as he saw Ben begin to chew.

In the afterlife, therapists help out people who were killed in horrifying ways.

Lance leaned back in his leather swivel chair, taking a look down at his watch with the golden extender band. It really didn't matter what time it was; time really didn't have much meaning in the afterlife. It was just one of those habits that Lance still hadn't managed to shake, right up there along with reaching up to push his glasses up on his nose. Turns out the quickest way to get 20/20 vision was to die of a heart attack and have enough green on your ledger that you made it into heaven. 


The room he was in was small in the default stage: simple four walls, white, just one window looking out into the city square where other souls walked around. A new restaurant opened next door headed by some chef who made it big on American television only to die a few months after her show had been syndicated. It was a shame, but judging from the people lined up out of the doors, she was highly looked upon even by people who didn't really have to eat.


"Huh," Lance chuckled to himself, "I guess waiting in lines is something that you don't ever get away from. Not even here."


The walls of the room began to shift and change colors, signaling to Lance that his next patient was about to walk in. Paintings materialized on the wall, one was an oil painting of a windmill on an island floating in the sky, something that Lance had seen before but couldn't really put a finger on where or when. Another painting popped in on the wall to his right, this one depicting a woman and man dressed in 50's garb sitting at a burger restaurant. They were both sharing a single milkshake with two straws, smiling and staring into each others eyes. 


"Huh," Lance said, again stroking the small patch of facial hair he had on his chin. The walls always changed whenever a patient came in, morphing into whatever made the patient more comfortable. Lance had little control of it, but it did make it easier getting a read on his patient before they walked in. The white walls started to bloom into a deep blue, and the window that faced out into the square doubled in size, red curtains dropping from the top and unrolling themselves down neatly. "This one's got an eye for decor," Lance said, admiring the shifting room. 


The chair that normally sat across from him and his desk ballooned, wooden legs and back being swallowed by the seat cushion. Lance blinked once, and when he had next looked at the chair, it had completely morphed into a purple bean bag. "That does look comfy," he mused to himself, making a mental note to himself to try one out sometime. 


The door cracked open and a small face peeked through.


"Don't be shy," Lance said, beckoning to the person, "come right in."


The door slowly opened, and a young woman with short blonde hair walked through. She had a bit of an upturned nose and a small mouth, but slightly puffy cheeks, reminding Lance of a hamster. She was very petite, and from the look of things, very anxious.


"You're, uh, Chancey, am I pronouncing that right?" Lance asked, again raising a hand and motioning Chancey to walk over.


"Yeah, that's right, hmm, where am I?" 


"My name is Lance, and you're at Bellogner's Square," he said, pointing out the enlarged window, "I'm the square's therapist."


"Therapist?" She said, slowly walking over to the beanbag chair, eyes wandering all over the room but occasionally looking back to Lance.


"Yes, please sit," Lance said as he stood up himself. He walked over to the back corner of the room where he had a coffee pot sitting. It appeared empty. "Would you like some coffee?" 


"Um, sure," Chancey said, slowly sitting down into the beanbag. 


Lance opened a drawer, revealing two mugs, a Spider-Man mug, and a plain white mug, "I get the Spidey mug," Lance said, "if you don't like it, tough." He grabbed the empty pot and tipped it over his mug, a dark black liquid pouring out from seemingly nowhere, instantly filling the room with the strong smell of coffee. "I've always been a fan of hazelnut, what kind do you like?" 


He looked over to Chancey, noticing that her eyes were wide with wonder. "Yeah, heaven's tools, really neat stuff, just wait till after our first session," he nodded towards the window, "all kinds of neat stuff out there. So, what kind do you like?" He held the pot over the plain white mug.


"Uh, I don't really know, I've never really drank coffee before."


"Oh, this will be interesting then, a surprise for both of us then," Lance said as he tipped the pot over, a light brown liquid pouring out of the pot and into the mug. Lance furled his brow, "I don't think that's coffee, huh." He grabbed the mug, fascinated that it was cold, rather than hot. "Here," he said as he handed it to Chancey.


She took a tentative sip, then smiled. "It's chocolate milk," she said.


"Oh, that's a first," Lance said, returning the smile and sitting back at his desk. He gathered the papers together that were sitting on his desk, Chancey's report, "so I'm sure Peter filled you in on heaven and everything, right?" 


"Some basics, I guess, I'm just still really lost. This was the first place they sent me," Chancey said, her voice kind of squeaky. 


"I always tell them that they should really take the new ones on a tour of the Grand Cafeteria, they've got soooo many cakes there. Either go there, or something, just to make the transition easier, but no, they always send them to one of us," Lance said, "but no worries, this will be a quick session, I want you out there," he said pointing out the window, "that's where all the fun is at.


"So," Lance said, trying to prep himself. It was always difficult trying to just dive in with patients. Most had breakdowns, others got angry, usually aiming their mugs of hot coffee at Lance. "Is there anything you want to talk about first?" He figured getting hit by cold chocolate milk wouldn't be too bad.


Chancey took a sip from her mug, looking around the room, smiling at the paintings. "No, not really, I think I'll be alright here."


"Are you sure?" Lance asked, looking down at her papers. Long history of abusive relationships, ended when one boyfriend in particular slit her throat. "You can trust anyone here, Chancey, we're all good people."


"No, I understand, I just feel like I'm going to be alright here."


Lance smiled. "You're right, you will be fine here. I think that will be enough for today. It's mandatory that you do come back a week from now though, just to check and see if you are transitioning fine."


"Yes, Peter mentioned that," she said, taking another sip from her mug, smiling much wider now. 


"Okay then," Lance said, "if you're ready to go, just step out the door. You'll be greeted by a good friend of mine, Tom, and he'll show you some choices on where you'll be living. There's some good stuff out there, beach houses, mountain houses, even city apartments if that's your thing, they're all wonderful, and if you want to change and go somewhere else, that's just as fine."


After a few more minutes of details, Chancey thanked him, shook his hand, then stepped out of the office. The walls faded back to their plain white selves, paintings disappearing, window shrinking back to size. 


"Wait," Lance muttered, "let's keep it like that." The walls turned blue again, the window grew bigger, and the paintings came back.


Lance walked around his desk, and plopped himself down into the purple beanbag, thinking about Chancey, wishing that more of his patients had been like her.

For the first time in human history, a robot adopts a human child.

“What’s her name?” Roger asked. The coffee he had drunk earlier had sat heavy in his stomach. His intestines gurgled as he did his best to keep a straight face as he talked to Paul. The cleaning maid was busy dusting the few books he had on his office shelves, but Roger paid no mind to her.

“Uhh,” Paul muttered as he sifted through the papers, “says here her name is Jem. Six years old. Lived in foster care for only a few months. Her mother passed away.” Paul paused, flipping the papers over in his hands. He had a nervous tick; his upper lip would curl and twitch, causing his bushy mustache to bounce about.

“No, dammit,” Roger said. He wanted to hurry up and settle this last case before he soiled himself. “The foster parent, her name,” Roger grunted.

“It’s name,” Paul said.

“It?”

“Karel. It’s a robot, one of those newer models.”

Roger turned in his chair to look at the cleaning maid. She had moved from the bookshelves and was now wiping down a wooden table.

“Like her?” Roger said, jerking a thumb at the maid.

“Yeah, but a new model, like I said earlier.”

“Maid,” Roger said with authority, “get the hell out of here.”

The maid’s body went from crouched over the table to straight up and rigid. Her eyes showed no emotion.

“When would you like me to return?” the maid’s computerized voice chirped.

“I’ll call you,” Roger said. He had completely forgotten about his bubbling bowels. The maid left the office, gently closing the door behind her. “You mean to tell me a robot managed to adopt a child?” Roger asked.

“Have you not been watching the fucking news?” Paul said.

Roger shrugged.

“It was a pretty big deal,” Paul continued, “went to the supreme court and everything. Karel had a sound case, explained that there wasn’t any law that forbid a child being adopted by a robot. All that mattered was that the child would be well taken care of.”

“A robot managed to convince a court that it could take care of a child?” Roger asked.

“Like I said, it’s a newer model. Scientists really need to cool their shit. Pretty soon those bots will be in nursing homes. By that time, they’ll be taking care of us. Imagine that, a cold mechanical hand wiping shit out of your wrinkly ass.”

Roger shook his head and leaned back into his chair. He took a deep sigh.

“When do they get to the house?”

“Mansion,” Paul said.

Roger sat forward in his chair, guts once again bubbling, but he ignored it. "Mansion?"

“Yeah, the first thing the robot did when it got it’s own freedom was play the stock markets. Got millions within a week.”

“Jesus.”
   
“You know,” Paul continued, “Karel was the one who called earlier, you talked to it.”
   
“It was the one who asked for police escorts?” Roger said, a tinge of disbelief in his voice.
   
“Yup, you had no idea.”
   
“It sounded like a real person!” Roger yelled. He wasn’t sure if he felt excited or angry that a robot had duped him.
   
The two sat in silence for a few moments. It wasn’t until Roger’s stomach gurgled that the silence was broken.
   
“What would a robot as smart as Karel want with a child?” Roger asked.
   
“They asked it that during the trials. It explained that it had ran out of tasks that a normal human would spend their lifetime to achieve, except for one,” Paul answered.
   
“Have a child?”
   
“Yup.”
   
“And the judges bought that?”
   
“Yup.”
   
“Jesus, how was the crowds reaction?”
   
Paul stood up from the chair. He raised his hands and sat them on the top of his head. “They rioted,” he said. “Explains why Karel wants escorts.”
   
“We’re going to have to bring a lot of officers with us,” Roger finally spoke.
                                               

                                ***

Bottles were thrown into the side of the brick mansion. They crashed, exploding into a million pieces of shards. They glittered white and silver as they fell towards the ground, first reflecting the moonlight in mid-flight, but then reflected the red torches that the mob carried as they finally settled on the ground.

Cries of anger and disgust filled the chill November air. The police did their best to hold off the mob, screaming through their megaphones and waving their pistols, but still, the mob persisted.

Karel watched from the second floor window, tapping a calm finger at her chin. She didn't feel fear or anger towards the mob; she was incapable of it. Her processors did tell her that it was ironic that the crowds were using actual flame torches during their protests. She scanned the Internet for Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein".

The power to her mansion flickered out. She raised her head and looked around, assessing what the possibilities of a break-in were. After factoring in the police presence and reconfirming that she had locked and bolted all the doors, she came to the conclusion that the chances of a raid were at zero percent.

"Karel?" a voice called from down the hall.

Karel immediately stopped whatever processes she was running and quickly jogged out of her study room.

"Yes?" she called out as she neared the bedroom.

She stepped through the door, and glanced to where Jem was. The room was pitch black from the lack of power, but Karel could still use her night-vision to see.

"Karel, it's really dark, and I'm scared," Jem said.

Karel’s sensors could tell that Jem was on the verge of crying. She turned away from Jem, and lifted her blouse. She opened her chest cavity, revealing a mess of wires, gears, and other mechanical gadgetry. In the center of her chest, was an orb that her body used to store excess power. It glowed a bright blue. Karel twisted it and removed it from her chest.

She closed her chest cavity, pulled her blouse down, and turned to face Jem, glowing heartlight in hand.

"Here, darling," Karel said softly, "I've got a new nightlight for you, and this one won't ever run out, even if the mean people outside turn off the power."

Jem sat up in her lavish bed, eyes wide in awe. She reached out for the heartlight, and then pulled away, "Is it hot?"

Karel shook her head, "No sweetie, it won't hurt you, here," she said as she reached out with the heartlight.

Jem took it in her hands, the heartlight bathing her face in a warm blue light. "It's really pretty," Jem said.

"I'm glad you like it," Karel said. Her sensors picked up words from the protesters outside.

*It's a fucking abomination! It can't care for a child! Let us fucking gut it!*

Karel stood away from Jem's bed, wanting to go back to her study so she could reassess their safety. She was halfway out the door when Jem called out again.

"Karel?"

The robot immediately stopped. She suspended all processes again without hesitation.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me a story?"

Karel turned back to Jem and smiled.

*It's a fucking monster! Yeah! She can't care for a child!*

She closed the bedroom door, blocked off her outdoor audio sensors, and went to sit at Jem's side.

"Yes, I can do that, what story would you like to hear?"

"Umm, little red riding hood, do you know that one?" Jem asked.

Karel scanned the Internet, finding thousands of different renditions of the tale. Her algorithms sifted through the stories, finding the best version of the story that Karel believed Jem would find enjoyable. Her scan finally settled on one rendition, a rendition that Karel's processes were 100% sure that Jem would find favorable.

"Yes, actually I do," she answered within a fraction of a second.
Karel recounted the tale, pitching her voice up and down along with the rhythm of the story, lowering it down to a growl when the wolf made an appearance, and adding a shrill playful cry when the wolf made its attempt to gobble up little red riding hood. Jem smiled and giggled.

Finally the story ended, and Karel showed her empty palms to Jem. "There, did you enjoy that?" Karel asked. She was certain that Jem would answer positively.

"Yeah, I did!" Jem said aloud.

Karel smiled and saved the story into one of her special purpose registers for further use.

"But," Jem continued.

Karel tilted her head to the side.

"It's not how my mom used to tell it," Jem finished, tears building in the corner of her eyes.

Karel was awestruck. She was certain that her chosen rendition would be perfect. She scanned the story back and forth, wondering if she had made an error, but no, her algorithms were correct. A feeling filled her sensors, the closest that she could ever feel to anxiety. She scanned the Internet again, hoping that somehow within the thousands of little red riding hood tales was the version that Jem's deceased mother had told.

But there weren't any algorithms at Karel's disposal that could discern whether or not a version was the one that Jem's mother had used. She quickly rerouted most processor power to try and piece together an algorithm that would find it, but no matter what, the algorithm returned the same inconclusive results. Karel wanted to continue searching and building, but she saw a tear streak down Jem's face.
Karel halted her search, and instead used a delicate finger to wipe away the tear.

"I'm sorry," Karel whispered, drying her finger on her blouse, "I don't know how your mother told the tale, but-"

Karel scanned the Internet again, amassing millions of fairy tales, filtering out unfavorable tales and highlighting ones that were popular around the world. She pieced together common ideas and motifs, examined the heroes and heroines of the tales, and built upon the magical worlds that the stories contained.

Her processors used all of these common elements and created a unique story that blended together every positive value in a fairytale.
Karel had created a unique story, and for the first time in her existence, she wasn't exactly sure if it was favorable or not.

"- I do know this one tale that you might like."

In the glow of the blue heartlight, Karel recounted the brand new fairytale for the first time ever to Jem as the mob raged outdoors.

A man wakes up after death, realizing that his life was nothing more than a virtual reality video game which temporarily clears your memories beforehand. It is nothing more than an everyday leisure activity done by the people in the future.

Trevor inhaled deeply and stepped in between Serenity and the mugger. He felt Serenity's hand grasp his hip, tugging him backwards. She was screaming, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins had muffled everything. He looked into the barrel of the pistol, and then shifted his gaze up to the mugger.
The mugger cringed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

It was the bang of the gun that had unclogged Trevor's ears. It was the bang of the gun that signaled the end of his life. It was the bang of the gun that awakened Trevor.


He screamed as he sat up from the recliner. His heart was still pounding in his ears as he gazed around the small room that he was in. It was all so unfamiliar; there were paintings that he had never seen before in his life strewn about the room, and there was a fat cat in the corner laying on an unmade bed.

Trevor attempted to stand but had his head yanked back; there was something attached to his scalp.
A loud booming voice echoed in his ears, "Please wait as current memories are reloaded, please take this moment to reflect back on your experience."

Trevor reached up and felt a thick cord that was screwed into the top of his head. He ran his fingers along the cord and screamed in panic when he felt that it was actually dug into his scalp.

He frantically pulled at the cord as the voice in his head boomed again, "Please refrain from removing the cord. If there is an emergency, please reattach the -

The voice fizzled out as Trevor finally managed to remove the cord. He rolled out of the recliner, taking big gasps of air as he laid on the ground. It felt like there were no muscles at all in his legs. He tried to stand, but quickly crumbled back to the ground.

"Serenity?" Trevor called out. "Serenity?" He called again, finally sitting up from the floor. There were soda cans strewn about and what looked like dirty laundry. Trevor finally managed to stand, feeling the indention in his scalp. It made him nauseous.

"Serenity?!" Trevor screamed. The cat that had been sitting on the bed meowed again. It stood, stretching its legs, and then jumped off the bed and walked towards Trevor. He disregarded the cat and stepped over it as it attempted to rub against his legs. On the other side of the strange bedroom, Trevor found a door.

He called out his wife's name again before opening. He placed his hand on the door handle and twitched as the cold metal met his sweating palm; he twisted the knob and pushed through.

Trevor stepped into what appeared to be a living room. There was a couch pressed up against the wall and an extremely large television set across from it. Sitting on the couch was a short balding man with frayed hair on the sides of his head. He was wearing thick rimmed glasses. In his lap was a large bag of cheese puffs.
The man finally noticed Trevor. "Oh shit man, did you fucking die this quick?"

"Where's Serenity?" Trevor asked the stranger.

"She's right there man, what happened?" The stranger said as he pointed a cheesy finger to the other side of the room.

Trevor followed the point and there in the corner of the room, he saw Serenity sitting in a recliner with the same type of cord attached to her scalp.

"What the fuck? What is that on her head? What was on my head?" Trevor said as he quickly walked towards Serenity.

"Hey man, wait," the stranger said.

Trevor gasped as he finally got to Serenity's side.

She was young. So young. She looked exactly like she had whenever they were in college together 30 years ago. Her eyes were closed. It looked as if she were sleeping.

"Jesus Christ," Trevor said as he raised a hand and gently caressed her cheek. Trevor gasped again when he saw his hand. The skin on the back of his hand was taut. The scar that he had gotten when he was 12 from trying to skateboard was gone. He turned his palm over and gazed.

"What the hell is going on Trev, come on man, talk to me. Are you okay?" The stranger said.

"Who are you?" Trevor said, turning to the man.

"It's me, Dewey. Do you not recognize me?"

"Dear God no."

"Oh shit," Dewey said, "I think you glitched man. Did you rip out the cord?"

Trevor raised his hand to his head. He rubbed at the indention. "Yeah, I didn't, I didn't know what the hell that was."

"Jesus, Trev. Why'd you do that?" Dewey said as he pushed past Trevor. He grabbed onto the cord that was attached to Serenity's head and twisted.

"What are you doing to her?" Trevor asked.

"I'm waking her up, she's gonna enjoy the shit out of this," Dewey said.

"How long is it gonna take?"

"Maybe 5 minutes tops, depending on how far yal got into the game," Dewey replied, trying to contain his laughter.

"This isn't funny. What the hell is going on?" Trevor yelled.

"Trev, man, I don't know how far you got in the game, so I don't know what technology you remember, or even what year you and Sere picked. Umm, you know what video games are, right?"

Trevor nodded.

"Okay, uhh, what year was it? What year do you remember?"

"2014."

"Okay, uhh, yeah, I think I read about that era in history class a few months back. Yeah, okay. Now, go ahead and sit down and I'll try to explain this to you. This is so fucking cool, Sere is gonna flip."

Frank grabbed a hold of Trevor's arm and guided him over to the couch. "Sit sit sit, you goof."
 
Trevor sat down, and Frank did the same next to him after throwing the bag of cheese puffs to the side.
"Okay," Frank said, "what you think was real life was actually a very popular massive multiplayer online virtual reality game, MMOVRG, or 'movers', as the gaming community like to call them. You and Sere were playing, hopefully co-op. She didn't cheat on you did she? Or did her psycho-ass stab you?"

"No, no, we were getting mugged," Trevor said. The words felt alien in his mouth. They left his tongue feeling numb. "We had just gotten done with a dinner date, we were just walking," Trevor continued speaking, using his hands to rub at his own face. He jerked his hands away when he found that the wrinkles that were once covering his face were gone.

He looked over to Dewey, "How old am I?"

"Uhh, shit man, you're 21st was just last month, here, stand," Dewey said, pulling on Frank's arm. He pointed with a still cheesy finger towards a mirror that had been hanging on the wall.

Trevor stood and gazed into the mirror, eyes widening in disbelief when he saw that the man that he had saw in the mirror that morning while shaving was now replaced with a young adult who still had the random zit sprawled across his forehead.

He brought his hand up to touch at his forehead, but found that he had trouble lifting it. The room began to darken, his nose became runny, and his head started to spin. He wobbled a few steps back. Dewey put a hand on his shoulder.

"Trev, stay with me man, oh fuck I'm not gonna be able to carry you if you fucking pass ou-


Trevor opened his eyes. He was back in the recliner in the messy bedroom. Standing to his side was Serenity. She was smiling at him. Seeing her so young made Trevor's heart flutter.

"You saved my life, you nerd," she whispered to him.

Trevor tried to sit up, but felt his head jerk back. He reached a hand up and felt the cord was again attached to his head. His first instinct was to remove it.

"No, don't do that," Serenity softly spoke, gently removing his hand from the cord. "It's gonna be okay, please trust me. You're going to hear someone speak, and you'll remember everything. Just relax, close your eyes."

Trevor began to hyperventilate. Sweat beaded out on his forehead. All he wanted to do was sit up and hold her in his arms.

A loud booming voice echoed in his ears, "Please wait as current memories are reloaded, please take this moment to reflect back on your experience."

"I need to get up," Trevor said, trying to pull away from the recliner again.

Serenity pushed him back down with a firm hand. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"Beginning reload," the voice echoed.

His eyes widened.

While visiting earth, a demon severely injures himself and finds himself completely at the mercy of a local pastor that stumbles upon him.

"Only one slice of pepperoni Father Louie?" the zitheaded clerk asked.

"Just Louie right now," Louie said as he loosened his collar. He had forgotten to remove it after that evening's sermon. "I'm trying to ease up on the grease, Kurt."

Kurt snickered, "But it would mean that you'd meet God all the much sooner if you had the extra slice.."

Listen here you little shit, Louie wanted to say, but he held back. The last thing he needed to do as a new pastor in the city would be to start his own rumors.

Louie is a child rapist! Louie is fat! Louie is just, well, kinda weird.

"Well, Kurt, doesn't mean I don't want to enjoy the life the Lord gave me first before I do meet him, don't I?"

Kurt paused a moment. "So, you do want the extra slice?"

Louie sighed. He had decided to allow himself 5 publicly spoken cuss words a year, and he was about to spend his first one. It was January 3rd.

"Fuck off pizza-face," Louie said as he slapped $2 onto the counter. The surprised look was well worth the first use of the cuss word. Louie smiled as he turned away, lifting the greasy slice of pizza to his mouth. He exited the small pizza parlor, wanting to look back and cherish the look on the face of Kurt, but he felt it'd look cooler if he just continued to walk out.

His small apartment was a few blocks away. It'd take him 30 minutes to arrive if he followed the streets, but he knew it'd only take him 15 if he just cut through the alleyways. It was well worth it to him; he'd avoid the bustling traffic of the city and the noisy pedestrians walking to and fro chattering on their new smart phones to their "bae". Definitely well worth it.

Louie was down to the crust of the pizza when he arrived at the last alleyway separating him and his apartment. There were a few dumpsters lined against the brick walls of the neighboring apartment building and Louie had to make the quick decision of whether to stuff the pizza crust down his gullet or lose what was left of his appetite when he inhales the rotten odors emanating from the trash bins.
He decided to compromise by taking the pizza crust and biting off half and throwing the rest to the side. Father, that is littering, but he shrugged. That rats had to eat too.

A hand shot out from the side of the dumpster and grabbed onto Louie's pant leg, nearly causing him to choke on the chewed up crust in his mouth. He gagged on the crust, leaned forward, and vomited all over the person who had been sitting behind the dumpster.

"Jesus fuck!" Louie sputtered as he finally recomposed himself. He took several breaths and wiped the tears from his eyes, the taste of pizza mixed with stomach acid still on his tongue. "I'm so sorry, I-

And Louie froze as he saw that what he thought was a bum was actually what appeared to be a bum, but with bright red horns protruding from his forehead. He was laying face first in the moist muck that was now mixing with freshly chewed mozzarella.

Louie went rigid, wondering if Kurt had somehow managed to slip LSD onto the pizza without him noticing. The thought was pushed aside when the bum with horns tugged at his pant leg again.
"Hey," the bum muttered, "can you help me?"

Louie blinked his eyes several times, wishing that the horns would disappear with each blink. But they remained. He blinked some more, but it helped none.

"Uhh, I, uhh, you have, ehh," Louie stuttered.

The bum reached up to his head, grasping hold of one of his own horns. He turned his head to the side, laying his cheek into the vomit. He let out a slow wheezing sigh, "I'm already losing form. Please, I need you to help me."

Louie would have vomited again if he hadn't already done so. He took a few moments to assess the situation. It would've been easier to have just kicked the bum in the face and run off to his apartment, but there would possibly be consequences for kicking a demon in the face. Louie decided it was best to just be honest.

"I'm a fucking priest!" Louie slightly yelled in a weak attempt to assert dominance. He figured his best plan of offense would to be to quickly show that he was in power.

"I don't care," the bum said in between coughs. Each inhale had to have been mixed with fumes of Louie's vomit.

"I, uhh, but, there's the whole thing, with like," Louie stammered.

"Just help me, please, I don't harm anyone," the bum said.

Louie looked around the alleyway, hoping to God that there was someone else watching, someone else to help share this ridiculous burden, but there were was no one to be found.

"How do I know you're not going to just gut me or something, something demons do, I dunno what you guys do, but it couldn't be good for people like me, ya know?"

"You won't know, but you have my word, I won't do anything," the bum spoke, his voice now beginning to crack.

"Yeah, you know, I watch the movies, I know how these things go. I'm going to help you, and you'll do demon things to me," Louie said, now becoming agitated. Out of all the people in the world he would be the one to end up having an encounter with a demon.

"Then just walk away, someone else will probably come by," the bum muttered. He let go of Louie's pant leg.

Louie sighed. "Look, I wouldn't even know how to help you."

"Just go," the bum said, slapping at Louie's leg, "just go, someone else will come. Someone else more capable of wearing that damn collar than you."

The words stung at Louie like a flurry of wasps that were claiming territory on his chest. "Shit, I'm going to regret this," Louie spoke as he knelt down and grabbed a hold of the bum's frail arm. He grunted as he picked up the bum into a kneeling position, placed the bum's arm over his shoulder, and they stood up. "But if you do gut me or some sick shit like that, at least I know I'll be going to the pearly gates."

"I guess, that's a good way to look at it," the bum sputtered.
The two made their way to Louie's apartment.