WhoaitsZ

uhhhh this is hard. i share stuff i do a lot, but never anything i wished to continue on. my self esteeme has just plained died.
so i'm forcing myself to post this.... any thoughts apprecitated: BUUUUUUUT

i never edit my shit till its done. you will find typos! a bunch! you will get confused!
its okay! its the sample! enjoy... (ya, right)

What I need to do is think of a good alibi. . That was one of Z’s many thoughts about the issue at hand. Where to go, remember who had seen him before, where he was at that time and where he needs to be in the short future.

It’s odd having to be so careful and try to not be suspicious. It took much thought of thinking thoughts normally not thinkable. You had to make sure people knew you, knew you to be somewhat of a wanderer, but think they have you pegged down. They need to know your routine. Not a nomadic fashion, but a door to door kind of life.

Z could do about anything imaginable if he kept his cool and focus on the here and now. He can zone in on events and just do the actions necessary to make things happen. Simple as breathing. But now he was thinking. Thinking means it’s not natural, not instinct. People who concentrate on walking may walk into a hole because they concentrate so hard on where not to walk that they do not see the pitfall they are stepping into.

So Z did not want to think. But he had to.

Z walked back to his car and got a small cardboard box that weighed maybe two pounds, looked around one more time to see if he saw anybody around or not, confirmed that he did not see anyone, and strode to the door of the adobe house.

Z knocked on the door and then heard footsteps approaching his direction.

“Hello?” called an old man’s voice, weak and thin.

“It’s me, Sam. No worries, unless I have to stand out here. May I come in now?” Z asked, slightly annoyed at his tension.

“Of course!” came a jolly sounding voice from the same old tired man.

Z knew he’d be welcome, yet he still did not want to just enter. Scaring elderly people is not a good way to keep them in health. Z walked in and breathed a low breath of relief. Why am I so nervous?

His nervousness seemed to be uncalled for. Everything went as expected.

What he saw inside the old man’s house put him small awe. It was so pretty, so simple, so bare of many things people believe are necessary for their homes. Sam was not a simple man by any means, he was just poor. But his house was truly beautiful.

Sam’s place was not very big, a simple living room with a couch, TV, PC, and a small kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Not fancy. Simply gorgeous, though. Sam had turned his walls and ceilings into a myriad of beautiful scenery. He has a lush jungle-like setup in his bed room with pictures of several different types of great parrots and reptilians. His kitchen had pictures of garden-like scenery. On what appeared to be several acres of land showed an old barn and vegetable garden beside it.

“That was my house before this sickness hit me.” Sam said, sounding almost like a teacher telling you the history of your country. “I had signed deals that the government said would be okay. I had five acres of solid hemp. A clothing company had made up the contract with me. I was set for years on the one harvest. Bastards,” Sam said in a low monotone. Too low for Z’s comfort. A tone that said “I give up”.

Defeated. Damn those hypocritical congressmen. They are loaded and rich, simply working off of other people, playing with people as if they lived for one long unending game of Kangaroo court.

Sam grew quiet and rested on one of his cabinets. “It’ll always work out in the end, Sam.”, Z said quietly and then grinned and quoted, “Even when all is lost, there is something to be found. Where there is something to be found, then there is always hope of something more. The Big Picture never reveals itself easily, m’boy, it takes some polishing to see the old BP. . . “

Sam smiled a weak, fake smile and finished the quote “And as long as something can be found there is unknowing. As long as there is something unknown, we cannot say we have no more hope because we know there is something.” Sam finished in a low monotone. “I am sorry, Z.”

“No need for you to feel sorry for speaking your mind, Sam. Never be so silly. I cannot imagine the trials you face right now and I pray I-“

“Me, too, Z. no one deserves this”, Sam interrupted, oddly showing his house off with his arms as if to say “TA DAH!”.

“I pray I never do”, Z repeated and finished.

“What did Dr. Philip say, Sam?”

“SSDD, kid. He said that it is in my lungs, too, and God knows I can feel it. God damn God.”

“Sam, I love you. I love you very much, and I love all, but do not speak that way in front of me again”. Z stated in a cold, clean, clear, but cold deadly voice.

Sam just smiled. “I apologize Z. I’m just down.”

Z forced himself to smile. “I know, Sam. So does He. I grow angry too, but I never get to read life’s script, ya know, and until I do read one or see its end I can’t see me blaming the Author. For all I know, he adds a happy ending. And if not, well, it was still a decent read.”

“Perhaps. The cancer is in my lungs now. So much for hoping I’d be in prime health if I lay off the smokes, huh? Well, it would have been a waste of money anyhow. Back to the doc. The cancer will be fully in my system within ten weeks if I somehow live that long”, Sam stated, not depressingly. Knowingly, acceptably.

“This will ease your pain. And don’t talk any smack about it being evil. It’s clean and much safer than the Morphine you take.” Z told Sam, handing the box to him. “Just do not show it off, stick with a water bong, and do not do anymore than what I wrote in the instructions. Too much won’t hurt you, per se, but I think saving you the pain is a big enough price to ask that you save a clear head unless you hurt too badly. Fair enough?”

“Yes it is. How much would this be worth?”

“Twenty years, old man.”

“In money, boy!”

“Not sure. I’d not be shocked if it would go for $2,000. And that’s if I leave it pure. If I were a pusher and con man I could splice it with some other herb or cheaper pot and probably make four grand easily.”

Sam’s mouth twisted. “If the hemp-“

“Sam, the hemp did fail. You are broke. Take this, use it when needed and don’t worry. You have foodstuffs?”

“Yes”, Sam said sullenly, as if he were a child. “I have plenty of food. I have the garden…. It makes me ache in the body, but the mind loves it.”

Z smiled warmly. “Yes, the mind is always worth it. That’s why I say to use this as needed. I know you know; I just worry.”

Sam nodded. The old man had tears.

“That bad?”

Sam nodded. It was hitting him now.

“Have a two liter bottle, by chance? Like a Pepsi?”

Sam stood up and Z gently pushed him back. “Relax, show me where.”

Z took his directions and opened the cabinet top left up from the sink. His took in a deep breath, exhaled, checked his temper then brought out a bottle that was very much not a soft drink.
“Beautiful.” Z snarled. How much?”

Sam looked shocked. “Thirty bucks, Z. It’s only something I do every once in awhile. Give me a break! I’m a good sixty years your elder, I am not a child!”

“I have risked years of jail time and much more you know nothing about to help you out. And you still do such things? Don’t treat you like a child? I should have left you to rot. Act older and I’ll treat your age what it deserves.”

Z poured it down the drain. Why must it be this way? I’ll be the one fighting tears if this continues.

Z took a mostly empty soda out of the cabinet and poured it into a cup, then got a knife from the utensil drawer and cut the bottle. He proceeded to show Sam how to make a bong.

Z normally did this with cookies or what not for people, but with this kind of sickness and pain, it was a quick blow and eating it took far too long for it to work.

“Better?” Z asked kindly.

Sam nodded and apologized for his childish behavior, for which Z shrugged off. “Worry not. I can relate. I have to go. Now, don’t take what I say as a scolding but it is important that you hear me out and do as I tell you.”

Z explained the dosages, showed Sam the list of instructions again. “This should last you an entire year. I will be back in one year. If you need something, go through the proper channels and I’ll try to help. I have a lot more patients to check up on. Do not use that Morphine! I’d take it with me if I knew there’d be no one to come and make sure you’re using it properly. I know it has to be a difficult role to play, but you have to do it. Do what you can, when you can. Find a safe, put the Morphine in it. If I need it when I come back, I’ll grab it. Fair enough, sir?”

Sam nodded and smiled. “The pain is much more tolerable now.”

Z forced a smile and nodded, trying to not frown. The pain is more tolerable. God, how bad was it? Z shook Sam’s hand and left.



Z pulled into off the highway onto a small dirt covered road. The road led through about half a mile of forested land, revealing lush green trees all around. God only knew what all kinds of wildlife lived here in these woods. It was a serene place for anyone who cares for the earthly pleasures in life, warm but not overbearing. Martin gourds were the only true oddity her. Z loved and embraced all life except for mosquitoes; the reason for the gourds for the Martins, a bird that consumed up to one thousand mosquitoes per day.
Z saw his small cabin as he pulled up to it and wondered how the place had been lately. He didn’t keep any dogs, something he missed, but he prefered the squirrels in birds and he hated leaving a dog behind anyway; there was no way he could be accompanied by anything when he went out of town.

Getting out of the car he stretched widely and breathed the air in deep. He sneezed. Damn allergies.

He opened the door to his place and went inside and stopped a moment so his eyes could get use to the lesser light. He’d have to do something soon for more light, but he didn’t have many ideas or options on doing that, yet.

He walked to his PC like some nerd who had been away too long. Well, maybe I am a nerd, who knows? He thought dryly. He logged on and turned his email on.




He had brought about three people to his home, a friend of his being one of them that owed him his life. Z had found him on the street one day and asked the guy why he was a bum.

“Bum?” the burly man asked angrily.

“Well, if I assumed wrong I beg humbly for forgiveness”, Z spoke in a not very well contained sarcastic sneer. He had had too much drink that night and wanted to fight something.

“Have any money?”

“Plenty.”

“Can I have any?”

“Uh, I don’t believe a mistakenly placed insult is worth money, sir.”

“I am a bum and I need some money bad. Um.. “ the bum looked at Z’s car. “Clean your windows?” he asked Z in a doubting voice.

“The windows are clean enough that you’d be cleaner if you wallowed on them.”

“You’re a rich man, do you have any packages I can carry?”

“Not a one.”

The bum was growing gitery. “What is wrong, friend?” Z asked in a real voice that sounded concerned. To Z’s surprise he was concerned. What had gotten into him to become such a bastard?

“I need food.”

“Burger King work?”

“Yes, but I’d need to eat tomorrow too.”

Z figured he had nothing to loose, so. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The bum’s eyes grew tight, his jaw clenched now and his right cheek clinched.

“Listen, I will do what I can but you fucking suck at politics and politeness. Tell me straight up what are you on?”

The bum spoke so softly Z barely heard. H.

Z frowned deeply, sighed and hit his steering wheel.

“How long?”

“About four weeks.”

Z blinked. The guy looked like he’d been at this for years, though it explained his lack of skills for begging.

“Four weeks. You look like shit. Four? You sure? It is August.”

The bums barely kept his voice from grating and spoke harshly, “I know the date. I just haven’t had good heroine in about 12 weeks.”

“Jonesing.” Z sighed, under his breath.

The bum looked surprised. “One jolt.”

“You never explained why you look like shit. Heroine takes longer under you’re completely fucking stupid.”

“I bought some stuff that treated me badly.”

“Back to back.” Z spoke.

The bums eyebrows rose high and he looked ready to flee.

“If you try to run I’ll fucking run you down, boy. There’s not anyone around and you’re scum. You are lower than a diseased rat in New York. I could kill you with a cops gun and be okay about it as long as I gave the cop a $20.”

The bums face went white. He passed out.

“Whoopsie.” So melodramatic!


Z took the bum home and tied him down onto a bed he put together. He had gotten some clean needles and a little heroine he accumulated here and there and gave the guy a small dosage. It wouldn’t be much good to go through all that shitty dialogue if he died now.

An hour or two later the bum moaned and freaked out.

Z walked out of the cabin, towards a small stream. He sighed. He knew this would be a long few days. Long. Loud. Ugly. Sigh, he thought to himself and did it too.

“Let’s see if I lucked out.”

“He traced a trout line on the ground and lifted it up, pulling up a small net of fish. He did luck out. He had three catfish. He examined all three, careful not to get himself filleted, and noticed one of them had barely been hurt by the hook and actually felt no pain. Two would fill him and his screamer. He let the unhurt one go and sighed again. If there is any justice I will pay for my food one day. Maynard had wrote “life feeds life, life feeds life, this is necessary”. He believed it. His conscience, though, never liked to kill.

He went to a chopping block and laid the catfish out and pulled out a long blade that was in one of many sheaths. This knife was very long at about nine inches, but slender, made to use quickly and razor sharp. He held the fish down with his left hand, fought a tear, and quickly brought the knife down then over in two very powerful and sharp gestures.

He fought the urge to puke, but he did not. He did it right this time, the fish was dead in less time than any other way short of a gun. He had learned how to murder fish quickly so they’d not suffer. The last time his did this… it didn’t go well. He had cried.

The second fish was done just as well and it was easier. He knew not rather to thank God for it to be easier or curse because he needed it to not hurt so bad yet feared the day he felt nothing to kill. Mr. Bum was still hollering so he decided to go ahead and finish his work here.


He walked into the cabin to see the bum dozing off. He went to the bum and poked him awake. Instead of hollering the bum looked like a deer that saw a diesel approaching, unable to look away from the lights drawing near.

“You gave me a jolt?” the bum asked softly, dully.
“A small dosage. What is your name?”

“Will. What in the hell am I doing here?”

“You almost died. I like ugly shit. My weak spot. I saved your life.”

“You’re weird, man.”

“You’re a fucking junkie whose been sticking needles from god knows where in your arm or leg or foot in hopes that a chemical that can kill you makes you feel better and you call me weird? Fucking bums.”

The bum just licked his lips and looked unsteady. He asked “If you’re so sweet, why am I tied down?”

“Because I rather not fight people who smell bad.”

“You gave me a jolt, why would I fight you?”

“Because you’ll not be getting anymore. And the term “jolt” stops now. Wil, listen to me a moment. You’re fucked up. I’m a practicing doctor who helps people. I will save you. You can thank me when its over. But you will stay tied up. Only fools trust junkies.”

“I am not ready to quit!”

“Then you’ll die.”

“Why not let me go?” Wil asked softly. Z wondered why he didn’t panic again.

“You were going to die if you didn’t get fixed up within an hour after we met. Wil, you passed out when I mentioned something that unsettled you. You would be dead. Now. But I saved you. I will not let you go. You will recover or I have a body to hide.”

The bums eyes. . . they changed a lot. Wil didn’t know rather to laugh or cry or what. The guy spoke frankly.

“My name is Z a-“

“Z?”

“yes.”

“Z? One letter? That is silly.”

“You keep criticizing me. You’re almost dead, tied up, scared, and you still criticize me. You have balls or are a computer programmer or something.” He said sarcasticly.

“I am.”

Z blinked. Okay, that was unexpected.

“That’s how I got this way. I did a bunch of research on heroine… I thought I could beat the system.”

“They say that people who are brilliant in one thing can be a pretty stupid motherfucker in reality” Z said lightly.

Wil glared, but didn’t comment.

“If you survive, I need help setting up a PC here.”

Wil blinked. “I guess that is fair if I survive. If.” Wil shook his head. This was so… odd.

“You’ll survive I think. You just. . you won’t like me for a few days.”

Wil nodded. Z had to admit the guy did carry character. He didn’t fuss or plead or say stupid things that most desperate people speak. This guy could be a strong ally for the Protectors.

“We’ll see,” Wil spoke softly. Defeated.

Boredom sat in on Z. The absolute worse type of depression possible to contain. He looked at his watch and realized it was time for some actually legit work.

WhoaitsZ

i omited the last short paragraph and we pick up below.

this is heavily flawed by ways of mispellings and errors. i have commited lit suicide often on accident due to editing before finishing. a comment would be appreciated.

also note that some of it will seem writtend very oddly. i am using Word so i have italics and bold and so on to help, but on here it's just typed out.

if anyone wantsa a doc of it, PM me



Since the whole heroine drama, Wil lived with Z for a few weeks, then slipped into his own apartment. Wil set up a good PC and some connections so Z could stay on-line and connected with different people and stay a bit more up to date with the news. He couldn’t believe he had been missing out for so long!

The two had their moments after Wil was untied. Drastic mood swings and sickness hit Wil relentlessly and showed no mercy whatsoever. But he made it through and Z somehow managed to not loose his temper or nerve. He expected it to be worse, really, but Wil did seem to want to quit; he didn’t just do it by force alone.

Z had created Wil a new birth certificate and some various IDs so Wil could get planted in a city and start a new life.

“How do you get all of this… stuff?” Wil asked at one point.

“I know a lot of people who do a lot of stuff both good and bad. A tool is a tool, use it anyway you can. I had given you some H once, remember? Its nasty shit and should never have existed, but it did and I got some awhile back. It went to good use, eh?”

“I guess it did at that. Just strange..”

“Strange is good, Wil. It is very good.”

So Wil got a part time job at a newspaper shop and worked with Z on different things. Wil had a knack for finding gossip and news and determining which was real of the two. Working at the newspaper shop left him tons of time to read and dozens of papers; he became a nice ascet to Z.

Z worked at a hospital or two and did a little home care work He loved helping people, but the medical field was not what it once was. Now medicine means ‘helping those who can afford it and close your eyes to those who cannot’. This attitude and the stupid politics got under his skin every day. But Z’s real downtime in this field was seeing patients wither away when there was hope, and nobody else gave a fuck.

For example: Sam was, if you recalled, had cancer. They did all they claimed they could in the hospitals, then sent him home to die. With Morphine. Morphine is one thing that sets Z’s temper into the stratosphere. He knew it was a great chemical for those on the verge of death who just need to let go. But for patients like Sam who have no less than a year and possibly a few years to live, it shouldn’t be an option, much less a solution.

But congress had decided to kill the patients who were no longer of real value. Sure, the government will adamantly deny such things, but they do not care for anything than their own needs.

Farm after farm after farm could be saved by hemp harvests. Pain could be managed, jobs could be created… but congress won’t let these ideas even try to form because their mind is set in cement. They stick with the ‘it’s a drug! Drugs are bad!’ sayings, too lazy to even find out facts.

Oh, and when you try to show them such facts they close their eyes and refuse to see.
Things like this kept Z’s mood down and he staid in a deep depression when he worked. Patients thought he didn’t like them, his co-workers didn’t care for his attitude. In general, he loved the people who needed help and resented the rest. So Z took a long vacation and tried to make some things happen. No rhetoric, no debates, no years of people debating over if something is black or white. He had people to help save. Fuck the others, they aren’t the ones in pain.
Z figured it was best to possibly add years of peace to two or three people than watch several patients unwittingly commit suicide. And people wondered why he was often in a sour mood.


Z had gotten a disturbing bit of news not too long ago concerning a dogfight. Fuckers buy pitbulls or mastiffs or what have you to do nothing but fight.

Z had to fight nightmares for about a month once after finding a boxer and pit mix. The dog was barely breathing, blood oozed from his ears and mouth, one eye punctured.

In his life, Z had seen a lot of bad shit. He’d seen dead folk, animals, he attended an execution at the local jail. It all sucked, naturally enough, but it was rarely something that happened due to the victim having lack of control. The reaped what they sowed.

This dog. This innocent victim of greed, brutality, and evil was blameless and maimed beyond reasoning. This was one night he could not hold the tears back after he got home and slowed down.

He still hoped to offer some kind of help and looked at the mutts’ body. It was cut, punctured, bones were broke, his black left paw was almost severed. There was no hope.
A fury had filled him that night, along with an unearthly sorrow, that took a very, very long time to exorcise. The anguish was simply everything but too much to bear.

He took a blanket from his car and place it over the dogs’ face and whispered in its ear “here, baby.” Z place a decent sized gun with a silencer to the dogs temple and unleashed mercy.

The dog jerked and stopped. Z stood up, place the dog in his truck, buried the body next to a favorite plum tree and went inside to weep like a child.

He called a cop her knew personally. They pretended to care, the went to the area, they filed no reports, they asked no questions. They didn’t give a damn one way or the other.


He was ready to do… something. What exactly he knew not, but something. For this very reason he avoided the area altogether. He had a lot of stuff he’d be best not caught for and he had too many people to help to risk.

So he had gotten word on this next fight. He consulted his Brothers and Sisters and they told him to do what he felt he should. Harming animals for necessary food was permited, harvesting off of the dead was alright, but uneccesary pain was not only not condoned, it could get you buried. This is why Z was one of the Brothers of the Protectors. He had a feeling that if he could avoid the fuzz a few more years he may become a Big Uncle; maybe even The Father.

Z had talked to various members about such problems, and to his relief, they agreed with him that such acts against natured could not be allowed to continue.

Flick had shown a little special interest in such matters and had advised Z to do what he must. Flick said he would support him and come to aid if needed. If Flick came, he could call on another. If the second came, there would be a meeting and they would discuss if such matters are to be avoided from there onward or if they need to take special interest.

Then Flick had shown up when Z was getting groceries and told him he had heard.

Z spoke quietly, “Tonight at 9 PM.”

Flick nodded and kind of. . . bounced. His energy was barely contained and it almost un-nerved Z. If he thought Flick would be on the other side of moral ground, he would be scared. Flick liked violence.

Moral violence, thought Z. He shook his head.

“Well look, I’m getting the duct tape and I have put in a few bottles of cleaner fluids in with my groceries so as to not appear suspicious of anything. Can you cover the rest?” Z asked quietly, getting a touch paranoid. This conversation is going by too long.

“No problem. A stronger man needs to carry the heavy shit anyhow. Until tonight, Brother.” And with those words, Flick was gone, all seven foot height, 280 pounds of muscle.

Z continued to shop some. Why not finish up? He picked up some soup and a few other goods and was home again in forty or so minutes.


Using some searching advice gotten from Wil, Z looked into ways to make decent devices to cause chaos and confusion. He didn’t need bombs or any such shit. Their own sick minds would end them this night.

This was one night that the net just didn’t quite do as he needed. He couldn’t find the information he wished to obtain. After dwelling on the events that the night would bring, he decided to leave early and snoop. He arrived at the abandoned warehouse about 7:50 or so. Good timing.

He peeked into a building or two to get an idea of what, where, and why of the situation and soon found an obvious lead. Stench of sweat, blood, vomit and other things he’d rather not dwell on lead him to the kennels.

What he witnessed hurt him even more. Puppies were being torn apart by dogs, animals were maimed and thrown at the dogs. The dogs were being driven mad. These dogs weren’t even meant to make it past the fight; these were meant to entertain.

Z felt his eyes cross in rage and he had to do a few breathing excercises before he did something completely idiotic and gave himself away. All would come to naught if he got caught.

8:20. Time was running out. He quickly went over the warehouse detail and took mental notes of all exits. He had always had an innate ability to memorize directions, routes and such in his mind’s eye and in moments he had all visible exits in his head.

8:55. Z heard a low sound that was most likely an automobile not too far off from where he hid. No lights, no noise. Flick.

Time to work.


“Do you have yourself an escape route?” asked Flick.

Z nodded. “Thanks for coming, Flick.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Believe me.”

Z wondered what in the world this Flick fellow did as a normal person holding a job. There was no telling. He could be a pharmacist or an animal trainer or a friggen priest for all he knew. It didn’t matter, really, but Z wondered. It was his nature to question.

Z quickly gave Flick the low down on the exits, the techniques the bastard dog fighters were using and mentioned how he didn’t know where the money winners were being held.

This obviously confused Flick.

“The dogs in there”, Z pointed toward one side of the building “are for excitement, entertainment, to get the blood pumping in the betters. They have driven the dogs mad and they will not fight well, but it’ll be slow and bloody. The betters will get the gist of the excitement and start placing bets. Thereafter, the real fighters come out. It is such a sick event.”

Flick nodded and growled under his breath. “No prisoners, yes?”
“Not a one. These fuckers should have been aborted. I have to tell your something though. A fact I hate, but have little choice about.”

“When this goes down, in the end, the dogs will all be dead too.”

Flick’s eyes blinked and he gave Z a look that made him shiver. “I believe I see but I suggest you explain. Now.”

Z frowned. Not at the hidden violent intentions Flick may produce for what they were to do, but for pure sorrow at the carnage that would ensue.

“Well, to get the people correctly, we have to give the dogs time to do their deeds. And now think: even if every dog is uninjured at the end, they will be put down in the end by a vet or the police. These dogs are not rehabible. They will die. This will only draw the cycle out longer.” He breathed a moment and then continued, “Now, the dogs will fight to the death. Against the people as well as each other. The blood that flows tonight is enough to cover both of our souls fifty times over, yet it is necessary. This way people will hesitate over doing more fighting.”

Flick agreed. “I want no part in hurting the dogs.”

“Neither do I, Flick. It is a necessary evil. We will save some dogs by assuring the death of a few.”

“Time to start up, Z.”

Z nodded and walked away.

redravin40

Reminds me a bit of Vacchs stuff.
Very civilized but hard at the same time.
A message with a hammer to drive it home.
You have an interesting character in Z and I would be very interested in any back story you have.
How did this man become a lawbreaker and why?
The relationships are well drawn out and you have a feel for dialog.
You say you don't like to rewrite or edit but that is one of the most important parts of writing.
I think a couple of rewrites with some back story could make this a publishable story.

WhoaitsZ

I just spoke out loud "well holy shit, somehow read it!"

I'm still writing now and should have a fair size follow up. Z gets even more extreeme heh. i am having a ball with this character.

as for editing - i will edit. just not til i'm done. see? if i go back and start before its' finished it will flop. its happened every time.

thanks for the comment on dialoge. my favorite part always.

ohand Z will have backstory to come, promise!

thanks red!

WhoaitsZ

(enjoy)



The fighting began about fifteen minutes ago and Z was going over the top exits once more to make sure they were secure. They couldn’t block the bottom exits until the real fighting began. He and Flick wouldn’t admit it but they had a low burn in them calling for blood.

It wasn’t a lust to cause suffering. Z despised people having to be in pain. Well, he despised good people being in pain. It was just the adrenaline of knowing that they were in serious danger and they were having to sneak around from not only men, but beast also. If they were caught here, the police were the last thing they worried about; no, if they were caught here they were dead.

All doors seemed secure and the night continued with no major incidents.

Z hated this part more than anything short of watching good people ache. Bordem. He needed something to do but was afraid to even breathe hard due to the surroundings. Thankfully, the main event was coming up. The people inside, men and women both aging maybe eighteen to fifty, were getting excited. Blood, sweat, urine, feces, and God only knows what other fluids were all over. It stunk to high fucking Hell.
It was time to finish what they started.

Z and Flick caught each other’s attention and used a type of hand code that the Protectors figured out for times like these. Top locked. Bottom, east, locked. Heavy, stone, block, exit, east. Ready, permenatly?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Z never hesitated, but this was big. If no one survived we’re talking thirty, maybe forty lives, he thought. God be with me and I pray I am doing the right thing. If not please forgive me.

Z had gotten an area so he’d be able to get to the kennels, which were only guarded by one man and he wasn’t paying attention and everyone was watching one of the main events.

Z pulled a garotte out and choked the dude until he didn’t move. Z made sure he was dead; he didn’t need any possibilities to occur. He placed a small wire on the lock of each kennel, a total of fourteen, and lead the wire through his exit.

He was out. Christ, but the sweat! He’d never have to exercise again with his heart beating this quickly. He signaled for Flick: ready? He got a nod. He looked in. they had no idea whatsoever as to what was happening. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He goes nothing. He struct his cord and heard a hiss; the wire sent an electrical wave to the kennels popping the lock of each one. As he did this, Flick dropped a 100 pound block in front of the door and threw a few mace grenades inside. Mayhem ensued.

As expected and hoped the dogs were far from happy. People were panicking and hell broke loose. It took almost no time form the dogs to start fighting each other and people. Z and Flick had left quickly and ran up the stairs of a building across the street and watched. “God have mercy”, Z spoke softly.

Flick watched, shuddered, but watched. Protectors took all actions seriously and part of the actions done involved them making sure they did it correctly. Uneccesary acts were less often pulled off if a so called innocent man watched what his actions brought to fruit.

They watched. They could barely sit still or believe what they did, but they watched and did not move a muscle.

Within twenty minutes most of the screams had stopped and the two human angels of death walked to their trap. All people were dead save one man curled in the back behind a table; the dogs were to busy finishing each other off. Three dogs remained.

The stink was unbearable and Flick almost lost everything he had eaten that day. “Never eat before cases like this, Flick. You should know better.”
Flick didn’t say a word, he just nodded.

Z pulled his pistol out that he had laid the other dog out with and shot one of the dogs and Flick was quick to follow. They shot the dude last; he was no innocent.

“Let’s leave this. . . place.”



For the first time in what he believed to be years, Z doubted. He doubted himself and Flick, the Protectors as a whole, his entire moral beliefs, everything. Even God.

It took him a couple of weeks to decide that he did indeed do the right thing. It is just one of those facts where what is said on paper is much easier than in reality. God, the odor and sight. Limbs severed, throats torn, disembowelment. It would be easier to believe demons came out of the Pit than those beautiful giant dogs were this powerful.

He shivered.

He logged onto the ‘net and yawned fiercely. He had never slept well, now he longed for a time where his sleep cycle was only ‘terrible’. The stink and blood, He thought again. He’d not forget this lesson. Not ever.

Email poured in. Hellos from friends, mail about penis and breast size, smut, a gazillion free dollars… and news. News. This is what he needed and feared. Ahhh, here, he thought, and saw:

Subject: dogfight statistics drop 30%
From: Flick@dontreplytofakemail.hah
Date: 3-09-04
To: stelthZ@hushmail.net

I was this and figured you’d feel better. I know it helped me… some. I’ll be back to a meeting in a week or two.

-F
What followed was a quick sypnoses about current crime statistics throught the area of Florida. According to the article the number of dogfights got cut drastically (about 80%) for a week, after which time picked back up to a steady 60% less than it was before the assault; but eventually raised further. One clipping read:

“Many gang wars percentages have risen, however, do to belief that the attack was an elaborate and well executed way of ridding of an entire outfit.
‘Well, at least both dogfighters stats and number of gang members both have droped dramaticly’, stated a local citizen.’ As for. . . “

Z felt much, much, much better. He wasn’t dumb enough to force himself to believe that knowing these facts would erase the facts that the had trapped dozens of people with thirteen or so dogs. But it did help.

It did matter. In one more moment of supreme weirdness he forced himself to acknowledge that the acts were justifiable. Unlike most people, Z didn’t argue for self satisfaction, he argued for truth. He honestly wish he had done wrong, for them he’d just have to know he fucked up. But knowing it was necessary meant heavy possibility of further events of that nature. He would do it again, but Jesus God knows he didn’t want to and he doubted even the danger could give his adrenaline the ability to override the dread of doing such again.

For a moment he felt a cool, feeling cover him. His God touched him to offer comfort and he embraced it; yet it only lasted mere seconds. He almost wept. Not since thousands of years have people fought so violently that even God’s soldiers who fought for Him could touch Him.

“Fuck this self pity. It was the right thing to do.”

He almost believed it.

In one last attempt at lighting his mood he logged on the “Tilted Forum Project”, or TFP, to find something amusing. He succeeded, watching a mock flame war between Antagony and some weird fuck named WhoaitsZ. Another theft of the letter Z! he thought sadly.
But even such silly antics only revived him shortly.

We did what we were supposed to.

(more to come)

WhoaitsZ

not a lot, but a few pages here. I had o take a break for a day or two; i sstarted trying so hard that i not only pailed to deliver, i started dwelling on failure. so i took a break. now i want to write again.

(uhhhhh fill in here)

In the month of May, 1970 Cliff Yates was born to a fair off family. He had one sister. They were never rich, but they never had to go hungry. Sometimes they went easy on activities due to lack of funds, but they were not hungry and they were never unsheltered.

Cliff enjoyed his life as a child and teenager. His parents, Nate and Olivia Yale, were very much in love and raised their son and daughter well.

Yet, as life is, something happened. Their lives changed.
Cheyenne Yale was a sister and friend to Cliff. Cheyenne was only two and a half years older than Cliff. She was the typical good sister and they became quite close.

Then boom; tragedy. Cheyenne had been riding a bike when a truck came out of no where and hit her, severing one arm and smashing the other, and the collision shattered her spine.

She was in ICU for seventeen weeks and came home a quadropalegic, and had a tracheotomy so she’d not drown when congested. Cliff was only six years old and could suction his sister out if she needed it.

To make fairly long story short, the Yale family kind of went downhill.

A week or two after Cheyenne came home she couldn’t get some of the medical help she needed. It was perfectly acceptable for the government to pay to place her in a nursing home no matter the price; but home care? Nah. Cliff has his theories on why… but that’s for later.

As time went bye Mr. and Mrs. Yale worked two and sometimes three jobs. The amount of effort they put in drug them down pretty quickly and it left Cliff to take care of her while they were away. Oh, he was only seven or so when the parents had to use him to help out, but the boy was extremely mature for his age and he had many telephone numbers to call in case of emergency.

Once, at age eight, some people showed up acting enraged that an eight year old to take care of helpless ten year old was obscene. A few days later, after a massive tug-of-war child services let the issue drop.

Cliff had to give testimonials on how well he and Cheyenne were cared for and he told the peers exactly what he thought of it all. He proved one big fact: Don’t fuck with kids when they are desperate.

Cliff looked somewhat blankly at a few of the adults when he heard a woman in her mid forties named Lindsay Lan, say “Look at him now, staring into space. He can’t take care of himself, much less Cheyenne! Cliff! Cliff! Boy I’m talk-“ Cliff cut her off.

“I heard you perfectly well but I was listening. When I’m listening I block everything not important out of my head.”

With an enraged eye, the woman scolded him “Unimportant am I?”

“All of you are igsignificant. I have a sister in dire need of proper care, I have no time or want to listen to old men and women try to make themselves feel good by feeding off of other people’s sorrows.”

The people on the case became quite ill at this. Oddly, though, the mediator of the whole mock trial was listening intently. “Mr. Keys, this child is being unbearably rude.” Spoke a man in his early fifties who dressed about as sharply as a corpse.

“Cliff, I don’t have any wish to scold you son, but please be civil.” Spoke the judge. And it is “Your highness, not “Sir Keys”. The judge turned his sharp eyes on the man who spoke earlier.

“Do we have an agreement?” the judge asked. Everyone mumbled agreeance.

“Maybe you could tell u what you are listening to so intently, son.” Spoke the judge in the odd mixture of both soothing and suggestion.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Keys. I got upset.” Stated Cliff, honestly.

“I’ve had ruder adults son, it is okay. Now explain.”

“When Cheyenne was younger, last year, she could not speak loudly. She slurred, too. I, and my parents, have trained ourselves to hear her. You learn and never forget.”

“But she is being cared for now, so listen to us, Cliff.” Said Mrs. Lan.

Cliff shook. For a moment everything thought him to be either giggling or crying, but it happeed so quickly that no one had chance to ask or even realize. “My sister exists in your care. She is a machine with the correct wiring to let her live. In my care she is alive. That is not living!” he shouted.

Mrs. Lan went to scold the kid again when Judge Keys stepped in and told gestured her to sit and he asked Cliff if he’d like a break.

Cliff shook his head and stated the sooner this is over, the sooner he could relax: with his sister. Cliff apologiezed.

“I have never been so rudel-“

“Mrs. Lan,” Judge Keys said angrily, “He is stressed out. He is trying to be rude, do not interrupt us again.”

Mrs. Lan looked like a weird fish out of water, moving her mouth wordlessly back and forth as if pulling in massive amounts of oxygen.

“May I continue, Mr. Keys?” asked Cliff.

“By all means, son.”

“The boys had his say, Mr. Keys!“ started Mrs. Lan.
“Get out. Now. You are suspended off of this case and you will not come back to this building in less than a month. If you do show back up I will have your ass handed to you on a plate, Mrs. Lan.” The Judge looked like fury incarnate, but he looked at Cliff and said “apologiez for the language, son.”

Cliff smiled and said “I hear worse all the time.”

The judge nodded. “and I remind you all my office is judge, not Mr. unless I like them. Cliff can call me Mr. the rest will title me honorably or share Mrs. Lan’s fate.”

Everyone went quiet.

“Explain again, Cliff. Um, try to be more.. delicate to the other people’s feelings, son.”

“Yes sir.” Spoke Cliff. The judge beamed. Cliff felt kind of guilty, he was manipulating everyone. . . but why sweat over survival? Cliff was surviving.


“I take care of her properly. By ‘properly’, I mean that I take care of her with love, not mechanical movements. I know nurses and aides and doctors cannot take the time to give her extra attention or to let her know someone cares.”

“The thing is, she is not a machine. When they ‘care’ for her, she is moved like a puppet, they ignore her cries and frustrations, the let her go too long without her medications and I’ve had to change her diapers three times because one of the aides were too busy talking!”

For what seemed like thirty lifetimes of being strong and playing the grown up, Cliff starting weeping uncontrollably. He could not stop.

The judge and other folk around the room frowned and stared off as if seeing a strange ghost; nothing scary. . . just uncomfortable.

“We will take a break now. Be back here in two hours.” Stated judge Keys.

They all departed, Cliff leaving last, when Mr. Keys stopped him. “Cliff, you are brave and are doing a good job. However, you do need to try to be less passionate when speaking.”

“I was taught to be honest, sir.”

“I know, son, and you’re doing a great job. I wish I had the power to more, but I honestly am trying my best.”

“I know, sir.”
“Now you will see what the law is about these days.” Mr. keys stated and stopped short. Cliff went to comment on such a peculiar statement when Mr. Keys once again started speaking. “I took this job as just that, a job. A liberty to use my wisdom to help those who need help.”

“Unfortunately, people have been slow but surely pissing away all forms of public decency and conduct and worse of all: freedom. It is not why I took this job, to be a babysitter for adults who think way too damned much of themselves. I took the job to try to help society.”

Again, Mr. Keys stopped talking and then resumed a few moments later. “I have learned that I too am a sheep. The problem, though is none of the shepherds love the flock. They have mixed with the wolves. They no longer dance with the devil, they fuck him.”

“Not all is lost of course. There are lots of good people in the world, never forget that. Ever. Its just that too many people now have power; a necessary evil long ago. Now days society should hold the power to govern themselves, to rule their own lives. However, its not the case. People rather be sheep. They’d rather be led.”

An extreme sadness enveloped the judge.

“So, this is why I gave you so much leeway today. I fear I’ve put myself into some jeporady. Mrs. Lan was called out by me, and it was my right, but every great action carries weight. I guarantee she’ll take word to offcials that I abused my right.”

“But you said it was your right, sir.”

“And it is, it was, but I still will have to speak up about it if I she pushes it. If she pushes I should be able to keep from getting in too deep, but I am simply trying to be realistic.”

“In theory, what I did was right. In reality, I’ll be damned. That is why I have you here now. I have someone for you to meet tomorrow. He goes by the name “Vigil”. He will help you and your family out.”

“Whe-“

“I’ll tell you where to meet him later. I want you to understand all I’m putting down on the line. Not because of your conscious, but one day it may lead you to help another. Alright?”

“Alright”, Cliff said but his eyes screamed a ‘huh?’.

The judge laughed. “I forget your only seven. Alright now, be on your way.”

WhoaitsZ

geesh its been forever since the last update. i got sidetracked by that thing called life and i went dry. my ideals just went off in a very, very interesting direction......... this is going to have to be molded into the above later, just try to keep up. hopefully you guys will like it.


Z drove through the night for several hours trying to find himself.

He longed to help people so badly, but he had to be very wary. Vigilantes are worse than actual bad guys in a police man’s eye.

“I just don’t know what to do now”, he thought somberly.

Driving always relaxed him. He reminisced often about the days when he would drive hours upon hours just because he could. Walking is the safest way to burn off anger, but driving was the most fun. Highways, little towns, side roads, dirt roads, off road… whatever, if his vehicle could go, he went.

He drove.

He was going down an old abandoned dirt trail when his pagers went of. His eyebrows rose high and he slowed down very quickly. If both ring it’s not only an emergency, it’s someone who knows me as Z and Cliff, he thought to himself.

Z had almost been a passionate man. He was full of strong emotions, both good and bad, and he was considered cold and harsh. People loved him to death, also. He was just disclplined. He was a great human, yet when the time came he could easily turn cold and violent if it proved necessary. He found the correct flow of conscioucness that allowed him to be neautrel, cool. He relaxed, stepped out of his truck and look at his pagers to see who placed the call.

Wil called.

Z quickly called Wil to find out what was going on.

“Z, first off, you cool?”

“Yes, Wil, tell me” Z demanded, sounding as cool as brimstone.

“Cheyenne is dead, dude.”

At first, Z didn’t understand what happened to Wil’s voice. Had Wil been
disconnected? The pain in his hand made him look down.

In his hands was the ruins of a cell phone. He crushed it before realizing how tense he was. Tears flew down his cheeks.

Cheyenne what? he wondered. How was this possible? She was in her own house, her own 24/7 nurses. How, how, how, how! He demanded in his thoughts.

Cheyenne has been taken care of for two years and liked the arrangements. She had four different nurses by contract who worked for her and Cliff, just in case one was sick, and everybody seemed happy. Even the nurses! Nurses were impossible to satisfy!

There was Karla, a single mother in her thirties. There was an Annie, a older lady who couldn’t tolerate retirement. There was Sarah, a lady in her mid forties who had a family she had to support because her husband was on disability and the children were late to become family members, so it’d be a few years before they could work.

And then there was Mike. Mike was a guy, he was! Cliff had tons of friends that were guys. . . but they didn’t take care of his sister. He didn’t trust any dude with his sister and no large amount of women. He even used his sources as Z to do background checks.

Well, he did do background checks on all of them. That wasn’t the point! Not at all! He didn’t trust. . guys. They liked girls. He knew! He was a guy himself!

His tears came in torrents.


He pulled in to his drive way and ran inside his home without even closing the door. He was in such a hurry he didn’t even think of stopping at a pay phone and thanked God later that he didn’t accidently kill anyone driving home, including himself.

A guy who sounded almost as exchausted as Z was answered the phone; his voice very shaky.

“What happened to my fucking sister!” Z demanded.

“Cliff? Thank God you called. Calm down, please. Please.”

“What happened!”

“For one thing she is very, very sick and-“

“I was informed she died.”

“Died? No. I mean she almost died, but she is alive. Please calm down, sir.”

“What is her condition?”

“Personally, I think she should be in ICU, but she pulled the right strings and knew the right people to discharge her and see her at home.”

“She’s that bad, Mike?” Cliff’s voice grew calmer. She wasn’t dead!

“Yes, she is. But she will pull through. Her other nurses and I are very fond and loyal to her, Cliff. I will do my best, yo-“

“You better! I know where you live!”

Cliff could almost hear Mike’s eyes roll out of irritation. “I know, Cliff. I invited you to dinner, remember?”

“Yes… I’m sorry.” Cliff spoke lightly.

Mike didn’t say a word. Cliff heard him take in a gasp at the word ‘sorry’.

“I looked it up once in the dictionary, Mike.” Cliff said with a chuckle. His sister was alive!

Mike actually gulped and faked a low laugh. “Yes, I bet you did. Look, we need you up here if possible. She needs you and honestly I’d feel safer if you were here.”

Mike’s voice plummeted. “Safer? Safer how?”

“Look, just get the hell up here, alright?”

Cliff made a low growling sound.

“Cliff, I’m your, and more importantly, her friend. Calm – the – fuck – down.”

Cliff actually apologized and he heard Mike gasp again.

“I know a few manners, Mike.”

“Of course you do, now listen. Come ASAP. We’re waiting. I am one minute later with her medications. Goodbye.”

The phone went dead, a reverse of Cliff’s coming back to life. Safer? He thought. What in the hell is going on?

Cliff got his shit together and made himself take notes.

J.R.V.A.

Nice. Good read, please keep it coming. Thanks

__________________
And as she plays,
her sweet song of laughter
floats through the air
and warms my heart

WhoaitsZ

i've been having to put much time into a project.... so my writing has slacked.

i plan to hit it again hard. but here is a tiny, tiny bit i did today


On his way to Cheyenne’s he wondered why Wil had said she was dead.

There had to be an explanation.

He wondered if Wil had any reason to mess with Z’s head. That’s just it. He owes me his life and he knows it. He knows I’m with him so why would he fuck with me?

That line of thought simply made no sense.

A mistake. It had to have been a simple joke. Nothing more, nothing less. If he turns, I will kill him.


Z pulled up to Cheyenne’s house in a very uneasy state of mind. The semi long ride had given him time to think.

But the thoughts seemed to be in vain.

He would never betray me. Not Wil. Never!

He got out of the care and made himself breathe. He had been thinking so hard he had forgotten common sense and quit watching his step. He almost walked straight into a small flower garden; a crime to Cheyenne as big as murdering puppies to Cliff.

He made himself breathe again and went to the door, stopped, turned around and walked away. There was an old rocking chair on the corner of the porch. The nurses loved to take a break and use it. It was comfortable. He sat thinking absolutely nothing for five or six minutes before thinking he was cool enough to continue.

He stood, stretched, and knocked on the door. Mike opened the door and motioned Cliff in. Were he not at a place he knew personally he would had thought this was Mike’s own home. Cliff reluctantly agreed that Mike was a good man and doing a good job.

Once inside the house everything seemed right, but something was wrong.

Something.. missing.

Keep it together, Cliff. Concentrate on things of importance.

Realizing the oddness he was sure to be portraying he
apologized and reassured Mike with what looked like honest concern that all was okay.

“Ready?”

“I cannot answer that truthfully, but take me anyway.”

Cheyenne’s face was pale and bruised. She looked like someone had beaten her very severely. She was asleep.

“So what happened to her?” Cliff asked, taking a look at Cheyenne’s drips and such. He knew Mike was a good nurse. But whoa cared in the end? It was his sister.

“We went to a local park and just strolled the area; she loves those peacocks! We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, as you know, we take her often. We went, we watched the kiddos play and the animals in their cages and then left. On the way back here we were slammed from behind. It looked like a diesel with no trailor.”

Cliff could hardly sit still long enough to let Mike get his bearing and breath, but God it was difficult to sit at all. Finally Mike composed himself and continued.

“Well the diesel backed off a bit and I went to pull over at a gas station figuring the dipshit driving had slipped up.” Mike shook with nervousness. He fucking better be nervous, Cliff thought. “The diesel followed us. I guess my brain was not working very well because I got out of the car to comfront whoever the driver was. It wasn’t just one man, Cliff.” He spoke as if afraid mike himself would hurt him. That was just absurd. He wouldn’t hurt Mike. Or.. he didn’t want to hurt Mike.

“Three guys jumped out, one slammed an aluminum baseball bat into my stomach and chest. I hit the ground unable to breathe and the thugs beat your sister.” Mike’s face contorted, yet he kept his composure. “They just beat her… she was screaming. Nobody helped. People saw, they just didn’t intend to help. They were scared, I guess.”

“I cussed them. They weren’t black but I called them niggers, then faggot and every offensive thing I could think of. I wanted to make them angry enough to beat me instead, but these guys were smart. They knew what to do and what not to do.”

What not to do, Cliff thought.

Mike spoke again. “There was no words spoke, no sexual anything, no sloppiness at all. These guys didn’t slip up once. They just.. hurt her. I managed to stand up and the thugs were already back in the truck. It rolled my way and the driver told me out the window that I should tell Cliff to “fuck off” with his vigilante thing, whatever the fuck that means, and to take Cheyenne’s slap as a warning.”

Cliff could had been offered five million bucks if his face could remain that smooth. He didn’t give any idea of surprise towards the fact of beign a vigilante or anything else. He made the face of a person who died in their sleep look scared. His face was carved.

“So,” spoke Cliff “we have no fucking idea who did this or anything else.”

Mike stated blankly, “except ‘stop it’.”

Cliff simply nodded. He wasn’t going to say a fucking word he didn’t plan on saying. This was completely out of the blue. Who the hell knew he was a vigilante? Hell, he didn’t know he was a vigilante, he just. . . was.

“I’m going to sleep here tonight with her. When does Sarah come in?”

Mike blushed and spoke, “I told Sarah to stay home. I wanted to stay.”

Cliff just nodded as if he knew it made sense.

“Do you drink, Cliff?”

“Only on special occasions. I like my mind to be crisp. But go ahead.”

“Um. What um.” Mike sighed to himself. “what about. Um. –“

Cliff neither laughed or smiled. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

Mike nodded, and pulled a joint out and walked out the back door.

Cliff knew Mike had to be quite freaked out. His composure was hanging by a thread. By a hair

WhoaitsZ

life has been fucking weird so i've slacked.


started again though and here's the latest.

All his proffesionlism just kind of sunk down. Think of what he’s been through, Cliffy boy. He’s under a lot of stress; besides their friendship seems to have possibly blossomed.

“Mike, how long have you been working?”

“Over a year. . ?”

“Today.”

“Twelve hours.”

“Why so long, Mike? We try to keep them working not much longer than eight hours for her sake.” Cliff was calmer now than ever.

“Because I was there when it happened.”

“Another reason for someone else to be on the case, Mike.”
“I can’t deal with this bullshit, Cliff! Don’t look so shocked! You look like a fish out of water.”

“Mike, wat-“

“No, you be quiet this time. Fucking bully. I am here because I care. I care! You have a problem with that?”

“Not that you care for her.” Cliff wanted to laugh his ass off but knew Mike was being truly sincere. “You are human. Eventually we all fall. Even us bullshitting tough guy bullies. We can’t go without rest and food and I sure as fuck can’t take the time out to baby sit you.”

“I have ate well, thanks. Sleep is another story.”

“She’s sleeping. She’s fine. I’m here. Go sleep.”

“Are you sure? My job is to tend.”

“Mike, you’ve proven yourself, okay? I trust you and if she needs something you’ll know immediately. Sleep, dude.” Cliff was probably more surprised at himself than Mike was. The bastard nurse had spoken to him so rudely. Nobody has spoken to him like that since. . . ever!

“Okay I’m gone.” With that, he was into the bedroom. Cheyenne’s. What the fuck? Odd. Very odd.


When he was young, Cliff had patience. He knew how to kill time in his head or by reading a book. Cheyenne required patience and a steady mind.

Cheyenne. Beautiful Cheyenne. Cliff always figured people would get creeped out if they heard him say it in that way. People were normally ignorant at best, yet he wanted to keep a little interaction with regular folk.

The bond between the two is stronger than about anything else. Cliff was a natural caregiver and he and Cheyenne were rare in the first place. They rarely fought and if one was sad the other made it their official duty to perk up the other. To put it simply, they were best friends.

Now Cliff felt helpless and more than a little disengaged. He feared if she ever found out about some of the things he had done she would disown him. So he kind of stayed away since hiring the nurses. She had begged him to try to obtain his own life; alone, or with a family.

Family, indeed. Thought Cliff wearily. I have too much hate to have a family and my temper is far too short.

He had pursued a few girls and like everyone else he had his ups and downs with them. In the end all but two were freaked out by his bond with Cheyenne.

And for this reason he was single. Well, that wasn’t quite true or fair. His undying loyalty to Cheyenne certainly did not help, but in all honesty it his lifestyle that kept people at bay. How did you tell someone that you do everything and nothing, ignore laws, help people who need it and kill people who need to cease?

You couldn’t tell anyone.

He had thought about quiting his vigilante lifestyle and had tried on a couple of occasions to stop. Every time he try to go by ways of the fucked up American laws he’d see things that made him cringe every step of the way. He had a talent of sighting wrong doings and he saw them constantly. It ate him up.

Crooked cops, pimps, drug smugglers, it was all in plain sight and Cliff could not close his eyes to it.

He had only once closed his eyes and the consequences were severe. He could not, would not close his eyes again. Not even for his sister.


Realizing he had dosed off angered him. You couldn’t do such foolish things when tending to the sick.

Cheyenne was watching him curiously. She was one of the very few of his inner circle who knew what he did.

“Shouldn’t you be fighting crime, Batman?” she asked with a grin.

“Not today, sister. How do you feel?”

“I’ve felt better, Cliff. I have also felt much worse. The only real problem is my face aches badly.”

Cliff nodded. If she were not fucked up she’d hurt all over. He’d hate for her to be in pain but god he wished she were well.

“So, don’t wig out on me when you see my button.”

Fucking Morphine! He thought in a rage, but kept quiet.

“I know you disapprove but it works.”
“There are other drugs, Cheyenne. But it is short term. Mike will not let you use it long, I think.” He stated dryly.

If Cheyenne understood what he indicated she didn’t let on.

“Besides he has some medication.” Cliff said.

She giggled. Giggled! “Not a one of us are innocent, “Z”.”

He just shook his head instead of commenting. This was one round he knew he’d lose.

“Our secret is always safe, Cliff.” She said seriously.

“Of course. I trust you. Now, do you have any idea why what happened did?”

“No, I don’t. I just remember a powerful slam in the back of the vehicle, then some men beat me.” Her voice didn’t shake. Close, but no trembling. “It happened fast and Mike… did he mention they broke three ribs? They were not playing around. They had a dire reason, but what reason is unknown.”

“I’ll find out.”

“Yes. That is why I am afraid.”

Cliff did not answer.

“You should not pursue this, I think. It was a message, sure, but they didn’t kill us. If they intended it to be that bad, they would had simply killed us. Messengers do not leave clues or return addresses. Let’s drop it.”

“Uh. Sure. No problem. I’ll just wait until they murder you!”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“It had to be something to do with the work I do, it is obvious. And I can’t stop the work. Imagining only one person being used by thugs with no help or retribution is something I cannot let go. If I do not pursue, or worse quit, then more people than you two will suffer. You know this. Not to mention what they will do next if they think me bullied.”

“I understand. I need sleep, brother.”

“Slee-“ he went to tell her ‘sleep well’, but she was already out.


He couldn’t sleep and was a little too ill to go outside. If he went out he would even be suspicious of a squirrel right now; so he did something amazing. He cleaned the house.

He vacummed the whole house, mopped the tiled kitchen, dusted all the shelves and cabinets and figurines and such, he did the dishes. He almost did the luandrey when he came across some speedos. He just shook his head and moved on.

Cliff was one exceptionally bored fellow.

He noticed a computer and turned it on.

Wil had created a small program simply called Speak for the two to communicate; like AIM. Cliff was surprised he remembered the correct URL, but remember he did, and in a few seconds flat Wil got a message.

“What’s up, z? How’s your sister?” Wil asked.

“She’s much better than I feared. Only concerns is that there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever that this action was taken to cause my lifestyle to be cramped.”

“We can’t let that happen.”

“Indeed. Do a search for thugs for hire. This was a merc job. It will either make it impossible to trace or easy.”

Cliff heard Wil typing like a nut. Fast, the boy was.

“The guerilla look promising. Probably who we’re looking at for the guys who did the deed. They appear to have a small bio on every member and they have forty seven members. Their criminal records are reported also, as well their type of ‘training’.”

Wil continued. “This is so wonderful and fucking creepy at the same time. They have code, of course, for what they do or do not do.”

“For instance, Jesus here is gardener. He has pictures of it, look here”, Wil sent Cliff the URL and continued talking. “Pretty nice and healthy, eh?”

“Fertilizer.” Cliff said softly.

“Yes. And it isn’t pig shit, either. See, he has his own little produce bit too. He sells veggies and does ‘odd jobs’ for a living. Hey, Z, how do you think he bought that watch?”

“Right. A ten to twelve thousand dollars is no gear for a humble gardener and odd jobsman. So, you bet he does have pigs, just not for feces, yes?”
“Right on, Z. I know this sounds like Hannible, but seriously, the fucker is a body disposer and since he works out of Mexico he is pretty close to harmless. I’m sure the dude is a great guy if you know him in a civilian way. Its just his work.”

“Do not pity these fucks.”

“I don’t ‘pity’ them. But I do feel for them. My personal thought, Z. Take it or fucking leave it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyhow. I’ll dig around. See you on here in 24, okay?”

“Most likely. Thanks Wil.”

“Send her my thoughts.”

Cliff logged off, laid down, and slept.


Cliff’s sleep was fairly disturbed, yet he felt better once awoke. He looked around the room he was in carefully, trying to get a feel of things without anyone being aware he woke up. He didn’t have anything to hide, and he didn’t mean to eavesdrop; he simply enjoyed stealth and practiced as much as possible.

His dreams of dogs and people fighting were fading away quickly and he got up and checked on Cheyenne.

To his surprise she was redressed and eating; Mike looked more patient than a five hundred year old cherry tree.

How long have I slept? He wonder. His intension was to sleep an hour or two while Cheyenne slept so it would be easier waiting on her. What he intended and what he got were two different things.

Without speaking Cheyenne stated: “seven” and grinned.

Wow. Seven hours of undisturbed sleep. Well, as undisturbed as his dreams would allow, anyhow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pretty well, Cliff. Everything is working well and I seem to not be suffering many internal problems and my lungs are cleared. I feel fine.”

Mike gave me some details: blood preasure, no ever, bruising changing colors to show recovery, slight adema problems here and there but nothing major. Her lungs sounded quite fine.

“If I hadn’t been there I’d think nothing happened unless I saw the bruise.” Stated Mike.

“So now, we just need to figure out what the message is. It is way too clear and clean for anything short of a message”, Cliff said. Mike blinked, but said nothing. Cheyenne kind of frowned at him as if asking if he had lost his senses.

“When does the next nurse come?” Cliff asked.

Mike frowned and informed Cliff that the other nurses had quit. They said the reason for such was too obvious that something bad had happened and they doubted it was anything they needed in their lives.

“We plan to get married next year, Cliff.” Cheyenne said that so fast he’d thought someone had turned on an Alvin and the Chipmunk cartoon. Her face was very, very red and she looked out of breath.

Cliff blinked and sat, Mike looking like he truly, truly wished to be elsewhere. Married?

“Married?” asked Cliff.

“Married.” Agreed Cheyenne and Mike simataniously.

Cliff sat down, blinked more and said. “Mike, by God man if I thought you’d hurt her I’d fucking murdered you long ago; and not figuratively. You are good to her and she looks content. I want her happy.”

Both Mike and Cheyenne stared at him as if he grew horns. Not fear, simple, hard bewilderment.

“I want you happy, remember? Mike here is more than loyal it seems. I know he will tell me next that he isn’t even on the clock, which is why I’m taking this so well. And make no mistake that what I said about a message was a slip up.”

“You obviously are one shady guy, but you’re a good man, Cliff. I do not believe the US laws to be of much use to any moral and good citizens anyway.”

“Remember that horror of a dogfight gone wrong, Mike?”

Mike stared oddly and the look surprised. “That. . . was bad” stated Mike calmly.

“Yes it was bad. A friend and I did it. They have been corrupting and raping moral laws for years and using a living being as their tools. They had to be stopped and the police do not give a flying fuck if the dogs are hurt or not.” Cliff stated. No blinking eyes this time; nor smirk or anger. Fucking cold stone face.

“They had it coming to them and I hope more get wiped out of the gene pool”, Cheyenne said softly.

Mike was shocked but he nodded his head. “In my opinion, authorities have been informed. People have done a lot to stop such goings on. The people believe themselves powerless, yet they never take matters in their own hands.”

Cliff went to speak but Mike told him to give him a moment to continue.

“I am a man of healing, in a sense. I hate pain and wounds. I loathe innocent people like your sister here pay for other people’s ability to disregard all things lest themselves. Sometimes you have to almost advertise what could happen if you decide to go evil. What you did was amendable.”

“Thank you, Mike. I try to make differences. And I don’t get bored when I work.”

“Just don’t tell me anymore right now”, spoke Mike in a slightly serious tone.

Cheyenne cackled. She had not laughed that hard in years, unless Cliff was mistaken.

Grinning due to the sound of her laughter and Mike’s woeful innocence, Cliff assured Mike he didn’t intend to say more.

WhoaitsZ

bumpybumpy

some more coming soon