No More Lies

One hour ago, I saw my world shattered before my very eyes. I got an angry phone call from Judith, demanding I explain Kiera's comment. Kiera commented on my blog. Kiera commented on my blog.

She's not a character from "my" story. She's not a character from some unknown author's story which I then claimed as my own. She's a person from Damien's life.

How could it be real? How could all of it be real?

And yet, I remember those chills that ran down my spine when I was at the field or when I looked out at the red brick building. I remember those chills, and I can begin to believe.

Yes, I claimed Dreams in Darkness was my story. It wasn't. It was just some story I read on the Internet. I'd started watching Marble Hornets, got into EverymanHYBRID and Tribe Twelve, and then went through all those blogs. I read Just Another Fool, Seeking Truth, and Dreams in Darkness.

I noticed no one ever claimed authorship of DiD, even months later. I never intended to become the author of its book, I just tried to use it as a way to sell myself. I lied to everyone: my family, my friends, Judith. When those publishers offered me a deal to adapt it... I couldn't say no, not to all that money and fame.

I never knew it'd lead to this. I didn't fucking know. How could I know there was some guy out there who'd gone insane? It's not my fault Mary died. It's not my fault this Harry kid killed his family. It's not my fucking fault. I just wanted to make some money, get my career started, and get published. I never could have known this would happen. It isn't my fault.

I never could have known it was all real. Damien, Ted, the deaths, the cults, the bone, Slender Man. Are all the other stories real too? Logan, Zeke, and all the rest?

It's too much to wrap my mind around. I still doubt. I only live a few towns over. Why didn't I hear about all those deaths last year? Surely something would've been in the news. Maybe Rick was right. Damien was just a madman, writing a story. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Dreams in Darkness can't be real. It'd change everything.

MaleOrderMan

Well, look at that, here come all the little peons crawling out of the woodwork to give advice and snark. I'd forgotten why I left this community behind after finishing Dreams in Darkness. Now I remember. It was you people.

First, step the hell off of Judith. It may have been rash to label all anonymous dickheads, and your actual messages aren't bad, but it isn't clever to use it as a sign-off to crackwise at her. Especially consider the shit we're going through at the moment.

Second,  again with the "stop telling stories"? Look, this isn't a story. I couldn't fucking make this shit up. Yes, I know it looks like I just got handed a fictional horror story and went wild with it, but that doesn't make what's happening any less real.

Third, we don't expect you to do anything other than maybe not, ya know, start screaming at us like a few of you did. We know we only have ourselves and the police to help us. It'd just be nice not to log-on here to see a bunch of idiots calling us liars.

Fourth, speaking of police...

Yeah, they're making sure we're being taken care of. You can't see it, but there's another car off to the right under a carport and a third a bit down the ways. The link to MaleOrderMan that Skhisma was kind enough to post gave the police all the information they needed to get myself, Judith, and my family around-the-clock protection. It's nice, if a bit invasive. Still, it's better than waking up to a psychopath on your bed.

Speaking of which, the police are actually baffled by this Brett Taylor character. They were able to use the mentioning of his brother's murder-suicide to track him down. He apparently lived about two hours away from here, but hasn't returned to his home in quite some time. Their currently working on figuring out where he logged onto his blog from, but it's taking some time to get the IP address to do the necessary cross-references.

I honestly have no idea what to think about this guy. As far as I'm concerned, Dreams in Darkness was just a story, and I cannot help it how someone might react to its content. I thought it was pretty damn clear the whole thing was a work of fiction, so there's nothing I could've done to stop that kid from killing himself and his parents. He just used DiD as an excuse.

But this Brett guy is apparently just as mentally unstable as his brother was. He's trying to blame me for everything and now he's got some fucked up idea that he needs to make the story true or something. So he fucking kills my roommate. And disembowels her. And hangs her naked in the park.

If I'd have known what would happen by coming forward as the Dreams in Darkness author, I wouldn't have done it. I'd still have Mary. Brett would have no one to stalk. I could get back to writing. Instead, I have to deal with this shit.

As for you, Skhisma, go fuck yourself. As far as I'm concerned, you're just Brett playing mindgames with my head and trying to make me think you're some sort of Arsonist split-personality of either myself or him. Well, I'm not playing. I know Dreams in Darkness. I know how that shit ends. And I'm not playing your little games, Mr. "I'm So Clever, I Used 'Split' In Greek As My Name". Fuck the hell off.

Happy Easter...

Mary’s dead. The police tell me she probably has been since Friday afternoon. They found her in the local park, hung upside down on some modern art sculpture. They’re pretty sure she had been killed somewhere else and was only brought there this morning. She was found by some poor kid who was just out trying to fly his kite…

I demanded they show me photos, no matter how gruesome. I instantly regretted it. She was naked. Her arms were open, hands nailed into the structure. Her feet were bound and also nailed into the top of the statue. Her throat was slit open. Her torso was cut horizontally. The investigators told me some of her organs were removed… They told me her organs were removed.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? What the fuck This shit can’t be happening. Things like this aren’t supposed to actually happen. Slender Man is just some story people write about. Dreams In Darkness was just some story. And some psycho decides to take his shit out on me for some reason. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m staying in a hotel, but I don’t have enough money to be here long. I have police keeping an eye on myself, Judith, and my family, yet… I’m terrified.

I’ve never been this scared in my life.

Invasion (Updated)

He was in my room. He was in my goddamn room. I don’t know for sure how he got in, but he was right in here with me last night. I can’t remember ever feeling so violated before. I’m not even safe in my own home.

I woke up when I felt him sit at the edge of my bed. Still mostly asleep and having no idea what was going on, I kicked out at him, figuring it was just Mary’s cat. A knife pressed to my throat was the response. I was pretty fucking awake after that.

“Don’t move. Don’t even fucking think about moving or I will cut you,” He growled, pushing the cold metal into my skin. I couldn’t see anything in my pitch black room, but I don’t think he was even looking at me.

“I bet you thought you were out of the woods. I bet you thought you’d just get to go on with your life. Wrong wrong wrong. I can’t let you out of the woods. You have to die there, your body on the ground with all your loved ones. You don’t get a life. Not after what you did to Harry.”

Before last night, I had only ever encountered one legitimately insane person. I was visiting my father in the hospital after his leg surgery. I passed some woman in the hall who was talking to herself, and not in the sane way. You could tell in her voice that something was missing. This man in my room sounded similar, yet somehow even sadder than that broken woman, wandering those sanitized halls.

“I lost everything because of you. You and your stupid story. Your stupid dreams in your fucking darkness. I’ll show you darkness. I’ll FUCKING show you darkness!” The knife dug deeper into my throat as he was suddenly on top of me. All I could see were those blue eyes, shining through the darkness, and the fire burning in them. I knew I was going to die, and those were the last things I was going to see.

And then he suddenly stood up, letting me take a gasp for air as the knife left my throat. I could feel a single drop of blood drip down my neck. His footsteps seemed to echo through my room as he paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

“But I have to kill him. He did it. It’s HIS fault. He has to pay. And so do all those other people. But… not yet? I don’t… That’s right. I don’t kill him yet. I forgot. I forgot I have to kill Damien. He isn’t Damien. I’ll make him Damien. And then he can die. And then all the others can die and you can SHUT UP!” He shouted at nothing before whimpering to himself, “…And I can go back to my family.”

I lay silent in my bed, every word carved into my memory. I don’t think I moved for three hours before I finally reached up and turned on the light. The man was gone. I spent the rest of the night sitting in the living room with every light on. I kept my back pressed to the front door. In one hand I had my baseball bat, the other held my phone. I sat there until sun up, repeating that scene in my head over and over again.

I have a feeling I’ll be sitting there again tonight. Also, I’m having a talk with Mary as soon as she gets home from work. If he’s making my life into Damien’s…

EDIT:
She still isn't home. Police have been informed.

The Third Day

Skhisma. I have no idea who you are, but you fucking stay away from me and you stay away from my loved ones.

I actually did what Skhisma said and went out to the Dreams in Darkness field. I’m not stupid, though. I didn’t go at night, and I didn’t go alone. I offered lunch to Judith, Mary, and my little brother, Todd in an attempt to get all of this stuff off my mind. I picked a restaurant near the park with the red building so I’d have an excuse to stop on the way back home.

We didn’t actually stop at the park, but we drove past it both ways.  I could see the brick building in the distance. Each time, I got a cold chill down my spine. Obviously the events that took place there were nothing but fiction. Still, I got that eerie tingling when you just know something is wrong and the hair on the back of my neck stood up as we went by. I knew in my gut it was nothing. No matter how much I felt as though I was being watched, I was simply scaring myself.

After lunch, I told everyone that I had to make a stop. Judith looked at me like I’d just told her that I was in love with her mother. 

“You aren’t thinking about stopping at that field, are you?” 

I couldn’t meet her gaze, looking over her shoulder at my car as I replied, “I have t—“

Her slap came out of nowhere. It wasn’t hard or at all intended to cause pain, just enough to shock me. Mary and Todd both burst into laughter, not understanding the gravity of what was going on. They both thought this was just a prank. Judith, while less concerned than myself, at least understood that it isn’t an idea to run off to where some stranger online tells you to go.

And then she smiled at me, knowing I understood her opinion on the matter, “May as well get this over with.”

The drive there seemed to take twice as long as it should have. Mary and Todd were goofing off in the back seat while Judith and I sat in silence until we arrived. I asked her to come out with me, and thankfully she wasn’t annoyed enough to say no. 

The field was nearly empty, except for a single pole sticking out of the ground in the distance while something attached to it flapped in the wind. I went hand-in-hand with Judith across the field to check it. I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on the forest in the distance. That’s where Ted died in the story. It was giving me the same chills as the red brick building.

Judith and I reached the pole. There was an enveloped taped to it. Inside was a single piece of paper. I felt my face go white as I read what it said. I showed Judith, watching her get the same reaction before taking her in my arms and holding her close, never wanting to let her go. We walked shakily to the car, and I made my way home. 

Judith and Todd are staying the night. We only have a few hours before the third day ends. I wish I could say my worries about this and Skhisma and everything would end with it, but somehow I doubt it will…

I despise my roommate

Fucking Mary showed up this morning. I walked out into the living room and there she was, passed out on the sofa. I started laughing uncontrollably as soon as I saw her from the sheer relief of it all. And then proceeded to grab the spray bottle, wake her up, and yell in her face about where the hell she’d ran off too. 

Apparently, it was a surprise romantic getaway with Kathy. Neither of them took their cell phones so they could stay out of touch with the rest of society, which explained why I couldn’t get through to Ms. Runaway’s girlfriend during my panic. 

I honestly feel like killing her myself. I get done warning her about my stalker message and the potential danger, and what does she do? She runs off to some hotel for the night without leaving me any explanation or way to contact her. Who the hell does something like that? I seriously cannot believe her.

Also, to those of you who apparently think this is just another story: No. No it fucking isn’t. Judith may think that you’re all sweet to come in here with your kindness, but I see all that doubt. “Oh my, it’s a Slender Blog author. He could just be writing another story.” Fuck. You. What sort of fucking troll do you take me for? I couldn’t write a story like this if I tried.

…Well, start of day two. Going to sit in this goddamn apartment, keep in touch with all my loved ones, and wait for this shit to blow over. See you on the other side.

Mary’s disappeared. She even left her damn cell phone behind. I grabbed it and called everyone I could think of. Heather, Cindy, Todd, Brittany, Drew, her family… none of them knew where she was. I threw a status up on my Facebook and on her wall to get someone to contact me if they knew where she’d gone.

I’ve already called the police. They still can’t do anything, but at least I reported her missing. If they see her car or someone matching her description, they’ll speak to her. I’m keeping in constant touch with Judith and my family now, just in case the worst happens. I’m sure this is nothing but… I have to make sure.

Four words.

“Three days. Sweet dreams.”

I guess that’s the best place to start to explain what just happened. I wrote those four words. Those four words are what sparked Damien’s slow descent into madness. Those four words slowly destroyed his entire life. Those four words lead to the death of everyone he loved, the death of everything he thought he knew, the death of his sanity, the end of his life.

And now, those four words come back to haunt me.

Two hours ago, I got a phone call. I picked it up, and the first thing I heard were those four words whispered to me - “Three days. Sweet dreams.”

I don’t know how long I stood there, hands shaking, feeling sick to my stomach. I eventually found my voice, “You son of a bitch… who the hell is this?”

“Three days.”

And then they were gone. I practically collapsed to my apartment’s floor. Was it an insane fan? Was it just some prank? Was it…

My mind flew to everyone close to me – my parents, my brothers, my roommate, Judith. If this was more than just a prank, it meant they were all in danger. Damien’s life was destroyed because he didn’t take things seriously enough, early enough. A lesson I would learn from.

I called the police. I explained the situation, that I was concerned for my safety, and asked if they could find out who had called me. After all, the number was still in my phone’s history. They were kind enough to do so for me.

The call was from a goddamn prepaid cell phone, impossible to really trace.

The police obviously can’t do anything for what could potentially be a simple prank, but I’m on alert now. I’ve warned my loved ones. I’m going to keep one hell of an eye on them for the next three days. Until Wednesday comes and goes, I’ll remain on edge, ready for whatever may happen.

I refuse to let my life become a horror story. I write those, I don’t live them.

Constant Motion

I found this on my Facebook while bored in class this evening. When I started re-reading it, I could NOT remember writing it over a year ago. By the end, I could recall writing it, but not why. Just an interesting glance at the way my mind works/worked/will work.

Everything ends, everything always ends. Everywhere I look around me, there are lights at the ends of tunnels and roads that cease to exist. Nothing remains because all things end. Sometimes we don't even notice until it's too late; sometimes it isn't until we've driven ourselves so far off the road that we're passing deer instead of other cars that we notice that the path we've been on stopped miles back. Other times we see it coming as soon as it all began. It's as if the entire way has been marked with flashing neon signs screaming "This will end," "The end is near," "It'll all be over soon." Yet, despite the warnings, we go straight through, knowing that whatever it is we're doing will soon cease to exist, and not with a bang but with a whimper. Everything ends.

And nothing ends, nothing ever ends. No matter where you go or what you do, you can't escape. Nothing in life ends, it all stays with you until the day you finally die (and even then, I think, it chases you). Like a dog that snarls at the mailman every morning, everything is doomed to be repeated over and over again. Closure doesn't exist. Life is not a book that will one day be flipped beyond the last page, bringing the back cover down so we can gaze upon whatever words or imagery have been printed there. No. Life is a circle - no matter how far you run around it, you always end up back where you were with nothing changed. Nothing ends.

Things begin, always there are new beginnings. There will always be something new in life. Whether it be something small or something life-changing, you can always expect something to spring into existence where it wasn't there before. Like a strike of lightning, new things flash before our eyes out of nothingness, blazing across our vision with such power that it burns into our very being. No matter if you want it or not, something new is always going to begin. It doesn't matter how hard you want things to remain the same, there is always an element of random chaos, waiting to be added like salt on a dish. Something is always beginning. Things begin.

Every day, something changes, something is always changing. Everything in the world is always shifting, adapting, taking new form. Our lives are like lumps of clay that are being constantly molded by outside forces. No matter what we do, thinks will always change. There is nothing that is the same the next day, the next hour, the next minute, the next second. On some level, everything is changing at every possible moment. Life could care less how tightly you attempt to grasp at something to make it so it isn't struck by change. Life could care less if you lock something in the most secure of containers where nothing could ever interact with it. No matter how hard you try, it will change. Everything changes.

And I stand before this chaotic mess of contradictions and my mind wants nothing more than to scream "STOP! LET ME HAVE MY PEACE! JUST STOP!" I want time to cease its constant plodding into the future for just long enough to try and make sense of that which is going on around me. I just want a few moments' respite to figure everything out. I just want to understand. Still, that is not the way that time and life work, for if I could make life stop just once, it would never begin again. Instead, time forces us to remain in constant motion, no matter how hard one may want it to stand still for just a little bit.

Life is a constant, bitter struggle that I cannot win. My mind only wishes understanding - for that is how I'm made - but life is so chaotic that I will never ever understand. No matter how hard I try to make things the way I want for them to be - no matter how hard I try just to make them make sense - life simply doesn't work that way. So I'm just going to stand here, screaming internally, while attempting to somehow, someway, live.

Fans

I just had my first ever face-to-face meeting with a fan last night. How fucking awesome is that? I was out shopping with my roommate and Kathy, her girlfriend, when a guy, a little younger than me, came up to me asking if I was Alex. Took me a bit aback because, well, have you ever had a total stranger come up to you, asking for you by name? It didn’t help that he was a big guy with some, in hind sight, pretty wicked piercings. I sorta got on guard and asked why he was looking for me.

“I heard you got a novel deal. I’m a big fan.”

I relaxed pretty much instantly after that. Started shooting the shit with the guy. Apparently mine is the only blog he’s really read, which is odd, but flattering. I’m not totally sure when my work jumped into the interest bubble of Ed Hardy hoodie-wearing skinheads, but, hey, I ain’t complaining. 

Eventually Mary swung by, grabbed me, and dragged me back to the car with Kathy. They asked about the guy, and I explained he was just a fan of my story. 

“How’d he find you, then?”

Kathy’s question made me do a double-take, and honestly freaked me out for a moment until I remembered two weeks ago when my creative writing teacher had me doing the rounds of classes. She wanted me to speak about chaotic fiction, and about getting in touch with publishers. Fanboy must have heard of me through that whole process. Still, the whole event put me on edge for the rest of the evening.

I’m really gonna have to get used to that whole thing if this book deal goes through. It may be ridiculously unlikely, but DiD could get huge. I’m not sure how well that really meshes with my hermit lifestyle… Guess I’ll just have to be one of those authors who just lives out in the woods so his rabid fans can’t get to him.

Heh. Unlikely.

December 16th

I'm not scared to admit... character is gently based off of Zeke from Seeking Truth.

December 16^th

My official investigation into the Adam Fox case has ended. When I asked for additional time to look into the details of his death, I got some strange looks. Everyone else in the station agreed that it was mostly an open and shut case - a clear example of suicide and how one person taking their own life can cause a chain reaction of deaths in a community. Lieutenant Ford saw no reason to keep such a simple case open, despite some oddities that I considered worth looking into.

There was something strange in Fox’s suicide note that sent chills down my spine. I wrote the entire thing down while I was at the station so I could reproduce it here:

 “Sorry. So sorry. Never imagined that this is how I’d die, cold steel in my own hand, pressed to my own temple, finger slowly squeezing the trigger. I didn’t think I’d die like Jenna. I still remember finding her there, lying in that crimson-filled bathtub, her arms split open. I didn’t understand the note she left. I wish I had realized my sister how incredibly sane in those last moments as she wrote those words. I didn’t believe that this was all because of someone else’s suicide. I couldn’t understand how reading a note could make someone take their own life. Now I know what Jenna meant. Since I read those words, I’ve felt this compulsion to end it all. All week, I’ve considered stepping into traffic or off of a building. I’ve made a noose without realizing it. I nearly slipped rat poison in my own food. I can’t live like this anymore, and so it ends with a gun.

I don’t want to die. I DON’T WANT TO DIE. This is just so fucked up. There’s still so much I want to do. This isn’t fair! I know I wasn’t a good person, but I don’t deserve this. Jenna deserved it even less. And to whoever gets this note… I am so sorry. I couldn’t help but write this, just as I cannot help but pull this trigg“

The only thing left on the page was random scrawls and blood spatter.

The Lieutenant considered the writings nothing more than the pre-mortem thoughts of an unhinged mind. After all, Fox was a drug addict and had a previous history with depression. I found heroin on the table next to his bed when he killed himself.

Maybe it’s simply because I was the first one to find his suicide note, but I felt a need to investigate further. I was allowed an additional day to look into the case. I did not like what I found.

A friend of Fox’s sister helped me understand what Adam meant when he mentioned Jenna. Ms. Fox had stumbled upon the body of a homeless man hanging from a tree in Central Park a few days prior to her death. I can only assume she’d read his suicide note, just like Adam found her own. I can only assume it spoke of reading someone else’s last words and how soon she would write her own.

I checked the recent case files and, fortunately, Jenna reported the dead man to the police. I was able to obtain the box of his belongings. Inside, I found a bundle of papers. Each was someone’s suicidal writings, and each referenced a previous one. The chain was fourteen notes long. This homeless man had clearly conducted his own investigation before his untimely suicide.

Most of the notes were similar to Fox’s: filled with grief for the person who came before, despair at their own coming demise, apologies for leaving yet another link in the chain. Three notes stood out to me. One mentioned “memes”, or the concept that an idea can pass from person to person like a virus. This writer, a rather prominent sociologist, theorized that perhaps this was the first fatal meme. Another was by a local museum director. He’d done some digging, pulled some strings, and gotten his hands on the final piece of the homeless man’s chain.

This last note was written almost purely in Latin. I was only able to understand one word from it: Thanatus, Greek god of death and the Freudian word for describing humanity’s tendency towards self-destruction. I recognize it from my college literature and psych classes. Never expected those things to ever actually be
useful.

That note was a dead end, the trail going cold, and I had to officially close the case. However, I took the bundles of notes home with me from work today. I leave it here, with this note, my note, in the hope that whoever finds my body will pick up where I left off. Get this thing translated, find a name or a place from it, and try and figure out what the hell is causing this.

I’ve been fighting off the need to die ever since I was called to Adam Fox’s apartment. I keep hearing voices in my head, telling me to join them in their never-ending sleep. I don’t know what is making me do this, but I just can’t resist it anymore. I can only hope that you are stronger than I am. That you can carry this torch and go further than I was able to.

I am sorry I did this to you. I am sorry I wrote this and trapped you in this same dark spiral, but I just couldn’t help it. It’s like my hands started moving on their own. It felt like if I didn’t write all this down, it’d be like telling my heart not to beat. I get up, leave this note behind, and in a blink, I find myself back at my desk, pen on paper. I am so, so sorry. Be strong. Fight this. Don’t give in, as I am about to.

I still love you, Rose, and I pray you are not the one who fin

Art Imitates Life Imitates Art

Once upon a yesterday, I go online and get into a nice little chatroom to talk with some friends. I turn on my webcam. I'm in mid-sentence, when my roommate bursts through my bedroom door, spraying me with a water gun.

Now, Mary is a woman who likes women, not a guy who likes guys as Ted did in my story. But still, hilarious as hell to have my friends be witness to the first entry of Dreams in Darkness play out live.

And, yes, she went to work with a sandwich covered in habanero sauce ;)

Relativity

Follow the colors (click to zoom)

An experiment in formatting, I was supposed to write something based off of a piece of artwork or music.  I chose M.C. Escher's relativity. Nearly all of the text you see above is placed to match Escher's original work. You can see my piece overlayed with the original art after the break.

Happiness is

Happiness is a state of mind. I honestly do believe it's possible to be happy in pretty much any situation, as long as you alter what you desire to get out of it. However, some situations are better than others. Take, for instance, a first date to the local art museum.

That's what Judith and I did yesterday, anyways. We went in planning on taking a bunch of pictures and just generally enjoying being all cultured and refined. Unfortunately, this silly museum had a no photography rule. Disappointing, to say the least, because there was some amazing stuff in there.

On the other hand,  there were two pieces that were just too cool to not secretly take a picture via my phone.

A Good Death

"Hans, run!"

Hans Otrygg bolted upright, startled by the shout and the sounds of chaos outside his dwelling. His blanket falling from him as he stood up, the viking walked over to his tent's flap. Stepping through, he was greeted by terror. Everyone from camp was running, grabbing whatever they could carry that would not slow their hasty evacuation.
A man in full captain's armor rushed to Hans' side, his lips moving as fast as the legs that carried his fellow man away, "Hans! The great sky dragons have returned! Our sentry on the hill spotted them coming this way." Captain Leif shoved Hans forward, "We cannot stand here waiting for them to pour their flames upon our heads. We must go! Forget your clothes. It is too late for that. We mus---"

The sky dragons' coming roar drowned out Leif's remaining words. The two viking warriors turned their gaze skywards, watching as the great winged shapes screamed overhead. Their grey scales glistened in the sun like the steel of a blade rushing for the kill. Hans and Leif could only stand in horror and watch as fireball after fireball struck down their friends who had hoped they would fair better against the terrors of the Black Forest than the sky dragons.

Of their own volition, Leif and Hans' legs began to take them in the opposite direction of the Forest. Their friends were dead, but they had died in battle against a mighty foe. Such a death would likely gain them entrance to Valhalla's halls. However, these two warriors were not ready to join them.

The pair reached the far side of the camp when another dragon crept down from the clouds above. Hans began whispering prayers for safety, courage, strength - anything to let him survive. A flash of light and a stream of fire stopped his whispers. Leif fell to the ground beside him, body smoking and charred. Hans fell to his knees beside him, slowly coming to accept his fate.

The broken man looked up at the beast which hovered before him. His brow furrowed in confusion as three shapes dropped from what seemed to be the dragon's belly. Cloaked in black, their eyes blazing red, Hans knew these were the faces of evil. He listened to them speak to each other in harsh words. He couldn't understand their dark language. Unable to take any more, Hans grabbed Leif's sword from the ground and charged the demons; screaming, brave, dead.

Chris let go of the trigger as the native fell to the ground. His hysterical laughter echoed through the empty camp as he pulled off his mask and kicked the viking's corpse. "No one ever told me I'd get to kill bloody naked vikings! This safari was the best birthday gift ever!" He pulled the trigger again, pumping more lead into Hans' body.

Adam could only shake his head at his friend's bloodlust, "Take it easy, Chris. Don't let this go to your head."

Darkness crept across Chris's face as he turned to his friend, gun nearly pointed at Adam's torso. His finger twitched on the trigger until his mind made the connection that this particular kill would have consequences. Instead, he grinned and playfully raised his middle finger to his friend. "Screw you, man. I know this is just a game. Can only get away with it because we're on a different timeline."

"Precisely," the third man, an agent of HistoricalSafaris Inc. replied. He made a mental note to fire whoever had done Chris's mental evaluation before clearing him for the trip.

"So Mr. Tour Guide Man, where does this little hunt take us next?"

"Feudal Japan."

Something glistened in Chris's eyes, "Remind me what the rules are on spoils of war. I always liked geisha's..."