UNLIMITED SK.net Fan Fiction

So I've realized that I've become stuck in my way of thinking, in my own little "comfortable" box, which has made my life and mindset quite gray, humorless, and infertile. My mind and life right now are like a wasteland where no plants grow because it gets on well enough without them so why bother. I want to change that. I want to become a font of creativity. I want my life to glitter and sparkle. So I've decided to do something about that. I've decided to become serious about having a good time.

I want to write something creative and new everyday to get the juices flowing. Whether it's long or short, a story or haiku doesn't matter. So I started to think about it. It suddenly hit me. Why not write a fan fiction but instead of basing it on someone else's work base it on the awesome SK.net forum members?

So here we are. Enjoy!


Have you ever heard of Walter? They say he was the greatest reporter to ever live. He was so good, in fact, that he was able to report events before they happened. 9/11? It made the headline on September 10th, 2001. Pearl Harbor? The December 6th, 1941 edition. He reported the sinking of the Maine on February 14th, 1898. And the beginning of the American Civil War on April 11th, 1861.

While people knew of his ability to write about the future, not many people knew how he was able to write his articles. You see, Walter was actually born with a third hand sticking out of his chest. But this wasn’t some ordinary third hand. Walter’s third hand not only stuck of his chest, it stuck out of his time too. You see, he kept his third hand a day ahead of the rest of his body. While he wrote in the present, his third hand worked in the future.

Now being able to report events before they happen tends to make you rich and famous. And Walter was no exception. Unfortunately, having the ability to see the future tends to scare the simple minds of a small town. The rumors at the time ranged from him having sold his soul to the devil for his powers to aliens operating on him in the womb. Whatever the case may be, the townsfolk decided they had to do something about him. So they held secret meetings behind his back and made plans to kill him. However the wind was quickly taken out of the townspeople’s sail when the next day the headline read “CUNNING REPORTER OUTSMARTS TORCH-WIELDING MOB.”

But the actions of his neighbors had deeply affected Walter. He realized that he would never be accepted in society. So he sold all his belongings and disappeared deep into the untamed wilderness of the Appalachians. They say he now lives in a cave and spends his days going back in time. They say he shook hands with Alexander the Great. He patted the back of Charlemagne (who he affectionately referred to as “Chuckles”). He even tried to kill Hitler although he’d never admit it since his attempt failed. (It’s hard to choke someone with one hand, after all.)

His fingerprint can be found throughout history and even within our culture. So take a little time to think of Walter, the greatest reporter of his time (and in the top five of other people’s times), the next time you ask someone to “give you a hand” or ask for a “helping hand” because right now he’s out there somewhere, in some time, doing just that.

Oburi was a good boy. A kind boy. He made good grades in school. He never swore. He always brushed his teeth and kissed his mom goodnight before going to bed. His favorite activities were learning how to tie knots at Boy Scouts meetings and playing Candy Land with his parents on family night. (He even sometimes dreamt he had to find the Candy King in the Gumdrop Mountains before Gloppy the Molasses Monster got him first!) Oburi was a good boy. A decent boy. But that was before The Incident™.

It was a chilly autumn night when his mother asked him if he’d like to go see a movie. Of course he wanted to. Oburi loved movies. Especially the Westerns where the good guy wearing the white hat always hog-tied the bad guy wearing the black hat at the end.

He looked through the newspaper’s list of movies to find one that sounded good. He hadn’t heard of any of them, after all he rarely watched television so he didn’t have a chance to see their commercials, but he decided on the one that sounded like it could be a Western. His mother hesitated at first, but then she agreed to let him see the movie.

Oburi was so excited. He jumped for joy! He ran upstairs and put on his favorite pajamas, the ones with the cowboys and Indians on them. Then he put on his felt cowboy hat and leather cowboy boots before heading back downstairs. His mother made him put on a jacket since it was cold out then they headed out the door.

At the movie theater his mom ordered two tickets, one for Oburi’s movie and the other for the romantic comedy she was going to see. She told him to meet her in the lobby after the movie then gave him a kiss on the cheek and the two went their separate ways.

He skipped down the hall, his head swimming with images of cowboys. Oburi found his theater, took a seat, and waited for the movie to start. He was so excited!

But that’s where little Oburi’s wonderful trip ended. And The Incident™ began.

Oburi sat in shock as the movie played through. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He didn’t understand what was being shown. Random scene after random scene played, skipping here and there with no level of coherency. Random actors explained things with a dictionary’s level of detail in a way that was out of character and added nothing to what couldn’t possibly be called the plot. Nothing was believable. Not the scenes that came and went before you could blink. Not the actors who didn’t put any effort into their performances. Not the music which never added to the atmosphere that didn’t exist. It was all just a flurry. It was a perfect disharmony of sound and light. Random scenes. Oburi clenched the armrests of his seat, trying to find some measure of normality, but nothing could save him. Random music. He tried to close his eyes, but nothing could save him. Random dialogue. He blacked out.

The sheriff and his deputy leaned against their squad car as the paramedics wheeled the boy on the stretcher to the ambulance. A woman, surely his mother, was nearly hysterical.

“What’s going on?” The deputy asked.

“The boy was watching that new movie,” the sheriff answered.

“Silent Hill: Revelation 3D?”

“Yeah.”

The two watched as the paramedics closed the backdoors of the ambulance then got in the cabin and took off for the hospital.

“Damn it,” the sheriff said as he shook his head in disgust,” I knew this was going to happen.”

“What do you mean, sir?” The deputy asked.

“That movie. It has a . . . spiritual power.”

The deputy chuckled. “A spiritual power? You can’t be serious.”

The sheriff stared daggers at the deputy.

“Alright, sir. I’m sorry I said that. What kind of spiritual power does it have?”

“The film the movie is printed on contains the power. Normally, it has the power to reflect the viewer’s subconscious and project it on the movie screen. If the viewer is innocent then he has a wonderful experience. If the viewer has darkness in his heart he has a terrible experience.”

“So you’re saying the boy is guilty of something?” The deputy raised an eyebrow.

“No no. That’s under normal circumstances. This movie is different. You see, the movie was created by a cult. This cult worships an evil god known as Samael the Uncreative. Because of Samael’s evil influence, the spiritual power of the film projects a disgusting, twisted experience. An experience made up of mismatches of other people’s ideas, sewn together randomly because Samael itself doesn’t know how to create something good on his own. It’s a horrible . . . Chaos.”


The ambulance raced down the road towards the hospital. One of the paramedics sat next to the boy who was strapped down on the stretcher. The paramedic was looking out the backdoor window until he noticed the boy’s lips moving. His eyes stared vacantly at the ambulance’s roof. But it looked like he was trying to say something.

The boy was speaking at just above a whisper. The paramedic bent down, placing his ear close to the boy’s mouth to hear what he was saying.

“The horror . . . The horror . . .”

Haha. Not too far off from my actual experience watching that movie.

Stormy nervously sat in the hospital’s waiting room next to a police officer wearing a grey uniform. Her face was buried in her hands. It took everything she had to keep from crying. Her life had been turned upside down since she arrived home from work just a few hours ago. It all began with two simple words: “Knock. Knock.”

The rest was a blur.

She remembered calling the police. The looks of horror on the officers’ faces. The grey ambulance pulling up to the house. The paramedics strapping him down and taking him away. The questions. God, the questions. It was like the officers were mapping every second of his life. Does he have any paraphernalia? I don’t know. Where was he when? I don’t know. Where could he have picked it up? I don’t know. Does he know any other infected? I don’t know. You know it’s contagious, right? Yes. Do you think it has spread to you or your children? No. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital waiting to hear if I would ever have him back.

The waiting room door opened and a doctor wearing a grey lab coat stepped in. His eyes quickly scanned the grey room before locking on to the woman sitting next to the police officer.

“Mrs. Weatherby?” He asked.

“Yes? How’s my husband? Is it curable? Please, doctor. Please tell me you can help him,” she said as she stood and took a step towards the doctor. Her stomach was in knots, but she refused to show it. She had to be strong.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than we thought. He’s . . . The illness is pretty severe.”

“Oh God.” She couldn’t help it. The tears started streaming down her cheeks.

The police officer stood up and comforted her. Looking at the doctor, he said,” I was afraid of that. When I arrived at the residence he was . . . I’m not sure how to describe it. He was making some kind of strange sound. It was like he couldn’t breathe or something.”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, that’s a common sign of the illness.”

Stormy used the grey sleeve of her blouse to wipe her nose. She asked the doctor,” Can he be cured?”

“I’m not going to lie. It’s unlikely he will be cured, but we’re going to try everything we can to get your husband back to normal, ma’am,” the doctor answered.

She felt the tears swelling up again. “What is it, doctor?”

“We don’t actually know the specifics yet. We believe it’s some form of infantilism. We can’t be sure at this moment. We’re going to keep him here as long as it takes to find out though.”

“Is there any way I can see him?”

“Ma’am, it’s contagious so-“

“Please, doctor. I need to see my husband one last time.”

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”

A few minutes later the doctor led her into the depths of the hospital. At the end of a grey hall they waited as a security guard unlocked the door to her husband’s room.

Sunny stepped into the room. There he was in his hospital bed wearing a grey gown. They had raised the front of the bed so he sat upright as if he were sitting in a chair. She caught a glimpse of his face. It was terrifying. The corners of his lips were raised into some kind of U shape. There was something strange and scary about his eyes. It was too much for her to bear. She turned and ran out the door.

She took the long way home. She needed the time to think and calm down before she faced her . . . their . . . children.

She parked her car in front of her two-story, grey brick house. She got out of the car. She walked to the house. Opening the front door, the sight of her two young boys wearing their grey school uniforms greeted her.

“Is daddy going to be alright?” one asked.

“I’m afraid daddy is going to be gone for a while,” she answered. Just having to say that almost made her heart break.

The two kids were crushed by the news. They felt horrible. They felt normal.

“Now go outside and play until it’s dinner time,” Stormy ordered before going up the stairs to her bedroom.

She opened the grey door to her husband’s closet. On the way home she thought she had remembered him having two boxes that he told her never to open. Surely they held some answers.

She soon found them. Two medium-sized, bright green boxes. She instantly knew she wouldn’t like what they contained.

She opened the first one and the sight of the box’s contents made her heart sink. It was all of his paraphernalia. It was the reason why he had the sickness. She didn’t want to touch them, but she had to see what he had. A rubber chicken. A bright red nose that honked when pinched. Glasses with slinkies on them that make it look like your eyes are popping out. A flower that squirted water. And a DVD about someone named Dave Chappelle. She didn’t know who he was, but she could guess that he was one of those sick freaks who loved to go to clubs all over the world to spread the illness.

She put the first box to the side and grabbed the second. She opened it. She nearly jumped out of her skin as spring-loaded plastic snakes shot out of the box. It was too much for her. She curled up into a ball and started wailing.

A couple of hours later after making dinner for the kids, showering, and putting on her grey nightgown, Stormy laid down in bed. After such a horrible day she really needed to relax so she turned on the television and turned it to the evening news. Story after story passed as she started to fall asleep. BREAKING NEWS: Man murders and eats family. Schoolgirl commits suicide after being the target of a bully. Deadly drugs are crossing the border at increasing rates. Car crash leaves little boy motherless. Drone strike kills 30 insurgents, including 27 children. Later we’ll tell you how breathing too much air will shave years off your life. And now a word from our sponsors.

Stormy heard the news as she drifted off to sleep. It made her feel horrible. It made her feel good. And for the first since she got home from work she knew everything would be alright.

That story has me all figured out, man.

HONK HONK

I feel like I cheated you a little. You inspired me to preach The Message™. So I nailed you to a cross and waved you around a bit instead of using my Weird™ to write a MrWeatherby story. Of course, preaching is just the hairier little sister of Seriousness™. I realized that before I started writing it, but I liked the idea too much to not write it. So when I get my Weird™ back in order I'll spew a better story for you.

You’ve heard them before. The story of the disembodied head. The ghost in the attic. The haunted hotel. The hook on the car door. The dead hitchhiker. We’ve all heard countless ghost stories. And like you I thought they were all a load of crap. Stories told to scare anyone stupid enough to believe them. But that was before I had a truly horrifying experience. An encounter with the entity known as TheBranded1.

I was in Phoenix, Arizona, a common stop on the pilgrimage to the Holy City™. I stood on a sidewalk, trying to decide where I should go from here. I took my wallet out of my back pocket and checked to see how much money I had. Just a single dollar bill. I guess I had used up all my money. So a bus or taxi was out of the question. I could hitchhike. But the idea of ending up naked and face down in a ditch wasn’t too appealing.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

I coul- Wait, what the hell is that sound?

I turned around. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone so the figure that greeted me made me jump a little.

It was the strangest sight I had ever seen. His face was marked by a toothy, open smile. His eyes stared straight at me. They were dead-looking but at the same time they looked like they could be full of amusement. He sat on a rusted bicycle. Every inch of the bike was rusted as if it had been at the bottom of an ocean for years. Even the wheels were warped. How he was able to ride such a bike, I didn’t know. But the strangest part about him was the fact that he wasn’t moving. I don’t mean he wasn’t riding the bike. I mean he was literally not moving. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t fidgeting. He wasn’t even using his leg to keep him from falling over. Both his feet were firmly planted on the rusty pedals. It was like he was frozen in time.

The sight made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned back around and started walking away. Maybe if I acted like I wasn’t scared he would leave me alone.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Oh God. I quickly whipped around. There he was. In the exact same position. Only this time he was a little closer to me.

“What do you want?” I shouted at him.

Nothing. He just stared at me.

“Leave me the hell alone!”

I turned back around and continued walking.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Shit. I walked a little faster.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

My skin started to crawl. My heart beat faster.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Screw this. I started running.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Oh God, he’s keeping up with me. I tried to run as fast as I could.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

My legs were burning. My heart sounded like it was in my ears.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

I cursed myself for not losing weight.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

My legs felt like wet noodles. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I became light-headed.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

My vision started to blur.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

I collapsed. I didn’t even feel it when I hit the sidewalk. I was beginning to black out. As my consciousness faded, it was all I could hear.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Darkness.

When I woke up it was night. It would’ve been completely dark had it not been for the streetlight above. TheBranded1 was gone.

My head was swimming. My chest burned. It felt like someone had gone Kathy Bates on my legs.

I heard a jingling sound as I stood up. What’s that? I reached into my pocket and pulled out four quarters. What the hell? I pulled out my wallet and opened it. My dollar was gone. I didn’t know what else to do. I put the wallet back in my pocket and slowly staggered down the street.

So if you’re in the Phoenix area, be careful or he might find you. I don’t know who he is. Or what he is. Or where he came from. Or why he’s there. All I do know is if you’re unlucky enough to run into TheBranded1, he will change you.

Sadly that bike broke not too long ago.

Ten Ganishkas could not express the laughs I've gotten from this thread! I'm only sad that I didn't have a chance to read the latest ones sooner. Skeleton, you're hilarious. I will admit that you did spook me just a little with Branded's story, though.

Actually, these yarns remind me of little storybooks that got published a lot when I was a kid, where parents would send in the name of their kid and the book company would publish that book with their child as the main character.

Holy Toledo, what a fantastic thread.

Thank you so much for the kind words, guys. You have no idea how much that means to me. :)

MrWeatherby said:

That story has me all figured out, man.

HONK HONK

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You're the weirdest person I know on the internet. This story just confirms it!

This thread is nice. Sweet stuff Reverend. Where's my story now?

They said he was just a figment of your imagination.
They said he was something gone wrong. Horribly wrong.
They said he had tentacles for teeth and backwards shinbones.
They said he lived in the sewers.
They said he only wore stitched together skins of rats. On his head.

But what they don’t say is that he’s fighting The War. He’s fighting to protect Us from Them. The only thing standing between you and Them is a transdimensional bonobo wielding a corkscrew plasma club and a bad case of Rage. And any of Them who get too close to him get to find out what it means to get hurleyed.

But do we thank him? Do we throw him a parade when he defeats a wave of Them? Of course not. We just sit on our butts watching America’s Next Top Model until we fall asleep while he’s down there fighting for our lives. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

hahaha wow! you made my day with that little piece. thx you.

jackson_hurley said:

hahaha wow! you made my day with that little piece. thx you.

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I'm glad you enjoyed it! :)



They said he wobbled (but never weebled) on legs like peeled bananas.
They said he had three feet long, planispiral fingers.
They said he had eyes calloused from years of overuse.
They said he had a hunchfront bigger than anyone else’s.
They said he stared into a mirror. And it blinked.

They said he was the best. And he was. Parents checked underneath their children’s beds for him. But he was never there. (He had a bout of claustrophobia once and decided closets were a better fit.) When a child fell asleep he’d unroll one long finger from within the darkness of the closet and tickle whichever foot wasn’t covered by a blanket. When the child awoke he was gone.

They said he was the best boogeyman They ever had. And he was. He loved scaring children. He loved when they hid beneath the covers. He loved when they couldn’t go to sleep without a nightlight. He loved when they would jump off the ends of their beds so he wouldn’t grab them. He wanted to be a boogeyman for all of time. And then he got hurleyed.

hahahaha rock on.

Very funny crazy stuff.

The Good Reverend Skeleton said:

And then he got hurleyed.

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Jackson Hurleyed that is. Sorry Gobs but I have to protect them! (okay I'm tired and at work and trying to avoid any kind of work)

Good one again Rev!

Keep it up!

I don't know how you do it but every read is damn cool!

IncantatioN said:

I don't know how you do it but every read is damn cool!

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Agreed, it's a real treat. It's funny that you'd do a story about Gobs hiding in a closet, because he really does do that.

Mike’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. Fear began to swell within the depths of his stomach. He looked at his friend sitting on the red bean bag chair.

Kevin stuffed handfuls of Cheetos into his mouth, his patchy beard covered in nuclear orange dust. His girth nearly matched the chair he sat in. A bong placed next to him slowly filled the basement with smoke.

Kevin stopped eating just long enough to say,” I’m telling you, man. It’s totally true.”

“Don’t say that, bro. You don’t really believe that,” Mike responded, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, man. Look here.”

Kevin slurped the orange flavoring off his fingers. He reached down next to him and picked up his volume of Berserk. He flipped to a page and showed Mike the images.

“See! Zodd is the father of Guts. They have similar hair. They’re both swordsmen. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Dude, don’t say that. You know that’s stupid,” Mike said, his voice betraying his fear.

“It’s so obvious. If you can’t see it then I guess you’re just stupid.”

The primordial hiss of the beast filled the room. The two men froze where they stood, paralyzed by fear. The hair raised on the back of their necks.

“Oh God,” Mike cried out,” It’s hi-”

Before Mike could even finish his thought, the heads of the two young men were freed from their bodies.


“I think we’re lost, Turk.”

Incantation and Turkitage had been walking through the wilderness of upstate New York for what seemed like hours. Turkitage’s idea of taking the weekend off to go hunting seemed like a great idea until the two were heading back to Incantation’s car, ready to go home. They had passed the remains of their camp site three times before Incantation realized they were lost.

Turkitage doubled over. He was breathing hard. Sweat poured down his face. The humid summer day was starting to get to him.

“I know, Canty. I could’ve sworn we were headed in the right direction that time. Where the hell did that car go?”

Incantation looked up at the sky. Even though it was still bright he knew that dusk would soon arrive. And he didn’t even want to think of how bad things would get once the sun set.

“Turk, we just went east from the camp. The first time we went west. The second time we went north. Let’s go south this time. Process of elimination and all that, right?”

Turkitage nodded. It was worth a shot. After all, he didn’t have the slightest clue where to go so any idea was good to him.

The two headed south of their camp. They pushed their way through the thick undergrowth of the forest. They climbed over fallen trees. They went up hills. They went down into dried up creeks.

None of it looked familiar to Turkitage. He didn’t want to spoil his friend’s hope by saying it out loud, but he didn’t think this was the right direction. But then again every time he thought he recognized a landmark they always ended up just making one big circle.

The sun began to set. The sky began to merge bright blue with shades of red, orange, and purple.

This is hopeless, Incantation thought to himself. He began to resign himself to the idea that they would never find his car when an idea struck him like a bolt out of the blue. The idea made him let out a big belly laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Turkitage asked, eyeing his friend in confusion,” Is the heat starting to get to you?”

“Griffith and Femto are two different people, wouldn’t you agree?” Incantation asked with a Cheshire grin.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just agree with me, Turk. Griffith and Femto are two different people, wouldn’t you agree?”

Turkitage gave his friend one long skeptical stare then said,” Fine. I agree. Griffith and Femto are two different people. So what?”

The wilderness surrounding them filled with the hissing sound of the primordial beast exhaling. The insects and animals who called the forest home became silent all at once, each one instinctively aware of the danger that had come.

The hairs on the back of the two men’s necks stood on end. They spun around to face the direction where the sound came from. The shock from what they saw froze them in place.

There they saw a knight’s suit of armor, empty yet animate, sitting upon a crocodile wearing matching armor. The figure held a shield marked with a rose emblem. Two otherworldly lights peered from the eye sockets of the rooster-shaped helmet, staring directly at Incantation.

Without thinking, Incantation exclaimed,” It worked! I can’t believe it worked! The legend of the Aazealh is true!”

The Aazealh reached to his side and slowly unsheathed his sword.

Suddenly aware of the danger the two were in, Incantation shook his hands in the air and pleaded,” Oh. No. No. No. We don’t really believe that. We just had to say that so you’d come. My car. We can’t find my car. I thought maybe you could help. Please. Sir.”

The Aazealh stood silent for what seemed like eternity then, with speed too fast for the human eye, he pointed his blade at Incantation, a promise of a quick death.

A deep, supernatural voice boomed from within the armor. “Say it.” The helmet’s jaw moved as if it were the Aazealh’s actual jaw.

Shaking and with eyes wide open, Incantation said,” Griffith and Femto are the same person. I swear.”

The Aazealh pointed his sword at Turkitage. His eyes stared him down.

Turkitage quickly said,” Femto was incarnated into a physical body. Whoever thinks Griffith was reincarnated into the world doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Please don’t kill me.”

The Aazealh sighed and returned the sword to its sheath. In the blink of an eye, he moved to within a couple of feet of the two men.

“Get on.”

Incantation quickly sat on the back of the crocodile. Turkitage moved a bit slower. The Aazealh, growing impatient, grabbed the back of his shirt, lifted him up, and placed him behind Incantation.

Incantation opened his mouth but shut it just as quickly. He was going to tell the Aazealh what the area looked like where he thought he had parked the car. But he knew there was no point. The Aazealh knew everything.

With supernatural speed, the crocodile started off through the woods. The three reached Incantation’s car within a matter of minutes.

Incantation and Turkitage jumped off the crocodile’s back. They ran to the lime green, 1978 Volkswagen Beetle and hugged the car out of pure joy for having found it. They cheered and jumped up and down and high fived each other. Their laughter filled the air.

“Thank you so much, the Aazealh!” Incantation and Turkitage said as they turned around to face the unnatural being.

But what they saw was the back of the Aazealh as he was about to leave.

“Wait,” Turkitage said,” Where are you going?”

“I must go. I sense a great evil subtly spreading misinformation by hiding seeds of lies within truths. I fear a great battle is about to take place,” the Aazealh answered, his voice powerful and otherworldly.

“What is it?” Turkitage asked,” What do you sense?”

“A being they call the Xechnao.”

And in the blink of an eye, the Aazealh rode off into the sunset on his magical crocodile.

The rooster-shaped helmet made me laugh.

LOL, that was great like the rest of these. You're really doing your research about us on the forums. I guess it's very fitting Incantation and I are in the same story, I'll be up in New York in April for a convention and will hanging out with Canty too! I'll definitely be checking out Kinokuniya and the Vagabond mural as well as all the other tourist stuff people do in New York - first time going so hopefully I don't get lost!!

Skeleton said:

There they saw a knight’s suit of armor, empty yet animate, sitting upon a crocodile wearing matching armor.

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When I read this about the crocodile I instantly thought of Aaz. I haven't read the forums too recently so I'm not sure if it was brought up recently but this reminds me of the only picture (that I know of) that Aaz took wrestling a crocodile way back in the day before I was on this forum. Last time I looked the picture link was broke. I assume that's why you went with a crocodile with Aaz right? If so, I'm impressed by your memory or research skills!

Hitokiri looked out the window that made up the front of the cafe. His hands tapped the table. His head nodded. His body slightly rocked back and forth. But his eyes remained locked on the entrance to the building across the street.

A middle-aged waitress put cups and plates into a bus tub. She looked over at Hitoriki then at his table. His cup of coffee sat alone on his table. The cup was filled to the brim but had been ice cold for hours.

With a sigh the waitress took off her rubber gloves and walked over to her customer.

“Would you like me to heat that coffee up for you, sir?” the overweight waitress asked with a big, fake smile.

“Shut up and leave me alone,” Hitokiri spewed. His eyes never turned away from the building.

The waitress frowned and walked back to the previous table.

Two more hours passed before Hitokiri’s spotted the man he had been waiting for. His heart felt like it had skipped a beat. He stood and watched the man walking down the sidewalk towards the apartment building’s front doors. The man kept checking his watch as he walked.

Hitokiri placed the exact amount of money the coffee cost on the table. He hurried outside and quickly crossed the street. The man had just reached the building’s doors. Hitokiri entered the building right behind him.

He scanned the lobby. The man was waiting at the closest elevator doors. Hitokiri calmly walked up next to him. A light bell rang. The elevator doors opened. Hitokiri watched as the man began walking into the elevator. He stared daggers into the man’s back. His heart raced. His breathing was heavy. He started to sweat. He followed the man into the elevator.

The man pressed the plastic button marked by a three. With a friendly smile the man asked,” What floor?”

“Four. Please.”

The man pressed the button marked by a four. The elevator doors closed. Hitokiri faked a quick smile in thanks. He quickly looked away from the man.

The doors opened on the third floor. The man stepped out and started down the hall. Hitokiri waited a couple of seconds before following behind. At the end of the hall the man stopped at a door. He took out his keys and entered his apartment. Hitokiri froze and waited for the man to shut the door. The familiar sound of a door closing filled the empty hall. Hitokiri quickly ran up to the door and put his ear on it.

He heard the sound of keys hitting a table or counter. He waited until he heard a door close before placing his hand on the door knob. He closed his eyes. He held his breath. He twisted his wrist. The door was unlocked. He exhaled in relief.

He slowly opened the door just enough to stick his head through. He peeked inside the apartment. He spotted the keys on a nearby table in the kitchen area. He couldn’t see the man. He opened the door and stepped into the apartment.

Hitokiri crept into the living room. Light pouring out from underneath a nearby door caught his attention. Hitokiri reached into his jacket and pulled out a six-shooter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Hitokiri went over to the door and slowly opened it. The room was bright and empty. At the far end was a desktop computer sitting on a bare desk with a simple chair next to it. The only other object that broke up the empty space of the room was another door.

Hitokiri gritted his teeth. The man was nowhere to be seen. The sound of a tub filling with water rang out from behind the second door. A slight smile crossed Hitokiri’s face. His eyes were dark and focused. He quickly walked to the door and threw it open.

The sight caught him off guard. The sight of the man in his bathroom wasn’t there. Hitokiri was met by a flat wall with a single speaker built into it. A recording of running water emitted from the speaker.

Hitokiri heard the bedroom door close. He quickly spun around and fired five shots into the door. He walked over to the door and ran his fingers over the bullet holes. His eyes became wide. His breathing became faster. The bullets hadn’t gone through the door. The wooden door had a thick piece of metal within it.

The recording of water shut off. The man’s voice poured into the room from the speaker.

“Greetings, Hitokiri. You’re right on time.”

“Where the hell are you, Griffith?!” Hitokiri spat.

“Somewhere safe. Safer than you, at least,” Griffith replied with a laugh.

“Wow, dude. You must feel like a big man now right?!”

Griffith’s laughing filled the room. “Aren’t you curious why you’re here?”

“I asked you nicely not to create an argument with me .. and what did you do ..? Get off you high horse and try a little perspective dude . I don't like eggs but i can assure you i don't go around telling those you who do that their stupid and shit . You really pushed the line, man,” Hitokiri shouted,” Now it’s time for you to get your ass kicked, dude. Come in here and die like a man!”

“You certainly are a lively one.”

“Seriously you sound pathetic, Griffith.”

“Maybe. But I wasn’t the one who stumbled into a trap, now was I?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our argument. You finding clues to this apartment. It was all planned. It was all orchestrated to get you here.”

Hitokiri’s heart began to race faster. Sweat poured down his face. It became hard for him to swallow.

“You see, I have a sickness. A dark appetite constantly claws at me from the back of my mind.”

Hitokiri was silent.

“I tried to satiate my desire by getting rid of the weakest in our society like the homeless and prostitutes. But my conscience kept me from enjoying it. There was still a vast emptiness within my being. The hunger remained. I realized that I’m simply not heartless enough to kill good people. So I turned my attention to those with evil in their heart.

I believe the seven deadly sins are very real. There is an actual darkness within each and every evil person. This darkness in a man is but a tentacle of a greater sin. Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Envy. Pride. And the one that fills your heart is. . .”

Hitokiri tried to swallow.

“. . . Wrath. An evil person is twisted by the deadly sin within him. And therefore it’s quite easy for me to spot those such as yourself.”

Hitokiri felt weak. “So why am I here? Are you going to kill me? Don’t think I won’t put up a fight.”

Griffith laughed. “I tried my hand at murdering people in person. But it’s such a huge gamble. I can’t run the risk of being overpowered, after all. On top of that, the risk of leaving behind evidence for the police that leads back to me is too high. No. I’ve found a much better way of punishing evil. Speaking of-”

“Screw you, Griffith! I won’t play your game! I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter. You have been found guilty of wrath. You will be punished. There is no escape. Well. . . There is one way to escape. . .”

Hitokiri looked around quickly. He tried to open the bedroom door. It was locked. “What the hell are you talking about? The door is locked, man.”

“How many shots did you fire, Hitokiri?”

Hitokiri checked his revolver. His heart sank. There was one more bullet left in the chamber.

“There is only one way to escape, Hitokiri.”

“You know what?! Screw you, dude! There’s no way a punk like you is going to make me kill myself! This bullet’s for you, man!”

“We shall see.”

The lights shut off. The room was pitch black. Hitokiri froze. His heart raced. He was covered in sweat.

A faint glow broke the darkness. The computer was turning on. Hitokiri backed up against the wall and watched. The computer powered up and began loading a program as if someone was controlling it. The computer stopped once the program was loaded. The computer screen showed a semi-animated scene.

Hitokiri slowly moved closer to the computer. As he got closer he started to make out the picture on the screen. It was a dark background with five different couples in the foreground. He moved closer.

Across the top of the picture were the words “DIABLO III. CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER.”

A blood-curdling scream of pure terror filled the room. It wasn’t until the shock wore off that Hitokiri realized the scream was coming from him.


Aazealh groaned as he woke. His vision was slightly blurry. He felt as if he had been drugged.

He stood and looked around. He was in a room with no windows and no doors.

“How did I get here?” he asked himself.

Surely there was a door hidden somewhere. But if there was he couldn’t find it.

He heard a crackling sound and looked up. On the ceiling there was a speaker coming to life.

“Good morning, Aazealh. I hope you had a good sleep.”

Aazealh had no idea what was going on. Then it hit him. He vaguely remembered his kidnapper mentioning the word punishment before he blacked out. He started to panick.

"Let's talk about the 3DS.” A deep, evil laugh boomed from the speaker.

Skeleton, you hit the nail on so much it's pretty amazing!

I've sucked at directions since I was a kid and even more so when I moved to NYC (Hey walk South East when you get out of the subway and I'd be like "Duurrr, where?! I don't have a compass on me") ... though I'm slightly better than that now, in the sense I get to know within 10 minutes if I'm headed the wrong way, so there's still room for improvement. Don't worry Turk! Ha ha ha >_>' ... and the part from where we get on to the crocodile to reaching the car was comedic gold.

When Griffith shows up in Hitokiri's story, I chuckled at everything after.