The Boy Named Nod: The Paper Route Part 2

Stiff Drink

Jefferson Blank smiled. It was a hideous contraption meticulously contructed for one purpose; to charm.

"You were great honey. Now you'll make certain Mr. Eddington gets that envelope won't you?"

She giggle-jiggled. Not pretty, but serviceable and dull. Ideal.

"Oh absolutely Mr..."

Jefferson Blank kissed her. 3 seconds. Long enough.

The Pallbearer: Where The Dead Belong Part 1

The Day After

My teeth hurt.

As I began to move, so did everywhere else. My eyes crept open like a ten-dollar drunk's.

And I saw my hands.

I didn't move after that. I (jesus my hands) hadn't seen my (where's my brute where the fuck is my brute) hands in over three weeks (yes neil, more, morrreee). My suit supplied me with everything essential (not everything hon, now come back to bed) for survival. I curled up into a ball (just fucking go!) and waited for sleep to come.

The Boy Named Nod: The Paper Route Part 1

The Interview

He wanted to know if I had ever killed a man.

"Personally or impersonally?"

"Excuse me?"

I sighed and drew my pistol.

"If I shot you, right here, right now, that would be personally. If I turned your head into an impressionist painting spattered across your wall, that would be personally."

The Pallbearer: Funeral Music Part 4

Showstopper

I prefer pain.
It's the biggest reason I fought to pilot a Brute-X17. I didn't care about the job. I wanted the pain.
See, you can say all you like about a brilliant pilot able to move like his ride is a part of him, but that's bullshit. Pain brings clarity, awareness. When my Brute is damaged, pain courses through me. I am my machine. It moves as I move, I see what it sees.
The pain encourages self-preservation.

Facing Giggles, I couldn't help but shiver with excitement.

"Come and get me laughing boy. Time to put out the rest of your eyes."

The Pallbearer: Funeral Music Part 3

Life is Blitz

Boom.
Explosions don't go boom.
Thunder booms. It echoes, rolls around in your head, shakes down through your bones, and fades away.
Explosions sing. high notes as steel, screaming, is torn asunder. Low notes as debris rains down. Flames dance to the beat, ravenous for more.

And from the sound of it, someone was conducting an orchestra.

The Pallbearer: Funeral Music Part 2

A True Showman

"Jesus christ. It's Vaudville's Carnival. Home Office, come in. Home Office, come in."
"Report Associate Anderson."
"It's Vaudville's Carnival. I think he wants out."
"Your orders stand. Hold until reinforcements arrive or be terminated."

"Ladies and gentlemen! Tramps and thieves! Welcome to Vaudville's Carnival! I have only one question for you. Are you entertained?"

Everyone began to shout at once.

The Pallbearer: Funeral Music Part 1

 An Open Grave

"Pallbearer?"
"Sir."
"Bury 'em."
"Yes sir."
"Easy does it. We don't want any of them getting out."
"Sir?"
"Yes Mortician?"
"This place is crawling up my spine."
"Heh. It's a grave boy, what do you expect?"