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Table of Contents 2 - Wasteland, Part II - General Fiction Vision of Glory - IC Garou 3 - Insight Into the Nosferatu - OOC Vampire The Torturing Thirst - IC Vampire 4 - Animalism - OOC Vampire Effectively Using Influences - OOC General 5 - Qedeshan Mythology - IC Vampire 11 - Remind Me - Poetry 13 - She's No Lady - Poetry 
Jack Knife by Michael Isaacs A lone figure was perched atop the Collins Heavy Industry Headquarters. A light breeze was the only thing that was stirring in the night sky. The figure secured his bungee line to the building and stepped onto the ledge. For a moment he seemed frozen in time, his dark long coat stayed rigid against the wind. Then the man leapt out into heaven. Cars flew by on the street that was rushing up to meet him. Twenty floors down the cord drew tight and like an angel into Heaven, the figure swung in a tight arc straight into a huge glass window. The figure smashed through into a boardroom. Several people in various business suits were showered with knives of busted glass. The figure flipped through the air landing on the business table. The people around the table were held in shock, their eyes were locked on the figure standing on the table. He was tall and lean, his long black coat waved with the wind like wings. He wore dark clothes under his coat. He had short crew cut black hair and goggles on his face, in his hands were two automatic pistols. The man regarded the people around the table. "You know why I'm here. Tell me who did it and nobody has to get hurt." His voice was smooth and calm. See Jack Knife, Page 5 |
Surrender by Michael L. Singer "Where am I?" A pounding headache on the back of my head alerted me to the fact that I had been unconscious. I rubbed the back of my head in order to work out the pain, to no avail. In searching out clues to my surroundings, I realized that I was in the same alley that led to my home, only... It had changed somehow. The usual trash floating around in the breeze was there, but the trees that spotted the alley were different, sickly. The graffiti looked oddly different. The usual gang-related fonts of stylized lettering was changed into an undecipherable alphabet, as if coming straight from those New Age magical books you might find at the local bookstore. It seemed as if I had been unconscious for hours, judging from the lack of sunlight. I made the decision that it must have been about 8 o'clock PM. The sun had just set when I rounded this corner. I proceeded toward my home. The lights were off, also peculiar since I leave the lights and television on for the sake of discouraging would-be robbers who prefer their robbery victims to not be home when they ply their "trade". The windows were filled with a mucky grime, mold covering the sides of the wall of my house. The front door was unlocked, again being peculiar since I am pretty anal about locking it when I leave. I can't help it, I grew up in the poor part of town and the habit has become second nature to me. I reached for the living room light switch and found that it wouldn't work. I wandered my way toward the kitchen and searched for a book of matches in the silverware drawer. I then felt my way to the coffee table that housed my large candle and lit it with the match I had found illuminating the room with the flickering flame. The shadows that were produced by the candle seemed to take on menacing shapes and a cold shiver ran down my body. I picked up the receiver to my telephone and discovered that it was not functioning properly. In fact, the receiver was dead. See Surrender, Page 7 |
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