Being out flying is the most exhilarating feeling that Pippa has ever experienced.

Being able to share that with someone, someone who knows who she is, is just amazing. Freeing.

Pippa and Cotton soar, leaving trails of glittery light and droplets respectively.

They weren’t Beacon and Water Craze. They were just themselves.

“You think you can catch me, Tink?” Cotton challenges, speeding up, just ahead of her now.

“You’re on!” She replies, her light shining brighter.

They laugh and enjoy the moment. That is until their bubble is burst by a shriek.

“Help!”

With her ears fine tuned to cries for help, she slows and scans for the issue. She spots some damage at the bank. The glass of the doors is scattered on the pavement, cars are smashed, and there is one person standing among the carnage.

Good thing she is always prepared with her mask.

Pippa lands with a ring of light, which might look dramatic, but she does it to intimidate her enemies. And maybe because it looks cool.

“I’m going to ask you to back down,” she says, her voice taking on a commanding tone.

Now that Pippa is on the same level, she could see this woman better. She has no mask on and had regular clothes, a blue hoodie and jeans If Pippa had not known any better, she would appear like any other civilian. But she is standing in the middle of the wreckage, a vicious smile on her face with tendrils of ice extending her fingernails into claws.

“I was hoping you would show up, Beacon. You and I finally get to meet.” There is something about her tone that is unsettling. Like she knew something that Pippa doesn’t.

“Nice to meet you. Now are you going to stop?” She asks, her hands glowing, ready for any attack.

“Not a chance.”

Cotton comes up beside her, surprising her as she temprorarily forgot about their flight date.

“Tink, you can’t fight her,” his expression is drawn, concerned but not for her. Her eyes furrow in confusion under her mask.

“Who is she?” She questions, not addressing any of her many, many inquiries.

“I am Whirlpool,” the woman answers for him. Her grin so wide, it resembles the Cheshire Cat.

She twirls her ice-tipped finger and a mini whirlpool spun in time.

“Water Craze, I’m serious. Who is she? To you?”

To his credit he looks pained. “That’s my sister,” he says, hesitantly. Pippa knew she was wrong before. When she thought she was ready for anything, she was not for that.

“You can’t be here then.”

“I can’t let you fight her, Tink”

“I’m not going to ask you to choose between me and your family. This is why I didn’t want to involve our aliases.” She hates herself for getting involved with him. She should have known.

“Oh baby brother, you fell for a hero, how sweet. She’s too kind, but I’m not. Time to choose a side.”

“Water Craze, I need you to leave. You don’t have to pick a side,” she pleads, desperate for him to do anything but stay.

His head swivels from side to side, physically and mentally being tormented with the decision.

“Cotton,” Pippa whispers, but she knows.

She lost him.

“I’m sorry, Beacon.”

Her palms heat up, light overtaking her. She can wallow in the betrayal and hurt later. There are people around that need to be kept safe.

Protection and defense is her objective. Even if that means fighting against her love.

——— Pippa and Cotton are in some of my other stories: Beacon of Light, Evaporation (when heat and water don’t mix), Refraction, Photolysis Reaction, Precipitation, and Constriction

“Look, as much as I love a good party, sadly I’m retired. I’m bound by the law now.”

“Come onnnnn!” She grinned. “It’ll be funnnnnn!”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, but I’m wearing a mask.”

“Yes! Are you ready for the party of our lives!?” Her devious smile makes me want to take it back.

I stepped back into my house, “Y’know maybe I’m too old for this.” It was too late, she grabbed my hand and dragged me to a building. Technically I’m only 21, but I usually think of my teenage years as my villainous years. I’ve already resolved everything with my sibling, so I have no vendetta anymore.

“You’re no fun now that you’re this goody two shoes!” She complained, and I laughed. She continued, “It’s really such a shame, you were our best hacker…”

Ok maybe I should’ve said no, but remembering the years of hacking brought a burst of nostalgia out of me, so I said yes.

Here I am, at this party. Loud music is playing, and the villains are here.

I should probably leave, but just as I’m thinking this, the doors open and guards run into the room.

My sibling is a guard.

They are probably with the others.

Oh shit.

This is why I retired.

"Ah, Perry the Platypus! Your arrival is unexpected. And by unexpected I actually mean unexpected, because I haven't actually done anything evil today. I haven't done anything remotely evil in months. I'm retired, remember? And it's not Bingo night, or our regularly scheduled coffee date, so... why are you here?

"Well, while I have you, let me show you something I've been working on. I call it my Wordle-Inator! Yes, Perry the Platypus, like everyone else in the tri-state area, I have caught the Wordle bug. Which, honestly, if you're looking for evil to snuff out in the world, you should go for those guys at the New York Times. I mean seriously, I've built mind control devices before, but this is something else!

"Anyway, I only know so many five-letter words. Basically the majority of my vocabulary is six letters or more, since it usually has an 'inator' in it. And it's getting kind of humiliating only being able to post grey and yellow boxes; everyone makes fun of me on Facebook. And so I created this Wordle-inator which will fill everyone's social media feeds with nothing but green boxes! What do you think?"

I had enemies, of course. What villain doesn’t? Unfortunately, mine took the form of sunshine, which made her remarkably difficult to foil. I am, after all, a creature of darkness.

But I am also an optimist. And I’ll be damned if I let her get to me.

That is why I’m here.

As I stealthily make my approach, I hear her chatting and mentally brace myself for her verbal onslaught.

If she’s talking to someone, does that mean she has reinforcements?

But it’s not until I draw closer that I can discern her words.

‘… absolutely not. No. It’s like I told the other guy, I ordered the food from your restaurant, and it never arrived!’

I round the corner of the rooftop as she says this, grinning from ear to ear.

She’s all alone.

She cradles her phone close as she strides back and forth along the rooftop, back, and forth, completely oblivious to my arrival.

I waver on the balls of my feet, still concealed in shadow, debating whether or not to announce myself.

In the end, she sees me, raising a ring-laden hand in an absent greeting before diverting her attention back to her phone conversation.

‘You will not put me on hold again mister!’

I grin even wider, if that’s even possible.

Now I can have some fun.

"Slide me another whiskey, Misty."

That's my third today and it's not even 12:00. But nothing quite wakes me up like the warm tender massage of whiskey on my tonsils.

Here it goes.

Aaahhh, that's better. For now at least. I've gotten used to the throbbing head of a hangover, and I can't remember the last time my piss flowed a colour that wasn't a dark yellow.

It turns out life's pretty empty when you're too old to fight good.

Retirement started off okay. I did what I was supposed to; you know, travel, try out new hobbies. Damn, I even tried writing! But nothing quite gets you up in the morning like a good old hero to bust. The only bust I look forward to now is Misty's! And boy does she gives me a slap when she catches me staring. Corrr, what a pair she's got!

My days used to be filled with evil:

• Plotting dastardly schemes
• Foiling good deeds
• Pushing people over
• Oh, and paper cuts. How evil those were.

Now I've got nothing to live for. A life of a successful villain makes for one hell of a drunk...

"Misty, slide me a fourth!"

click fizz hiss (screen sharpens)

Hello again dear brothers, I thought I would send a videsat message to-my dear friends outside the wall. I know it’s been long-ago since we nattered a bit, but I thought that you might like to hear from your old droog and catch-up on what’s been going-on-up-to and since I last ranted. This time, there’s me, that is, as you know, Alex. But now I have four dibbles that is Nathan, Julie, Kyle and Dee, with my love much time-spend Choodessny, zheena- sharp Kayte. And we live in a domy just outside of City-central. My being ret to the domy I don-do much xept spend raz on the videbox or on the domy-lekkoworkstation , viddying the screen and filling in clapto rabbit declarations, to various prod rabbit owners. Tho’ I have-to say it’s mostly Oozhassny. They who might see me fair-nuff to employ, usually say yarbles in the end. Mostly its silence. This gets me glumly, especially in I am on my oddyknocky. If-i-am on my oddyknoccky, I ret to our priv-room, and put on a disc and then slooshyslooshy to Beethoven’s 9th. I still adore Beethoven, When I-do-this I spend time thinking back to me nadsat days and me-dear old droogs. When I-do think about me droogs, Dim comes to mind. I have to say, Dim is-on me mind a lot-a-lot; for though he was gloopy mozg, he is now Moodge Rozz of the millicent and in a position of power. Together with the Minister-Prime, he spends quite a lot of raz on the videbox, thee’in and thou’in and statin’ that things must be done, “to make Englandy great again”. I have to say brother’s, I thought Dim was dim, but not as dim as that. Seriously brother’s, Dim must really-be shoot dim! He must have a dungy memory as soft as warm maslo! For I rekall-clear how things were. Not like they are now! No-way! Occasionally, one of my dibbles ask me what it was like when I was a dibble or a nadsat. I tend to not say much. (To-be truthful those times are grazzyish and not that dobby.) I do rekall the milkbarplus to them an’ talk about milky chi, but I don’t go much furher than-that; after all, me being older now, I have badrekall, making-me blush-red. Yes, I tend-to think back redly and glumly at being Nadsat…those days when I used to fist and shrive yarbles and the like. If the Dibbles go on, I sigh, and I sometimes say it was a horrorshow and leave it at that. Then Kayte looks at me, for she knows everything, and with her smile, she lifts me and gives me a huge pan-handle! I must say brother’s, getting a panhandle at nearly fifty is a good snitty to say the least! Still… I am wandering off the reason as to why after all these years, I have come back to speak with you. You see, the millicent skyvat the poor lewdies off the streets’ and the videbox lies a lot more than it used to. It’s not like it was when I was a dibble, or a nadsat for that matter; for in-those days the Rozz used to be there an’ stop us dibbles and nadsats from becoming a shaika. They would clop us and crack us and soviet us home. Which, if we were caught, we would-go…if we were caught… Yersee, as you know, as a dibble and then as a nadsat I used to find plush-pleasure in-the ultraviolence. So-much-so that the millicent, the minister-prime, together with the minister of the interior-posterior, did some terrible things to me. But you-know this... then after I was re-cured I changed again! Listen, You know, that I know, that I grew up and found myself being botheringly-bored of all the ultraviolence! You know, that I know, that I changed, preferring lubbilubbing with Kayte which is a buggaty horrorshow, that, it has to be said, and has prod four radostable dibble’s, who are so, so horrorshow, that I really should have nothing to worry about. But…But now, those darkly-plush feelings of ultraviolence are rising again and I don’t know what to do. Well I do-know what to do. I want to oozy the millicent and seabog the Roz in the Yarblie’s and mozg the minister-prime. By I am oddyknocky…and being oddyknocky its difficult… it reminds me of the difficult time from my first cure, then I used to be sick to the point of thinks about the snuff it! I think this new change has come about, because I am now a peeandem and being a peeandem changes things. You-see, I was there when the malenkies came into the world. I viddy into their beautiful glazz viddy and think to-myself that they need learning and a safe dobby doma…more of a nest than a doma really. But then I lookylooky at the world around me and-I-see clatter-schools and clatter-hospitals; and calatter-roads to clatter-shops, in clatter-malls surrounded by clatter-millicents; who will fist you if you don’t pay them the fair poly. Also Poly is so hard to get now. It makes me want-to go-back-to the good old days of the ultraviolence just-to get some snoutie! I would-too, but I gave up cancer’s a long-long time ago, besides cancers are illegal now!an I don't want the dibbles to smot me in the staja. Then there is the nadsats today! When I was a nadsat we used to dig the ultraviolence greatly. So-much-so that the Millicent had not one idea of what to do with us! Nowadays the nadsat grow beardys or dye their hair oldstyle also they talk and talk of bog all-day-long! But it’s not the bog I know! Now, as you know, I had my share of reading the book of Bog. My now dearly gone-gone droog, Charlie, left me his copy of the book of Bog, which I have to say, I read occasionally, so, I know that there is something to it. But these new nadsats, they have even twisted the word of bog! So-much-so, that though they grow beards dye their hair old-style and wear ultra-skinny clothes and such like, or wear their pants so low that others viddy their sharries and think a bit for a bit about the old male inoutinout, which isn’t wrong...no far from it, its just not what I am into. They also love the goverus! In fact they love the goverus so-much-so that they are all members of the goverus party! Now, you tell me brother’s, where is the sense in that? Where is bog in that! Bog hates the goverus! Everything that bog says on his mount, is opposite to what the goverus say and the goverus do! Yet these new nadsats, they all love the beards and the poly and showing their sharries while they all cheer at the goverus! Its true, dear brother's the nadsats have gone nazzish! They are just a bunch of knopka keeshkat! All dim glazzed and empty! Then -of course- there are the lewdies. I feel… that the goverus has jammiwammed the lewdies. Now brother’s, I know, I am screeching, like the man whose name I forgot…you know the one who wrote “A clockwork Orange” , the one who made me fall from the window after I…well redly there, but brother’s, it’s a fact. Now, You might smeck and say: “Well you had the chance to change it all those years ago, brother and you did precisely nothing…you just thought of yourself! You were a selfish psychopath that would work better in the goverus next to Dim than bring about a revolution. ” to that I say, wellwellwell That brothers, that would be true. But back then I had no dibbles; no kayte; who I lustto inoutinout in sweet libbilubbing, all night long, even at fifty…yersee…things, are bigly-different now! I-am different now! The Minister-Prime, the minister for the posterior and sod-sooma Dim himself come on the Videbox and spout about how the new Goverus is the best thing since the glorysunrise -even though the voterysystem is bent- and how the broken lewdies are not pulling their weight. Yet at the same time, the poly is shrinking in the wash, just as the Millicent start bringing on the heavy Pooshka! Then brothers, then something must be done! You viddy brothers, I don’t expect you to-fully-get-this. I know you, brothers, don’t viddy us in the Englandy that well; not since the minister-Prime built the walls up around the place,. But things here are grazzy! The goverus have prod: tiny buzzies! Tiny, tiny buzzies that polyclef our domy’s at any given opportunity. The buzzies are the Goverus’s new ooko and glazz; they zuzuzz zuzzuzz into our domy’s and glazz and ooko us, while we are doing anything! It’s poogly! A real starry strack! We are in a staja in our very dorma’s! Just last week, while I was on the lekko-workstation filling in more nasty rabbit forms, I had a ring from my dear old droog Pete. You rekall-clear that Pete got married to a choodnessy sharp called Karen. well on the ring He sounded all flip. His goloss was well well gromsky! After a bit he told me that Karen had been pletchoed by the millicent and made a plenny for sharing platties to the broken lewdies! I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know that sharing platties had become a crime, but it was. Then he flipped again and the ring went dead. That night, while I sat watching the videbox, there, big as the screen was my old droog Pete, being arrested for vredding Karen! Well, couldn’t believe it. What-a-world we have now! Liesuponliesuponlies!
So Brother’s what do-I-do? Do-I go-back-to ultraviolence or not? I think so, even-tho at my age there’s no fun-to-it. But something needs doing and if the nadsats won’t do it. who will? I leave this in your hands dear brothers as I now consider my future actions. I will be your droog frorever Alex

appendix to the text

the one thing I loved about the text is the way Burgess penned it, so I have been as faithful as possible to the orignal text. The real key of a good gloss or neoglism is that it sounds as close tothe nown verb or adjective it describes, but also has some changes. Burgess used Russian as a means to create Nadsat so some of the words he used are still used today. In my own version of Nadsat I have made some notable changes; mainly because I didn't find them in the glossery of the original text, bit also because at the time they did not exist , but they came to mind during the draft. For instance I have added group noun for children which is dibble.I have also added videsat which is a video blog from outside the wall that Alex finds himself enclosed in. Clapto which means time consuming or tireing. Videbox, TV, lekky-workstation, computer, Glumly, sad, Glumlyglumly, depressed, Priv, private, botheringly, fed up, redly, embarressed, ret unemployed rekall, remember badrekall a bad memory rising to the surface. Rekall-clear remember things clearly lookylooky really observe, clatter privately run buisness and finally nest or a secure home. The rest follow the original nadsat, here is the list entirely

dibbles group nown for children

ranted spoke in an aggitated way.

videsat secret video blog sent via the dark web from behind the wall.

xept except

fair nuff easy/employable

clapto time consuming

Choodensy wonderful

Zheena wife

Sharp woman

snitty amazing

dormy house

Rax time

videbox tv

Lekkyworkstation computer

ret unemployed / retired retire

Viddy see (add suffix) ish 's

Rabbit work

Prod make

Oozhassny terrible

Yarbles testicles or bollocks

Glumly sad

Oddyknocky alone

Priv private

slooshyslooshy listen

peeandem parent's

nadsat teenage

droog friends

gloopy stupid

Mozg brain

Moodge man / cheif boss

millicent group noun police

Rozz Policeman

Sheika gang

clop thump

Crack hit

Soviet order

Plush rich

smot grass tell the police

Ultraviolence really aggressive behaviour

Botheringly fed up

lubbilubbing making love

buggaty rich

Horrorshow good /well

Englandy England

shoot incredibly

grizzled worn out

empty lacking identity

Dungy excrement

maslo margerine /butter

Clear see things clearly

Grazzy soiled

Dobby good

Chi tea

redly embrarressed

fist punch

Shrive cut

Rekall remember

Badrekall bad memories

pan handle erection

Skyvat pull off

Lewdies people

Videbox TV

oozy chain

seabog kick

nest secure

lookylooky observe

Clatter private companies

poly money

fair poly bribe

cancer ciggarettes

snoutie tobacco

beardy's beards

oldstyle, dyed grey hair or shaped in an old way

bog god

gone-gone dead

sahrries pants underwear

inoutinout sexual intercourse

goverus government

goverus party, an ultra right wing government party that seeks to govern without serving the people. similar to Right libertarian and or fascist dictatorship/ police state.

nazz fool suffiix (ish)

knopcha button

keeshkas stomach (both together make button stomach or weak stomached)

jammiwammied jam or stuck

screeching shouting

lustoo sexually pleasing

sod fornicator

sooma bag

glorysunrise brilliant more than brilliant

voterysystem the voting system democracy

broken disabled

Pooshka cannons

grazzy soiled

buzzies a small bee that can spy on people

polclef skeleton key (enter without warning)

glazz watch

ooko listen

poogly frightened

starry ancient

stack horror

staja state prison

ring call/ ring phone similarto a mobile.

goloss voice

flip scared agitated

gromsky loud

pletchoed shouldered grabbed

plenny arrested

platties clothing

vredding attacking

Roza watched the child playing in the snowy park. To anyone she looked like a grandmother watching her granddaughter play while her mind idly wandered but the truth was far from it. Instead her mind assessed every single thing that could possibly be a threat to her practically-granddaughter.

She payed close attention to the rooftops and windows around them. It wasn’t necessary, she knew, but a habit. Daniil was at work, in Cuba. He would be there for about another week. She knew if something happened to him, she would have to go after him. After all she was the only other assassin skilled enough to retrieve him, even if she was aged now.

Sofiya suddenly started running but some corner of her mind saw the skateboarder. At the rate he was going he would hit her. Before she knew what she was doing she had taken off running and scooped Sofiya in her arms just as the careless teenager flew by, disturbing the folds of her tweed coat.

She scolded him and he left properly chastised. As he got back on his board though he didn’t make it far before he fell. Roza took Sofiya’s hand and walked her home, practicing her American accented English, forgetting eventually she had pocketed several crucial bolts that belonged on the skateboard. With out them, the wheels would continue to fall off.

Looking out the window made everything seem so quiet and peaceful, like staring at a beautiful painting. Warner savored the living detail of people running around...where were they all going? Over here he could see a little boy clutching his mother’s hand, excitedly rushing to catch the best spot to see the penguins at the Central Park Zoo. Over there he saw an old man arguing with an old woman as they walked down 59th Street. From the looks of it, she was in tears and doing her best to find any refuge away from the old man’s verbal abuse. Further down he could make out a couple looking to hire a horse-drawn carriage around the park. Their public display of affection made Warner feel uncomfortable despite being so far away. Watching them kiss only reminded him of home. “I suppose everything looks peaceful from the 20th floor of the Plaza Hotel.” he thought. He was always the guy who could see the big picture; even the flaws of the grotesque helped to compose a well-textured canvas, accentuating those parts that were dazzling in their imagery. All one needed was to take a step back and look. Warner had checked in at the Plaza Hotel a week ago, under the cover of night and surrounded by guards. He previously insisted at least one guard remain posted in front of his room, but since he had his own personal elevator as an entryway, he let it go. It seemed for once that Secretary Bradley was correct, nobody knew he was here. But here, time seemed to be standing still. Between contemplation at the window and waiting to receive the final word from the President, Warner was already feeling claustrophobic. Despite occupying in luxury at the Plaza’s 1500 sq ft penthouse suite, all he wanted was to go home. “You know that’s not possible.” he immediately responded to himself. “Well, if it’s not possible, then get me to my new home, fuck!” he barked out loud to no one.
Impatiently, he picked up his phone and dialed Bradley’s office. “Bradley, it’s me again. Any new word?” “None yet, Mr. Mott. As I mentioned previously, you will be the first to hear from me as soon as I hear anything.” “What the fuck is taking so long?” Warner interrupted. “How long does it take to figure out a goddamn relocation site? He knows I can’t go outside, right? He does know a mob will fucking kill me the moment anyone knows it’s me here - especially in a luxury suite. Everyone will know you’re protecting me. It’s to everyone’s advantage that I get out of here as soon as possible.” “We know, Mr. Mott. Trust me, we are all doing what we can to secure a location.” the secretary offered in a de-escalating tone. “But you do understand, a person of your notoriety is not easily hidden away. Moreover, we’d like to make sure that you’re happy wherever you land. The president himself wants to make sure you are comfortable and well taken care of.” “Spare me.” Warner retaliated. “The president just wants to save his own ass. Remind him that saving mine will preserve his.” “Is that all, Mr. Mott? I will pass the message along.” “Fine.” Warner poured every sour ounce of distaste and disdain when saying the word. It was everything but fine. “Fucking bitch of a reporter.” No time to think about this now. There was lots of preparation left on his part to do; papers to read, money to shift, blah blah blah. But the work wasn’t going to do itself while he continued to obsess over the scandal. “It wasn’t my fault,” he repeated to himself. “It wasn’t my fault.” Instinctively, he began to look for the vodka. Finding it, he drank straight from the bottle. “10 am be damned,” he said unsteadily. After splashing water on his face at the marble wet bar, Warner sat down on the plush blue couch. Moments passed and he found himself back at the window, staring absently at the bustle of the city. Here, a troop of girl scouts came bobbing and skipping down the street towards 6th Avenue. Their brown uniforms and skirts flooding his mind with memories of his own daughter. Warner could almost imagine their excited squeals when seeing the park horses. “Sophie did love horses,” he said softly. Looking in the opposite direction, Warner could almost catch a glimpse of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He’d never been to New York City except on business, and he regretted never taking the time to visit. “If only I was stuck at the Met instead of this opulent detention cell.” he laughed to himself sarcastically. Flying in disarray near the suite window, a flock of birds interrupted his thoughts. As he wondered where the birds came from, a strong morning wind began to blow. “I didn’t realize it was going to storm.” he thought to himself. That’s when he caught his first sight of her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old woman pushing her cart towards the corner of 5th Avenue. She walked with a crooked stride and what looked like permanently hunched shoulders so that her elbows fell instinctually back against the sides of her body. Her grasping hands hanging down, she pushed her cart slowly. She wasn’t just filthy; what looked like a manky brown coat, at closer inspection, appeared to be more like a layer of matted and oily feathers, brown and gray. The old woman turned around slowly fixing on Warner. A broad sickly smile crept across the old crone’s face. Her teeth looked like long sharp daggers, her crusted lips curling the smile into something like a dog baring its fangs. “At who? At me? What the fuck is that? What IS that?” Warner panicked. The thing then began to open its mouth. Wider and wider, the thing unhinged its jaw like a box, so that its head could continue to open flat, revealing rows of descending sharp teeth down the creature’s throat. Its lamplit eyes were shining straight into his, holding his gaze so that it was impossible to look away. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” he heard a rasping voice say. He had a hard time determining if the voice was real or only in his head. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” the words slithered out again. Warner screamed, or imagined he screamed. He could not tell if any sound was coming out of his mouth. The moment seemed like an eternity. He could not tear his eyes from the creature. And then…

        Warner woke up with a jolt. 
        “Good fucking god!” he said relieved. “Fucking nightmares, man.” His hands were still shaking. “That felt so real.” he sighed to himself, sitting up and running both of his hands over his head. He could feel the sweat, then looked down at his hands in unbelief. “Geez. It felt real but goddamn.” he laughed. 

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the telephone. “Hello?” “Hello, Mr. Mott. I have Secretary Bradley, please hold.” the assistant intoned. “Go ahead, Mr. Secretary. Mr. Mott is on the line.” “Hello, Warner. My assistant tells me you’ve been trying to reach me.” Warner shook off what felt like an infantile fear, feeling the heaviness of his circumstances all over again. “Well, yes. Any new news? What’s happening?” “Nothing regarding your relocation since the last time. However, the situation seem to be escalating. Have you read the papers today? The reporter is no longer just mentioning your name. I’m afraid things have become a lot more complicated. It may take a little more time.” “More time?! How much more time?” Warner was clenching his teeth now. “Undetermined. For now, the president says you’re safe where you are. Do not leave or step foot outside your room. All room service will be limited to the same server for your own safety. Fewer eyes seeing you is better. She’s being paid extra to cater to you 24-hours.” Warner could feel the anger rising into his throat. He couldn’t utter a response other than to breathe heavily in frustration. Bradley spoke with slow enunciation, “Warner, get a hold of yourself. It is not as though you’re in the worst of places. There are others in far more horrible locations than you. Sit tight and I will call you when we’re ready to move you. Until then, do not call me again. Good evening.” Bradley hung up. Warner threw the telephone across the room, sat down at the dining room table, then pounded the surface with both fists so hard that his hands throbbed and ached. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” There was nothing he could do. His leg was nervous with jittery energy and wouldn’t stop rocking. Warner took a deep breath. Exhaled. Then another. After a few minutes, he raised his palm to his forehead. “Good evening? What time is it?” he wondered out loud. The clock read 5:41 pm. Had he been asleep all day? The last thing he could remember was...he couldn’t remember. Looking out the window? No, that was the dream. The girl scouts? The PDA couple? Was that all part of the dream too? He couldn’t tell. Standing, Warner decided to relieve his stress by watching TV and grabbing something to eat. Against his better judgment, he put on the news. “The scandal. That’s all anyone can fucking talk about. Of course.” Warner picked up his phone and dialed for the waitress to bring him food. When he was finished, he proceeded to run through his routine; first unlocking his side of the elevator doors, followed by clearing the table of any used plates to be taken away, then standing back at the window looking outside. Since he checked in, this had been his regular behavior when the servicewoman needed to enter his suite. He never faced her. One, because he feared she would recognize him and alert others. Two, because he held laborers like this to be beneath him. He didn’t despise them. He simply found them unworthy of his time or attention. It was enough to observe them behind a window from afar, it was another thing to be in contact with them face to face. Hearing the elevator ding, he could hear the attendant pushing the cart with his food. She offered him her pleasantries and courtesies, but Warner paid her little mind. Barely bringing himself to acknowledge her attempt to gain a tip, as he was engrossed in watching two teenaged boys shoving and picking a fight with one another in the park below. When she left Warner sat down and began to focus his attention on the news: “This is Darla Sanger for Eyewitness News 7. We are live at Central Park right now. Many are gathering together for a candlelight vigil in memory of all those that began to die to the Osiris Plague just eleven years ago. Since then the world is mending and healing, but we are still far from forgetting the eight long years of quarantine, failed vaccines, and the loss of roughly 60% of the planet’s population. Most of those dying in areas with higher temperatures and temperate climates, such as those along the equator in Africa, South America, and Indonesia. Authorities around the world are still cautiously reclaiming locations closer to the equator, attempting to ensure any bodies found are properly cremated, and that the Osiris Plague does not spread again.” “In addition to grief, tempers are high at the vigil after news broke that the president ignored advice on a plan that might have been able to spare billions of lives. NPR’s Linda Carlson recently reported that an advisor to President MacArthur, William Warner Mott…” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Warner switched the TV channel. He didn’t feel hungry anymore, but sat there with his eyes shut in front of his cloche-covered meal. Anyone looking from the outside would have thought Warner was praying. Warner was never the praying type. Instead, he found himself unexpectedly distracted by thoughts of home. Various details came screaming back to him. He could recall the paths of cracks in his garden walkways or the rich smell of the jasmine in the spring evening air. Warner wished he could go back one last time. He wished he could hear his children playing and laughing. He wished he could see that excited expression on his wife’s face whenever he came home. All of the things he ignored while he had them, like a petulant child that suddenly wants a toy he dismissed all day until he realized he could not have it anymore. He was too late. He wasn’t able to reach her in time. News traveled too quickly. She feared for Sophie’s life, expecting to rejoin with Warner at a later time when their daughter was out in the clear and better. She never doubted anything. Why would she? Violet was informed and kept up with the news. She felt it a duty considering her husband was a politician and feared she might say something foolish to embarrass him. She loved her husband and worked unrelentingly not to chide him for staying away from home so much. Sophie began to become disoriented and confused in her speech, followed by the fever, followed by the loss of motor functions - all the telltale signs of the virus - Violet knew she could not wait for Warner. She had tried to get a hold of him for several days in the midst of the worst of it. But when President Buchanan died of the virus himself, only a year into his term, then former Vice-President MacArthur leaned heavily on Warner’s assistance and advice – and had ever since. After finishing Buchanan’s term and finishing his own first, the new Osiris vaccine was almost ready to be announced and MacArthur won the election for a second time. Despite the condition of his own daughter by that point, Warner told himself he was sacrificing for the greater good. “The big picture stuff.” he reminded himself frequently. “My work at helping the president find a cure will trickle down towards Sophie getting a cure that much sooner.” The president made it impossible to leave his side and Warner considered it his duty to remain close at hand. Then the idea came, and then the world public announcement. It didn’t occur to Warner to alert Violet as to the truth. Then they were all gone. He knew he would never see them again. “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” the sound slid out slowly. The hair on the back of Warner’s neck stood erect. Did he just imagine that? He opened his eyes and stood up, looking around back and forth. It was dark now. None of the lights were on. “How long was I sitting there thinking?” He looked at the clock. It was 11:45 pm now. “How in the world was I sitting there for so long?” “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” This time Warner turned off the TV. Maybe it was some noise on the TV he was confused about, or the wind? Looking around and finding nothing, he could swear he could hear a clinking sound coming from his food. Returning to the table, he quickly snatched the dome from the plate. Warner immediately began to wretch. The chicken dinner the room service waitress had brought him was now nothing but dried bones with bits of rancid meat stuck on them. What was left over in the carcass was crawling with bloated maggots and flies. Warner heaved on the floor in the dark, dropping the cloche with a ringing clash next to him. “She brought me rotten fucking food?” he thought incredulously in between violent dry heaves. “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” Warner froze. He definitely heard it this time. His hand attempting to steady his stomach, Warner willed himself to get it together. He lumbered to his place by the window. Nothing. He could see the city lights. He could see three police cars racing down 59th, sirens blaring. “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” There it was. The gargoyle. A strong wind began to blow. He had not noticed the rain outside, or even heard the thunder and lightning. “There are no gargoyles on this building.” he said out loud absentmindedly. No, not a gargoyle. But something sat on the ledge just outside his window. Warner could just see its outline. Its back was facing towards him. His heart was pounding as the lightning from the storm revealed the familiar hunched shoulders, hands hanging down along its side, and black midnight feathers obscuring itself against the darkened sky. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” the thing breathed at him. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” Warner countered. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault!!” Between flashes of lightning Warner could see the thing turning around and got the distinct feeling the thing was moving closer and closer to his window. Frozen in fear, the thing’s lamplit eyes were fixed on him. Again, it made that hideous grinning expression, its daggerlike teeth gleaming wildly. He never saw it move, but at the same time he could see it stalking towards him; a predator about to devour its prey. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” it whispered with a deafening shrill voice. Warner was horrified. Before letting the thing speak any more, he bolted for the bedroom, his shaking hands fumbling the dresser drawer. Groping in the dark, Warner’s hand found what he was looking for: a colt revolver. It had been passed down to him over the generations, but Warner doubted it had ever faced anything like this. Loading the bullets and pocketing a handful, Warner returned to the window overlooking the shadowy darkness. When the lightning flashed across the sky, the thing could be seen with its mouth gaped open, slightly turning its head to the side so as to keep its eyes on Warner. The creature’s face so haggard with hunger insatiable, Warner could smell the foul putrid breath and nearly gagged again. The thing began to raise its wings, howling like the shrieking wind. Holding himself steady, Warner raised the revolver and shouted a warlike cry while emptying the gun at the old crone’s silhouetted form. Both 6mm layers of plate glass shattered, but did not crash down the window like Warner expected. Instead, he could see six holes running through the glass surrounded by splintering branches extending away from their place of impact and flowering across the entire pane. Trembling, Warner attempted to reload his weapon as quickly as he could. But when he looked up to fire again, there was nothing to be seen. The thing was gone. Had he imagined it? He slowly sat down against the wall opposite to the bullet riddled window. “What just happened?” Shock slowly claimed all of Warner’s senses. He felt paralyzed, lost in thought. He did not remember passing out.

        Hours later, still dark, Warner awoke to his phone ringing. “Hello?”
        “Mr. Mott, this is Secretary Bradley. We need you packed and ready to be smuggled out of New York in the next hour. There’s no time to explain but you must leave as soon as possible. A driver has already been sent and will bring you to the safehouse. Once there, we’ll fly you out and figure what the next step is. I’m sorry I cannot tell you more but this message comes straight to you from the president.”

“What’s going on? What time is it?” Warner asked disoriented. “We do not have time to explain. Get yourself ready and make sure you eat something before you go. It will be a long trip and there will be nothing for you except what you take now.” The secretary hung up, and Warner looked dumbfounded at the window. He hadn’t imagined it. He really did it. It wasn’t a dream. The window was still shattered. It wasn’t a dream. Was he going crazy? No time to think about that now. Creature or not, he needed to get out of here. He realized that he didn’t care for any explanation anyway. Every fiber of his being shouted to run away from that place. Warner longed for fresh air, the sun on his face, a nice cool breeze, and the fresh smells of freedom. He looked forward to the leaving everything behind now, so that he could mourn his loved ones and live the rest of his life at peace. The buzzing of the elevator interrupted his train of thought. “I didn’t order anything,” he thought to himself. “Maybe they ordered it for me?” Walking to the entry way, Warner cautiously called out. The familiar voice of the room service lady calmed him a bit. “I was told to bring you something to eat, Mr. Mott. I am sorry if I woke you.” The pleasant voice offered. “Your side of the elevator is still locked, Mr. Mott. As soon as you unlock it, I can leave your food for you.” “Aah it’s okay. Would you mind just leaving it there?” Warner cheeped. A pause that felt like an eternity. “I’m afraid I’m really not supposed to leave carts of food on the elevator, sir. I could lose my job.” Warner could hear her slight Brooklyn accent. He had never noticed it before. Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him not to unlock those doors. Yet he realized how foolish he must have seemed. How was he going to explain shooting the window? Would a birdlike monster-creature really imitate a Brooklyn accent just to set his mind at ease before devouring him? The thought was ridiculous. “Right, right. One moment.” Warner held his breath while he unlocked the doors. When they opened, they saw each other’s faces for the first time. She was a beautiful, late twenty-something year old woman. She had a shapely hourglass figure, but the black and red Plaza Hotel uniform she wore sat like a sack so that it was difficult to discern the contours of her body. Her face was lit by her pretty gray eyes and alluring long eyelashes. Her luscious blond hair cascading past her shoulders. Warner felt stunned, then awkwardly backed away to let the woman in. She set the plate down then took the soiled leftovers from before. When he looked at it, the food was neither spoiled nor rotten, only untouched. Beginning to feel lightheaded, Warner thanked the woman who stood with her hand out in an expecting gesture. “Oh…right. Give me a moment.” Looking around he couldn’t find his wallet. As he strode past the table, Warner accidentally knocked into the new covered tray of food. When it fell to the ground, he could see the maggots squirming everywhere and immediately jumped back. A sound like a guttural growl, deep in the throat, began to grow from behind him. Slowly Warner turned around, eyes open wide. Already her lamplit eyes were glowing at him. Thick black and red feathers covered her body, greasy and foul with a profuse stench of corruption. On her hands were the razor-sharp talons. She leered at him with her teeth. Then its jaw unhinged, and the mouth began to open slowly. Staring down the throat of the beast, his ears were ringing. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS.” “I didn’t do anything!” Warner shouted back in desperation. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” “I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything, I swear. I saved millions of lives.” “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS.” Warner was unable to tear his eyes away. Falling on his knees, his nostrils became filled with the smell of the creature’s repulsive breath, hot against his face. There was nothing he could do. This was the end. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS NNNOOOWW!” “It was my idea. I convinced the president.” Tears streamed down Warner’s face. “I told him that the possibility of saving the world…against a certainty of saving what would be left of the human race after the virus…convinced him he could not risk it. He needed to see the bigger picture. The difficult decision needed to be made!” “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” The thing dripped hateful drops from its eyes, almost in mockery of Warner’s whimpering words. Its mouth was open so wide he could see down the thing’s throat, its eyes still fixed, its wings beginning to spread. “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” it began a crooked shuffle towards him. Warner still on knees, began to speak faster. “We knew…we knew temperate climates and warm weather helped spread the virus. We knew the cold freeze slowed it down.” “CONFESSSSSS!” “It was my idea. I convinced the president to tell the everyone warm weather was good for killing the virus. I told him if we announced to the public to head south. To tell the world to head towards warmth and the equator…there was…there was no way everyone would do that. But we knew many would. The plan was…” he cried. “…when they reached those warmer areas, the virus would go hyper and eventually kill off the entire population nearby.” “WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” “Without…any one to feed off, the virus would eventually die. No host, no virus. That was our hope. The world was too far gone to get yet another failed vaccine, or so I thought. How was I supposed to know? I was trying to save us all!” Warner’s shouts turned to sobs. The thing was right in front of him now. “She left before I could warn her. She left and took our children. My family. They’re dead because of my lie. Everyone is dead because of me.” “CONFESSSSSS!” he could hear the thing’s words thundering in his ears, now that it was this close. Yet it’s mouth never moved. “I can’t do this.” Warner agonized while bowing over, fists curled tightly. “DIIIIIEEEEEE!” the thing responded. “DIIIIIEEEEEE!” Warner looked up, face to face with that barbed gaping pit of black. The creature covered Warner with its wings, as if swallowing him whole. It was the last thing Warner Mott ever knew.

The scene drew early morning crowds all around, so that the police needed to set up a border to keep people back. His broken body lay in the middle of the street. “Looks like he jumped.” Officer Ridley said, sipping his coffee. “Yup. Twenty-first floor.” Officer Jackson responded. “Goddamn guy shot through the plate glass then jumped through. Not that anybody should care. This was the fucker everybody was looking for. The guy on the news. You know? Seems the president was trying to protect him. Had the guy staying here at the Plaza while the world was hunting him down. They’re expecting to arrest MacArthur now too. Did you hear?” The coroner’s report would rule William Warner Mott’s death a suicide. Doctors would assume Mott jumped because he couldn’t live with his conscience over everything he’d done. The guilt like a cancer, eating away at his life, like a harpy devouring her villainous victim till nothing but decay and rot are left behind.

I was a pup just like any other. When you are small, everyone thinks you are cute. They actually care about your feelings. Now, when other animals see you they think that you are bad. Animals are so sensitive especially pigs. They claim to be traumatized because I tried to eat them. I am a reformed wolf and they treat me like a pariah. I tried to apologize but they make it so hard. I went to Pig Eating Anonymous and I am reformed. I am vegan now but they don’t believe me. Even Little Red Ridding Hood is holding a grudge because she claims that I tried to eat her grandma but it wasn’t me. In PEA, I realized that I picked on the pigs because I was bullied. I wanted to feel better about myself so I terrorized the pigs and their families. I talked about this with my sponsor and he understands that this is a difficult process. I even opened up my own company. We build houses for pigs and protect them from other wolves. It doesn’t matter what I do, they will never forgive me. I am really sorry, three little pigs.

There is only one cashier, and it is Mr. Williams today, that explains the long line. Grace sighed and looked down at the items in her basket and wondered if it would be better to come back later. She still had cheese and crackers she could eat, and the milk was not spoiled yet. Looking up and seeing that Mr. Williams was still talking with Mrs. Snyder, Grace decided. Abandoning her basket, she made her way out of the market. On her way out, Grace noticed a chip display by the doors. Pretending to look for her keys in her purse, Grace snagged a bag and kept walking until she got in her little white four-door sedan and drove off. When she stopped at a light, she opened the chips and savored the barbeque flavor. The bag was halfway gone by the time Grace arrived home.

Walking up to her front door, Grace looked around before unlocking it and entering. Grace placed her keys in a bowl and went into her living room, where she flopped onto the couch. Pulling her computer onto her lap, she began to answer emails. She deleted multiple emails without opening them, and others she replied to with referrals. All was quiet, except for the melody of her neighbor’s wind chimes, which caused Grace to freeze and sit her computer down on the coffee table. She removed a drawer and grabbed the gun she had hidden. Making her way slowly and methodically, Grace cleared her first-floor rooms. That just left her second floor. Slowly creeping up her stairs, she avoided all the steps that creaked until she came to the top. She once again cleared each room. No one was in the spare bedroom or the small office she never used. The only room left was her bedroom, and as she got closer, the chimes got louder. Taking a deep breath, Grace opened the bedroom door and cussed in her head when it squeaked. The door opened, revealing a cracked window, along with a sleeping figure on her bed. Grace laid the gun on a table and walked over to the window, where she lammed it shut. The sleeping figure jolted up and frantically looked around until they spotted Grace.

“What the hell, Grace! Why did you do that?” Grace placed her hand on her hips.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that since you broke into my home. What are you doing here, David?” David stood up from the bed, stretched, and smiled at Grace.

“Can’t a man visit a good friend?”

“That is a load of bull. Now tell me why you are here before I show you the door.” Grace took a step forward and poked David in the chest. David raised his hands.

“I’m telling you the truth. I decided to take a nice relaxing vacation, and your town was my first thought. I figured you would have a spare room I could borrow.” He gave Grace another smile, and she poked him again.

“When have you ever wanted anything to be relaxing. I’m serious David, why are you here?” David lowered his hands, and the smile left his face.

“I’m just looking for a spare room as I reevaluate what I want to do going forward.” Grace took a step back and looked at David. He was not wearing his customary suit, and his hair was not slicked back. When they worked together, Grace never saw him in jeans and a t-shirt.

“You are thinking of leaving the group,” Grace stated.

“I am.”

“What has changed?”

“Leadership is moving us further in a direction that I don’t agree with.”

“You were okay with it a few years ago.”

“I know, and I am here admitting I was wrong.” David hung his head. “I realized the ideals we started everything with are gone, and I just left.”

“They don’t know, right. You made sure no one followed you here.” Grace reached out and grabbed David’s shirt. “If you bring them here after all I did to disappear, I will kill you.”

David looked at Grace and pried her hands from his shirt, but he did not let go of them. Instead, he brought them to his lips and kissed them.

“I promise, I covered my tracks.”

“I am going to hold you to that,” Grace whispered. Grace removed her hands from his grip and walked to the door. Grabbing the gun from the table, she motioned for David to follow. They both walked down the hallway to an open door. “Here is the guest bedroom. Fresh linens and towels are in the closet, and the bathroom is right across from the stairs.”

David walked into the room and turned back to Grace.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me by not staying long.” Grace turned to leave but stopped. “Also, if you want something better than cheese and crackers for dinner, I hope you have the money for pizza.”