One Eighteen: Migration

Remaster Release Starting on Prefaces and Asides

2011-10-27T16:05:00.000-07:00

Short Update

There will be updates etc to the site soon, but for now if you want to grab the remastered episodes as they rerelease head over to http://www.prefacesandasides.com.

Episodes 1 and 2 are out (and I'll be adjusting the links here soon.)

-Will

Updates

2011-10-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

Moving everything to Prefaces and Asides and I'll be slowly getting fresh links to the original episodes as I get them up on the new feed. This site will be up for the time being, but all updates are going to be there.

Down the Drain

2010-08-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

by Aaron Sailors

Submitted for your enjoyment, another self contained piece of fiction that is my first solo contribution to our site. This story earned me 1st place in a contest for horror writing last year, and I have been promising people an audio version ever since. I’d like to thank Dennis Kuhn for providing me with the background music (I’m hoping to feature more of his music in the future), and to Will Ross for switching roles with me and acting as my editor.

I hope you enjoy it, and it makes your flesh crawl… just a little.

Aaron Sailors

Patience and Verity: Episode 1

2010-07-25T18:22:00.000-07:00

Two intergalactic troublemakers, Patience, a washed up prize fighter and Verity, his ex/current bodyguard do what they can to keep their head above water in a future filled with booze, aliens, violence and snark.

Hath No Fury

2010-07-16T23:20:00.001-07:00

“So... you’re Jasper, but you’re also Red Ryder?” Demitri Decker asked. He and Jasper/Red Ryder sat on a rotting log, eating cold beans out of the can. The sun was high, and Demitri was exhausted and sweating. He hadn’t slept in two days, partially due to the surgery on his destroyed eye, and partially because he didn’t trust Jasper.

It turned out he was right. Anyone who traveled with a Red Ryder wagon filled with murder implements probably wasn’t the best company.

“It’s not my fault,” Jasper said. “At night she just takes over. She’s not bad though.”

“She took my eye out,” Decker said dryly.

“She didn’t know you. You’re a good person.”

“You don’t know me. You shouldn’t be so trusting. That explains the wagon full of weapons.” Jasper nodded. Decker knew he’d just picked up a liability, but Jasper was so innocent. It wouldn’t be right to abandon her. He’d have to head back to Kansas City and drop her off. It wasn’t so bad, he could use the gig pay. And Big Bad had a job for him there.

“I’ll get you some place safe,” Demitri said. “Get you squared away.”

“I want to follow you forever,” Jasper said seriously.

“Trust me. You don’t want to see the things I have to do up close.” Jasper frowns. “The world ain’t so nice anymore.” Fenris wandered back in from his patrol and laid at Jasper’s feet. She scratched him behind his dead ear.

“Why does your dog have two tails?” Jasper asked.

“He’s a wolfhound,” Decker corrected. “I figured if one tail to balance was good, two was better.”

“Does it work?”

“Nah, but it looks cool. The rest of the tinkering I did worked a lot better.” Jasper frowned.

“Does it hurt him?” Fenris rolled over and let her scratch his belly.

“Yes,” Demitri said. “Some. It hurts when I do it to myself too.”

“I’m sorry about your eye,” Jasper said. She sounded like she meant it.

“Not your fault. Listen, I’m going to get some shut eye while you’re still... you. Wake me up when the sun starts to go down.” Decker rolled his soft guitar case into a makeshift pillow and laid on the ground. He listened for warnings from Big Bad, but heard nothing. He drifted off to sleep.

He stood on a stage. He played, the crowd wild. He felt the narcissism, and pushed it down. That was the hardest part for him. His pride. The door burst open, and Big Bad walked slowly towards him. Demitri continued to strum, but realized his guitar had no strings. He’d cut them all. He set the guitar down. The crowd faded away.

“You didn’t listen to me,” Big Bad said. Decker smiled. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn’t capable. “You cheated me.”

“I didn’t cheat anyone. Nobody asked me if I could feel emotions. You set the terms and I took them.”

“You’ll learn.” Big Bad said. Decker felt the hate inside him, Distant, but coming fast. Someone like him. Someone very very bad.

“Going to kill me in my sleep?” He was concerned, but not frightened. He’d never been able to be frightened.

“No,” Big Bad said. “I’m going to help you.” The man was closer now. He was armed. Outside of the dream he heard Fenris growling. But Fenris couldn’t help him. Or Jasper. Jasper!

“Don’t you dare,” Demitri snarled. Big Bad said nothing. The evil came closer. He felt Jasper’s hand on him, violently shaking him, but he couldn’t wake. But through Fenris’ eyes he could see.

A thin, wild haired man came over the hill slowly, carrying a cavalry sword. He held it like a cutlass. His coat was long, and stained, the pockets swollen with gold and jewelry. Demitri’s first, absurd little thought was... pirate. Jasper screamed. Fenris growled but did nothing.

“He told me you’d be here. He left you for me,” the man said, approaching her. There was blood on the cutlass.

They were there, just the way he said they’d be. The man, asleep, the woman, afraid. A reward.

“He told me you’d be here. He left you for me,” Elmore Sterne said. She shied away. He didn’t mean it to come out menacing. He wanted her to like him. He wanted every woman to like him. They just... didn’t.

She was such a tiny little thing, his present. It wasn’t really bad, even when they didn’t want him to. They were out of their minds. Just like the patients in the ward he worked at before he became what he was. It just... didn’t count.

She shook the man next to her so hard her glasses fell off, her eyes filling with watery tears. He sat next to her, putting an arm around her. She pulled away like his arm burned her. That was OK.

“Don’t worry; we’ll take things slow,” he whispered into her ear. “We have all the time in the world.”

“Ryder? Please wake up.”

“I can’t, it’s too early.”

“He’s going to hurt me.”

“I know.”

“Demitri won’t wake up.”

“On purpose.”
“No.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“We have to... he’s-”

“I know. Don’t say it. Stay calm. Fight enough to satisfy him. But not too much.”

“I don’t want to satisfy him.”

“You don’t want him to hurt you.”

“Please wake up.”

“Soon.”

“You made your point,” Decker said, walking up and down the empty stage. Pacing. Trying to wake himself up. Through Fenris’ eyes he saw Jasper being... he didn’t want to see. But when he looked away he felt guilty. Felt he had to see. If he didn’t share her pain he wouldn’t understand. It wouldn’t be fair to her to feel that pain alone.

“There is no point,” Big Bad said. “You are having thoughts of equals. She is not your equal.” Decker didn’t reply. He focused on Fen. Tried to push the wolf to attack. Fen whimpered but would not move. His twin tails flicked angrily back and forth. He couldn’t attack one like him on his behalf.

Decker suddenly smiled.

Red Ryder watched, the rage growing inside her. She paced, not knowing that Demitri was pacing in a prison of his own one mind away. The bard was on her mind though. Laying there pretending to sleep. Yet another man to let her down. Every time she tried to trust someone. Every time she fell in- no.

No, no, no. Absolutely not.

Jasper gritted her teeth and laid stone cold still. The bushy haired man bit his lip in frustration. He tried again, but couldn’t manage to arouse himself enough for the violation. He got angry.

“You... you do something, girl!” the man said, and slapped her. Jasper held in tears. She remembered what Ryder said would satisfy him. She was determined not to give it to him. Her cheek burned. She could feel his oily hand-print.

“I’m going to be the worst you ever had,” Jasper said quietly. She spoke in a measured voice. “The very worst.” The man growled and slapped her other cheek. She whimpered a bit. “You’re always going to remember this day as the last time you were unable to rise.” She paused and added “I doubt it’s the first.” He struck her in the mouth with his fist.

“STOP!”

“No.”
“You’re provoking him. He’ll hurt you worse.”

“He’ll hurt me in the manner I choose. Instead of the manner he chooses.”

“Stop. Please.”

“No.”

“I’ll be awake soon. I love you.”

“I love you too Red Ryder.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Fenris tilted his head to the side. He didn’t have a consciousness, exactly. It was more like a series of basic instructions on how to behave. This violated it somehow, but he was being allowed.

The large wolfhound didn’t think; he couldn’t. Still, there was some bond of near affection between himself and his master. Perhaps just a level of comfort. Something felt wrong about this.

Fenris ignored the struggling, bleeding, yet still strong Jasper and the bushy haired man. Normally he was supposed to watch when things happened. Things were happening, and he wanted to watch, but this new command; this unexpected command drew him to service. It was wrong, somehow it was against the spirit of his existence. Yet it was happening.

Fenris put his jaws around Demitri Decker’s neck and began to clamp them down.

“I see,” Big Bad said simply.

“I can use them to hurt ME; can’t I? That’s what we in America like to call a ‘loophole,’” Decker said with a grin. He couldn’t see Big Bad, but he could feel his anger. So many plans, so many calculations. Big Bad wanted things just so.

One little ripple in that plan... for example his death before it was expected, and the whole house of cards could tumble. Butterfly wings to disrupt his perfect ecosystem. His neck grew damp in the dream hall. He felt Fenris’ teeth so far away, yet so close. Killing him next to a defiant Jasper.

“Let me wake up,” Decker said, simply.

Fenris stopped biting down. His master’s breathing changed. The command changed. Fenris released his jaws and turned, running off toward the camp site. He wagged his tails, not from happiness, but from a desperate need to keep balance at the speed he was expected to move.

It was getting easier for the dead wolfhound to see. The sun was going down. Fenris moved quickly.

Jasper’s lips were swollen and bloody. She had a black eye. Her body ached and felt unclean. But he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. The hitting continued, and so did her retorts. But he didn’t get the satisfaction he was craving. She slashed at his ego over and over again.

“I can take this pain,” Jasper repeated over and over in her mind, “I can take this pain. I can’t take the other. I can take this pain.”

“Still having trouble?” Jasper said with no particular emotion. Dead. Limp. He hit her again and she let her head do what it would, tongue lolling out. “I’ve been hit harder.”

The man growled at her, but she ignored what he said. She didn’t listen to him. She was busy talking to Ryder.

“I’m very close now.”

“Not close enough.”

“I know.”

“I can feel him. It’s the blood.”

“I tried to-”

“Come quickly.”

“First him. Then Demitri.”

“I trust him.”

“You trust everyone.”

“I trust him more now.”

“What?”

The pipe came down in a tight arc, smashing into the small of the bushy haired man’s back. There was a satisfying crunch. The man groaned in pain.

Demitri raised his lead pipe again as the pirate pulled back from Jasper, pants half way down; an obscene social commentary of nudity and avarice and evil. He didn’t speak, he just grabbed his cutlass. Demitri smashed the pipe into his forearm.

“Not this time,” Demitri growled. “No fighting like men today. You don’t deserve it.” Demitri struck his forearm again, and the sword clattered to the ground, the arm wet, red pulp. “You’re a dog and I ought to put you down like a dog.” The pirate laughed.

“I can’t die,” he snarled, “I cannot die.” He picked up the cutlass with his left and and this time Demitri let him rise, moving slowly backwards with a wicked little smile on his face.

“In a hot minute you’re gonna find that real inconvenient,” Demitri said. Whatever the pirate was going to say was cut short by twin knives bursting out of his chest. Behind him, Red Ryder was awake. And angry. Behind her, Fenris wagged, the handle to a wagonful of her weapons in his jaws.

The burly man looked frightened. Red Ryder licked her lips and whispered into the pirate’s ear.

“Don’t worry; we’ll take things slow.” She twisted the blades, “We have all the time in the world.”

Three days later...

Demitri yawns and rises at the campsite. He stays there. There was a certain amount of catharsis in the first forty-eight hours. Since then, it’s just felt ugly. The man’s been screaming for days. Red Ryder concerns him, but he can’t blame her. He can’t tell her to stop... yet. Not without good reason.

Fenris brings back pieces of firewood and he strums his way through an old Highwaymen tune. When the sun comes up, Jasper returns, exhausted. The first two days she returned covered in blood. Today she doesn’t. He doesn’t have any left to shed.

“It’s finished,” Jasper says seriously.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He means it.

“I know,” she replies. She does too.

They sit for a moment quietly.

“I gotta play the game,” Demitri says. “If I don’t...”

“We should leave,” Jasper says.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Demitri says. He almost means it. “It’s safe to pass through Omaha now. We got business in Kansas City.”

“I want to follow you forever,” Jasper says quietly.

He believes her. And for the first time in his life, he’s genuinely scared.

Season Three - Rough Draft Sample

2010-05-31T08:25:00.001-07:00

Here's a little sneak preview of the setting for Season Three and one of the new characters.

"I am," I replied calmly, "and I don't like people with loaded guns surrounding me. Us."

"Our apologies, but we don't take chances in Kansas City," the man said affibly, though there was an edge of violence. A man who enjoyed his job. "I'm Waylan Rogers, head of Plaza Cartel security. Mr. Gwaine requests the pleasure of an introduction. Gwaine's in charge so that's kind of like an order. You'll need to come with us. Your people are free to go and enjoy themselves in the plaza district. If you need money, stop by the handicapper and drop off some goods, and they'll provide you with chits to spend."

"Chits?" I asked.

"Currency," Waylan said. "You'll find we're relatively civilized here. Tried money but there was too much of it around, so now we use these little poker chips we call chits. You'll find the handicappers near the movie theater in the plaza. Give them whatever supplies you need to and they'll set a value for them and give you currency. Don't worry, they won't rook ya. If they do, they'll eat a bullet. If you need it back, no big deal. You can always buy back anything you need if you're just passing through. If your people need a place to crash try the Marriott. It's decent, and not too expensive and they probably have the best water-filter and genies in town."

"Where are all the..." I hesitated.

"Dead fellas? Most are long gone, at least from the plaza district, and if you have any real trouble theres a check-point every mile into the plaza."

"Doesn't look like you need them, I said." Inside the city there was a large circle where I couldn't feel any dead things at all. It felt like... well... like what I could do. I reached out but felt no one like me. Not for miles and miles.

"Come on, It's really no big deal. Gwaine is serious, but he's a good enough guy."

Alex protested, but I overruled him. If they were planning to kill us, they had plenty of guns to do so. I could take care of myself. Besides, if they wanted to kill me they could have riddled us with machine gun bullets when we arrived. Though I still wonder, would they be enough to kill me now?

No... hubris is terminal. Have to be careful about thinking that way. I may not be able to die but my body can certainly be damaged beyond my ability to repair. Bullets still do serious damage. But what if... no... no more modifications. The muscle I stole from poor Donna's corpse was already too much. Still it's entertaining to wonder what I could be if I didn't have to conform to the standards of the human body.

I was escorted, alone, into a large SUV, and then driven through the burnt-out looted wasteland that was Kansas City. While we drove Waylan pointed things out like the Airport and the Chiefs stadium, but nearly everything was in ruins. Compared to Omaha, Kansas City looked like a war zone.

"Was the loons that did it," Waylan said, chomping the end off a cigar and spitting it out the window. "We had them real bad here until the cartel pulled together and forced a truce. You still find a nest of them too out of their gourds to follow orders, and have to pop them, but all and all we keep things friendly-like."

"Wait, you co-exist with those people?" I asked, speechless.

"People's people and money's money," Waylan said, taking both hands off the wheel for a moment to light his cigar. The SUV swerved dangerously close to the retaining wall before he righted it, steering with his knee until he threw the match out the window. "Hell, the best cat house in town is run by Frank Rose; House Abernathy. Crazier than a shithouse rats but damn if those girls won't do anything you ask em to. It's her or Mallorie's, sort of a town rivalry. Frank and Mother are real smart. Like, business smart, though Mother Mallorie and her girls are smart smart; they'll read you poetry and stuff."

As we drove deeper into the city, the town grew cleaner. People were around, mostly scavengers wearing large backpacks or dragging shopping carts filled with goods, but a few people were just milling about. They seemed to be killing time. Then we turned a corner and I was hit square in the face by civilization.

"Welcome to the Plaza District," Waylan said, smirking at the way my eyes went wide.

Sebastian of the Fay

2010-05-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

A small fairy slowly loses her boy.

Voiced by Hope Clary, Daphne Abernathy, Julie Hoverson and Will Ross

Direct Download: http://media.libsyn.com/media/oneeighteen/sebastianofthefay.mp3

As I said in the news, if you want to read our new comic, click the link at the top, and if you want to be on the show, click the... well.. other link at the top. And if you just want to listen to some more good stories, you want Merciless Storytellers. Just click it, you know you want to.

Free Novel

2010-05-12T14:43:00.000-07:00

I needed to practice copy editing, so I dug out the book I wrote when I was nineteen, and I'm going to edit a chapter or two a day. If you liked Ray and Pete Bailey from the short story, this is where they came from. Not sure how it's going to turn out, since I know I have to revamp the ending, but it's actually really fun, for a Yavn (Yet another vampire novel.)

Anyway, if you want a free read, there it is.

http://prefacesandasides.blogspot.com/p/thicker-than-water.html

Season Three Promo

2010-05-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

Season Three Promo #1 "Jonas" by Rad Bear of SuperNumberOne

The question is no longer "Is Jonas Waight ready for this new world?" it is "Is this new world ready for Jonas Waight."

Season 3: Coming October 31st, 2010
(No, for real :) )

Shotgun Soliloquy

2010-04-28T14:31:00.000-07:00

"You know... in retrospect-" a bullet blew through the side of the crate and took the side of Caleb's head off. He slumped and fell over.

Ray and Peter Bailey's crew were in a spot of bother. They'd let the wrong group join them. And when the Bailey's decided to go their own way with two of that particular group's members, well... negotiations had gone badly.

The Kid wasn't worried. The Kid was never worried. Michael was afraid, but in control. Emcee was rock steady as always. Kate was terrified. Caleb... well... Caleb was dead. The Bailey's... you could never quite tell. They had odd senses of humor. The Kid put his pistol against Caleb's head and pulled the trigger. Only Kate winced.

"So, yeah," Pete continued, "In retrospect, maybe joining a group of artists who collect spiders.... not your best idea."

"Shut up," Ray said, popping up to fire off two rounds from his sawed-off shotgun. He dropped back down in a hail of bullets, almost losing his black cowboy hat. He tossed the shotgun to the Kid, who caught it one handed and with a deft flick of his wrist opened it. He already had the two shells ready. The Kid had the dexterity of a professional magician. He reloaded magazines the way a blackjack dealer dealt cards. The shotgun sailed back to Ray fully loaded.

"So like, Caleb's face and stuff-"

"Jesus, Pete!" Kate said, horrified. Michael was shielding her with his body. The warehouse crates were either hard or soft cover, depending on what happened to be inside them. The provided concealment from the bullets, certainly. Cover, maybe.

"Pete, I know," Ray said, spider-crawling a few feet down the aisle. Pete blind-fired a few revolver bullets to draw fire, then Ray popped up. The one he thought was named Walter was peppered with two barrels of buckshot. He went down, but it was unlikely he was badly wounded at that distance. Not with a shotgun. A few more rifle bullets came dangerously close. Malloy's group were good shots. The sawed-off went back to the Kid.

"Do you though?" Pete said, blind firing the last few rounds then tossing the pistol to the Kid just as the reloaded sawed off shotgun sailed back into Ray's hands. "Cause this is your penis' fault. Everybody, give Ray's penis a stern talking to."

"Shut up, Pete," Ray groaned.

"Kate baby, you gotta pull it together," Michael said, cradling her in his arms. She was in shock. "Nobody can shoot the AR like you baby. We've just got one clip-"

"Magazine," the Kid corrected, speed-loading the revolver from his aluminum suitcase of ammunition and tossing it back to Pete. They'd only been able to grab one case of amunition when things went sour. Luckily, it was a big case. They had enough shotgun shells and pistol ammunition to fight a small army. But all the long-gun ammunition, and all the long guns save for Kate's AR-15 were with Malloy. The store was a city block long.

They were sitting ducks. The Kid hated guns, even though he'd been a police detective. He rarely fired them when he didn't have to. Pete's hyperactivity kept him from having any sort of aim whatsoever. Emcee was too small to comfortably handle the rifle. Michael and Ray were competent, but not one single magazine of ammunition competent. With Caleb dead, it was six on six, but all the long guns save for one were at the wrong end of the warehouse.

"'Ray' I says, do you remember when I 'says'ed that?" Pete said crawling to the end if the aisle and firing a few rounds over a five foot high stack of boxes of toaster ovens. "'I says 'Ray, this bitch looks crazy. This bitches friends look crazy.'"

"Easy," Michael said. He'd been with the Malloy group at first. But he and Kate had grown closer to the Bailey's group as they traveled and wanted to continue on with them. Molly didn't like that.

"Present company excluded," Pete said, tossing the empty revolver back to the Kid. The toaster ovens blew inward with the force of several rifle rounds and Pete just barely avoided the bullets and the plastic and metal shrapnel. "'And also the bitch travels with an aquarium full of spiders' And Ray, he says 'Pete, I've got a good feeling about this woman.'"

"I did not say that," Ray said, throwing a box of silverware as hard as he could through the aisles to the right of the group. It hit the ground, the box breaking apart; the noise was sudden and confusing. The bullets chased it. Ray popped back up and only saw Walter again. He was standing again, firing his rifle towards the noise, his body covered in tiny blood stains. Ray shrugged and shot him again. Walter fell a second time.

"You so did," Pete said, duck-walking to the Kid, pulling an automatic out of one of his coat pockets. It was loaded and chambered, of course. The Kid was a professional. "And so I says 'Ray, I would enjoy having sexual intercourse with her as much as anyone.'"

"You said fucking," Emcee said, doing her best to get a crude wick made from a sweat sock into a bottle of store brand vodka. She lit the liquor soaked sock. It took a few moments to start burning.

"I'd throw that," the Kid said casually, laying out handguns.

"Baby, you gotta pull it together," Michael said, kissing Kate on her forehead.

"Two more seconds," Emcee said.

"You're playing with-" the Kid said.

"'But maybe this once,' I says 'You could not fuck this one person'"

"Fire, yes, I know. I know what fire is. And amen to the fucking. Ray, your dick has been pretty much the bane of our existence for a while now." She watched the wick burn closer to the neck of the bottle, thick smoke rising from the torch in her hand.

"Throw it, I'm warning you," the Kid said. He was serious, but unafraid. The Kid never lost his cool.

"Nothing bad is going to-" A rifle bullet burst through a stack stand-mixers and blew off the top of Michael's head. They all stood for several seconds, the torch burning in Emcee's hand.

"You wanna finish that sentence?" Pete said. Kate screamed. Emcee took advantage of the distraction and threw the bottle as hard as she could through a gap in the aisles. She'd spent years playing volleyball. She could overhand throw further than most. There was the sound of glass breaking, then nothing but rifle shots.

"Well... shit," Emcee said, picking up one of the carefully laid out pistols. There was a sudden whoosh and a a scream. "There we go," Emcee said, checking the chamber on her weapon of choice.

"Waste of time to check," the Kid said dryly. He loaded clips without even looking at them. He read the size of the bullets like a blind man reads brail. Kate had stopped screaming. She was looking at Michael.

"Stupid not to," Emcee said. A flaming, bleeding man stumbled past the aisle. Walter again. Ray laughed despite himself. The poor unlucky bastard. Pete gunned him down mercifully. The odds were even again.

"You sure we can't talk about this like adults?" Ray yelled.

"You're not taking my Michael away!" Malloy shouted back.

"It's cool then," Pete shouted. "Cause Michael is d-" Ray couldn't get his hand to Pete's mouth fast enough; there was no time. He kicked his brother in the balls. Pete doubled over.

"He's our hostage now," Ray shouted. "One more bullet comes this way and I put one in his skull." The bullets stopped.

"You're a fucker," Pete said, doubled over.

"About time someone did that," Emcee said. She smirked and put her fist out. "Bump it." Ray did so.

"I hate all of you," Pete said, taking the time on the ground to choose two more pistols.

"Send out Michael... and Kate," there was a sinister edge to the second part that even gave the Kid a little shiver.

"How about-" Ray started. Kate stood. She picked up the rifle.

"We're coming out. We're unarmed," she said with the voice of a woman terrified. Her face told a different story. The Kid read her like a book.

"Emcee, get Michael's coat off," the Kid said, standing and dropping his trench coat. It clattered when it landed, full of guns. Emcee winced, but stripped the red goose-down winter coat off of Michael's body. The color covered the blood quite nicely.

"You have ten more seconds," Malloy shouted. The Kid checked his vest, and slipped on the coat. He took Ray's hat.

"This won't work," Ray said. But he knew it would. The two men were the same build.

"It doesn't have to," Kate said with quiet finality. "This is me and Michael's fault." She knelt and touched Michael's chest. Pete offered the Kid a gun, but he refused. The Kid pulled the hat down low over his face. Pete got moving. Ray worked the odds. At a distance... just maybe.

"Malloy last," the Kid said. His voice was cool as always. "She won't shoot me."

Kate held the gun behind her, walking behind the Kid. They stepped out. Malloy was there. Phillip. Jack. Frank. It took her a fraction of a second, but she found Wade on the second story with a scoped rifle. They were all armed. She didn't care anymore. She took a step to the side and fired two rounds into Wade's chest. All but Malloy fired back wildly.

"Stop! You'll hit Michael," she shouted. They paused, a moment of confusion.

"That's not-" Frank said before Kate turned the top of his head into a fountain of gore. She trained on Phillip. The Kid walked forwards slowly, hands in the air. One of Phillips bullets hit him squarely in the chest and he fell to his knees. Kate knelt behind him and shot Jack.

"You bastard!" Malloy screamed, turning her gun on Philip. She emptied her weapon into him.

"Michael was already dead, and you shot him," Pete whispered into Malloy's ear quietly, pressing his pistol beneath her chin, He'd flanked her during the distraction. "I just wanted that to be the second to the last thing to go through your mind."

Pete pulled the trigger. Kate sat quietly behind the Kid, holding the rifle. Emcee ran to the Kid, shaking him.

"That is really quite painful," the Kid said, unzipping his jacket. The bullet had made it through the Kevlar, but only just. He felt it in the muscle of his ribs.

"You did good, kiddo," the Kid said to Kate. He pushed to his feet and patted her on the shoulder. The gun fell out of her hands. Two bullet holes poured bright arterial blood in a pool at her feet. Her eyes were closed.

The Kid sighed.

Ultra-Violent

2010-04-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Mackenzie was a very angry girl. Too angry. Too a lot of things, actually. Too fat, too awkward. Teased unmercifully. She spent her days eating and her nights crying. No one spoke to her at school, all of her friends were on the internet. Then the change happened.

That night started as most nights did, with Makenzie crying. She knew she wasn't invited to the party... but... well... everyone was invited. She'd taken her time with her clothing. Not too slutty, but maybe slutty enough. She'd bothered with makeup. She'd even curled her hair. If that wasn't enough, she'd stolen two bottles of her parents scotch (they'd never miss them, the bottles were mostly for show.)

It wasn't. Somewhere around one-thirty she arrived to the party, around one-thirty-two she was called out for not belonging there. At around one-thirty-five the bottles were removed from her backpack. At around one-forty the door closed behind her. Sobbing, she pounded on the door.

"At least give me back my liquor you fuckers," she shouted. They turned up the radio to drown her out, though the laughter did that quite nicely. She collapsed sobbing, back to the door. Nothing kept her company but the sound of the radio, and the police sirens.

And the screaming.

Something was happening inside the house. Mackenzie was thrown violently to the side as the door burst open, teenagers moving as fast as they could. Not scared, exactly. But fleeing the scene of something they didn't want to be associated with. Or someone had narced. Mackenzie crept back inside; police response times in this city weren't exactly bad, but Omaha was a very large city distance wise. She had a few minutes.

"Dude, this is-"

"I know, right?"

Two of the alpha males had kitchen knives. They were taking swipes at each other, ducking and dodging out of the way. A few teens filmed with cell phone cameras, a few watched with excitement. Most looked shocked. One of the alphas pounced on the other one and knocked him down. He jammed the kitchen knife into his shoulder. Boys were so stupid when they were drunk. The radio blared music mixed with strange warbling static. Most of the teens left... the ones who weren't cheering. The party was too intense. Something was very wrong.

"You know, I've always had a crush on you," Mackenzie heard a sinister voice whisper from behind her, close enough that she could feel hot breath on her ear. A boys arms wrapped around her waist. "I couldn't ever do anything about it because-" The voice was silenced as Mackenzie jerked her head back violently. There was a gush of hot warmth in her new curls as his nose broke. She broke the grip on her waist and brought her heel down hard on a tennis shoe. There was a scream of pain.

"You broke my nose, bitch!" The voice growled. She turned to see Troy Doocy. He was from her school. One of the jock douche bags who regularly threw things at her table at lunch.

"Fuck your nose. I want my bottles." Mackenzie said. At first she was posturing, but then she really felt angry. Hurting him had felt... good. No, not the hurting. The hitting back. Troy advanced on her and kicked him in the balls as hard as she could. He went down.

"Holy shit, I think he's dead," one of the teens with a cellphone camera said.

"No, I just kicked him in the balls," Makenzie said.

"No, him," he said, aiming the camera towards the two alphas. The one on the bottom wasn't moving. The other pulled the knife out of his shoulder and stood.

"You want your bottles, you gotta fight for them." The boy said. His expression was manic. The knife dripped tiny pearls of blood onto the kitchen floor. Mackenzie stayed fairly calm. Surprisingly calm actually. She picked up a decorative bronze statue of a nude woman from the end table; wrapping her arms around the woman's waist turned the square base into a nasty club.

"Dude, just give me my bottles back. I'm not fucking around."

"Kill that bitch!" Troy said from the ground. She kicked backwards and caught him in the forehead with a heel. The alpha licked the blood off the knife, and advanced on her. He never saw the other alpha coming.

He came up with a scream and a spray of blood from his wound, tackling his prey. They went through the stereo and onto the carpet, mercifully ending the strange sounds coming from it. Raking fingers found his eyes, then fists were half punching, half clawing the boy. The boy on the ground fought back, jabbing the knife repeatedly into his attacker. The blows did nothing. Then the biting started. The boy screamed. Then everyone was screaming. Something was very wrong. Mackenzie squeezed the nude statue's torso tightly.

Ten minutes later, a small, awkward girl emerged from the house holding a bloody fireplace poker. Her makeup was in tact; save for the running mascara from crying and a bit too much rouge from the bloodstains on her face. She closed the door carefully behind her. Her skirt was torn, blouse askew. Her careful curls were caked with blood. She was no longer carrying the statue; it had gotten stuck in Troy's head.

The party-goers were returning now. Some bloody and wounded but still walking, some insane. Some running from the first two. Everyone who ever called her "Big Mac," or spit at her in the hallways. The boys who pretended to like her just to get her to sleep with them. The girls who would break into her locker and throw her clothes into the toilet during gym class. They were all coming towards her. Mackenzie smiled and gripped the fireplace poker. She was a very angry girl. She went to work. She killed every single one.

Mac squatted down between two abandoned cars, watching the boy run through the scope of her rifle. She recognized him. His name was Zach, but everyone called him Ophie. She wasn't sure why. Behind him, a half dozen lunatics chased him, carrying what looked to be bokken. They were wearing Kendo armor sans the helmets, and their faces were covered in tattoos. She exhaled and squeezed the trigger, and the first lunatic's skull exploded. Everyone froze in their tracks.

Two more shots struck another lunatic in the chest and he fell. There was a long pause, then the remaining four fled. Zach stood in place, not knowing quite what to do.

Mackenzie stood. The gawky, chubby girl was gone. Running and killing had toned her body. Scars gave her character. Her now closely cropped hair had been dyed with kool-aid to a bright green. A few additional months of puberty had done the rest. She was a bombshell. She rested the rifle on her shoulder and took a moment to pose. She'd earned it with blood. She was still an angry girl.

Mis-colored

2010-04-18T01:08:00.000-07:00

"I want to follow you forever," Jasper said, following behind Andre, dragging a red toy wagon full of very sharp implements and assorted nasty objects. She was a quiet girl, except for saying that a lot, which Andre could abide. She looked oddly studious; out of place in her carefully kept but slightly out of fashion clothes and large circular glasses. A post apocalyptic librarian following a large black man in a suit. Plus the wagon. He laughed.

"What is it?" she asked curiously. "Why does that make you laugh. I'm supposed to."

"No, I was just thinking. You look like a post-apocalyptic librarian." She blushed.

"It's not bad." She smiled a little too proudly, and he amended the statement. "Like... it's not good or bad. But it's not bad. Just odd." Too much; she frowned.

"I'm not sure I like being called odd." The girl always made him feel guilty. Like the worst big brother ever. He sighed.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She shrugged, a gesture of "no-harm-done."

"It's OK. You do it a lot, though." He nodded.

"I'm not really used to being around girls." She frowned again.

"Not that I think of you like a girl, either. I mean, I wouldn't do anything with you. Not that you're ugly, you're not. I'm just saying when you're with me-"

"So you mean-" she asked eagerly. It was so odd, she was like a little kid. A very dangerous little kid.

"No, you can't 'follow me.' I don't even know what that means. But it's fucking creepy."

"I'm useful," she said seriously.

"That's becoming obvious," he shivered. She frowned.

"I don't like you being afraid of me."

"Deal. Bitch-you-are-scary," Andre said very slowly. She frowned and nodded. "I know it's not your fault," he added, touching his hand to her back affectionately.

"I don't like her," she said, shivering. She clutched herself as though it was cold (it wasn't,) the outlines of elaborate scar designs peeking out from the slightly prudish neckline of her blouse.

"I don't like her either. But she's damn useful." Andre stopped at the top of the road. She squinted and rubbed her eyes a little in the sunlight. The parking lot was filled with shamblers; it looked like the pharmacy was still open. "Doors look OK. I can push them around in those cars and she'll be... well maybe not safe but-"

"Andre, I don't like her," Jasper said. Andre shrugged.

"Japser, she's going to come out regardless. Might as well make her useful." Jasper nodded, and sat by the side of the road.

"You know anyone could come by here," Andre said, and Jasper shrugged.

"Sun's already going down." Andre pulled his machete. Jasper knelt and bit her lip, quivering. She wasn't afraid, but it all made her feel very uncomfortable. Like a roller coaster that runs just a few circles too long. She closed her eyes and prayed. Then she sighed with relief.

"I think we're good!," Jasper said excitedly starting to rise.

"Bull-shit 'we're good,'" Andre said, pressing the machete against her neck hard enough to leave a thin red line of blood. She frowned.

"Andre, it's really OK tonight." He nodded, then pulled his Bulldog. He didn't pull back the hammer, but he pressed it to her forehead. She knew he'd do it if he had to. They had that sort of working relationship.

"Bullshit, Ryder. Don't you game me." Andre waited patiently. Jasper sighed.

"Hello, Red Ryder," Andre said.

"You're a dick," Jasper/Red Ryder said, falling back down to her knees.

"Yeah, yeah. Parking lot, interior of the building."

"That's going to take all night!" Red Ryder groaned.

"A few good hours of it. But you'll follow me in there tomorrow. So think about it less as doing what I want than as 'life insurance.'" Red Ryder shrugged, selecting two miss-matched knives from the wagon.

"I'd go blunt," Andre said.

"Baby, I love it when you talk shop," Red Ryder said, rolling her eyes. She came out of the wagon with an aluminum tee ball bat. She appraised Andre.

"I have the drop on you. Besides, who'd look after Jasper."

"I don't know what she sees in you," Red Ryder said, suddenly touching her arm and raising an eyebrow, "You haven't-"

"No," Andre said simply.

"I wouldn't be super-mad at you if you have," Red Ryder said.

"Just regular mad," Andre said.

"Just regular mad."

"No, I haven't." Red Ryder nodded and went back into the wagon, coming out with a meat hook. Andre looked at her quizzically.

"For... like... hook and then the bat?" She said. She mimed what she was intending. It looked awkward.

"You watch too many movies. Does it always have to be two?" Red Ryder shrugged.

"Kinda. One handed fucks up my symmetry something awful." She went back into the wagon and came out with length of steel rebar. Andre shrugged.

"You could do worse." Red Ryder nodded, giving the two weapons a few test swings.

"You might find a gun down there." Andre said.

"Maybe."

"You could try it, but let's be honest... for the time being, no one can look after Jasper like I can." Red Ryder nodded again. "How far could you get before the sun came up? Even if you got the jump on me first thing, could you make it in twelve hours?" Red Ryder tilted her head.

"I have to try. It's not right, what you're doing." Red Ryder said. Andre thought it over.

"It's not exactly wrong either. I do look after Jasper."

"Would you if you didn't have me to blackmail?" Red Ryder said skeptically.

"Probably not so well, no. But I do like her."

"This is like doing time for another person's crime." Andre laughed.

"And what are you in for?"

"Weakness," Red Ryder said with a sigh.

Andre frowned, trying to decipher the dream. Jasper was curled napping in his arm. She was in her underclothes, her dress too stained with gore to wear comfortably. They'd found a small stream and he'd helped her wash off the blood, and then laid in the moss to take a nap. The dead things were kept easily at bay, and things were quiet. But the dream was unsettling. He never knew if he could trust them; the "business-man" kept a lot of secrets. Even when you're being lied to, knowing that is something. But not much. He frowned.

"What's wrong, Andre," Jasper said, large eyes peeking out from his shoulder.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"Why don't you tell me about your dreams?" He hesitated. "I tell you about my dreams."

"It's just-"

"I don't tell her anything about what we say!" Jasper said.

"I believe you," Andre said.

"No, you don't." Jasper said, pouting a little. He ruffled her hair.

The hatred flared. He pushed ignored the information his body fed him. He didn't care to hear any any more. The guitar and the coat were enough. He was a serious operator. Dangerous.

"Just... OK, listen. Someone's coming."

"One of the bad men," Jasper said.

"We're all bad," Andre said, picking up the machette. In the distance, a wolf howled.

"Just wait!" Jasper said, wrapping his arms around his. "Maybe he'll go away!" Andre pulled away and stood, brushing the moss and dirt off his brand new suit.

"Nobody just goes away anymore," Andre said, letting the hate rise in him this time. No use trying to contain it anymore. He let it fill him up.

"She'll be here in just a few minutes, Andre!" Jasper said, going to her wagon.

"I know, but not soon enough." Andre said, "He's just down the hill. Plus she's not exactly my biggest fan. Complicates things. I've got this. You see that drainage pipe?" Andre pointed to the large pipe fed the creek a few dozen yards upstream.

"The sewer?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes, but it's not the sewer. It's drainage. Like, runoff and stuff. Not that bad. Rainwater." Andre said.

"Rainwater," Jasper said seriously.

"Now listen. You get two knives."

She did.

"Now, you don't go for his balls," Andre said. "Anyone peeks their head into that drainage ditch, just ignore their boybits. Go for the eyes. Man can't do nothing if he can't use his eyes." She nodded.

"If you get one in, just run. Even if she's close. You let Ryder worry about Ryder. You look out for Jasper.

"Andre, if you'll just wait a few minutes, she'll be here," Jasper whispered sadly.

"That doesn't exactly make things better for me," Andre said, "Get in the pipe."

"She doesn't hate you, you know," Jasper said. Andre nodded.

"I know. But she doesn't trust me with you."

"She doesn't know you."

"Thanks. Get in the pipe. If you see any face but mine, stab it."

"You should learn to trust people," Japser said.

"I've got the rest of my life," Andre said; only semi-ironically.

She nodded. He turned toward the road, machete in his grip. He let his anger flow out in waves towards the one with the wolf. He puffed his chest out. He flexed. He broad-casted: I'm a gentleman with whom you don't fuck. The reply was similar. He stepped over the road, and confronted the man with the guitar.

"Jesus fuck! What is wrong with you people!" The man in the patchwork coat growled, pulling the the pen knife out of his bloody socket. Blood ran down the finish of his Johnny Cash black guitar. Red Ryder held a kitchen blade; but Fen held Red Ryder. His jaws held her by the throat. A Fender; Red Ryder approved.

"Fen, off." The said, collapsing against pipe wall. "She's just a dumb kid. 's not her fault. My names Demitri. My friends call me... well, shit, who's got friends left. But they called me that too. And you are?"

Red Ryder thought for a moment. Then she fell sobbing into the rainwater.

"Aww, shit," Decker said, doing his best to help that he could considering his condition; Red Ryder thought that was sweet. Still...

"I'm fine! Are you OK?" Red Ryder asked.

"Not exactly. But it's fixable. Kinda," Demitri said. "I just ain't gonna be so pretty."

"Still, it's your eye!"

"Don't worry about it. Listen, there's something I gotta tell you about your friend."

"I'm sorry," she said, "He said to. With the eye," Ryder stammered.

"Let's just not talk about it," Demitri said, "Ugh and I got sewer water in my guitar."

"Rainwater," Red Ryder said.

"Not exactly better by much, but OK. So your friend. He was kind of different."

"I know," Red Ryder said quietly.

"I had to kill him," Demitri said.

"I know." She was surprised that it made her a little sad.

"So you know about the..."

"Kind of," she said.

"What's your name," Decker said.

"Jasper," Red Ryder said.

"Those glasses kind of make you look like a librarian," Demitri said.

Red Ryder frowned. Jasper had told her about that.

"Thanks. A friend used to say that," Red Ryder said, a tiny tear rolling down her cheek.

"Hey, sometimes..." Decker hesitated, digging into his pocket to pull out some newspaper; he wiped her cheek "Sometimes good people don't do such good things."

"You don't have to comfort me," Red Ryder said politely.

"Good, cause I'm not exactly good at it."

"You do OK," Red Ryder said. "Going south?"

"I go all over. Musician," Demetri said. They sat quietly for a while.

"So, I have a delicate question to ask you," Demitri said, finally.

"Andre's body," Red Ryder said.

"Yeah, I mean if not... you know... no big deal."

"You don't talk to a lot of girls, do you?" Red Ryder said.

"Not as many as I used to," Demitri said, neither proud nor humble.

"Andre would have liked you," Red Ryder said. She said it was all right; Decker went to retrieve an eye. Red Ryder estimated the time.

Just enough time to decide what to do about the musician. Settle things one way or the other.

She sat down on the edge of the wagon and thought about what was best for Jasper.

One Eighteen Microfiction

2010-04-16T08:22:00.000-07:00

So we've been posting Microfiction every day in the Kill Sarah Already! group, and for those of you who are not yet members, here they are. They really do give you a good view of the One Eighteen post apocalyptic setting (plus we get to remember favorite characters.) If you want these every day, join the group or the twitter, but I'll throw them up in groups like this so nobody misses anything who doesn't. It's not intended to read as the awesomest Season Three trailer ever, a lot of these are slices of life and loose ends, so don't read too much into this :) But it does read like an awesome movie trailer.

Decker walked the lonesome road, Fen at his side. The wolfhound waged it's dead tail lazily. He felt him coming. Andre. No talking to this one; the waves of hatred flowed between them. He came over the top of the hill; a huge black man in a suit, carrying a machete. "You gonna play me a tune," Andre shouted. Decker smiled, dropping a lead pipe out of his coat sleeve. "When I'm done with you," the bard replied.

Big Mike cried beside the road, tears and fluids dripping from his eye socket. "Mr., why are you crying?" a tiny voice said. He felt a girl's hand encircle his. He wiped his eye. "You can come with me," the little girl said. "We need to go south." He nodded. "No more moping! Mama White is waiting for us!" He frowned and pointed to her. "Oh... my name. I'm Cordelia. My name has always been Cordelia."

Malachi bled. "You know, the bitch seat is really only designed for one bitch," Jack said, trying his best to keep Doris steady with all the extra weight. "There's really a doctor in KC?" Justin said, applying pressure as best he could while trying to hold Malachi on the bike. "Yeah, a veterinarian. But she's really good." Malachi groaned. "Hold on, babe." Justin whispered.

"Son of a bitch," Jackson Tate said, looking through the scope of his rifle. Newports. A full god-damned pack of Newports in the dead thing's shirt pocket. But in the middle of so many. Still... the foil was in tact. He aimed at the dead thing's feet and fired a shot. He blew off it's toe. It growled and broke from the pack. "That's it... a little closer..." Fuckin Newports.

John Hawkins wouldn't cry. Even when they tied him to the watchtower. Even when Horace forced the pin of his tin deputies star through his forhead. He just watched the crowd sadly. "Any last words, son?" Horace said, putting a pistol to the side of his head. "Yes... God's gonna cut you down," Hawkins said quietly. Horace pulled the trigger.

Sarah's stepfather entered her bedroom, and she tried not to cry. She put in her earbuds and turned on Paradise Falls 61.3 FM, sliding the volume to the maximum. She felt her bedsheets rustle. The music changed as she felt his hand on her. The alarm clock read 1:20 AM. "Don't worry, you'll have your revenge," the radio whispered. "They'll all die soon." Sarah smiled. Outside, the gunshots started.

"Here they come," Horace said, putting out his camel on the trunk of the Judas tree. The Valentine brothers shouldered their rifles. Ricky Benson did the same, but hesitantly. Horace picked up his Winchester, and made sure it was loaded. Below them, the line of the Greenly expedition passed. There would never be a better chance than this. "Let em have it boys," Horace said. The deputies opened fire.

Willie Fetch flipped the beer bottle over and over in his hand, trying to catch it by the neck every time. One of Tarantino's movies played on the flat-screen. Valentine and the boys wandered down the stairs, trying to look non nonchalant. Fetch rolled his eyes. "Horace send you down?" "Yup," Valentine said lazily. "We're gonna wreck the play room," Fetch said, catching the bottle. "Yup," Valentine said.

Cattywompus

2010-04-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

A series of shorts from Will Ross' new book Cattywompus, along with some Season Three news.

(Hit the full screen button to preview the first twelve pages.)
Enter Coupon Code: SHOWERS to receive 10% off
Just found a better coupon FREEMAIL305 will give you free shipping till 5/1/10

Updates

2010-04-08T18:33:00.000-07:00

First and formost, as we ramp up for Season Three we're going to be looking for a LOT of voice actors/actresses/recappers etc. We're holding an indefinate open casting call (See the page above for details.) While the form/file seems like a pain in the ass, what you're doing is getting yourself into a great big book, and you'll be auditioning for every part we EVER cast, One Eighteen, Interim, Recaps, Etc. We're going to make a document so as Aaron casts he can very quickly figure out where we can use who.

There are going to be a LOT of new characters Season Three, and Season Four is in the concept stage for next year. So for 10 minutes of work once, you're on the list forever.

Secondly, we're working with two fantastic indy creators to do some One Eighteen work while we're plugging away getting Season Three ready.

Julie Hoverson, the sound goddess behind the EXCEPTIONAL 19 Nocturne Boulevard is going to produce a One Eighteen audio drama I wrote called "Snapshots" dealing with the characters Demitri Decker journey from survivor to controller/Sarah's mother Mary, and their relationship in the context of her sexually abusive stepfather, and Donna as Professor Parks lures her into his trap. It's a very cool script, fast moving, action packed, and... you know what? Let me just throw up the beginning.

One Eighteen: Snapshots

Sarah's Stepfather

Get away from that fucking TV, Mary. For Christ sake their ain't nothing on it but static.

Sarah

Don't mind him, momma. You watch whatever you want.

Sarah's Stepfather

Girl you'd better shut your mouth or I'll-

Sarah

Fuck me again?

Sarah's Stepfather

You watch your tone with me.

Sarah

Oh really?

-------

Demitri Decker

I got no truck with you, girl.

Woman's Voice

Oh, but you do. You're in my way.

Demitri Decker

Well why don't I just mosey off to the side here.

Woman's Voice

You serve him too. You follow the wolf. So you're in my way.

Demitri Decker

How bout you put the bat down and we talk about this. Seriously, I'm just here to play music.

--------

Donna

Professor Parks, I want to thank you for your hospitality.

Mike

Seriously, Donna and I are so thankful for this. With Mike Junior on the way, well-

Donna

Honey! I'm just late! Don't get overexcited.

Professor Parks

(Darkly) Every child is a blessing, wouldn't you agree Courtney.

Courtney

(Almost robotic.) Yes Professor.

Professor Parks

A toast then! To survivors, and the new bonds we must forge!

Mike, Donna, Tracy, Courney

Here, here!

Professor Parks

I hope you don't mind sleeping in the garage, Mike. It's a religious thing, I hope you understand.

Donna

Of course professor!

-------

Sarah

See, I'm thinking it's about time for me to use any tone I damn well feel like it.

Sarah's Stepfather

Mary, you gonna let your daughter talk to me like that?

Mary

All the colors... her dress has so many colors.

Sarah

Isn't she pretty mama. We don't have to be scared anymore.

Sarah's Stepfather

Botha you need to be in a nuthatch, that's what you need!

Mary

(Childlike) Not scared... anymore?

Sarah

(Motherly) No mama... not anymore. Pick up the knife.

Mary

The knife?

Sarah

That's a good girl.

Sarah's Stepfather

Now you put that down, woman or I swear to christ I'll-

I really love playing with "minor" characters. Anyway, this will be done in under a month, knowing Julie.

We've also got two new one shot's coming together, our fan fiction contest entries, and one more thing.

A comic book.

Ben Hummel did this piece of fan fiction for us, and there was something so cool about the art style. I have to admit, I'm a major fan of the "Sketch pencil style of artwork.

So I said, "Ben, you draw me two iconic characters, and we'll work from there." A few days later I received the following image with a pitch for an opening story that I won't give away, but I realized that Ben knows his One Eighteen. So I'm letting him do his thing,

I've always wanted to be involved in comic books, so this is a geek comes true situation. So anyway, if you're a comic-book artist looking to get your art in front of a thousand plus readers, send us a concept sketch at 118migration@gmail.com.

That goes for people who do production work. We're trying to farm out some fun projects like "snapshots" here and there. If you've got an idea, pitch it. Worst we can say is no, and we're actively seeking good material for our interim shows but really need to focus on writing the season in advance to minimize delays.

Finally, in terms of new material, I'm posting some microfiction that fills out little parts of the story that were just hinted at in our Facebook group "Kill Sarah Already" along with some extras and other things that don't really fit on the xbox, and it's a great place to bug us when we're slacking. Some examples of what you're missing

-Sarah's stepfather entered her bedroom, and she tried not to cry. She put in her earbuds and turned on Paradise Falls 61.3 FM, sliding the volume to the maximum. She felt her bedsheets rustle. The music changed as she felt his hand on her. The alarm clock read 1:20 AM. "Don't worry, you'll have your revenge," the radio whispered. "They'll all die soon." Sarah smiled. Outside, the gunshots started.-

-Willie Fetch flipped the beer bottle over and over in his hand, trying to catch it by the neck every time. One of Tarantino's movies played on the flat-screen. Valentine and the boys wandered down the stairs, trying to look non nonchalant. Fetch rolled his eyes. "Horace send you down?" "Yup," Valentine said lazily. "We're gonna wreck the play room," Fetch said, catching the bottle. "Yup," Valentine said.-

-"Here they come," Horace said, putting out his camel on the trunk of the Judas tree. The Valentine brothers shouldered their rifles. Ricky Benson did the same, but hesitantly. Horace picked up his Winchester, and made sure it was loaded. Below them, the line of the Greenly expedition passed. There would never be a better chance than this. "Let em have it boys," Horace said. The deputies opened fire.-

Finally, donations.we put that up on a lark and WOW... three in just a few days, and two were a bit upset that we don't offer higher amounts. That bothers me a bit. So I had an idea. For all the people who want to donate a few bucks more, I'll finish the choose your own adventure style one eighteen book I started but could not make work in public. (Ben, I just threw your art on there for test purposes, promise! Looks rad though!)

We'll charge ten bucks for it and get back around four. The people who want to tip can just buy a copy, we'll get a more sizable tip, and you'll at least get a cool keepsake and a fun little read that only donators get to read, but we can keep a clear conscience because it's something we can only do with an actual book (we tried, doing it in audio didn't make sense, but beyond that the story is fun.

So that's all the current news. Next week i''ll have Catywompus, my book of poems and short stories done and then I can dive into the rest of this stuff.
So thats it. We're taking this stuff as seriously as you are now, and we are going to make your patience worth your while.

What if...

2010-04-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

So I wrote this before I came up with the cigarette... I just stumbled upon it. But it's a fun what if.

What if Jeb Greenly found his balls and took out his own brother.

"Is it true?" Jeb asked, keeping the automatic pointed at Horrace. His hands were shaking but his eyes... his eyes were steady.

"Who do you think I did it for? Would you have had the fucking guts to do it? What had to be done?" Horrace asked, moving towards his brother. "Even now you think I need killing, and you can't do it. You NEED me. You've always needed me to get the bad shit done so you don't have to."

"Stay back," Jeb said, cocking back the hammer. "Stay back and let me think." Horrace walked slowly towards his brother, hands up, palms out. Jeb started to cry and shake, but he didn't put the gun down.

"What's going to happen when the crazies come? Or the dead things... or whatever comes next. You think I'm the worst person out in all this shit? One day men will come with guns and without someone like ME, they're going to take everything from you. This isn't Sunday School here little brother. This is the big bad fucking world and you can't handle it without me. You never could and you never will." He was less than ten feet from his brother now, eyes locked with Jebs.

"One more step, Horrace and I'll-" Jeb started but Horrace just laughed.

"You'll what? Shoot your own brother? Then what? Cowboy up? Do this shit yourself? Face it, without me you're NOTHING. You're LESS than nothing. Everything you have is because of me, everything you ARE is because of me. Without me you're just a scared little kid who can't wipe his own-" Jeb pulled the trigger and the bullet tore a chunk out of the pavement at Horace's feet. Horace stopped. The world was quiet. The deputies didn't move, rifles pointed at us, but they were nervous now. And the town was armed. Then Horace laughed, long and deep and mocking.

"Was that supposed to be my warning shot, little brother?" He asked.

"No, not a warning shot," Jeb whispered. The tears were streaming down his face now, the front of his shirt wet. His hands were shaking as he cocked the hammer back and took the gun in a two handed shooters grip. "I haven't fired a handgun in years, not since dad took us. Do you remember that? He used to take us to the range."

"I remember," Horace said taking another step closer to his brother.

"I was terrible a terrible shot. I still am. I missed. I love you Horace," Jeb said.

"I love you too little brother," Horace whispered. Jeb pulled the trigger, and Horace died. He was still weeping as he stood over the body and fired two more shots into Horace's head. Then he wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeves, and turned to the deputies, gun in hand and said in a voice that was less weakling and more man than I'd ever heard, "Drop your godamned guns. None of you are cops anymore. Horace is dead, Robert and Anthony are dead, Fetch is leaving. It's over. We're going to do this again and we're going to do it right this time. If you don't agree to that, I suspect you'll have to answer to them." He gestured to the crowd, and as the deputies turned they were greeted with the sight of guns. A LOT of guns. The town was armed, and every one of them looked ready to take their OWN survival into their hands now. The kids dropped the guns. Jeb turned to the crowd.

"I don't think it's safe out there," he said, "And I don't think it'll be safe for a good long time. But I'm not my brother. Any man woman or child who wants to try for Galviston, go with my blessing. But for the rest of you, I promise, in a year, or two, when these things have rotted down to nothing, we'll be safe. We'll go. You sure you arn't willing to stay, Jonas?" He asked. I looked at my friends and neighbors. Every one of them with a weapon, every one of them finally willing to step up and take their safety into their own hands. These people were going to be ok now. They didn't need me anymore.

"I have to see what's out there for myself. When we get there, we'll let them know you're surviving up here," I told him.

"Oh we'll be better than surviving. I think we're all tired of just surviving. Tell them we're living our lives up here. Maybe come back to visit some day?" He said, shaking my hand. I shrugged.

"I'll see what I can do," I said, smirking.

"Godspeed, Folks," He said.

"It's the only speed I go," Fetch said, honking the horn loudly, "So if you two queens are done making out."

"You're an asshole, Fetch," Wendel said, loading the black trunk gingerly into the SUV.

"You're only JUST figuring that out," Jackson said, lighting up a Newport.

The Muse of Molly Malloy

2010-04-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

OK, so if you're new, and want an outstanding self contained piece of entertainment, check out the Muse of Molly Malloy (here or just snag it from the webplayer.) This is fast becoming my favorite stand alone thing I ever wrote.

Podcasting Urban Legend

2010-04-04T02:07:00.000-07:00

OK, so my partner in crime "The Keeme" from Haggis Ain't Cake started the urban legend that Podcasting Superstar J.C. Hutchins is so Johnny-on-the-spot with his social networking/clones/googlealerts/freakishmagicalpowers that just mentioning his name anywhere on a blog will summon him. So let's try.

I SUMMON JC HUTCHINS TO THIS WEBPAGE IN THE NAME OF THE 7TH SON AND OTHER IMPORTANT KEYWORDS LIKE PODCAST, PODCASTING, SCIENCE FICTION, AND PARIS HILTON NIGHT VISION SEX VIDEOS!

(Spread this urban legend and try it in your twitters and facebooks, if it's not true, it will be funny as fuck the day he DOES bother to google his name, and he goes "What the fuck?!?!?!?!" because there are like a thousand of these)

Season Two, Episode Nine: Pretenders to the Throne

2010-04-02T01:04:00.000-07:00

The crew faces dead things, Jonas faces Kevin, and the Analyst makes a new friend!

OK so the forums are not coming back, we couldn't keep them spam free. So instead, we started a facebook group. We can do all the same stuff there.

Join "Kill Sarah Already!" on facebook for discussion threads, conversations, and other assorted fun.

MichaelBayting

2010-04-01T21:09:00.000-07:00

OK so one thing I really have to stop doing is overdoing the sound-scape. Immersive is good, but it can't usurp the story. Example. First sound effect cut and line.

Line:

"The doors were locked of course, but I braced myself against them and pulled with my dead arm. There was a metallic snap as the lock broke and I slipped inside."

First sound effect cut.

GIANT FUCKING WOOD SPLINTERING DOOR SMASHING HULK GRABohshitthisdoorexistingisimportanttothestory.

Second sound effect cut.

Reasonable door forcing sound effect.

Time lost MichelBayting

5 minutes (+ 3 minutes posting this.)

-Will

P.S. While I'm pimping stuff, you should check out http://mercilessstorytellers.blogspot.com/ It's going to be pretty cool.

(+1 minute pimping.)

Editing Music

2010-04-01T19:58:00.001-07:00

So the nice thing about blogging is I can add these things in that don't really belong in a horror feed. This song isn't horror at all, it's from one of my poems adapted by Rad Bear, but it's a damn good song on it's own, so here's something else to look at.

In editing news, my last two voices will have to be cut but that's a good thing. Means now I can dive into SFX. This episode WILL be on the feed in the morning.

Song it is!

2010-04-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

Still plugging away. If you're looking for something to do in the meantime, Prefaces and Asides has all of my fiction up there, and if you see anything you'd like LoopIT to produce for an interim show let me know. Also thank you to the three people who clicked ads, you bought us each a jolly rancher! (Wasamellonnnn!)

Poor Man's Pot Roast

2010-04-01T10:21:00.000-07:00

1 lb of cheap stew type meat.
1 lbs of root veggies
3 packs ramen noodles seasoning
1 teaspoon hot chili sauce
1 pinch minced garlic
1 pinch ginger

Cook veggies and meat in the seasoning water for 30 minutes on medium heat, edit podcast while it cooks.

Mics all over the place

2010-04-01T09:39:00.001-07:00

Good God, there are some seriously obvious changes in microphone in this one. I don't think it's too bothersome (I'm superpicky about my audio) but it's giving me the twitchies. Also, I'm like the worlds worst voice actor.

That is all.

-Will

2010-04-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

Listening to the MVT. Literally this is the worst and best possible day for a deadline since this is pretty much the only thing I can bring myself to do right now, but it's distracting as fuck :) But I'm on this. (MVT = main voice track)

-Will