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What does it mean to be born in a country torn racially, economically and idealogically, such as the U.S.? So many different paths to divide us, how can any hope to unite such a fragmented, vague and listless people?

Affection For The Outcasts

The sun rose slowly above the great green hills, bringing golden light to the kingdom of Yall. There lived a pleasant kingdom free from abnormalities. Everyone was happy and well behaved just like their ruler, King Frank Winters II. Beyond this kingdom, however, there lived an unusual creature which the Yallites called a "Gorshe."
The Gorshe lived alone, and it was believed that he was the only one of his kind ever to exist. He was intelligent, and deeply disliked the fact that no one had given him a personal name, so he gave one to himself: Berno. Berno, in many ways, resembled a dragon. The size was identical, and his skin was dark red and scaly. However, he had no wings, no spines, and he was strictly herbivorous. (The Yallites, of course, didn’t know this). Also unlike a dragon, he was not a quadruped, but had an erect spine which allowed him to walk on two feet. He did have very sharp claws and teeth, though, along with cat-like eyes the same green as the hills. The Yallites were overly and unrightfully fearful of him and King Frank II had cast him out of the kingdom.
Contrary to the myths and legends that surrounded Berno, he was actually a very mild creature who wanted nothing more than to be accepted as a person. He was lonely, And would do anything and everything to belong somewhere...anywhere.

I Am Not A Hero

My pilot wants me to talk to her. I don't want to talk to her at all, not right now. Not at this moment, when I am on contract and lusting for blood. When she speaks I hear how badly she wants me to sink my teeth into her, how her heart pounds and how her breath is short and quick. I want to take a bite. Want her blood in my mouth, I want to ravage her and leave her half dead and paralyzed with pleasure but right now, she's flying a supersonic transport and that's just a terrible idea.

Maybe when we're heading back to Tile City, after I complete my contract. After I eat something evil and disgusting and I'm not quite so fucking hungry. I mean, she wants it, and it's damn sure not my fault she's a nymph and smells so bloody good. Instead of responding when she says something I don't bother to hear, I pop the shell off my revolver and make sure the accelerator diagrams are clean and ready, make sure the electrical to magic diagram is fully functional.

When I run out of things to distract me there, I stand up, gripping the rungs on the ceiling, and head back into the hold. My head scrapes the seven and a half foot ceiling. Fucking short people, always designing transports for humans.

I haven't been human in a long time. Also, not my fault.

The Chicago Black Zone is coming up. I can feel the Grand Angelic Wall surrounding it, the crackling holy bullshit energy making me feel ill. Another day, another job, another monster to kill. At least this time, it should be a challenge.

I Am Not A Hero

Alex checks her revolver, popping the shell off and making sure the accelerator rings are all aligned perfectly. Her pilot sits next to her, eyes blank and unseeing. Her sight instead comes from the cameras on the front of the sleek black craft, transmitted directly to her brain through the cables plugged into the sockets behind her ear.

"You playing with a gun Angel?" She mutters, swinging the transport low and initializing the magical diagram on the bottom. The electricity to magic sub-systems kick on and the craft hovers feet above the ground, slowing down to approach the gateway to the Central Black Zone.

"Yes, yes I am."

"Sounds new. Don't know that sound."

Alex chuckles quietly.

"Of course. New toy. Ninety caliber magically assisted magnetic acceleration revolver."

Her pilot scoffs, pulling up to the gate. The Guardians stand in the way. The enormous nearly transparent dome wobbles around the gate, twisting and shifting patterns rolling across the surface, in ancient Enochian. Alex doesn't look at them, tries to ignore the painful crackling on her skin. The pilot transmits her credentials and the details of Alex's contracts and the guardians step aside, allowing them through.

"How the fuck do you deal with the recoil?"

“I'm upgraded, Kela. Heavily. Full body suite, spine included. I'm... shit... more than fifty percent machine at this point.” She peers out the window. Five minutes to Chicago. She's itching to kill something.
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