Recent Posts

Three eyes, all very much steel colored, closed in unison at Lennas explanation. Something like a sigh escaped from his lips as well. Regret? Possibly. The eyes opened. He had noticed the 'I' in that sentence. “I fear the Order is much too...” Here the hint of a smile crept unto his lips. Orderlings. Pfff. He knew of them. He had actually met some of their people once or twice he thought. But they, if he recalled Romania, were not much of a help in anything much. Except when it went for massive carnage of the non-mutant population. Not that he vehemently opposed such carnage, mind you. He just found it severely distasteful. Not to mention wasteful. “...blatant for a person of my persuasion.” Stealth, murder and maybe poison. Not mentioned was said mass carnage. Because that was what he did not do. He was acutely aware that he had gone here without a knife, too. The regretful sigh, it had been for a good employer gone to waste. It had also been an admonition of himself.

Do not get too comfortable.

Back to business then, maybe? His hands rested calmly on the tabletop. “You are nevertheless welcome to hire me. My fees might increase slightly though.” Because, the smile, that non-entity, said quite well: The Orderlings are much too blatant. And you’re one of them. There goes a good employer indeed. On afterthought he added: "Who is currently leading the smash-up-boys anyways?" A hint of disdain might be detectable there. Make that a bucket.

Martin did not hear Andrea's last comments. He was finished. For this night he was. He wobbled over to the couch, uncaring that Andrea was presently experiencing some minor forms of distress. He was finished. And wrapped himself inside a blanket. Nicely. In the corner of the room that was farthest from the couch. Martin was drunk. But sometimes indeed he was a gentleman.

Next Morning – The thing after:

Well there were better things than waking up with a heavy head facing the brightness coming in through your windows (which you did not fully close last night). Especially if it felt like vicious dwarfs were heading on a drilling operation down your cranium. There were other things that also were slightly bothersome. He had been sleeping on the floor. His head... thinking was a bit difficult right now. A bit too bothersome, too. Only two things were on his mind right now. Out of the light. And ibuprofen. Out of the light. That one first. Looking into the well-risen sun made the dwarfs get out the tunneling machines and dynamite. Not good. So he rolled himself into a shadowy corner where he nursed his churning head and stomach for a couple of silent minutes before slowly scrambling for the bathroom to pick up the much-desired medicines. He just hoped his stomach would be able to keep them.

The cool and slightly damp air of the bathroom settled around him even as he closed the stained door behind him. Stained. What had happened last night again?

Martin looked at Andrew. Scant clothed Andrew that he was. Which in turn was perfect for something else that was to happen on this night. He was to accelerate the promise-process, as Andrew had so helpfully suggested himself a few hours prior. He was going to make Andrew his once and for all. And that was not meant in the pretty, rose-colored fashion either.

Orders, orders, such a good voice for giving orders. “Come and get the things you bought.” And nothing was betrayed by his voice. Just something was about to happen. Well. Tie yourself, small one. Also: Martin ventured forth into another section of the abandoned building. Here hung great metal hooks from chains that dangled from a ceiling hidden in the dark. Perfect for some horror movie. Also: It had drains in the ground. And was away from most any living person for a mile or so. It was a perfect spot for a little more personal Horror for Andrew. (Note the Capital letter).

Under one of the hooks lay a thick plastic sheet, usually used in construction. Cue: Evil music? Martin ventured past it and outside in the dimness of the night. Evil music? No, none at all. Cue: Generator coughing to life outside? Indeed. Cue: Dim light showing up overhead from a single bulb? Oh so very much. Cue: Something wrapped in white plastic standing on a near table? Yes again.

Martin switched on the sound system. It was a very expensive model. A Bose, black, sleek and probably able to turn the hall into a disco on its own one by one by one foot self, though it was – as previously stated – wrapped in plastic, maybe this bit of white polyethylene had once been a garbage bag. He switched on the system and the music that filled the empty hall echoed back from the walls. Loudly it sounded in their ears, loudly sounding, the wrap was billowing under the pressure. Into your brains, hammering, nearly. Its raining men. He smiled at Andrew. “Tie yourself up with the ripe you bought, will you?” Martin did not phrase his question as a question. More like an exclamation-question. The hook dangled idly.

Andrews hesitancy at discarding his lest bit of clothing, his last bit of protection were so visible to Martin. That blink. The look around. As if he was searching for something else to look at. The hint of despair creeping into Andrews eyes. He would have none of the hesitancy. Much more of the despair. His steps lost themselves in the darkness of the hall. His voice did not. “Stop.” He shouted at the mans face to resolve Drews predicament. “When I say 'jump' I want you to jump. When I say 'kill' I want you to kill. And I want you to be a good dog and be salivalatingly, tail-wigglingly happy that I give you the opportunity to obey with alacrity. Do. You. Understand?” Strangely, his voice got not louder as might be expected, but it got calmer and more subdued with each word Martin uttered. And while he spoke, he walked on, until he stood right in front of Andrew.

His eyes positively dissected the man. Not with love, but rather with the cold stare one gave his horseflesh before buying. “You really need to get more muscles on yourself.” Martin remarked. And then he shouted again. Positively roared until it rang through the empty halls. Somewhere a bird or bat fluttered, disturbed in its rest. “And I want you to stand at attention when I speak to you like this, do you hear me?” Yes. Stand at attention. Be a good dog. Jump. Home meant head-on-lap and cooing. This meant nothing short of boot-camp. Yes. Boot-camp for Andrew.

Martin stepped off to one side. “The photo shoot is going to be an erotic one. So do try to look attractive.” Martin pointed to what had been hidden by his frame. His voice sounded doubtful about Drew being able to do even this much. Boxes of cardboard were stacked along one of the columns that held the ceiling up high. That held the world from coming down. Cardboard boxes full of things. Like knee-high sock in the most garish shade of purple. Like a tank top that would be difficult not to rip apart while putting it on (it was several sizes too small for Andrew). Note: Martin had not been shopping. He had had someone hop these things. For this occasion. People did things like this for money. Buy the most strange assortment of things for example. Martin held the camera like a foreign object. And then he roared again. “Move your lazy a**!” There was no need to mention that he would not tolerate disappointments.

His eyes never left Andrews frame while he changed. Nor did they hold any appreciation. Only. Horseflesh.

It was an old industrial area. Brick houses, the rather large and metal-fenced variety, loomed on either side of the road like oversized cats ready to spring. Lights illuminated them only at irregular intervals casting wide zones of shadows between them whence the night invaded in all its glory. Sometimes a light was mounted over an emergency exit, creating a zone of light that should either provide security, like the bare metal doors they illumined, or some spot to find keys that had, judging by the rust on said doors, not found their locks for some time. The barrenness of the surroundings made every sound echo far and even the stars in the sky were barely tinged by New Yorks constant gloom that usually oppressed them. Echos and silence though were oppressive. From somewhere in the shadows around Andrew metal sounded on metal something hitting something. Clang. Only that. Then: Silence. No birds fluttered. Only cockroaches, and only few of them, vied for something out of sight.

Far over the entrance the name of Hemmingtons Butchery had been set in stone in far better times than these. A single errant spotlight illuminated these remnants of civilization, drawing a horde of little bugs, flitting in and out of the warm glow. A metal fence surrounded the building, like the adjacent ones, though here, too, rust had bitten into metal links that had once been bare steel. There were no doors to the building in immediate sight. Not that that had to mean much by weight of the shadows. The busy roads were far behind. Silence.

Martins voice echoed through it, braking, shattering what peace there was. “Good evening Andrew.” He was nowhere in sight. Deliberately so. “Something I forgot to tell you earlier today: I want you to start training those things you call muscles. In fact I want you to become one of those people whose shoulders are hard to tell apart from their necks. You will be as hard on yourself as you can.” His voice was sounding not like a goodwife talking about tea. It was an emotionless void, like the shadows, that sucked at life and happiness itself, eating away at them only to go searching for more. “But enough of that for now.” His voice, his voice... from nowhere. “Come... come inside.” And with that the voice left. And left Andrew stranded in a shadowy place.

Indeed a cool power. Welcome to MRO.