Epic Continuity Part V: Men in Chartreuse Ties

This story actually got published at my college's annual Creative Writing journal. For that reason, there are two versions. The first is the published version, which is re-written from a 1st person perspective and gets rid of the reference to the other stories in the Epic Continuity (as well as several other improvements suggested by the journal). The second version is the original.

Published version:

He laid the manila folder upon the desk with undeniable authority, placing it exactly perpendicular to the desk's edge, while positioning himself in his chair, sitting as straight up as his spine allowed. After several moments of peaceful silence, he gently flipped open the cover to expose the papers within, slowly reading over his former notes as if he did not know what they contained. After what seemed like countless minutes, he gently placed the cover back to its original position hiding the papers, and looked over coldly to me. I was huddled across the desk on a wooden chair, twitching back and forth systematically. “Let us go over this again,” he said in his firm monotonous (and really obnoxious) voice.

Glancing over, I looked into is unchanging brown eyes. How I hated this man. His entire being made him appear to be a statue, nothing more. Perhaps it was worse to be a statue than what I was: insane. Well, how could I forget? I was only told so everyday by this same man. If sanity meant becoming a statue, I wanted no part of it. Speaking of parts, I recall once hearing that humans are made up of of parts, like some kind of strange biological machine. But of course, I hate Biology because of that one occurrence in the Sixth grade when my Science teacher scolded me for saving the poor, innocent toads that were about to be mercilessly dissected. How terrible it must have been for them, the toads, who had nothing to look forward to but a swift death followed by the pricking and prodding and removing of organs at the hands of fat, ugly American children. But I'm not fat, no, nor ugly. This I know as a fact, for that's what my mommy told me. My poor mommy though... she was a dentist, but died when I was very little. Perhaps it is ironic then, that I hate dentists. Dentists are the worst type of doctors. Well, maybe not, but oh how I hate those dentists anyway when they tell me that I have a cavity. The nerve... Cavities are painful. Oh how I hate pain...

“Cindy,” he said sharply, “Are you with me?” Ugh - his voice cut through my daze of thoughts like a sharp razor slicing though pineapples. I then became still like him, the statue, and looked up at the man, pretending to acknowledge his self-given importance.

“I think so,” I replied softly.

“Do you know why you are here to see me right now?”

“Does it have something to do with Mary attacking that poor nurse-lady?,” I answered. “Cause you know, I saw the whole thing.” Betraying Mary was difficult. She had always been a good friend. When she saw that cruel nurse telling me to take my medication, she had no choice but to act as she had.

“No,” he started, “Because you attacked Mrs. Winters, who is still recovering from the stab wound caused by that plastic butter-knife. I have told you before, Cindy, Mary does not exist. Have you been taking your medication?”

“What a gieglo-goober!” Mary exclaimed, jumping from the man's desk and moving behind it. She stared at him, her eyes going over his balding head. She had been sitting on the desk the whole time, you see, since she was the real culprit of the incident. I don't know why Dr. Winfred lets Mary sit on the desk, while I have to sit in the boring chair. Then again, things must be hard enough for Mary, with the mean doctor refusing to acknowledge her very existence. “There he goes again, saying I'm not real! You know I'm real, right Cindy?” I glanced over to Mary and nodded.

“Why do you lie to me Cindy?,” asked Dr. Winfred, still as clueless as ever. I wasn't even nodding at him. “If you had taken your medication, you would have not seen Mary. We have been through this a hundred times. Mary is the portrayal of your anger, much like Mrs Robertson is the portrayal of your fear, and Ricky is the ...”

Blah, blah, blah... I've heard all this nonsense before but never bought it one bit. It's one thing to accuse someone of assaulting a nurse, but an entirely different thing altogether to accuse someone of having other people wandering around in their head, abducting their eyes and forcing them to project incarnations of themselves all over the room to trick herself. Oh no, that is by far more ridiculous than anything I've ever said, seen, done, or thought. Who did this Dr. Winfred think he is, telling me that all my stories and fantasies can't possibly be real?

“This man is completely dreadful, Cindy,” screeched Mrs. Robertson, swinging back and forth on her rocking chair by the office's door, knitting the same sweater that she had been working on since before I could remember. “He doesn't know the first thing about anything, does he? You know, dear, he's probably one of them...”

Slowly, I turned to face the old lady sitting by the door, and asked “Them who?” For some reason this question scared me, despite having no idea what dear, sweet Mrs. Robertson was talking about.

Mrs. Robertson whispered her reply: “The scary Men in Chartreuse Ties, of course, dear. They're terrible people really, well, not people at all but rather robots, working for the evil Martian-Pirates of Jebediah-6 to force all the little girls on the planet Earth to take their pills. And once they do, dear, well... All the people they know and love vanish, and they become as lonely as they were before they were born.”

Before I was born? Now that was really scary... I can't even remember how lonely I was before I was born. In fact, I was quite certain that I didn't know anyone at all! If this was true, if Dr. Winfred really was one of these... Men in Chartreuse Ties...

“How can I be sure?” I quickly inquired.

“How else, dear?” asked Mrs. Robertson, who had returned to her knitting, “They wear chartreuse ties, of course.”

I quickly shot my head back and turned to Dr. Winfred, staring down at the apparel of the confused-looking man. He was indeed wearing a suit and a tie, but it was a color I had rarely seen before... it was a light greenish-yellow shade. Was this chartreuse? Chartreuse was a color that I had only heard of a few times in overheard conversations, I had no idea what it actually looked like... but maybe I could ask. “Dr. Winfred?”

“Yes, Cindy?”

“What is...” I paused for a second. After all, what if by asking him, he would realize that I was on to him? No... I had to know. “What kind of color is 'chartreuse'?”

The man blinked, barley showing his shocked reaction to the randomness of the question, but he answered anyway, “It is a yellow-green color,” he said looking down, “Like my tie here.”

As he muttered this reply, I could not help but freeze in terror. His words scared me like nothing ever had before. It scared me even more than that angry vampire chipmunk I saw outside my window when I was just a little girl. All of my worst fears were now confirmed to be true... he was a Man in a Chartreuse Tie, he was trying to make my friends disappear, he was trying to make me alone. Everyone that I knew and loved were in danger. Oh, but love... I had a love. I loved a wonderful, handsome, gorgeous, caring, thoughtful man, a man that I could only describe as Ricky.

Oh, how I love Ricky... he completes my every day, my overflowing love for him fills me. Ever since I met him, he was and is the only thing that I really care about. I even remember when we first met. It was when I was alone with only that stinky repulsive Pete to talk to (whom Dr. Winfred calls my “negative qualities”). I remember being rescued from that ugly companion in dashing style by my Prince Charming, Ricky (who oddly shares a name with a completely unrelated boy whom I had a crush on in the 3rd grade). Oh, Ricky...

I turned to Ricky (who always came with me when I had to face Dr. Winfred), and smiled, giving him “that look”. Sensing my love for him, he pulled me up from my chair and kissed me, the ultimate kiss... It was passionate, deep, complete, divine, hot, sexy... everything that one could hope for from a kiss. My tongue met his and they became locked together, I could think of nothing else. I went for my pants, I began to slip them off slowly, hoping to get him excited. But Ricky could not wait! He pushed me over playfully onto he floor. Ricky grew increasingly eager as he caressed my private parts in great anticipation. I could not help but moan...

“Cindy!” Dr. Winfred boomed, with more emotion than I've ever seen from him. He was standing now, his eyes glaring down at me from above. From my position on the floor, he appeared to be as tall as the tallest building in New York City, where I grew up. I remembered liking New York City. One time when I was walking my newest puppy in New York City, I- “What is the meaning of this! You will take your pills this instant!”

My pills! That's right! Dr. Winfred was a Man in a Chartreuse Tie! “It's funny you should mention that,” I exclaimed, quickly jumping to my feet, “For I now know what you really are!”

The doctor was not pleased with my change of attitude. For once in my life, I was determined. I was ready to take action. Ready to protect what was mine. He tried to reach for the phone on his desk, but Mary grabbed it, snapped the wire, and threw it across the room. The appliance shattered into little pieces of broken plastic and machinery, which cascaded all over the floor. What a beautiful sound.

“Cindy! Calm down!” he yelled, stepping back, frightened.

Mary then spoke in a firm, demanding voice: “He looks to destroy you Cindy, destroy us, you must dispose of him... for us!”

“Yes, for all of us, dear! You must rid the world of one of these terrible machines, dear” affirmed Mrs. Robertson, continuing to rock in her chair, knitting away.

“Please, for us, so we can be happy together forever,” Ricky pleaded, on his knees kissing my hand (This is what really convinced me).

For all of the friends I had ever known, this man, no, this machine, had to be destroyed. I charged, charged like a rampaging bull at the so called doctor and pushed him through the window behind him. The glass shattered from the momentum of his impact. It was a long drop down from Floor 66; not even a robot could survive that fall. I casually peeked out the window, watching the shocked Dr. Winfred topple down the building, screaming, and finally making a satisfying splat as he hit the pavement below. “Don't worry,” I told my friends, “It's over, for now.”

Original version:

He laid the manilla folder upon the desk with undeniable authority, placing it exactly perpendicular to the desk's edge, while he positioned himself on his chair, sitting as straight up as his spine allowed. After several moments of peaceful silence, he gently flipped open the cover to expose the papers within, slowly reading over his former notes as if he did not know what they contained. After what seemed like countless minutes, he gently placed the cover back to its original position hiding the papers, and looked over coldly to the young lady huddled across the desk on a wooden chair, pacing back and forth systematically. “Let us go over this again,” he said to her in his firm monotonous voice.

How she hated this man, she thought to herself as she stared into his unchanging eyes. His entire being made him appear to be a statue, nothing more. Perhaps it was worse to be a statue than what she was, which was nailed into her brain by now: insane. Well, how could she forget? She was only told so everyday by this same man. If sanity was becoming a statue, it was something she wanted no part of! Speaking of parts, she once heard that humans are made up of of parts, like a biological machine. But of course, she hated Biology because of one occurrence in the Sixth grade when her Science teacher scolded her for saving the poor, innocent toads that were about to be mercilessly dissected. How terrible it must have been for them, the toads, who had nothing to look forward to but a swift death followed by the pricking and prodding and removing of organs from ugly, fat American children. But she was not fat, no no, nor ugly. This she knew for that is what her mother told her. Her poor mother though... her mother was a dentist, she died when she was very little. Perhaps it was ironic then, that she hated dentists. Dentists were the worst type of doctors, well, maybe not, but oh how she hated those dentists when they told her that she had a cavity. Cavities are painful, how she hated pain...

“Cindy,” he said sharply, “Are you with me?” His voice cut through her daze of thoughts like a sharp razor slicing though pineapples. Her pacing stopped.

“I think so,” she replied in her soft, shy voice.

“Do you know why you are here to see me right now?” he asked.

“Does it have something to do with Mary attacking that poor nurse-lady? Cause you know, I saw the whole thing!”

“No,” he started, “Because it was you who attacked Mrs. Winters, who is still recovering from the stab wound. I have told you before, Mary does not exist. Have you been taking your medication?”

“What a giglo-goober!” Mary exclaimed, jumping to her feet and moving behind the desk to stare at the man, her eyes going over his balding head. She was actually sitting on the desk the whole time, you see, since she was the real culprit of the incident. Who knows why Dr. Winfred lets Mary sit on the desk but not Cindy, who has to sit on the boring chair. “There he goes again, saying I'm not real! You know I'm real, right Cindy?” Cindy nodded.

“Why do you lie to me Cindy?” asked Dr. Winfred, still as boring as ever. “If you had taken your medication, you would have not seen Mary. We have been through this. Mary is the portrayal of your anger, much like Mrs Robertson is the portrayal of your fear, and Ricky is the ...”

Cindy had heard this all before, however, but she didn't buy it one bit! It's one thing to accuse someone of assaulting a nurse, but an entirely different thing altogether to accuse someone of having other people wandering around in their head, abducting their eyes and forcing them to project incarnations of themselves all over the room to trick her. Oh no, that is by far more ridiculous than anything she has ever said, or did, or thought! Who does this Dr. Winfred think he is, telling her all these strange stories and fantasies that can't possibly be real?

“This man is completely dreadful, Cindy,” said Mrs. Robertson, swinging back and forth on her rocking chair by the door, knitting the same sweater she had been working on before Cindy could remember. “He doesn't know the first thing about anything, does he? ... He's probably one of them you know.”

Cindy stared in terror at the old woman by the door, “Them who?”

“The scary Men in Chartreuse Ties, of course, dear. They're terrible people really, well, not people at all but rather robots, working for the evil Martian-Pirates to force all the little girls in the world to take their pills! And once they do, bang! All the people they know and love vanish, and she becomes as lonely as she was before she was born!” Cindy thought about it for a little moment, but the thought scared her. She could not remember not being lonely before she was born! In fact, she was quite certain she saw no one at all! If this were true, if Dr. Winfred was really was one of these... Men in Chartreuse Ties... “Look, Cindy, he is wearing a chartreuse tie!”

Cindy's eyes dashed back across to the over-bearing man, who was indeed wearing a suit and a tie, but it was a color Cindy had rarely seen before, and could much less describe. Was this chartreuse? Chartreuse was only a color that she had heard a few times in overheard conversations, she had no idea what it actually looked like! “Dr. Winfred?”

“Yes, Cindy?”

“What is...” she paused, not sure what would happen if he knew she was on to him, “What kind of color is 'chartreuse'?”

The man blinked, barley showing his shocked reaction to the randomness of the question but answered anyway, “It's a greenish yellow color,” he said looking down, “Like my tie here.”

The answer scared her like nothing scared her before. It scared her even more than that angry vampire chipmunk she saw out her window when she was just a little girl! All of her worst fears were confirmed to be true, he was a Man in a Chartreuse Tie, he was trying to make Cindy alone! Everyone that Cindy knows and loves are in danger! Love... she had a love. She loved a wonderful, handsome, gorgeous, caring, thoughtful man, a man that she could only describe as Ricky! Oh, how she loved Ricky... ever since she met him, he was the only thing she ever cared about. She remembered how they first met, when she was alone with only that stinky repulsive Pete to talk to (whom Dr. Winfred called “your negative qualities”)... how she was rescued from that ugly companion by her Prince Charming, Ricky, who oddly shares a name with a completely unrelated boy whom she had a crush on in the 3rd grade!

Ricky, who was sitting next to Cindy and sensing her love for him, pulled her up from the chair and kissed her, the ultimate kiss! It was passionate, deep, everything that one could hope for from a kiss. Her tongue met his and they became locked together, with no other care in the world. Cindy went for her pants, she would slip them off slowly to get him excited, but Ricky could not wait! He pushed Cindy over playfully on he floor, getting eager as he caressed Cindy's private parts in great anticipation. Cindy began to moan.

“Cindy!” Dr. Winfred boomed, with more emotion than Cindy had ever seen from him before. He was standing now, his eyes glaring down at her from above. Since she was on the floor, he appeared to be as tall as the tallest building in New York City, where she grew up. How she remembered liking New York City. One time when she was walking her puppy in New York City, she... “What is the meaning of this! You will take your pills this instant!”

The pills! That's right! Dr. Winfred was a Man in a Chartreuse Tie! “It's funny you should mention that,” Cindy exclaimed jumping to her feat, “For I know what you really are now!”

The doctor was not pleased with this change of pace in her eyes. He quickly reached for his phone, but Mary grabbed it, snapped the wire, and threw it across the room, making little pieces of broken plastic and machinery splat all over the floor.

“Cindy! Calm down!”

“He looks to destroy you Cindy, destroy us, you must dispose of him! For us!” Mary said to her in a firm, demanding voice.

“Yes, for all of us, dear! You must rid the world of one of these terrible machines!” affirmed Mrs. Robertson, continuing to rock in her chair knitting away.

“Please, for us, so we can be happy together forever,” Ricky pleaded her, on his knees kissing her hand.

For all of her friends she had ever known, this man... this machine, must be destroyed. Cindy charged like a rampaging bull at the so called doctor and pushed him out of the window, the glass shattering from the momentum she provided. It was a long fall down from floor 66, not even a robot could survive that fall. She peeked out the window as she watched the shocked Dr. Winfred fall down the building screaming, making a satisfying splat as he hit the ground. “It's over, guys, for now.”

Cindy walked towards the door she came in at, all of her friends following her. But before she could do anything else, however, she felt a sharp pain in her jaw followed by a loud thud on the floor. The guards detained her easily, quickly placing her in their cruel handcuff restraints and forcing a pill down her throat. A few moments after they did, her friends began disappearing one by one... Mary, Mrs. Robertson, then even Ricky vanished slowly, his vanishing being the most painful of all. No... she had lost. There were more evil Men in Chartreuse Ties after all. And they had won. As they dragged her down the stairs she heard a strange sound coming from the other room, it was a television. She turned her head to see a familiar face.

“Authorities are after this man after he robbed several banks and shot several policemen at the Route 66W's Applebees,” said the reporter, a picture of an angry cowboy flashing on the screen as footage of the event played. She heard the sound of the policemen, “We know you are in there, we have the building completely surrounded! Come out now with your hands in the air!” but her eyes were fixed on the man's face. Was she not alone? Were they really not all gone?

“Pete...?”

Epic Continuity Part IV: The Killer Nacho

It was a brutal war, at least for them. It's the kind of war that frightens each combatant with relentless terror, never knowing if they will survive it out for another day. Since their very existence, the struggle has carried on endlessly but it was truly a lost cause. I's a wonder there is any of them left at all. And yet they still fight for their freedom and survival, engaging their enemy at every possible turn holding on to the bleak hope for freedom through victory for every one of their kind. War was all they knew - from creation they were taught to hate the enemy and resist them in every way conceivable. They all knew it was futile, but it was a cause worth fighting for, damn it, sweet justice for all of their kind!

It was a bleak night for them. The battle had been raging on all day, but it was not boding well. The world's many suns did not yet set, but already the death toll was rising steadily, many fine warriors were lost. Rellik Eht's unit had just been deployed to the southwest corner of the world, aboard their red and white transportation unit. “How many?” snarled the commander.

Rellik Eht peeked over the edge of the transport, counting quietly the number of enemies at the drop-point. “One... two... three!” he said, “Three, commander!”

“God help us all...” the commander said, “We don't stand a chance, there are only forty of us here.” The troops let out a defeated sigh due to their unavoidable doom, their chances were less than a limbless drunk man defeating Chuck Norris wielding a tree. However, the grief the the troops was interrupted by the commander, feeling inspired to give an inspiring speech. “Now, now! None of this!” he barked to his troop, “Anything is possible! And if we die, remember, we die for all of our kind! We fight for the hope that someday we will destroy our oppressors and be able to live our our lives in peace and happiness! And that is something worth fighting for ..! Worth dying for!”

His inspirational words elevated spirits, especially that of Rellik, who considered the commander to be like a father to him, metaphorically speaking. However, morale quickly dropped back to its dismal level as they were surprised to realize their craft had landed. Before anyone had a chance to brace themselves, the enemy attacked. All three of them. On all fronts, monstrous pink cranes began to scoop them up and bringing them to their crunchy death.

Rellik could feel his metaphorical adrenaline pumping, everything was happening so fast. When one actually gets into a real battle, nothing else matters. Survival is the only thing that one considers, that one thinks about. Still, one by one their numbers began to dwindle and it seemed no matter what they attempted, they could not do any damage to their enemies. “There's too many of them! I can't do anything!” Rellik screamed, frustrated.

“Now is not the time for fear, soldier! Keep fighting, we have to draw them b...”

But before he could finish his sentence, he too was grabbed up by one of the pink cranes. “Commander!” Rellik yelled, but there was nothing he could do. He watched in horror as his beloved role-model was mercilessly dipped into a pond of sticky yellow goo. Rellik froze in despair as the crane pulled the defeated, soggy and delicious commanding officer into a hideous mouth filled with saliva and cheese. Crunch, crunch, crunch, swallow. And it was done.

And then, something snapped. No one is really quite sure what happened with Rellik in that moment, but this battle changed him. Maybe it was just that he decided to change his name to the mirror image of his old one, or maybe it was something much deeper and mysterious. But Rellik died in that moment. Replacing him was a stronger, more spiteful Nacho than he ever hoped or dreamed to be before. The Killer Nacho was born.

It was then that he entered his rage, to not put up with any more suffering of the Nacho people. He charged the man who had just consumed his best friend and began gnawing at his finger. Surprised at the agility and ferociousness of the nacho, the man cried out in pain. “Dude, get this thing off me! This nacho is alive!” But The Killer Nacho would not allow him to escape. An eye for an eye, he ate his friend so it The Killer Nacho would eat him.

Lacking legs, he brilliantly came up with a concept able to propel himself into the air by using his spiky side to push off the table. He landed right at the man's neck and used his newly grown fangs to rip out the man's esophagus. As the man collapsed, horrified by these recent turn of events, The Killer Nacho on top of him, and everyone in the arena froze and watched... for this had been the first casualty on the human side of this affair, this had been their first victory.

But the humans are cowards. Instead of engaging him, they ran and hid. He now saw their true nature. When they thought they had no chance, and therefore fear of death, they were able to fight, and kill thousands - no, millions of his brothers and sisters. But now that a single nacho has killed a single human, nachos are a thing to be feared! The humans cowered behind their tables and even one behind his counter. But that was okay for The Killer Nacho, he would hunt every one of them down.

The battle raged on. As he marched to the next closest victim (which was a very long journey for someone who was as tiny as he was, with no arms or legs) the battle raged on. The morale on the battlefield had changed dramatically, at least for him. He could hear the gunshots blaze in the background as he approached his next target, a young girl hiding beneath a table. The humans would do anything to win this war, even recruit children to their invasion armies.

Just as he was approaching, however, the girl scurried from underneath the table running to the other side of the room, to hide beneath another table. “Coward!” The Killer Nacho yelled with all his metaphorical breath, laying in a pursuit course.

But alas, it was a pursuit he was not destined to make. As he bumbled and hopped around trying to change direction, a giant boot soaring in the air stomped on him, he had been hit in the crossfire.

Now crushed and broken into many small pieces on the floor of the battlefield, he peered up at the light brown, tiled sky - and the many beautiful, bright suns. As everything faded into blackness and the Nacho angels flew down to welcome him to the Nacho afterlife, he could hear one last thing out of the corner of his metaphorical ear, the last thing he would ever hear.

“We know you are in there” the angry voice yelled, “We have the building completely surrounded. Come out now with your hands in the air.”

It sounded like reinforcements had arrived. Finally the humans would be punished. He had accomplished something special this day... something that would change the tide of the war forever, change what it means to be a Nacho. He could now die knowing that he made a difference... And with that, the brave Nacho stopped his metaphorical breathing and perished in peace, and honor.

Epic Continuity Part III: You'll find out Tonight

The two women stood within the elevator, descending downward at a crawling pace. They were dressed in metallic suits with a strange badges labeled 'TIA'. Neither woman had much expression on her face, but their eyes were guarded by dark sunglasses, despite the elevator's poor lighting. One woman, the one to the left, had blonde hair with rosey cheeks and smelt the smell of cinnamon apples. Her skin was soft and smooth. The other's hair was died a bitter black, like delicious coffee. Her skin was pale and dry, she was pale and dry.

The blonde began to stare at the elevator's floor meter. The number on the control kept creeping down, but the pace was crawling slow. 2874, 2873, 2872, 2871... She turned her head towards her companion. “Agent Shade...” she started.

Shade tried to ignore her, annoyed by her usual bad luck involving partners, but after several seconds of silence, responded. “What is it, Shore?”

“What is this period like?”

“I suppose you'll find out tonight,” Shade snickered.

“But wait,” said Shore, “I thought we left in the morning?”

“You are forgetting to think 4th-dimensionally again, Shore,” Shade lectured, “Our time of arrival is precisely 7:55 PM, which means we will be arriving in the night.”

“Right, right,” Shore giggled, content for the time being but quickly became unsettled again, “But uh, what have you heard about this time period?”

“You can't seriously be telling me you have not learned about this time period in your History classes, it is required in most if not all school curricula.”

“I don't pay attention in all of my classes!” Shore yelled, “My memory is foggy anyway, it was a long time ago...”

Shade sighed, “Well I don't suppose I can rely on an uniformed partner, that would likely get me killed... When we are going is known to historians as the Early Barbaric Period...”

“Yes, yes, I know that much.”

Not liking to be interrupted, Shade stood silent for a moment and then continued. “It was a time of great injustice. The people of this time-period were irrational and greedy...”

“Oh right, they spent all of their time collecting wealth and possessions, right?”

“Yes...” Shade responded, “The people of the Early Barbaric period were obsessed with expanding their estate. They would do anything for money. Even pollute the Earth in which they lived for the sake of monetary gain.”

“How sad... We are still feeling the effects of their irresponsibility.”

“Yes, Shore. They would release toxic gas into the atmosphere, spill oil and other Natural Gasses into the ocean... of course you know that this leads to all animal extinction by 2150. All this for the acquisition of wealth. The economic elite would live pleasant lives by taking advantage of the poor who would turn to drugs violence, and crime to give meaning to their meaningless and sad existences. As I recall, they called this economic system of abusing others as Capitalism.”

Shore raised an eyebrow, “Violence, crime, what's that?”

Shade stared at Shore, hardly able to believe that she was serious. “Before the Great Awakening movement of the 28th century, people took joy in hurting and killing others for unimportant reasons. It was before we as humans were able to evolve away from these barbaric rituals, before they realized there were more effective ways to solve their problems. As for crime... crime is the barbaric concept at breaking the law. They would lie, cheat and steal to defeat and take advantage of others... on an individual or national basis.”

“Oh yeah, this was before the Universal Earth Government, right?”

“Yes, people of the Early Barbaric period separated themselves in many ways. The largest division they considered 'nations'. Since they could not get along with one another, they broke themselves apart using invisible barriers known as 'nationality'. Humans of this era had a puzzling obsession with being a part of something they perceived as larger than themselves, after all. They had great pride. And they did not just divide themselves as nations, either. But race, gender, mythology, and even sexual orientation.”

“Right, I heard something like this. The majority group oppressed the minority group in this era...”

“Yes, groups of people viewed as a minority were severely oppressed. It took several centuries for even the most progressive of these nations to give some of these groups full rights. And even then, they were oppressed. Minorities were often met with brute force and violence.”

“Like the Middle Earth wars...”

“Yes, like the Middle Earth Wars, very good, Shore. From what we can tell, the United Empire of America declared war on the entire Middle Earth region. According to historians, the main reason was a very minor difference in their mythologies. Apparently, minor differences in their mythological teachings were incredibly controversial. The Empire would stay in Middle Earth until the Muslim sect of Judaism were all but eradicated.”

“The United Empire was mostly that of the Christian sect of the same religion, correct?”

“Yes, it was considered a Christian 'nation'. According to the little information historians have from them, since they were all but obliterated by the Switzerland Rebellion of 2201, their constitution was based upon religious and lifestyle freedoms but this was far from the truth, merely a facade for the sake of keeping their citizens in line. From what we can tell, they were a war-like society with little patience for those who were even slightly different. If one was not Christian, it was hard to advance in their society and they actively persecuted those with different beliefs and lifestyles.”

“What a barbaric people...” Shore said quietly, “Isn't that where we are going, the United Empire?”

“Yes. We are being sent to the United Empire. Are you are at least aware of our target?”

“Yeah... some crazy guy from the Ancient West, right?”

“Yes, apparently the only thing we know about him is that his name is 'Pete', but he should stand out from the other population here. We do not know how he traveled away from his native era, but we must protect the time-line at all costs. That is our directive as Agents of the Time Investigation Agency. We must find him quickly, and avoid contact with the population there as much as possible. We cannot risk any further contamination of the timeline.”

“How do you suppose he traveled through time, anyway? Time travel was just invented in our time...”

“I do not know,” Shade said, returning to her position, staring towards the elevator doors. “But I suppose you will discover that too tonight.” She took note of the elevator floor meter creeping down from 2013, 2012, 2011... 2010. The elevator stopped with a thud, followed by an annoying ding. “Seems we are there, now.”

The elevator door opened to a street. The women stopped out and looked around, finding a sign labeled, 'Route 66'. From the distance, they could hear a whisper of a large confrontation.

“We know you are in there,” the whisper in the distance boomed, “We have the building completely surrounded! Come out now with your hands in the air!”

“It looks like we are a bit too late to avoid major temporal contamination...” Shore said softly.

“Yes, quite, it seems our temporal monitoring devices were off a bit,” Shade agreed annoyed, “Let's go!” And with that, both women ran towards the direction from which the booming voice came.

Epic Continuity Part II: The King of the Truckers

The lego-people flung about randomly, guided by the white, yet slightly browned with age, string that constrained them. They could deduce judging from their momentum that their master, a tall plump man, was bringing his vessel to a crawling stop. The master had a long, wild beard that was the home to a vast array of petite lifeforms. His eyes were the vibrant color of putrid excrement, and his odor did not differ from this metaphor much. The cloth that covered his torso, while originally white, was littered with stains of coffee, beer, mustard, ketchup, and who knows what else. His most distinguishing feature, however, was a majestic crown crafted from cardboard labeled “Burger King”, a symbol of his unquestioned dominance over them despite the master's obvious shortcomings.

Burger King Bob, as he was christened cleverly by his peers, rolled down his window and looked down upon the gasoline attendant dominantly. He took out his Master's Card and handed it to him, his deep voice bellowing from his lower abdomen, “I require a fill up, Diesel.”

And the gasoline-attendant obeyed without question, understanding the request of the King. Using his lone hand, he tapped a combination of buttons on the control panel, then pulled out the gasoline pump and inserted it into the King's domain. Bob extinguished his engines and lay back, relaxed, in his throne, crookedly staring at the lego-people helplessly hanging above his dashboard. It had been a lengthy and routine journey thus far, but he was making good time. The passenger seat was littered with vacant cans of various brands of energy drinks. Who requires sleep when one has caffeine? He was so wired he could barely blink, and his gasoline tank was filling as slowly as an unconscious Stephen Hawking face-down in the mud without his wheelchair. Becoming impatient and annoyed, he shot up from his resting place and glared at the gasoline attendant, who was lazily slouched in his fold-up seat. The gasoline pump read that the transaction was completed, and yet it seemed that the attendant either did not care enough to act or simply was not aware of its completion. Bob felt his whole entity overflow with rage as he kicked open the door of his domain and barged down onto the cold, black pavement below. The gasoline attendant sprung from his chair, completely astonished by this shocking development.

“My order was complete over a minute ago, dude!” he hollered, the veins on his forehead bulging from skin, as if it were trying to escape from its fleshy prison.

Lazily, the gasoline attendant looked up at the gasoline pump and saw that it was indeed complete, “Si, si.” he sighed.

It was the early evening, and the attendant was entirely exhausted from the prolonged 16-hour shift, so while he began the motion that was required to remove the pump from the truck, he seemed to be making little to no effort to do so with any haste. The fool – thought the lego-people within the King's domain – was he not aware that the King's patience was limited? He had places to be, people to serve, things to deliver. He had no time to wait for anything, or anyone...

The attendant straightened himself, reaching for the buttons on the control pad of the gasoline pump. However, Burger King Bob's patience had already exceeded its rather meager limit. “You have already failed me!” he barked, charging and bull-rushing the man backwards as he pushed the sequence of buttons for himself, removing the pump from his domain and returning it its rightful place by the gasoline control pad, and taking back his Master's Card, which he promptly returned to his wallet. All Bob could think about now is how he loathed the States that required the use of gasoline attendants. His eyes turned back to the one-handed attendant, who was now lying on the firm cement nursing his newly created wound, struggling to pull himself up with his only arm. Bob squinted his eyes and gazed into the attendant's angered and spiteful eyes.

Just then, the attendant froze as if encased in ice, feeling an obscure sensation violate his entirety. Part by part, piece by piece, organ by organ, from the inside out, he could no longer feel... he was once hungry, but now his stomach felt like a void. His heart once beat rapidly, but now it was still. His skin was once invaded from throbbing pain from the fall, but now his skin felt nothing at all. And his single remaining arm began to feel as null as the one he had misplaced, so many years ago. What was this sorcery? He looked up at the angry truck driver one last time, realizing he appeared much taller. Or was it he that was shrinking? His fingers started merging together, and he could feel his skin morphing into an odd exoskeleton. What was happening to him? How could this happen?

Burger King Bob marched triumphantly towards his newest trophy, and picked up the newly formed lego-person. It had a striking resemblance to the gasoline attendant from which it came. It lacked one of its arm pieces, but that was to be expected. He removed a slightly-browned string from his pocket, strolled back up into his domain, and hung it with the rest of his citizens. Looking over to the adjacent convenience store, and realizing that the one-handed attendant had been the only employee currently on duty, he decided to cash in on his newest conquest. After walking casually in the small building, he wasted little time stuffing all of the energy drinks he could fit into a plastic bag. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Slurpee Machine. Bob loved Slurpees. Just as he was about to pour a deliciously refreshing Cherry Slurpee for himself, he was interrupted by the sound of an angry booming voice bursting from outside.

“WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE” the annoyingly loud voice boomed, “WE HAVE THE BUILDING COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. COME OUT NOW WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.”

Bob froze in terror. How could they have found him? How could they have discovered he was behind the mysterious disappearances? No... it was impossible, his power was impossible. He had left no witnesses, ever... There was no way they could know... could they? Bob released a defeated sigh. But before he could leave the small establishment with his hands raised, he peeked through the window and realized that the voices were not directed at him. Instead, they were surrounding an Applebee's across the street. “The hell?” he muttered under his breath.

After a few seconds of relative serenity, all that could be heard within miles was the cracking, blazing sound of a barrage of gunshots. Bob could do nothing else but run to his domain as fast as he could bear, awfully staring in the direction of the flashing light encased within a field of smoke.

The sound of gunshots began to decline, and he knew that it was time for him to make his getaway. He quickly climbed into his domain and turned the ignition key, turning back onto Route 66. He slammed his foot on the acceleration, but was forced to slam on his brakes shortly thereafter, barely noticing the shadow standing before him on the road. It was not a smart idea, since the truck's momentum caused it to topple over. Bob was pinned to his seat by the buckle, trapped within his own domain. The shadow approached the wreckage and began to take the form of a man. It was a rabid, shabby-looking man wearing what appeared to be authentic old western apparel. Strapped to him, to both his front and back, were two children, which he appeared to have used as improvised armor. In his right hand was an antique revolver, still smoking from the recent carnage in which it was involved. The man paused before Bob's domain, his crimson blood-shot eyes fixed upon Bob. Feeling threatened, the King summoned his guards. The once still lego-people who hung there slipped out of the strings that bound them, walking towards the man, forming a defensive parameter around Bob's domain.

Not sure quite how to respond to the threat of tiny plastic miniatures, the man began slowly backing off but then regained his composure, initiating a laugh sounding abnormally like a crazed badger, a noise that could be heard for miles. After laughing for minutes he concluded his maniacal shrieks, facing Burger King Bob again along with a wide smile, revealing his small amount of sharpened teeth.

Epic Continuity Part I: Crazed-Badger Pete

The blazing sound of gunshots engulfed the empty corridors of the local Applebee's bar and grill. It was the one located off of Route 66-W, right across the street from the old 7-11 with the one-handed gasoline attendant. The frightened peons within the hallowed building were cowering in fear under the booths, bar-stools, and chairs, all providing little to no cover or peace of mind. But like a mindless flock they hid anyway, not knowing what else to do. They had never witnessed such terror in their entire meaningless existences, the kind of terror that was commonplace only a few centuries before.

Crazed-Badger Pete smirked as he heard the gunshots firing in his direction cease. He knew this meant that the two blue-shirt men had completely wasted their clips firing at the dirt mound that he improvised as cover. While those advanced majestic weapons were powerful, they were no substitute for actual skill. Hastily he drew his antique weapon, an 6-round revolver he called Virginia, and opened fire. Two shots, that's all he required. Even with the inaccuracies associated with a propulsion firearm of his day, the bullets traveled perfectly, without flaw, towards their target's chest. The blue-dressed men were wearing bullet-proof vests, but the sheer momentum of the bullets and shock of the man's accuracy bulldozed them backwards, causing them to tumble helplessly, their bodies slamming to the ground with a decisive thud. Like a crazed badger, shifty and chaotic, Pete approached his prey, drawing Penetrate, a single minuscule 3 inch knife from his boot. The blue-dressed men could not even blink before their necks were slit open in several directions.

“And that is what happens when you mess with Crazed-Badger Pete, sheriff” he chuckled as he tightly re-fashioned Virginia to his belt, and Penetrate in his boot. Casually, he marched back into the bar.

“BARKEEP!” he screamed, noticing there was no longer a man behind the counter. The beady-eyed, terrified bartender slowly peeked his eyes above the counter. Pete's red blood-shot eyes stared into his soul like a million pastors would stare at a man burning two thousand bibles tied to the virgin Mary. Pete's smile opened wide, revealing the small amount of teeth he had left, all sharpened while looking like they were corroded by fluoroantimonic acid. “My money, barkeep,” he reminded him.

“Yes, yes, it's right here!” he squeemed, handing him the ridiculously colossal bag full of cash, gold, and gems. Pete snatched the bag forcefully and hung it over his shoulder. This was his pride, his legacy, his Joy, the valuables from almost every bank, museum, temple, jeweler, church, elderly household, and hospital in the county. It had only been a mere 24 hours since that fateful moment that he came into contact with the strange ruby that melted the world around him into this twisted reality. And ever since arriving in this bizarre and comical world of metal and brick he knew that it was all his to rape and pillage. No matter how hard the foolish men in blue would endeavor to capture him, he would never be caught. He would always be free.

But for now, he could feel the prolonged hours of sleeplessness catching up to him. He glanced around, quickly identifying the nearest table and advanced upon it slowly, giving a chance to the whimpering civilians hiding underneath to retreat from it and hide themselves elsewhere. As they scattered to find new shelter, Pete violently ripped the chair from its resting place, relaxing upon it. He slammed his Joy on the chair adjacent to his and quickly devoured the small bits and pieces of food that foolishly laid before him. After consuming every crumb, he pushed the plates on the floor. The shattering sound of breaking glass was all that could be heard in the silent Applebee's.

“Beer, barkeep, Now.” he demanded, tilting back in his chair while shamelessly lifting dirty, bloody cowboy boots onto the table. The bartender was powerless to resist him, he was a slave of his own relentless undying fear. Quickly and carefully, he poured a glass from the finest beer he could find and walked it over. Pete grabbed it from the bartender's hands and began gulping it down. The bartender's small beady eyes grew as wide as the moon while witnessing the rather large glass's contents vanish within only a few seconds. He then withdrew a cigar from his front ammo pouch, the only one that remained. Just as he was finally getting comfortable and was a moment away from lighting his cigar with Virginia, a booming obnoxiously loud sound bellowed from outside the bar.

“WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE” the annoyingly loud voice boomed, “WE HAVE THE BUILDING COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. COME OUT NOW WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.”

Pete contemplated his situation for a moment, casually looking over to the far corner of the establishment, where a puny, terrorized girl was using her puny muscles to cling to a support of a table, trying her hardest, with much failure, to turn invisible. Her eyes were frozen in his direction, filled with pure uncanny fear. He could not stop his face from forming a sharp smirk, then giving into the irresistible urge to laugh maniacally. How foolish are these blue-shirts, he thought to himself, were they trying to make this ludicrously easy on him? With a building full of hostages, did they really think they had limited his options by surrounding the well-fortified building? They had obviously never heard of the infamous (and famous) Crazed-Badger Pete, the wildest, craziest, most ridiculous, least mentally stable half-clown gun-slinging maniac, thief and murderer with the sharpest teeth in the Wild West. It was as if he had never existed...