HARDWOOD BLOOD CH.2 - LET CURLY GO NUTS

BLOOD ON THE HARDWOOD CONCRETE CH.2 - LET CURLY GO NUTS

Written by Annie Evett

You stand up and swallow the bile in your throat. The Globetrotters continue to stare slack-jawed at the naked man on the ground. You wave your hands at them, attempting to break the horrified spell the flasher’s junk cast over them. You grin and correct yourself. Not enough to be junk, gotta be litter or dregs.

Curly demands to be let loose on the man. You push him back. “Just leave him. He’s not our man.”

Twiggy hoots and rotates a ball around his trunk. “He ain’t even a man.” You all laugh.

The man groans and rolls to an unsteady crouch.

“Stay down, you pervert.” Curly ricochets a ball towards his head.

The little man catches the ball, and his beady eyes glitter murderously at Curly as his lip twists in an uncomfortable grin. “Caught me unawares once, but not again, Fred.”

You notice Curly’s normal jovial behavior suddenly drop as he stares at the man on the ground. 

Wilt smooths his moustache and spins a ball on a finger. “Caught ya with your pants down, too. Not that anyone would notice.” You notice everyone laughing except Curly. 

Goose slaps Wilt on the back as he calls over to the flasher. “Slink away, you weirdo. Come on fellas. We are wasting time.”

You notice Curly bouncing his ball from hand to hand, flicking it deftly behind his back.

With a flurry of heavy material swishing like a cape, the flasher leaps to his feet and crouches low, growling animalistically, his long coat settling around him.

Curly’s grin is wider that the harbor. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You lot, go. I want to have some fun here. I’ll sort out this perv.”

Twiggy and Wilt nod and stretch their elongated limbs out toward you. “Yeah, come on man–the murderer will be blocks away. Chief ain’t goin’ to be real pleased if we dust up a citizen and leave a murderer on the loose.”

The rest of the team begin jogging down the alley way. You are left between the flasher and Curly’s big smile.

“I got this.” His grin never leaves his face. “You run along. Let me at him.”

You frown. Curly’s mouth, stretched into that plastic smile, is near cracking his face. Something ain’t right about the scene.

Curly kicks a trashcan over and bounces his ball at the lid. It spins up and scatters across the cobblestoned pavement, knocking the flasher to the ground again.

You grab Curly’s arms. “Come on Curly, snap out of it. He’s just a pervert. We got a killer on the loose. Let’s go.”

You feel a tight grip around your ankle before you are tipped, overbalanced. That last slice of lasagna has done it. You land on your swollen belly; the bile that had threatened to erupt before makes a loud and theatrical appearance. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the grace to majestically burst like a fountain away from your body. It gurgles and weeps in hot lumps down your chin, seeping into your collar, pooling in an armpit.

You try to ignore it and turn your head to face the leering mug of the flasher. Curly leaps on top of him and begins to swing punches at his face. You try to sit up but slip in your own vomit. The flasher bucks and twists, unsettling Curly’s position, forcing him to the ground beside your second-hand lasagna. The flasher fluidly stands and forces his coat back to display his naked glory to the two of you.

The coat theatrically sweeps upward again as the flasher fumbles inside it. Too late you see slender stiletto knives being withdrawn from their secret spaces in the hemline. Your mouth is still full of chunky tomato paste and badly chewed lasagna sheets. Curly’s face crumples in disgust, but is immediately replaced with a look of blank shock. One of the knives appears in his chest as seeping claret begins to color his shirt. 

A dull pain spreads across your chest. You think it strange, as you expected it to be sharp and hurt more. Your mouth empties the remains your stomach had retched up, and you now taste the acrid thin flavor of blood. 

The flasher strides over to you, places a foot on your chest, and pulls out the knife. He looks at it momentarily and plunges it into your throat.

THE END.

Oops...Return to Chapter 2

TIME DOUCHE CH. 2 - GET TO RUNNIN'

TIME DOUCHE CH.2 - GET TO RUNNIN'

By John Elrod II

“Actually, it is Buonaparte. Napoleone di Buonaparte… although, now that you mention it, Bonaparte sounds much more French. Plus, it totally sounds sexual, as in: You hear that, old man? I’m going to be boning your daughter apart!” An unexpectedly immature Napoleon stands before you, gloating over a dead body of his making and thrusting his hips into the air.

You make the decision to run for it, leaving Bonaparte to himself.

Bolting for a nearby wooded area, you reach the tree line and duck behind one of them. The three men are speaking with Napoleon; they’re smiling, so maybe he -- nope, no he’s pointing them in your direction.

“Bastard,” you say to yourself.

“What?” From your pants, Nubleman’s voice carries genuine concern; it’s likely not for you, however. “What have you done now?!”

As you pull the communicator from your pocket, you place it near your mouth and whisper, “Nothing, now be quiet. I’m hiding.”

Napoleon and the three men are still speaking with each other, but that quickly vacates from the list of things with which you’re concerned. A series of bright white lights flashes before your eyes. You’re momentarily blinded, and you let out a girlish squeal and fall to the ground.

“I… I feel strange, Thomas.” Your speech is slurred.

“What happened? I hate this! I’ve been relegated to endlessly wondering what the hell is going on, while you experience everything!” Nubleman’s voice no longer carries any concern whatsoever.

You manage to stumble to your feet, not having heard a single thing Thomas said. Propped against the tree now, you turn you attention back to the four Frenchmen.

Wait, your thoughts pause.

Where the four men were, there are now two. The others must have come searching for you. In a panic you try to scramble away, but your body feels as if its bones are missing. You fall forward, back into the propped position, and concede that you will simply have to be captured; you are unable to run any more.

Wait, your thoughts return to the two men from before.

That one guy, he’s not wearing the correct clothes; he’s wearing clothes more closely resembling yours. It… it is you.

“That’s ridiculous. I must be hallucinating.” you speak directly into Nubleman’s box, absentmindedly.

“What’s ridiculous? Tell me what is going on! I demand it! Or so help me…” The mighty Thomas Nubleman musters all of the empty threatening power he can.

You continue to ignore Nubleman, as your gaze has been enraptured by what the two men are doing. The you one just hit himself in the crotch; what the hell?

More flashes blind you, and this time they are extended in duration by nearly ten seconds; they are painful.

Grimacing and sweating profusely, you see the men are now fighting, but it’s no longer you; it’s the old man from before. Just then, a man surfaces over a hill beyond the dueling men--it’s you!

The flashes return, once more, but they are no longer surrounding you; they are radiating from you.

You desperately cry into the speaker, “Thomas! I’m seeing flashes--I am flashes! It hurts like crazy! I see other times! Why am I?!” Your cognitive dissonance has imploded.

“Oh god.” Nubleman’s voice finally expresses concern for you. “I’m sorry. Your matter has been corrupted, and the resonating chronotons must diffuse you to stabilize the continuum.”

“Diffuse me? What does that mean?” You force through your painfully clouded mind.

“In layman’s terms: time particles will attach to your atoms, tear you into microscopic pieces, and spread those throughout the wormhole reparation.” His voice cracks. “If it’s any consolation, my machine will suffer the same fate.”

“No it’s not any consolation!” You scream, throwing the transponder against a tree; it disappears in a flash of white.

You stumble out of the trees, toward the men. Your body is now a confused mess of luminosity, varying from head-to-toe and accompanied by a bit of periodic tonal ringing. The men can’t see you, yet you attempt to speak with them; a beam of white light replaces your words. With every movement of your mouth, the light becomes hotter. Your sight is still with you, but your eyes have become empty, glowing, white-hot torches. You drop to your knees and look again at the men; the other you has dropped to the ground and his crotch is smoking. You stop fighting the inevitable and give in to time. Your last sight is of a Frenchman putting a bullet through your head, before your entire body flashes three times and disintegrates into empty space.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2

TIME DOUCHE CH. 2 - TIME TO DUEL

TIME DOUCHE CH.2 - TIME TO DUEL

By Jason Campbell

Dressed? Probably a good idea, you think to yourself as you slide the door open one more time. The three men haven’t noticed the time machine yet, but it won’t be long until you’re in full view. The compartment with the clothes slides open easily enough. Once you have the clothes spread out, you begin to rethink the idea of getting dressed.

“Pantaloons? Frilly shirts? Where the hell are the Nike and Christian Audigier?” You ask Thomas.

“Don’t you think you might stick out just a little wearing modern clothing in the 1700s?” He responds with his usual snobby attitude. “You really are a douche, aren’t you?”

Ignoring his remarks, you dress yourself in these God-forsaken clothes. It’s only slightly better than being naked. Outside the machine you can hear a horse neigh nearby. The three men are getting closer.

“Avons-nous côté avec le roi?” asks one of the men.

“French? They’re speaking French!” you say, holding the transmitter to your mouth. “How the hell am I supposed to communicate?!”

“Did you forget my warning not to fuck up history? No talking to anyone!” Nubleman’s voice explodes from the speaker in your pocket. It’s a little unnerving to hear your crotch talking to you. “But on the off chance you have to, second compartment down from the clothes you’ll find what looks like a small bandage. It’s a universal translator. Stick it to your neck and it will not only translate what they are saying, but it will translate your Neanderthal speech to them.”

The voices are even closer now; time is running out. You slap on the translator and prepare to step out the door to try and hide the machine. It’s then you realize that there is no material close by with which to disguise it. You glance around the side of the machine and realize that you are precariously balanced at the top of a tall hill. Without giving a thought to how this might turn out, you step back into the Time Machine and begin rocking it back and forth.

“Please don’t tip forward,” you whisper.

“What?” comes Thomas’ voice dripping with concern.

“Ahh…nothing,” you say as you slam your shoulder into the back of the machine. You feel it begin to tip backwards. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. The heads of the men appear at the top of the hill as you punch the button to close the door. Your vertical world is all of sudden diagonal, then horizontal.

“Oh shit!” You shout as your body slams against the back wall. Gravity is a bitch and now she is taking her vengeance on you. Tossed around like a two-dollar salad at the local buffet, your body is pitched back and forth across the machine as it rolls down the hill. The blood stain of some poor critter appears on the outside of the glass walls.

Damn, I hope that doesn’t affect the space/time continuum, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to pick up speed and so does your stomach. It lurches once, twice, and then you feel the inevitable kick of your stomach trying to empty its contents. Swallowing, you fight back the gag reflex. That would have been nasty.

The machine seems to have hit a flat spot as the bounces don’t seem quite as violent. You try and catch a glimpse of the landscape but all you see is a blur of green, then blue, then green, then blue. This ride has to stop soon. As if someone heard your silent wish, the machine rolls to a stop…and then begins to fill with water.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me! Can anything else go wrong?”

“What, WHAT?” Thomas is screaming into the speaker, “What have you done to my machine?”

“Nothing, why?” You respond while desperately reaching for the door button. The door slides silently open and you hop out and into a foot of water. The machine comes to a rest at the edge of small pond. Slipping behind the machine and about a foot deeper in the water, you begin pushing the machine out of the water.

“Why do I hear the sloshing of water?” Thomas asks in a panicked voice.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m dealing with it.”

“Dealing with what?”

Ignoring Nubleman’s wailing, you manage to, with some effort and a lot of grunting, roll the time machine out of the pond and behind a stand of bushes. Stuck in 18^th century France, you wonder what to do to kill an hour. I’m sure if Nubleman was here, he would just be sitting hidden in the trees, observing like some sort of voyeuristic bird-watcher. You seemed to have rolled to a stop in the middle of some peasant’s farm. Walking over to the fence, you hear the distinctive sound of metal crashing against metal. Could it be? Swords? A duel? They had those in the past right?

You vault over the fence like some fourteen year old Olympic gymnast and take off at a sprint towards the sound. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the three men that you saw earlier. It appears at some point they have dismounted their horses. Maybe you didn’t get away as cleanly as you thought. They seem to be walking with a purpose straight towards you. Somewhere around the next corner the sword fight seems to be taking place. You pick up the pace and disappear out of sight of the three men.

With a fist pump and a mental Yes!, you find that there is a duel happening. The younger of the two men is dressed like the three men from the hill. The other is a little older and is dressed somewhat similar but in darker colors.

“Is a girl really that important to lose your life over?” Says the older man.

“I plan to ask for her hand in marriage,” replies the younger man. “Now let’s begin.” Without warning the older man’s blade flashes out, but just misses as the young man snaps his head to the side. The younger man thrusts back, cutting through a layer of the other man’s coat. It’s like a car wreck; you just can’t stop watching.

A sound somewhere behind you reminds you that the three men are still following you. It looks like today’s entertainment is going to be cut short. You figure with a quick jog you can get around the next curve, slip back up the hill and back down to the time machine without the three men being the wiser.

“What is that sound?” Nubleman interjects as if he just woke up. “Tell me it’s not the time machine. It sounds like a sword fight. Tell me you didn’t start a sword fight!”

“Shhh…” you whisper at your pocket. “There are people around!” Your warning comes seconds too late as the older man is distracted. The young man takes advantage of the interruption and skewers his opponent. The life in the older man’s eyes disappears. At the same time the three men come around the corner.

“Stop!” They shout in unison at you -- or you are assuming at you. The young man is confused and turns to you.

“You saw, it was a fair fight. Tell them it was a fair duel.” He pleads with you.

“I think they want me,” you answer.

“Why, what did you do?”

“Nothing I know of.”

“Come with me,” he says, “I might be able to help. By the way, my name is Napoleon.”

“Bonaparte?!” Both you and your pocket say.

Will you...

A: Take your chances with trying to outrun the three men following and make your way back to the time machine later?

B: Pick up the older man’s sword and prepare to fight your way back to the time machine?

C: Follow Napoleon and hope that your interference doesn’t change the course of history?

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - FIRST PROCEDURE

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - FIRST PROCEDURE

By Yasamin Alisha

You wake up the next morning feeling like the decision was just a good sleep away. You pull the face mask from your eyes and ignore your maid as she wanders around your massive bedroom opening the blinds and setting out breakfast. You stand from your bed, not caring that she is still there, and walk naked to the bathroom.

“Your PA called again.” She mutters as she fixes your bed.

“What’s the message?” you yell from the shower.

“Call back now or kiss your career goodbye.” She hustles out of the room before you can reply.

You walk out of your shower, air dry as you walk into your bedroom again, and smile at the thought that it looks as though you never slept in it. She may have had a smart mouth but she’s the best help in town.

You decide it’s definitely a silk-pajama day; there’s no way you’re leaving your house today. You slip them on and eat your breakfast. The more you think about the options given by Dr. Skin, the more you know how you plan to answer.

You pick up the phone and dial his number. The receptionist answers and you let them know you want to book the first surgery. You think that with technology these days, maybe it’s time you take a workout regimen seriously for once.

She tells you that the next available appointment is in three days. You agree to that. She tells you to fast for 24 hours and to avoid doing anything strenuous to keep your muscles as relaxed as possible. You agree and ask about pain level.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Skin will prescribe you only the best in pain meds.” She hangs up on you and you sit for a second, seething at her rude behavior.

You take a deep breath and call your PA. “I know.” You say the moment the phone is answered.

“This is beyond damage control. We are going to have to take a vacation for a bit. Reebok has decided to go with another ‘Legend’ for their Legend shoes this fall. We need to lay low and do recovery.”

“I’ve decided to have some work done.”

“What kind of work?”

“Basic stuff. A lift, maybe a tuck. Nothing to worry about.”

“Who’s the doctor? You don’t want to come out looking like a goddamned clown.”

“I won’t. He’s the best.”

“Get me his info and I’ll do some checking.”

“I’ve already booked the appointment.”

“It can be canceled if I find anything hardcore. Just send me the shit and I’ll do the search. In the meantime, don’t talk to anyone. Just stay home until I get you some tickets for you. You’re going on vacation. Maybe we’ll go save some remote village somewhere. We’ll bring food or some shit like that.”

“You’re awesome.” You respond to the sheer lack of caring. You have a real love/hate relationship with your PA.

“Trust me.” The click on the line tells you it’s time to maybe have a mimosa by the pool.

You wander closer to the glistening water and think about everything you’ve been through. Your fucking career is in the toilet. Your life is pretty much over at this point. This surgery has to save you or you have nothing left.

You feel a soft oily cloth under your foot just before it slides out from under you and you tumble forward. The damned maid left the dust rag on the tile next to the pool again.

You fly into the air, your head slamming against the tile at the edge of the pool. The excruciating pain suddenly fades as you feel fluids pouring from your body. Blood streams from your nose and ears as you slowly slide into the cool water.

The water creeps up your body but you have no control of your muscles to scream. It laps past your head and you can do nothing as the water fills your lungs. You cannot move but you sure as hell can feel as your lungs convulse and your heart squeezes in the attempt to keep you alive. Your whole body is paralyzed as you slowly drown in your pool, and all you can think is:

Well shit. There goes damage control.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2

RETURN DATE IS OFFICIAL!

The COD crew officially returns on November 1st!

SEASON 2 HAS A STORY!

You've made your choice.

Now it's up to us to write it.

The story for our second season has been given a name and that name is...



Trailer coming soon.

CHOOSE THE STORY FOR SEASON 2!

The time has arrived! Season 2 is right around the corner, and we need your help in choosing our next story!

Below are 11 possibilities dreamt up by this season's crew. Read through them, pick the one you like, place your vote below, and we'll do our best to write it up.

It's so simple a monkey could do it.

A really dumb monkey.

The monkey the other monkey's always laugh at.

Not that I'm calling you a dumb monkey or anything...no, that would be rude.

CHOOSE THE STORY FOR SEASON 2!

A. You're separated from your coworkers during a team building exercise and you get lost in a carnival. You're stuck inside after the places closes, and things go bad in the night. Find your way out.

B. You get off a train at Grand Central Station, only it's not the New York you were expecting. Your family are not there to greet you. Instead you're faced with an army of spider-like robots, each with an Amazonian warrior woman by their side. They're looking for you. Which way do you run?

C. Beneath the slimy mud of a lonely planet on the outer rim sleeps a terrible menace. You and a group of pioneers from earth are dropped in an effort to colonize the planet and one of you wakes the creature. Can you survive long enough to be rescued?

D. You wake up in the desert without a stitch of clothing and no idea how you got there. The night before you were at a hotel convention for high tech weapons industry and came face to face with your ex. Being in a good mood and forgiving, you go to dinner with them. Now you wonder if maybe there was another purpose to that supposedly random meeting.

E. you're taking a vacation in a far off land. You get on the wrong train and witness something totally bad (ie murder kidnapping something). No one believes you and you get kicked off of the train for having no ticket... but someone knows you've seen something you shouldn't have. Now you're on the run!

F. You're an aging A-list celebrity (by tinsel-town's standards) who begins losing roles to younger celebs. You make a drastic decision to go under the knife, but are not prepared for the results.

G. You're a rookie package delivery person. You're making the last delivery of your first week on the job to a small office. There is no receptionist and you begin to search the office for someone to sign for your package (lol...I said package). You open a door (that should have been locked) and you accidentally step into the secret lair of the city's most loved super hero.

H. You become the heir of a very distant relative's fortune in the Republic of Kalmykia*. Along with it, comes the added responisbility of his genetically mutated pets, reanimated corpses, and maintenance of his secret lair. While your relative is closely tied with the World Domination Front, you have a heart of gold and love for all living things. You hope to use your newly aquired wealth to right the wrongs and injustices in the world, but in the meantime you will focus on the local corrupt and the upcoming Chess Olympiad.

I. You're on vacation and your plane gets sucked into the vortex that is the bermuda triangle. On the other side you find the lost city of Atlantis which is currently at war. How will you get out alive?

J. You disguised your time machine as your shower; it malfunctioned, and now you're naked in 18th century France

K. You are a mercenary who, upon taking a new contract, is inducted into a secret society with the aim of killing the monarch.

Choose Your Story...

• 
  
  A. You're Lost in a Carnival After Closing Time


• 
  
  B. You Encounter Amazons and Spiders in Grand Central Station


• 
  
  C. Your Attempts to Colonize a Planet Go Horribly Wrong


• 
  
  D. You Wake Up Naked in the Desert


• 
  
  E. You See Something You Shouldn't Have Seen on a Train


• 
  
  F. Your Surgery is Surgery is Botched


• 
  
  G. You Accidentally Stumble Onto a Superhero's Hideout


• 
  
  H. You Inherit a Fortune and Battle Corpses


• 
  
  I. Your Plane Gets Sucked into a Vortex Near the Bermuda Triangle


• 
  
  J. Your Time Machine Is Your Shower


• 
  
  K. You're a Mercenary Inducted Into a Secret Society

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RED PLANET STOWAWAY - CH.2 BETWEEN A CRAP AND A LOUD PLACE

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CHAPTER 2: BETWEEN A CRAP AND A LOUD PLACE

By MJ Heiser

Something about Malloy’s dangling bits fills you with rage. This is no way to live, you think to yourself as a red-hot surge of determination swells through you. I will not be victimized by this naked, grey-fuzz-covered ape.

These thoughts take next to no time to go through your head, but even so, it was time you really didn’t have. You’re past the decision point. You stagger over the soiled, filth-smeared underpants on the floor and heave your shoulder against the locker door.

Clang.

Oh, crap, you think to yourself.

“What the –“

You curse the throbbing mass of pain on your head and use the brain that surely still operates beneath it to locate the lock mechanism for the locker. You lift it, the door opens, and you stagger out into the relative brightness of the hallway-sized room beyond.

You don’t get much of a chance to appreciate your freedom from Malloy’s locker. Your windpipe is cinched shut, and you’re hoisted roughly into the air.

“Urk,” you say, with less dignity than you were hoping.

Through the pain in your head and the steadily tightening tube of your awareness, you see Malloy scrutinizing you. The bright red of his face is alarming in contrast to the white nakedness of the rest of him. His eyes narrow. You’re pretty sure of this. You don’t want to think yet that it’s only your consciousness narrowing.

“You,” he breathes. Spittle lands on your cheek.

“Hack,” you reply in a choking gasp. You want to flail. You want to do the thing that kids do, which is sag, make themselves extraordinarily heavy, and slip out of their parents’ grasp. You can barely move.

“What were you doing in my locker?”

You flop your head to the other side, hoping for some relief on your windpipe. No dice. Malloy apparently did really well in the Chokehold classes at NOSSA Academy.

“Answer me, maggot!” he barks.

If you had the energy and the breath to do so, you would roll your eyes at him, sigh, then say, “Uh, hello? I can’t breathe, and therefore can’t answer, duh!” You come as close as you can and roll your eyes up to the whites.

You’re dropped. You take a great gasp of air, and it burns in your lungs. You spend a couple of seconds curled on your side, whooping air into your body and trying to come up with some creative way to get out of this.

You make the mistake of looking up. You are now gazing directly into the underside of Malloy’s underparts. You almost gag.

“Maggot, you owe me an explanation,” Malloy starts –

But again his junk has inflamed you with rage. You don’t have to lay here and take this. He wants an explanation you can’t give him. Above and beyond all of that, you’re being forced to confront the sight of the most unattractive genitals in the human species.

You strike out with your booted feet and feel the satisfying impact – like kicking a rolled up pair of tube socks. You hear Malloy suck in a huge breath. You’re reasonably certain you know what happens next, and there’s no real need to stick around to verify your assumption. You’re on your feet and moving fast, slipping out of the narrow locker rooms before Malloy can regain his composure.

You emerge into a long, narrow corridor, lit above and below by glowing fluorescent lamps in the ceiling and floor. You don’t get anything as easy as signs pointing the way. All you get are sounds and smells. To the right is the smell of hot grease, as well as the source of that chugging machinery noise that drowned out most of the conversation you heard from the locker. To the left is the unmistakable stench of human waste – sewage processing, most likely. About twenty feet down the right corridor you spy a metal-rung ladder heading up into parts unknown.

Malloy’s voice bellows behind you. If he hasn’t figured out yet that you overheard some very delicate conversation between him and Richardson, he will soon.

You have to make your choice.

A. Search the rust bucket's machine room for a weapon?

B. Dig around in the giant crapper for a miracle?

C. Take the ladder to nowhere, counting on Malloy being too fat to climb it?