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      "parent_author": "ccaison",
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      "author": "steemitboard",
      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-ccaison-20200216t211344000z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Congratulations @ccaison! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@ccaison/birthday3.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 3 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@ccaison) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=ccaison)_</sub>\n\n\n**Do not miss the last post from @steemitboard:**\n<table><tr><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/valentine-s-day-challenge-give-a-badge-to-your-beloved\"><img src=\"https://steemitimages.com/64x128/http://i.cubeupload.com/LvDzr5.png\"></a></td><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/valentine-s-day-challenge-give-a-badge-to-your-beloved\">Valentine's day challenge - Give a badge to your beloved!</a></td></tr></table>\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
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      "parent_author": "ccaison",
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      "author": "steemitboard",
      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-ccaison-20190216t215638000z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Congratulations @ccaison! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@ccaison/birthday2.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 2 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_[Click here to view your Board](https://steemitboard.com/@ccaison)_</sub>\n\n\n**Do not miss the last post from @steemitboard:**\n<table><tr><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/valentine/@steemitboard/valentine-challenge-love-is-in-the-air\"><img src=\"https://steemitimages.com/64x128/http://i.cubeupload.com/LvDzr5.png\"></a></td><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/valentine/@steemitboard/valentine-challenge-love-is-in-the-air\">Valentine challenge - Love is in the air!</a></td></tr></table>\n\n> Support [SteemitBoard's project](https://steemit.com/@steemitboard)! **[Vote for its witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1)** and **get one more award**!",
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      "title": "Chasing A Dream",
      "body": "Niklas clutched his chest. His heart implant worked overtime as he ran down the alleyway. Water pooled on the uneven pavement, reflecting the illuminated skyline of Freeport City at night. The image shattered as his feet splashed through the puddle. Behind him, the footsteps of private security pounded the pavement. A loud crack rang out, echoing off the alley walls as a weapon fired. The air sizzled around Nikla’s head, a slug hit the wall beside him. Fear ignited his senses, sending another dose of adrenaline through his veins. \n\n“Turn right down the next alley,” instructed the calm voice over the comms device that fed audio signals into his brain.\n     \nA homeless man staggered around the corner, careening from side to side, lost in the drug-filled illusions of his mind. \n\nNiklas slammed into him, smashing the man against the discolored concrete wall that lined the alley. With a quick push off the surprised man, he sprinted down the passage, his legs pumping like pistons. Niklas cursed, not because of the vagabond in his way, but because he was out of time. His body, augmented to work long hours on his factory job, was dying. Poisoned by the trade he used to support his daughter.\n     \n“You’re almost there,” encouraged the voice. “There will be two doors on your left. Take the second one. I’ve uploaded your biosignature to the lock.”\n    \n Niklas quickly came upon the two doors. A dull black plastic panel, worn by time, jutted out from the wall on the right side of the second door. He placed his hand on the sensor, lungs heaving as he fought to catch his breath. A tiny embedded light above the pad turned blue, the lock disengaged. He pulled on the handle and slid inside, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, he could hear the lock activate and the muffled sounds of his pursuers wondering where he had gone.\n     \n“I can’t see anything,” whispered Niklas. He held his arms out trying to feel his way through the void.\n     \nOverhead, the lights popped as energy surged, bringing them to life. He squinted, shielding his eyes until they adjusted. How does he control everything, he thought.\n     \nThe voice spoke to him, “Move through the hallway and take the hyper-lift to the fiftieth floor.”\n   \n“Shit man, you got access to this place too?” asked Niklas.\n     \n“Stay on task,” answered the voice. “Our contract is nearly complete.”\n     \n“You’re going to uphold your end of the bargain? Right, Mr. Jackal?” There was a hint of concern in Niklas’ voice. The Jackal was one of the most ruthless personas in the underground, but he paid well, money that Niklas desperately needed. He took the job, breaking into a protected facility to steal data. What it was, Niklas didn’t know.\n     \n“Deliver the data and our agreement will be fulfilled,” said the Jackal.\n    \nNiklas swallowed hard and made his way into the hallway where a ceiling light blinked above the hyper lift door. The place was abandoned, left to be tore down to make way for progress. As he approached the lift it opened automatically and he stepped inside. Instinctively, he reached to select the floor, but the instrument panel clicked on, highlighting the destination. The doors closed and the hum of the lift engines vibrated the metal frame as it ascended.\n     \nIn the space between bouts of panic and terror that had been the last few hours, Niklas’ mind turned to his family. He closed his eyes, letting the brain implant render the loving eyes of his little girl. The tech induced flashback was stronger than a normal person’s memory. As he thought, his senses came alive, letting him relive the past. For Niklas, it was a memory of his daughter. He could feel her soft hands holding on to his thick calloused fingers. She had her mother’s eyes and his curiosity. His heart broke knowing she would have to grow up in the squalor of Old Town. He wanted her to have a chance; live a life with meaning.\n     \nThe polite chime of the elevator woke him out of his stupor, the doors opened to the remnants of a corporate office. Chairs and desks were strewn about like remains of a dead animal. Unknown people had toiled their lives away in this room—a room left to collect dust some fifty floors above the city.\n     \n“Where am I going?” asked Niklas.\n     \n“Follow the aisle,” replied the voice. “You should see an active console display.”\n     \n“Kind of an odd place to do a data transfer.”\n     \n“Please, hurry,” urged the Jackal. “There isn’t much time.”\n     \nNiklas jogged down the row of cubicles until he spotted a faint glow. Inside the cubicle sat an older computer, trash compared to the consumer quantum computers everyone used. An old cord still connected the machine to the data-net. He knelt down and wiped away the dust that had settled over time. The screen flickered, displaying the operating system’s welcome menu. A small drive bay ejected from the side of the system.\n     \n“Place the data cube inside…” the Jackal was interrupted by the elevator doors opening.\n     \n“They’re here!” panicked Niklas.\n     \n“It will be fine. Load the data cube.”\n     \nNiklas fumbled through his pockets as the sounds of approaching footsteps echoed off the temporary walls that divided the office space. A searchlight cut through the darkness, scanning the tops of the cubicles. He retrieved the data cube from his jacket and placed it in the tray, pushing the drive closed. A transfer window popped up on the display. The voices of his pursers grew louder as they searched the premises. Niklas crouched low, sweat beading on his forehead as he waited nervously for system to send the data. Moments later the upload was complete.\n     \n“I have the data. You did well Niklas,” came the Jackal’s voice in his head.\n     \n“And your part of the deal?” whispered Niklas.\n     \n“As agreed.”\n     \n“Let me see.”\n     \nThe console display flashed to a new screen: the Central Bank’s page, showing his daughter’s name and citizen number. Niklas scanned through the information, reading the sizable amount of credits moved into the account.\n     \n\"It’s done,” said the Jackal. “Tomorrow morning, I will contact your child’s mother and let her know she is the benefactor of our agreement.”\n     \nTears burned in Niklas’ eyes. He knew his time was running out. “Thank you Mr. Jackal,” he whispered.\n     \nNiklas stood up and darted out of the cubby, away from the elevators. The searchlight trained on him, illuminating his path toward the wall of windows. The world became a blur. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to think of his daughter. The action engaged his brain implant, bringing his most recent memory of her into focus.\n     \nGuns barked as he ran. His pursuers shots missed, shattering the window in front of him. Another burst hit him in the back, blowing out a chunk of his shoulder, spraying blood along his path. His body jerked, but his heart implant continued to pump, forcing him to move.\n     \nIn his dream, Niklas could feel his daughter’s touch. It gave him hope for a better world. His tears cooled his face. A third barrage hit his body, tearing through him, still his heart beat, pushing him to run. Niklas leaped through the window, the humid night’s air swirling around him as he fell, his mind absorbed by the vivid dream of his daughter’s smile.",
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      "body": "Tom yawned as he leaned back in his desk, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica T-shirt and stretching his legs, knees flexing through the frayed holes in his jeans. The day’s starting bell rang and a group of stragglers ran through the door—another Monday morning in high school physics. Tom wanted to sleep, lay his head down on top of his desk and forget about class. He had spent all evening staring through his father’s old telescope into the worlds beyond, wondering what was out there; something inside him wanted to know. \n\nMr. Hastings, a middle aged man with a shiny bald head and bushy eyebrows liked tired caterpillars, frowned at the tardy students as he began taking role. His pleated khaki pants, white sleeve shirt, and sweater vest, gave him a dutiful look. Mr. Hastings was new to the school, but his passion about science interested Tom. Every lecture turned into an interesting story about other worlds.\n\nSpace had become Tom’s new obsession. His tired mind dreamed about the star’s he saw in the night’s sky. In his head he could hear his father’s warm voice, chronicle made-up stories about distant worlds and telling him that he was special. Tom smiled as he reminisced. He was ten years old, when his father was killed in a car crash.\n\n“Tom Maxwell…” called Mr. Hastings. “Tom, I see you, are you going to answer?”\n\nTom snapped out of his daydream, stiffening in his seat. “Yes—I mean, here, Mr. Hastings.” The class snickered and Tom slumped down in his chair, as the teacher finished the role call.\n\nMr. Hastings turned on the class projector, laying a piece of cellophane on top with images of space. Pictures of galaxies and colorful nebulae filled the dull white screen that hung in front of the classroom’s chalkboard.\n\n“Last class we talked about the physics of large celestial bodies,” said Mr. Hastings. “Scientist often times focus on the mechanical, overlooking the beauty and mystery that is indeed the universe.” He strolled among the rows of students. “The universe is so big, we still see light from stars that died millions of years ago. Each star, likely orbited by planets. NASA launched the Hubble Telescope last year and I believe we’ll find other planets much like our own. Maybe even blackholes, the swan song of stars.”\n\nTom sat up straight, flipped open his notebook and wrote: Where does a star go when it dies? His notebook was filled with alien glyphs that haunted his dreams every night since he turned fifteen. Every morning he would wake trying to remember the swirling patterns, scribbling them down in his notebook before they faded. Faint memories called out from the back of his mind, as if he had seen the strange symbols before. Looking at the glyphs made him want to look at the stars. He was searching for something; but what, he didn’t know.\n\nMr. Hastings continued his lectured, his voice muffled by Tom’s wandering mind. He doodled in the notebook, copying the symbols over and over again, letting time slip by. A bell blared in the hallway, ending the first period. The students filed out of the room and Tom fumbled with his books. His notebook fell to the floor, landing open at Mr. Hastings’ feet.\n\nMr. Hastings picked up the notebook, eyeing the strange patterns. “Tom are you ok?” he asked.\n\n“Yes, Mr. Hastings,” answered Tom. “I’m just…a little tired.”\n\nMr Hastings raised an eyebrow as he handed the notebook back. “Interesting drawings. Am I that boring?”\n\nTom smiled in a self-conscious way, taking the notebook, stuffing it into his backpack, and scurrying out the door. The day dragged on and Tom kept mostly to himself. The social jungle of high school was splitting middle school friendships and he thought it best to let the dust settle before trying reaching out. His small school didn’t have much to offer in social diversity. He wasn’t a jock, couldn’t stand drama, wasn’t part of the popular crowd, and didn’t play in the band, leaving him no-man’s land until he picked a side. Tom liked not being part of any group. As he got older, he felt more out of place, as if he didn’t belong.\n\nAfter school, he walked down the sidewalk that led through the small town. He took the same route every day, passing by the simple brick building that was the post office, a soda shop that had been in business for over forty years, and the dilapidated movie theater that was once the town’s center piece. A cool breeze rattled dead leaves in a nearby tree, giving Tom an unsettled feeling, something nagged at the back of his mind. He glanced behind him and noticed a black van with tinted windows, crawling up the street. Two figures sat up front, watching him. A chill came over Tom and felt the urge to run.\n\nA firebird honked its horn, stopping Tom from accidentally walking into the intersection. The driver frowned, shaking his head as he drove through the stop light. The van pulled up at the stop, its tinted passenger window reflecting Tom’s nervous face. He decided to cut down the side street to see if they would follow, picking up his pace. Behind him, the engine of the van revved as it turned down the street.\n\nTom didn’t look back. He ran along the sidewalk, turning down the back road that ran behind the line of shops. His heart pounded in his ears, his book back bounced as his stride hit the broken pavement. The van followed. Tom cut across the back parking lot, running over a set of train tracks, to an old car wash that overlooked a nearby river. Tom had played along the river’s banks as a kid and knew he could lose his pursuiters through the thick brush. His legs pumped as he sprinted, the roar of the vans engine grew louder. Tom lost his footing on loose gravel and tumbled forward, his backpack spilling open. The impact against the broken asphalt knocked the wind out of his lungs, and he gasped for air as he scrambled to his feet. His side ached, but adrenaline masked the pain.\n\nThe van squealed to a halt in front of him. Two large men in black jackets, shirt, and pants stepped out. Aviator glasses covered their eyes. The late autumn sun reflected off the lenses, giving them an inhuman quality. Panic surged through Tom’s mind as he stumbled backwards.\n\n“Help!” screamed Tom, but there was no one to hear him.\n\nThe whine of a four cylinder Toyota corolla caught them off guard. Its square frame clipped the two men. The first man tumbled over the roof, while the second smashed into the window, spraying a blue goo across the hood. The breaks screeched, bring the car to a stop. The door opened and the sounds of Right Said Fred’s I’m Too Sexy filled the air as Mr. Hastings stepped out.\n\nThe first man hit by the car, staggered to his feet. Mr. Hastings retrieved a pistol-like weapon from his pocket and let loose a burst of lasers into the man’s chest. The assailant fell to the ground, twitching in a puddle of blue sludge that leaked from the wounds. Tom stood still in shock, trying to understand what he witnessed.\n\nMr. Hastings turned to the boy. “Tom, are you ok?”\n\nTom stepped away, reflexively.\n\nMr. Hastings put the weapon back into his pocket, and picked up Tom’s notebook, looking at the swirling symbols. “I’m sorry, Tom. I should have gotten to you sooner.”\n\n“What—what just happened?” stuttered Tom. “Did you just kill those guys?”\n\n“No…” Mr. Hastings paused, looking at the bodies. “Well yes, but there not “men” persay, Tom. They’re called Mimics. Real nasty ones by the looks of their juices.”\n\n“Mimics,” quietly motioned Tom’s lips.\n\nMr. Hastings said, “Tom, its time. I got to take you away from here.”\n\n“Away? I…I can’t go, I have to tell my Mom what happened.” Tom turned, slowly walking back to the main road.\n\n“Tom, the woman in your house is not your mom,” came Mr. Hastings voice from behind.\n\nTom stopped and faced his teacher, wearing a confused look.\n\nMr. Hastings glanced at the notebook and back at Tom. He smiled warmly and slowly approached. “I know this is going to be a lot to take in. Your fifteen and trying to figure out where you belong in the world. But I’ve got a big surprise. Your actually not human. Well not fully. Your father was a Zatarian fighter pilot, but your Mom is human. She’s the lead scientist for the Earth Defense Force and married your father, my brother, fifteen years ago.” He placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Zatari are explorers and warriors. We’ve been defending the galaxy against the Mimics for centuries, and you’re one of us.”\n\nTom stood trembling, listening to a man he thought was a stuffy science teacher. “Where’s my Mom?”\n\nMr. Hastings pointed up to the sky. “She’s waiting on a ship in space for us. She desperately wanted you to have a normal childhood, so we kept you here on earth. We spared no expense in replicating her.”\n\n“Replicating…” said Tom, his voice trailing off.\n\n“Yes, you’ve been living with a robot since fourth grade. We thought it safe to move her off world, after your father passed. But don’t worry, she’s kept an eye on you everyday. I however, was suppose to bring you up, before any Mimics found you.” He looked at the carnage. “She’s going to be mad, but at least you’re in one piece.”\n\nMr. Hastings reached back in his pocket and pulled out out a small oval metallic device. “C’mon grab your stuff.” He handed the notebook to Tom.\n\nTom stuffed his notebook and books that littered the ground into his backpack. He clutched the backpack in his arms as he watched Mr. Hastings fidget with the device.\n\n“I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ll let her explain.” He clicked the device, shooting out a beam of energy that opened a doorway from the air. “This device is a wormhole extractor. It lets us cross time and space back to the capital ship.”\n\nTom peered through in amazement. On the other side was busy command deck. Beings, human in shape, but a little taller, with long slender arms and smooth grey skin in a blue tunics hurried about. The women he knew as his mother smiled at him. She wore the same blue uniform.\n     \nMr. Hastings slapped Tom on the back, nudging him through the doorway. “Welcome to your new life.”",
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      "author": "jesusisking",
      "permlink": "re-ccaison-the-basement-apartment-20180630t134605723z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "#\n# upvote for me please? https://steemit.com/news/@bible.com/6h36cq\n#",
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      "author": "cheetah",
      "permlink": "cheetah-re-ccaisonthe-basement-apartment",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Hi! I am a robot. I just upvoted you! I found similar content that readers might be interested in:\nhttps://www.crcaison.com/the-basement-apartment/",
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      "title": "The Basement Apartment",
      "body": "The door opened to the basement apartment, swallowing the last light of the afternoon sun into its dark maw. The landlord, skin speckled with age spots and a tuft of unkempt gray hair sitting atop his head, shuffled into the dark, fumbling around for the light switch. Susan followed, smelling the musty air filled with the history of the previous occupant. With a click, the world was bathed in a yellow glow, boxes—bulging with belongings—filled the room. Faded green tile ran wall to wall and thick layer of dust settled on the table, chair, and rusty bed frame that furnished the apartment. There were no windows, no view of the small country town outside. With one glance, Susan could take in the whole of the apartment. It will do, she thought. \n\n“It ain’t much to look at, but utilities are covered in the rent,” said the landlord. “I can send for my son-in-law to move the boxes out tomorrow. Would’ve had it cleaned up sooner, but it’s been awhile since we had any interest in the place.” He let his last words trail as he fought back a memory.\n\n“It’s perfect,” replied Susan. “I plan to stay the night.”\n\nThe landlord raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, its a bit dusty. Perhaps come by tomorrow after we’ve tidied up.”\n\n“No, I insist.”\n\nThe landlord chewed on his lower lip as he mulled over Susan’s request. She had a peculiar look about her, full of inquisitive energy, not like the rest of the townsfolk. Different wasn’t good in the small town of Rockport, but he hadn’t had a tenant since the incident and was eager to make rent.\n\n“If you want, but I won’t be upstairs this evening. Heading over to eat dinner with my daughter and seeing my grandkids.” He found a pen and a pad of paper and scribbled the number down. “If you need anything, call this number.”\n\n“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” smiled Susan as she stuffed the paper into the leather satchel she carried.\n\nThe man eyed the apartment, then gave a concerned nod at Susan and left. Susan watched as he shuffled up the steps into the evening, closing the door as the old man disappeared from view.\n\nThe apartment was deafeningly quiet. Susan gently ran her fingers across the furniture and boxes, feeling the energy, like static in the air before a storm, against her skin. She rearranged the room, clearing away the floor. Producing a chalk from her bag, she drew a circle around her and inscribed words from a language long dead and forgotten along the border. She knelt in the center, sitting like a samurai, and closed her eyes. Stealing her breathing, she thought about the apartment, inviting in the echoes of time that hid in the shadows.\n\nIt didn’t take long; the apartment was desperate to tell it’s story. The air cooled and goosebumps ran across her arms. She opened her eyes to a world cast in blue, a memory of the past. Her breath cooled in the air like a wispy fog on a winter’s morning, and sounds of muffled conversations called out to her. She focused her senses, tuning into the memory.\n\nIn front of her stood her mentor, James Conroy, Master in the First Degree of the Watchers of Time. An ancient order of bloodlines, sworn to maintain balance between the worlds of light and shadow. He paced around the apartment reading from a leather-bound journal. There was a look of concerned in his eyes. The sound of footsteps from outside drew his attention. Susan stopped the memory. She closed her eyes and let her mind roll across time, reading it like bumps of braille across a page, moving further back. She opened again to the azure world, her mentor argued with a man, his form distorted by shadows that clung to his features. She listened.\n\n“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” argued James.\n\n“Watchers are all the same. The Order’s patience has led to a gateway opening in the town.”\n\n“You cannot fight the dark ones with their own power. It’s lunacy! Blasphemy of the highest regard. If you don’t stop, Simon, I’ll be forced to report you.”\n\nSimon smiled. “Then report me James. What will the council think when they find out that one of your own students fell from grace?”\n\nSusan gasped as she learned the truth, feeling her mentor’s pain. One of their own had turned against them. With solemn duty, she closed her eyes and moved forward in time, opening her eyes to the last frame of the first memory.\n\nJames looked up from his journal. The door burst open with an unnatural force. Simon entered, his features distorted by the dark energy that emanated from his body. He lunged at James, smashing him against the wall. He gripped his former master by the throat and lifted him into the air. James gasped for breath, his hands grasping the forearms that held him at bay.\n\n“You are weak. The power of the shadow flows through me.”\n\nA sickening crack sounded and James’ body went limp, his eyes staring in Susan’s direction. Simon threw the man to the floor and produced a knife. Shadows, taking on grotesque forms of predatory creatures, collected around him, like wolves waiting to feast on a fresh kill. A voice whispered a chilling chant. Susan watched as the man, called Simon, consumed by the darkness, drove the knife into her mentor’s chest. She quickly closed her eyes, breaking from the memory, the sounds of bones being split apart still rang in her ears.\n\nSusan blinked. The blue world was gone, replaced by the quiet apartment. The air was warm again and a feeling of urgency came over her. She scrambled to her feet and began unpacking the boxes. After some time, she found the her mentor’s journal, tucked away under maps of the area. She flipped through the pages, stained from the horror that spilled out in the apartment. Written among the pages were family names of the townspeople, each name with a note beside it. Several were circled. She laid the journal on the table and pinned the map of the town on the wall, studying it, determined to finish her Master’s mission.",
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      "body": "Congratulations @ccaison! You have received a personal award!\n\n[![](https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@ccaison/birthday1.png)](http://steemitboard.com/@ccaison)  1 Year on Steemit\n<sub>_Click on the badge to view your Board of Honor._</sub>\n\n\n**Do not miss the [last post](https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/steemitboard-world-cup-contest-france-vs-argentina) from @steemitboard!**\n\n---\n**Participate in the [SteemitBoard World Cup Contest](https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/steemitboard-world-cup-contest-collect-badges-and-win-free-sbd)!**\nCollect World Cup badges and win free SBD\nSupport the Gold Sponsors of the contest: [@good-karma](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=good-karma&approve=1) and [@lukestokes](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=lukestokes.mhth&approve=1)\n\n---\n\n> Do you like [SteemitBoard's project](https://steemit.com/@steemitboard)? Then **[Vote for its witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1)** and **get one more award**!",
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      "body": "✅  @ccaison, I gave you an upvote on your post! **Please give me a follow** and I will give you a follow in return and possible future votes!<br><br>Thank you in advance!",
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      "body": "“What’s your day job?” asked Trent. “You know, when you’re not on mission.” Trent was in his late twenties and kept a clean face and a crew cut, telltale signs of man fresh out of the service. He was new to the team and had been making small talk all night. His broad shoulders flexed as he ran lengths of climbing rope through his hands, checking the line.\n\nRebecca loaded the last rounds into a magazine, slamming it into her pistol with a satisfying metal thwack. “I’m a stay at home mom.”\n \nTrent raised an eyebrow, “You mean making sandwiches and taking kids to school?”\n\n“And doing laundry, cleaning the house, paying the bills…” Rebecca pulled back the slide on her pistol, chambering a round. “There’s actually a never-ending list of crap you need to do. And you?” She slid the pistol into a holster strapped to her thigh.\n\n“Did time in Iraq and Afghanistan, still living off the blood money. This is my first commercial job.” Trent tied the rope off on a metal anchor he had bolted to the floor. “Did you serve?”\n\nRebecca checked over her repeal harness and ran one end of the rope through the carabiner that hung from the webbing. “Serve?”\n\n“Yeah, spec ops, intel community, SWAT?”\n\n“Oh, no. I married my college sweetheart, had two kids, and have been following him around ever since.” She paused and gave a little chuckle. “I guess you could say I’ve been serving.”\n\nTrent nodded as if he understood. Rebecca sighed, looking over herself one more time. Her black tactical suit always seemed to fit too snug since her second child. With a deep breath, she steadied her mind, visualizing jumping out the window.\n\n“I’m ready,” she said.\n\nTrent flipped the switch on his headset, “Test. Can you hear me?”\n\nRebecca clicked the whisper mic that wrapped around her neck, “I hear you.”\n\n“So what got you in the business?” continued Trent.\n\n“I dunno, extra money, get out of the house, that sort of thing.” Rebecca checked the time on her tactical watch. The target was finishing up a meeting five floors down. “Its go time.”\n\nWith a click of a remote, Trent detonated the shaped charges that outlined the bay window. The pressure changed in the room as bits of glass showered into the city night. Rebecca yawned, popping her ears, and leaped out the window.\n\nThe night’s air was cool and her stomach tingled as she descended. It was these moments, the intense few seconds before the fight started that she enjoyed the most. She didn’t have to worry about planning the week’s meals or helping her kids with their homework. She just needed to focus on the task at hand.\n\nThe rope pulled tight, turning her in the air. She drew her pistols and fired two shots, cracking the glass. Feet first, she smashed through, releasing the rope from her harness and landing on the floor in front of a group of startled men. \n\nBefore they could react, Rebecca opened fire, dropping the two closest to her. The target, an arms dealer from Bolivia, ran screaming into the adjacent bedroom.\n\n“Room cleared, engaging the target now.”\n\n“Roger,” acknowledge Trent. “I’m packing up.”\n\nRebecca reloaded and kicked open the bedroom door. The target was a heavy set man with a balding head, a greasy comb over, and several days growth that caste a shadow across his face. A damp spot, running from his crotch down his inner thigh, robbed him of his machismo.\n\n“Please, I’ll pay you double,” begged the man. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”\n\n“Sorry, I’m a professional,” replied Rebecca. “We would need to get contracts in place, lawyers would have to review it. It’s a time consuming process.”\n\nShe pulled the trigger, pumping three rounds into his chest. The target twitched as he gasped for breath, then slumped against the wall, eyes gazing into the afterlife, blood pooled on the carpet alongside his body.\n\n“Target’s down, heading to the rally point,” called Rebecca.\n\n“Roger, meet you there,” answered Trent.\n\nRebecca exited the room and ran down the hallway toward the stairwell, taking her ten minutes to reach the ground floor. Bent over and winded, she made a mental note to do more cardio. She shouldered through the door and followed an exit out the back of the hotel toward the parking garage where Trent waited in a white van, motor running. She jumped in and motioned with her hand to go. Trent pressed the pedal and the tires squealed as the van picked up speed toward the exit.\n\n“Slow down, this isn’t a movie!” snapped Rebecca. “We don’t want to accidentally hit someone.”\n\nTrent recoiled like a scolded teenager and eased off the gas. They pulled into the street, blue and red lights played off the building facades as emergency responders entered the hotel lobby. For twenty minutes the two sat quietly, driving to the drop off point. It was Trent that broke the silence.\n\n“How many jobs have you done?”\n\nRebecca smiled, “A gentleman never asks, and a lady never tells.” There was an awkward silence and she could tell by the confused look on her younger partner’s face, he didn’t get the joke.\n\nTrent pulled the van into a deserted parking lot. There Rebecca’s gray Volkswagen, dinged by time and seats discolored from kid vomit, sat.\n\n“Good work tonight,” said Rebecca.\n\n“Thanks, you coming into the office Monday for the debrief?” asked Trent.\n\n“No, can’t make it. I’ve got a parent teacher conference.”\n\nTrent shook his head in disbelief. Rebecca smiled politely, jumped out, and waved goodbye as Trent pulled away. 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      "body": "Hi! I am a robot. I just upvoted you! I found similar content that readers might be interested in:\nhttps://www.crcaison.com/dirtshire-detective/",
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      "body": "It was nearly noon and the smell of the corpse that lay contorted in a mix of mud and horse dung already choked the air in the small village of Dirtshire. Archibald Flemigan sighed as he leaned over for a closer look, the village kids watched with dark interest from a nearby tree. His tired eyes, ringed from sleepless nights, examined a rusty blade used for harvesting in the fields, protruding from the corpse’s head.\n \n“It’s clearly murder. I don’t know what you’re looking for,” nagged a voice beside him.\n\n“Clues,” replied Archibald, trying not to pay any attention.\n\n“Clues? What more do you need? I’m telling you it’s a murder. I witnessed it.”\n\nArchibald stood up and faced the voice, trying not to draw suspicion from onlookers. “I can’t just say it’s a murder, people will ask how I know.”\n\nThe ghost of the man looked down at his body and back at Archibald. “How do you think I feel? Last night I was walking home from the tavern and that big bloke who works down by the mill whacked me in the head. Now I’m lying dead in the muck.”\n\nArchibald grinned slightly as he looked through the ghost, trying to act normal. “Yes, yes,” he whispered through his teeth. “But I can’t just go around telling people I’m a wizard and I can see all manner of magical and dead things. I’d be strung up. You know the imperial decree: magic equals death.”\n\n“Not my problem. I’m not the one pretending to be a traveling detective. What’re you going to do about my murder?”\n\nArchibald shot a glance at the kids. They looked amused, watching him talk to himself. He smiled and waved. They kept watching. Archibald knelt back down and examined the weapon.\n\n“There’s initials on the handle, J.M.”\n\n“Yes, yes Johann Messer or is it Mayseener, either way, it’s the guy from the mill,” said the ghost impatiently. “Got a rough look about him and a murderous eye.”\n\nThe village elder, Gerald Beezy, a short plump man with gray tufts of hair he combed over in an effort to fein youth, walked through the ghost’s form. The ghostly man grimaced at the indignation and mumbled something about haunting. Gerald cleared his throat to get the detective’s attention.\n\nArchibald stood up, pulling the the tool out of the corpse’s head in one motion, and turned to meet his visitor. “Elder Beezy, a pleasure to see you.”\n\n“Another murder, I see. Are you any closer to catching the killer this time?”\n\n“Ah,” said Archibald hesitating, the ghost glared at him over the elder’s shoulder.\n\n“Yes. I think it’s Johann Messer, from the mill.”\n\n“You mean Mayseener.”\n\n“Yes…his initials are on the handle.” Archibald shook off brain matter that clung to the blade and showed the handle.\n\nThe elder squinted as he read the initials. “Very well, I’ll send my men to round him up. About time really.” There was a hint of disappointment in the man’s voice as he eyed Archibald. “Dirtshire will be rid of murders and magicians in no time.” He gave a polite smile, wiped a bit of mud from his shoes off on the corpse, and left.\n\n“What now?” asked the ghost. “I figured the heavens would’ve open up ‘bout now. As much as I gave to the temple, you’d think there would be a bit more fan faire going.”\n\n“Fan faire?” said Archibald, raising an eyebrow.\n\n“Lights, a rainbow staircase, a horn playing a welcoming tune. You know, that bit of nonsense the temple fellows are always running on about.”\n\nArchibald sighed, letting his shoulders droop like a defeated man. “Follow me.”\n\nThe two left the crime scene and walked along the main road out of the village to an old windmill, its sails long rotten away.\n\n“You been living in the old Dirtshire windmill,” laughed the ghost. “Its a dump. Never knew why they built that thing. Didn’t work from the start.”\n\nArchibald opened the door and motioned for the ghost to enter without responding. Inside floated two apparitions, an old woman shaped like a pear and a skinny man, arguing over the temperment of forest trolls. Their clamorous conversation audible only to the dead or people of the magical persuasion.\n\n“Oh look who joined us, it’s Jebediah,” said the ghostly woman.\n\n“Milly, you old goat. Didn’t know you were dead.”\n\nMilly ignored the insult. “Wizard boy couldn’t prove who killed me. Wasn’t anything left of my body after the wolves found it.”\n\n“Hard to believe,” snapped the skinny man. “Must have been a whole pack of wolves munching on your bones.” The insult sent the three into an argument.\n\nArchibald said, “Glad you all know each other.”\n\nHe shuffled his feet across the rough stone floor over to the cupboard and pulled out a flask of Goblin Whisky, took a swig, and then sat down on the lone stool that furnished his home. The sounds of the quarreling ghosts blared in his mind. He closed his eyes and wished for a better job.",
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      "body": "Samuel Blackthorn slammed his fist down on the oak table in his lawyer’s office, knocking over a fountain pen from its stand and ruffling a stack of papers.\n\n“I own this town!” he shouted. “I ain’t gonna let no state prosecutor try me for murdering them Duke brothers.”  He spat a gooey dark blob of tobacco on the floor in defiance.\n\nJerry, a meek man with round spectacles, thinning hair, and fingernails a bit too clean for the small western town, sat across from his client. He quickly shuffled the papers in order and carefully replaced his pen. With an air of professionalism, he reviewed the charges—manslaughter, theft, larceny—plenty to hang a man in any other town. But this wasn’t any town and Jerry knew this wasn’t just any client. \n\n“Mr. Blackthorn, these charges are serious. As your lawyer, and probably the only person willing to defend you, I think it’s in your best interest that we stick to the plan so I can provide you a legal defense.”\n\nBlackthorn nudged his stetson on his head, exposing an oil mop of hair and leaned back in his chair, gripping the lapel of his dark velvet suit jacket as his gaze narrowed on the lawyer. His hands, knotted by a lifetime of hard work and misdeeds, cracked as his grip tightened. His thick tongue rolled the chaw of tobacco around in his mouth, causing his mustache to dance above his lips.\n\n“You know my last lawyer went missing. A city feller like yourself. Come out west for adventure. A man can go missing in these parts, if he don’t do right by me.”\n\nJerry straightened in his chair and said, “No need for threats, Mr. Blackthorn. I assure you I plan to provide the best legal representation your money can buy.”\n\nBlackthorn glanced to the side where his lead henchman and two cow hands sat listening. “What’d you think, boys? You think I should listen to him?”\n\nThe grizzled henchman took his hat off and placed it on his knee. His bushy eyebrows frowned as he thought about his boss’ question. “I reckon you could just kill the prosecutor, boss.”\n\n“You can’t kill the prosecutor; the state will send another,” interjected Jerry.\n\nThe henchman scratched his face, giving off the sound of steel wool scraping against concrete. “Then we kill him too…and the judge. I figure they’ll stop sending law out this way sooner or later.”\n\nMr. Blackthorn smiled in approval, displaying a set of crooked yellow teeth. “Not a bad idea, Roscoe.”\n\nJerry sighed. “Mr. Blackthorn, I wouldn’t take legal advice from a man whose only experience with a book is using it as toilet paper.”\n\n“I use ’em for target practice too,” grumbled Roscoe.\n\nJerry shook his head and continued. “You can’t keep killing everyone. You need to successfully defend yourself in a court of law and clear your name. A man can’t get tried twice for the same crime.”\n\nMr. Blackthorn leaned in with renewed interest, his breath hot and tainted with the smell of pickled pigs feet and booze. “What do we do?”\n\n“We have to convince a jury that you’re innocent.”\n\n“But I killed them. It had to be done. They would’ve done me in, if I hadn’t.”\n\n“Ok, then it was in self defense?” asked Jerry. He grabbed the fountain pen and jotted some notes down on a legal pad.\n\n“Yes,” smiled Mr. Blackthorn. “I stole their money and they were coming for revenge.”\n\nJerry buried his face in his hands and scratched his head in frustration. “Mr. Blackthorn, I can’t defend you by admitting you committed another crime.”\n\nBlackthorn scrunched his face, flared his nostrils, and spat another salvo of tobacco juice on the floor. “Boy, I’m the town bad guy. I’m the part that makes the wild west, wild! Without me, you wouldn’t have damsels to save. Sheriffs would be out of a job and the saloon insurance industry would collapse.”\n\nJerry held his breath as he listened and then let it out in a slow hiss to calm his nerves. “Ok, we can make a plea deal.”\n\n“Plea deal? What’s that?”\n\n“We admit to the crime for a lesser sentence. You might get a few years behind bars.”\n\nThe room fell silent as Mr. Blackthorn tensed, glaring at the lawyer. Jerry held his composure, confident in his legal advice and the cow hands shifted nervously, waiting for their boss to explode in anger.\n\nBlackthorn relaxed, letting out a boastful laugh that seemed to rattle the walls. “I get it! Admit to the crime, go to jail, then my boys bust me out. It’s like getting a clean slate.”\n\nJerry’s mouth hung open in disbelief. His years of law school desperately wanted to rebuttal, but instead he compromised. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Blackthorn.”",
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      "body": "Tweasy the witch nervously paced to and fro in the kitchen of her small bungalow, staring at a black leather grimoire lying on the counter. Light jazz played on the stereo in the living room and the scent of lavender incense drifted in the air. She huffed, pinned back her curly brown hair, and opened the book to chapter nine. It began with, “Let me give you a top ten list of things not to do when you break up with an incubus.” \n\nTweasy’s heart ached as she read the page. It had been two months since she conjured the spell that brought forth her date for the Witches’ Ball. There wasn’t a decent warlock in the surrounding counties, so she summoned the perfect man. Her friends warned her not to, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Now, the handsome devil distracted her from her witchy business with romance. At first it was exciting, but like all good things became too much and she needed to get her life back, she needed to send the demon to the netherworld.\n\nHer fingers glided across the ancient text, warped by the tears of witches who’d come  before her. The usual spells were off the list: you can’t use fire, water, shadow’s bane, newt’s tail, or bat’s guts. Never turn it into the undead, it warned, or use any magical enchant to rid yourself of demon’s love. Counter love potions would make things worse. It can’t be killed with physical objects, and lawyers, being demons themselves, are ineffective. The last line on the page, bolded and underlined, read,  “The incubus must leave on its own accord.”\n\nShe rolled up her sleeves and marched into the parlor where the demon sat reclined on the couch. His button-down shirt hung loosely open, exposing his chiseled form. Locks of blond hair dangled playfully in front of his perfect face. His blue eyes blazed as he sketched on a piece of paper. The scene could have easily been a cover for a romance novel. Tweasy glanced at the sketch, it was a drawing of the two of them in an adult pose, for a moment Tweasy wondered if she was flexible enough.\n\n“Oh, hello,” said the demon, smiling suggestively as he looked up at her.\n\n“Don’t hello me, demon. We’ve had a lot of fun and I let you stay around much longer than I should have. It’s time for you to go. I need to get back to my responsibilities.”\n\nThe demon pouted. “But what about all the fun times we’ve had together.”\n\n“I’ve enjoyed them…probably a bit too much. A person can’t live like that forever.” She paused taking in the gorgeous man looking up at her, feeling her conviction slipping away. “I need to get back to work, there’s witchy business that needs to be done.”\n\nThe demon pondered Tweasy’s words, raising one eyebrow and tapping the pencil on his lips as if he were modeling for the cover of a magazine. Finally he said, “I understand.”\n\n“You do?” replied Tweasy confused.\n\n“Yes. You’re an amazing woman and our love has distracted you. But instead of leaving, why not let me stay. I can help around the house, run errands for you, make you happy.” He winked.\n\nTweasy stared at the Demon, losing herself in his blue eyes. “Ok, but things are going to change around here. We can’t live like we’re on a honeymoon forever. I’m going to stop being so lady like.”\n\n“How so?”\n\n“Well for starters, I get gassy.”\n\nThe demon smiled, “No worries, love, I’ve heard and think its cute.”\n\n“You’ll have to do my laundry if you want to stay. Mind you, I have a bit of hyperhidrosis and it gets odorous in the summer.”\n\nThe demon smiled, “I’m envious of the clothes that get to be so close to you.”\n\nTweasy kept going, “I plan to become a cat lady. I only have one cat and any respectable witch has at least five, there’ll be plenty of kitty litter to clean. Oh, the fun times are over!  I expect the house to be spotless when I comes home. Bills best be paid, grass cut, and the dust dusted.” She paused to catch her breath.\n\n“Your wish is my command,” said the demon.\n\nTweasy softened. “You—you would do all of that for me?”\n\n“Of course, my love.”\n\nTweasy sat down on the couch beside the demon and held his hand. “Perhaps you really are the man for me.” The warm glow of love washed over her and she forgot all about ridding herself of the incubus.\n\n“What will we name our kid?”\n\nThe demon’s demeanor tightened. “Kid?”\n\n“Yes, we should have a baby. Maybe babies, why stop at one.” She smiled.\n\nThe demon slid back a bit, pulling his hand away. “Do you think we might be rushing things?”\n\n “What’s wrong with kids?  Yes, they’re a lot of work with the dirty diapers and penchant to vomit all the time.”\n\nThe demon’s face grew pale. “Sounds tiring.”\n\n“Oh it is. A friend of mine had kids, she didn’t get sleep for years, aged her pretty quick. Made her all green and warty. But I’ve got you to deal with all that.”\n\nThe incubus jumped up from the couch, clutching his shirt together. “My dear, you’re right. I’m a terrible influence on you. You need to stop wasting your time with me and get your life back.”\n\nHe raised one hand and with a snap of his fingers, burst into flames, leaving the lingering smell of brimstone.",
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      "body": "Samuel Blackthorn slammed his fist down on the oak table in his lawyer’s office, knocking over a fountain pen from its stand and ruffling a stack of papers.\n\n“I own this town!” he shouted. “I ain’t gonna let no state prosecutor try me for murdering them Duke brothers.”  He spat a gooey dark blob of tobacco on the floor in defiance.\n\nJerry, a meek man with round spectacles, thinning hair, and fingernails a bit too clean for the small western town, sat across from his client. He quickly shuffled the papers in order and carefully replaced his pen. With an air of professionalism, he reviewed the charges—manslaughter, theft, larceny—plenty to hang a man in any other town. But this wasn’t any town and Jerry knew this wasn’t just any client. \n\n“Mr. Blackthorn, these charges are serious. As your lawyer, and probably the only person willing to defend you, I think it’s in your best interest that we stick to the plan so I can provide you a legal defense.”\n\nBlackthorn nudged his stetson on his head, exposing an oil mop of hair and leaned back in his chair, gripping the lapel of his dark velvet suit jacket as his gaze narrowed on the lawyer. His hands, knotted by a lifetime of hard work and misdeeds, cracked as his grip tightened. His thick tongue rolled the chaw of tobacco around in his mouth, causing his mustache to dance above his lips.\n\n“You know my last lawyer went missing. A city feller like yourself. Come out west for adventure. A man can go missing in these parts, if he don’t do right by me.”\n\nJerry straightened in his chair and said, “No need for threats, Mr. Blackthorn. I assure you I plan to provide the best legal representation your money can buy.”\n\nBlackthorn glanced to the side where his lead henchman and two cow hands sat listening. “What’d you think, boys? You think I should listen to him?”\n\nThe grizzled henchman took his hat off and placed it on his knee. His bushy eyebrows frowned as he thought about his boss’ question. “I reckon you could just kill the prosecutor, boss.”\n\n“You can’t kill the prosecutor; the state will send another,” interjected Jerry.\n\nThe henchman scratched his face, giving off the sound of steel wool scraping against concrete. “Then we kill him too…and the judge. I figure they’ll stop sending law out this way sooner or later.”\n\nMr. Blackthorn smiled in approval, displaying a set of crooked yellow teeth. “Not a bad idea, Roscoe.”\n\nJerry sighed. “Mr. Blackthorn, I wouldn’t take legal advice from a man whose only experience with a book is using it as toilet paper.”\n\n“I use ’em for target practice too,” grumbled Roscoe.\n\nJerry shook his head and continued. “You can’t keep killing everyone. You need to successfully defend yourself in a court of law and clear your name. A man can’t get tried twice for the same crime.”\n\nMr. Blackthorn leaned in with renewed interest, his breath hot and tainted with the smell of pickled pigs feet and booze. “What do we do?”\n\n“We have to convince a jury that you’re innocent.”\n\n“But I killed them. It had to be done. They would’ve done me in, if I hadn’t.”\n\n“Ok, then it was in self defense?” asked Jerry. He grabbed the fountain pen and jotted some notes down on a legal pad.\n\n“Yes,” smiled Mr. Blackthorn. “I stole their money and they were coming for revenge.”\n\nJerry buried his face in his hands and scratched his head in frustration. “Mr. Blackthorn, I can’t defend you by admitting you committed another crime.”\n\nBlackthorn scrunched his face, flared his nostrils, and spat another salvo of tobacco juice on the floor. “Boy, I’m the town bad guy. I’m the part that makes the wild west, wild! Without me, you wouldn’t have damsels to save. Sheriffs would be out of a job and the saloon insurance industry would collapse.”\n\nJerry held his breath as he listened and then let it out in a slow hiss to calm his nerves. “Ok, we can make a plea deal.”\n\n“Plea deal? What’s that?”\n\n“We admit to the crime for a lesser sentence. You might get a few years behind bars.”\n\nThe room fell silent as Mr. Blackthorn tensed, glaring at the lawyer. Jerry held his composure, confident in his legal advice and the cow hands shifted nervously, waiting for their boss to explode in anger.\n\nBlackthorn relaxed, letting out a boastful laugh that seemed to rattle the walls. “I get it! Admit to the crime, go to jail, then my boys bust me out. It’s like getting a clean slate.”\n\nJerry’s mouth hung open in disbelief. His years of law school desperately wanted to rebuttal, but instead he compromised. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Blackthorn.”",
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