STAB

STAB

The bed was still on fire when I sat down on it. (Toren), or whatever this cock freak's real name is was long gone and

another four dead women lay there chained and charred like a daisy blast of gasoline. A thanic yin-yang indellibly sketched

into me. I remember all of them and I have seen thousands. This one had a fresh bundle of sunflowers sorted into a tight

calculated circle while a fire danced around in haunting flames. Skeleton keys were strewn about the room like a maze that

lead to the damned. If there is such a thing as the damned. The only difference between heaven and hell is who has the

biggest building, the most scratch, and happens to be yelling the loudest at the moment. Hell is here friend. All this other

jive is just an illusion.

Just when I thought I would not be able to find a single lead until I killed the fire a girl child out of the darkness spoke

softly...Come let's play follow the leader down into the screams...

She was frail looking with white pail flaky skin the looked a bit like scales. She stood about five foot even and smelled of

ginger and lilac and wouldn't let me get that close to her but it was not out of fear. It was by design. I had seen this kind of

military training and methodical cadence countless times in combat and training. It was engrained, but at twelve who has this

protocol mastered?

Keep your distance and I will be a guide to you. The catacombs await where the dead lay upon the dead and have done so

for mellenia. Born dead they walk waking life to die a walking death filled with a walking death like you. Stacked in stench.

STAB. Certainly Stab you must to get through this mess of bones. Crag bones. Stag bones. Dry bones, and wet muscled fresh

bones.

"Why would you show me this? and who are you?" said the man in the trench coat as he caught a glimpse of her right leg. It

was not there, rather a metallic protheses was in its place.

Keep your distance"Countless" or I will make your blood run cold before its ripe. I suppose it does not matter if you are

aware that my four mothers hacked off my leg and i stole this one from the cyborgs and did the implant job myself. Bloody

mess for an eleven year old. My name is Siren. At that moment by design Peyton Sorenson came from the darkness from

behind the man in the trench coat and carefully found the third rib from the lower right side. This is the rib you STAB into if

you do not want your victim to scream because the blade pierces the right lung first.

The man fell dead in silence and the two young girls walked off into volcanic light. She whispered back to the dead man

as a machine added his body to the growing pyre...my name is Siren.

STAB

SIREN PARTIAL ORIGIN