Desrow Sendall's Story

A deep satisfaction crept over Desrow as he washed blood from his hands. In his mind he replayed the scene of his most recent kill several times.

"Please sir, can you spare some change, anything at all... anything will help me."

The vagrant clutched and pulled on Desrow's robes. His pleas sickened the monk and with gentle movements the monk removed the man from his clothing. A large smile crept over Desrow's face as he kneeled to speak to the trash. His pulse jumped with excitement as he reached out to touch the man's shoulder. Such filth, he thought as his hand could feel the grimy texture of the worn coat.

"I'm sorry, I am just a humble monk and I have no money to spare."

The homeless man deflated and looked to the ground. "I see, I am sorry to have bothered you then."

"However..." Desrow stood up and looked around, no one was within sight. Perhaps there were some within earshot, but the cold fog and dark night would provide more than enough cover. His hand reached for a small string of prayer beads and he gently lifted them from his neck.

"However, if you wish I can pray for you."

"Please do sir, I need everything I can ge-" Without warning Desrow's boot quickly found its way against the vagrant's skull. He was knocked backwards and with a sickening crack his head bounced on the rough asphalt. Desrow walked over to the groaning man and dragged him farther into the alleyway. The vagrant was in a stupor, brought on by the intense amount of pain and probable concussion. Desrow propped the man up and lowered the prayer beads around his neck. He pulled tightly upwards, forcing the man to choke and gasp painfully.

"How can I pray for your poor soul when it is caged in such a fleshy prison, don't worry my friend I shall be your salvation from this life." Desrow whispered into his ear "Death is salvation"

Without another word Desrow tightened the prayer beads and reached underneath his robe. From his robe he pulled a long thin blade, more of a letter opener than a dagger, but it was sharp nonetheless. With a silent practiced motion he sliced a thin line from artery to artery. Blood spouted from the vagrant's neck, covering Desrow's blade, prayer beads, and hands.



It suddenly came to Desrow that his mind was getting blurry, and his memory was fading. He no longer heard the running water and he became intensely aware of himself as his surroundings disappeared. He fell to his knees and held his shaking hands before him.

"What the hell?"

As if to punctuate the question, he fell over and lost consciousness. He was asleep for what seemed like an eternity, it was a weird almost lucid kind of sleep. Desrow felt his body materialize and soon felt cold grass against is body, he was aware of voices and sounds, but his body refused to respond to his commands. After another eternity his body finally gave into his commands and he sat up quickly. Without a word he stood up and brushed the loose grass and dirt from his robes. There were several people all of whom seemed to be just as confused as himself.

"Hello my friends. Can someone explain to me what is going on?" his voice was even and calm, despite his furiously racing mind. His demeanor belied how much of a threat he truly was. He carried himself as a polite Buddhist monk, and despite his rather eccentric clothing few would be the wiser. He looked at the others and one by one he examined each of them. Nothing piqued his interest until his eyes stopped on Zachary. MMA fights were a secret pleasure of his, he loved watching the violence that the fights brought. His jaw almost dropped when he saw who was standing before him.

"Are...are you Zachary Ackers? The famous martial artist? Man, I have to be dreaming... this is unreal"

Zachary raised his hand at the green-haired crazy to tell her to hold on and looked towards the new voice. Were people going to pop out of oblivion continuously, or was this just the last person? He hoped so, because he knew what this woman was saying, and that it was true. He didn't want too many people dying, actually, he wanted nobody at all to die. He glanced over the man and raised an eyebrow. She kidnapped a monk? What was the point in that? She must've traveled quite far just to fetch him, but then again, she had a child too so that must not be much of a problem for her - in terms of being unlazy enough to go wherever she went.

Then he called Zach by name. Still confused but also moderately happy someone recognized him, he smiled. "It's always nice to see a fan." Zach began. "Though I wasn't aware that Monks watched me." he gave a chuckle and didn't seem like he was pushing for anything because he really wasn't. "But right now isn't the time to stare in awe at someone like myself, for we're apparently supposed to play a game for our lives." his smile dropped as he spoket his, making it hard to think he was joking.

He turned once more to face Crazy Incarnate and pointed at her with one finger. "I don't think Mr....." he turned back to the monk. "What was your name?" he quickly asked then sighed and turned back to the girl again without waiting for an answer. "I don't think he knows what is going on. Can your 'mother' show him, or do I need to explain to him the details of the childish game you worked up?" Zachary shook his head lightly. It was quite obvious that he wasn't taking this as serious as the others, or at least he didn't appear that way.

"Even the most fun game in the world won't sell much if we're stuck in the lobby forever."

Bennie Dewhurst

Who were these people? Who was this girl who had greeted them? Why was he here? Why? Why? Why? He was tired of not knowing, but he was much too terrified to ask. All he wanted was to go back home, where his family and Alpine was. His entire frame quivered with pure fear, the boy was on the verge of crying. Bennie had yet to move from his seated position for the past few minutes - he refused to budge. He didn't like the sound of bickering, his ears were unfamiliar to the gruff and uninviting voices of the men. For once, in his life, he wanted silence. Was that so hard? He had been a good boy, he never asked for anything not within his parent's reach. What had he done to deserve this? Bennie scrambled towards a nearby tree, but still reasonably far, and pushed his back against it. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears - the sleeves of his hoodie muffling any outside noises. He didn't want to be noticed, he didn't want to be here. He had convinced himself that maybe if he ignored it, perhaps he would go back. Back to the warm folds of his duvet, back to the gentle caress of his teddy cat, back home.

Suddenly, a blinding light flashed through the gloomy inside of his eyes. Bennie jerked back in surprise but he did not open his eyes. He watched, stiff with a combination of curiosity and shock, as a script continued to run across his eyelids. The boy assumed it was information provided to them by the strange girl, but he could not read it fast enough. In random intervals, twitchy images were slotted in between the columns of texts. Each picture projected something valuable he had recently left behind. A half-open door, spilling light into the dark bedroom. His father sitting beside him on the mattress, a loving smile etched onto his face. The glossy pages of a storybook. The glowing stickers of the moon and the stars glued onto his ceiling. Alpine snuggling in between his slender arms. It then abruptly stopped, giving Bennie a sense of isolation.

It was a confusing concept for a child's mind to understand, Bennie was now even more homesick. Had that been done solely for that purpose? To remind the group what was patiently waiting for them back at home? The boy glanced back up at the girl, what was her agenda? Did she not like them or did she just like being mean? Did she not realise how much that short-lived memory had broken him inside? The boy was fed up with asking questions. he didn't want to be with these people. They were all strangers, Mother had told him never to speak to strangers - he hadn't intended to speak to them in the first place. His lip began to quiver and he could feel the edges of his eyes smarting. Without a second thought, Bennie began to cry. He began to bawl and blubber like any child his age. He wiped his dribbling nose with his dirtied sleeve before continuing with an equal amount of bravado. He was too tired to think properly. The inner turmoil of emotion concealed within him had burst out - and Bennie had openly welcomed it.