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Newest - Highway to Hell - DREEEEEEW!
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Paths of Glory, Book 2: The Tesla Connection, Page 6
Rich Cerow
They have a warm home full of love but they definitely won't
teach you how to dance. That's against the law in this town.
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"Oh, oh son," the man whispers, on the verge of tears. And your heart just breaks...
You shakily lower your weapon. Tears well up in your eyes, and you are shocked at what you were on
the brink of doing. Seeing these poor people so terrified and helpless reminds you so much of your
younger days, and the pain that caused you. You can't believe you were willing to inflict that on another
person. The space blaster slips from your fingers, and comes crashing down on the mobile-walk below you.
A blast bursts forth from it, killing one of the legions of hobos you surround yourself with. This doesn't
bother you nearly as much.
Six crying eyes connect. Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Wayne see the sympathy and contrition in your eyes.
You see the fear and anger in their faces melt away.
"You know, we used to have a boy, too. He'd be about your age by now, but he got himself killed dressing
like a bat and fighting crime. Got shot on the first day of his quest to rid this planet-sized city of crime.
I told him that people on SR-388 would never be afraid of an animal they've never heard of because our whole planet
is inexplicably a city, and how do we have the resources to really maintain it and keep a population this large fed
without importing whole planets full of wheat fields and the like, let alone keep up any kind of reasonably sanitary
conditions without a place to transport all of our waste? I guess he wasn't listening."
Tender and delicious.
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You fall to your knees, crying. The woman comes over to comfort you, patting your back and saying, "There,
there, dear," and not much else, since she is a character from the 1920s, and everyone knows that back then women
were only good for foot massages and cooking dinner, unless they were flappers who smoked, and then they were good
for a saucy line every now and again. The man stands up sternly.
"Son, I can see a lot in you that I saw in myself as a boy. You aren't meant for these mean mobile-walks.
You're meant for better things than that. I think we can provide you with the means to those better things. Come
home with us, and we'll raise you as our own, as a suitable replacement for our former son."
You look up, bleary-eyed form the ground. Do you go home with this kindly couple that you threatened mere
moments ago? What of the children that you've become like a parent to on the streets? This seems like a great
opportunity for you, but these are also total strangers. Who knows what kind of alien cult they may try to
indoctrinate you into, or if they eat babies or something. Still, you could at least eat babies in style with the
kind of money these folks have.
This ain't even a decision, fool. Take that money and run. To hell with these street
rats, you could be Prince Ali Fabulousi Ali-Ababwa. Turn to page 9.
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