In a dark room dimly-lit by a simple ceiling lamp illuminated a man in a chair bound by chains, a glistering sea of sweat collected on his forehead. The bare chested man had his pants soaked in his own blood. A ferocious gash from shoulder to navel burdened the unknown man.

"Stop! Stop it!" the bare chested man pleaded, "I'm a dead man anyway" tears streamed on the dried tracks. "Kill me, just kill me. I'm of no use. I said everything, EVERYTHING."

"SHUT UP VERMIN!" Triane growled and kicked his purple shin, "filth like you can't order me!"

"AHHH! please, please I beg of you, kill me."

"I repeat. Yesterday at the park, you followed a dark-haired boy and a tall man named Mickey. You did not?" Traine's heartbeat almost shattered his ribs.

"Yes, yes,yes I did like I was ordered"

"Then, WHY!" Traine smashed his fist on the table with tools. "Were you following them," Traine grabbed a burner to heat the fresh out of store pliers, "next is your nose" he said playfully.

"PRINCE!" He screamed, "the prince ordered me."

"Go on" the pliers, pointed threateningly close to the nose. Its red hue dulled as it cooled without a direct flame.

"Uhm..." he nervously paused. "His majesty had interest in the boy. I had a picture, a younger boy, between 6 and 7. The prince gave it personally, and pointed out a specific place to survey. After a few days, I saw him. I followed the boy. And tried to approach him but that giant, that giant knew my intention for some reason. I met his beast-like eyes and ran, and ran, till my legs gave out."

"After kidnapping the boy. What was the plan?"

"I would send a text, and get the drop address."

Traine placed the pliers back on the table next to a blooded machete, and turned towards the door, with his back exposed. "It seems you have experience," paused, "like you did this before, many times actually."

"Yes, yes!" he ecstatically said. "I'm of use, this was not the first boy I captured for his majesty."

Traine swiftly turned, with a maddening smile "good... good, you can be of use. What is your name again?"

"Sheldon Maurice"

A cold glint crossed his face, Traine raised his hand up and snapped. The 'snap' echoed bouncing on the wet walls twice. Which followed with the rattling of the chains, sliding from Sheldon's body to the ground.

"I'm free..." Sheldon whispered in confusion, "I'm free to go? Master."

"You are free." Traine said in a flat tone, "as you can see," and reached his hand towards the chains.

Sheldon got out of the chair, his mortal wound appeared to be healing. His face changed from relieved to doubtful. "I'm free?"

"As you can see," Traine blitzed away at light speed, grabbing the machete. "You are free. To die!" and swooped Sheldon's head clean off. He held Sheldon's head by the hair and stared at his dead eyes and kept holding it with his right. Train with his left got a burner phone and called Mickey with speed dial.

—

"Nom, nom, nom..." followed by a huge gulp. "I just wanted to call you, I'm at Maccadees I told you about, and got this cool looking jet fighter and guess what. It transfo..." Mickey got cut off by Traine, "we got a problem, a serious one, meet me with Keen at Bridgeport, 7th street, 1097. Dispose of the phone and leave everything behind."

"You got it, see you soon."

Fuck Keen just started munching, just look at the little fellow. Keen held his burger, ready to swallow it whole and paused.

"Do we have to again?" He lowered the burger and dropped it on the tray.

"It's serious Keen and you know him, that word means what it means." Mickey said. What's going on Traine? You haven't been yourself lately, he thought.

"Danggit! I haven't even started with chicken and this happens. Just like when he promised going to the zoo, and oh the other time when I wanted to go to the movies, go here go there. I don't want to go any more Uncle Mick."

"Come on Keen, you know why." Mickey put his hand on his shoulder, "look. I understand, I also can't eat my fill, and it has been years, decades to be precise. And you have seen the news, Maccadees is going under. When my best friend says it's serious. I got to believe, no matter how vague, strange or straight up silly it sounds."

Mickey saw the boy think. For once it was him teaching Keen a lesson. His attention turned to the almost empty restaurant. At the entrance next to a wide speckles window. A young couple enjoyed the busy-goers, spectating the average person like an episode from Nerzod productions. A lone man with an appetite like his feasted next to the laughing couple. His rounded folds bulged out the tight black shirt. Damn brother, enjoy in my stead. Mickey did a mental salute which manifested a friendly nod.

Mickey saw the boy stare, a thousand yard one which disrupted his pondering, "Keen!"

"Yes, uncle Mick." Keen came to his senses.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Take a bag or something and shove the fries in, No! The chicken wings and fries, leave the burgers, those make a mess anyway." Mickey surveyed like a hound, Traine's call heightened, the turbulence he felt days past.

Keen found near the counter a medium sized paper bag, and shoved the fries and chicken wings inside. While Mickey, thoughtfully got a few sauce packets, stored next to the refill station.

"I'm gonna enjoy this shit and you better too. We better get a car, somewhere..." Steal. I mean, he corrected inwardly.

They strolled outside leaving a mess of leftover food and untouched cokes. And slowly trotted to an alley away from the intersection. The day light made it a safe shortcut towards Willowstreet, yet at night. The used syringes scattered near the wall, plastic wrappings containing who knows what defiling the crude asphalt. Smoked blunts up for pickings, laid ready for an estranged on their urban shopping spree. Yet at night, all kinds of people walk these parts, even the worst ones and... Mickey widened his eyes, the tiny hairs on his neck flared up right. He sniffed the air, "Spawns?" Spawns lurked in these shadows.

"Those icky creatures! I remember mom explaining them to me weeks ago." Keen kept his gaze on Mickey sniffing the air.

"Yesterday." Sniff. "Around evening." Sniff. "Alone"

"Evening! We drove past here, I remember, look," Keen pointed towards an unlit neon sign, Barballion. A closed bar that opens past dinner time. "It had cyan, blue and purple colors fading into each other."

Mickey ignored most of Keen's description and was puzzled with the Spawn. two no one day ago... Wait! that little fucker was a spawn? No wonder I felt that hideous stare. I should have ripped that fuckers head off. And said, "Traine, I mean your dad. Especially chose Wyrmcreed. He plans the trip all ahead, skipping the big towns to avoid creatures like these child-diddlers," he explained and started the long walk in the alley towards Willowstreet. "I hope it is one with acquired taste" or not he thought.

The blue sky, with few shallow clouds, drifted to the east. A continuous refreshing breeze swept the alleyway, Mickey thought, what would Traine do? He eyed the small boy, scouring ahead, with focus unlike his age.'' He is the best father I have ever met.

"Tiny man." Keen returned a smile, "we will get your mom back to your side. I can see it in you, mini Traine."

Suddenly Keen asked. "Tell me about Spawns, what they are like and how ugly they are."

"Ugly?" Mickey raised his eyebrow, "who told you that?"

"Mom." He innocently answered, "she told me how little ugly old man lure young girls and boys to be taken"

"Spawns are like..." Mickey ran his hand through dark long hair, "humans but different. They are slow but heal quite fast and have claws that rip metal apart but most notably are dependent on their hidden desires. Once human, now a slave to their inner desires and dying not satisfying it. Nosfuras seek those wretched humans out, and weirdly pedos are the easiest to infect into Spawns.''

The duo reached the end of the alley, entering Willowstreet. Young trees greened the street, few homeowners walked around, many were at work and their children were still in school. Only an older man, with a walking stick headed their way followed by an orange bright tabby.

Mickey spotted a beige Mercury marauder x100, a car he has not seen in the wild. It shone a sparkle, fragmenting the sun rays in white eye burning stars. That baby has been cared for. Its steel body mirrored the world as if it had a car wash minutes ago. "I need it!" he said out loud.

He inconspicuously walked over, Keen closely followed. "Just look around casual or play with grass. No. Act like stupid, zero IQ kid."

"But... I'm a kid...Alright." Keen went over a young tree and sat on a patch of grass counting leaves.

Mickey reached for his back pocket for a lockpick. "Finally, I get to use you for good," he praised softly. He first tried the handle, it wasn't the first time someone left a car open. 'Shuck' locked, no matter. Secured by a wafer lock. He slid the tension wrench into the door lock and twisted it slightly, pressuring the lock. With his right, Mickey very controlled picked each pin with a hook, at rhythmic precision.

The driver's side door lurched open. Mickey unlocked the doors internally and waved towards Keen to be seated. While Keen came hurled in. Mickey with a blitzing fist broke the front cover of the leather wrapped steering wheel. And pulled out the wire bundle to strip the thermoplastic with sudden protruding nails.

"Jeez! Mick, watch those claws. You never see them change." Keen said with a hint of admiration. "I wish I could do that as well."

"Careful what you wish for boy" Mickey replied as he twisted the outer end of the brown and yellow wire. He reinstalled the wire column and grabbed the starter wire to contact the battery. "God of thunder, strike me down, just not today please." 'Spark,' 'spark,' 'spark' and stepped on the gas with a loud growling 'vroom!'.

"Honestly Mick, your taste in cars is pretty outdated."

"Tiny man." Mickey drove the car slowly towards the street. From afar small children carrying their lunch boxes and bags, toddled to their homes. "Someday you'll understand how privileged we truly are." He turned right out of Willowstreet, towards the intersection.

They passed the wide window of Maccadees which bustled this time with people. Mickey spotted the huge appetite man going for seconds. He horned the car and flipped a bird out of spite, "fuck your mother! You fat fuck." he screamed out of the window.

Mickey remembered that Keen sat next to him, "you did not hear that."

"What?" Keen cleverly replied.

"Nice!" Then Mickey suddenly wondered "Bridgeport..." he muttered. "Hell! I don't even know where that is. Do you?" Keen shook a certain no. Mickey with his hands occupied, asked. "Check the glove compartment. Oldies usually stay in habit."

Keen opened the glove box, within. A crumpled carton with a few cigarettes, folded in sensu and a coffee stained map.

"Grab the map for me." Keen folded the map out, "and search for Fanningburg." Mickey slapped his finger on the map, "around here." Keen studied the map and eventually found Fanningburg and sighed. "The directionless award goes to Mick," Keen said flatly. "What do you mean?"

"You just pointed randomly. Fanningburg is on the other side!" Keen exclaimed.

"Alright for fuck sakes..." Mickey confessed, "I can't read maps. All those stupid lines even with an legend. Fuck. We could have just googled it. But no-o-o, your dad doesn't want easy."

The scenery gradually changed to low green rolling hills, with bushes scattering the grassland. Trees that grew year on year gave shelter to the birds and rodents feeding on blackberries ripening on the wild bushes. Afar on the highest hill, wild horses grazed on the unwithered grass.

"Uhm... Uncle Mick," He asked hesitantly.

"Oh look, we're nearing Shrefeport." Mickey read out the sign. "5 miles?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" Keen complained. "We are going in the wrong direction."

"Fuck!" Mickey braked while stepping on the clutch, shifting from fifth to second gear. "Grab the handle!" Mickey yelled. He turned the car and shifted to reverse gear, stepped on the gas and shifted back to second gear, J-reversing towards Fanningsbrug.

"I need some music," Keen said like he was shell-shocked.

"I got..." Mickey scrolled on his Ipod. "Manilla Road, Satan. Oh and Forbidden nah... maybe Sortilege or no?" Keen nodded but Mickey kept scrolling. "I got Riot, Xentrix, Toxik, Artillery, Control Denied, Thought Industry..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Keen impatiently said. "Now! This one."

"Alright, Sophie, DON'T YOU, It is." Mickey shifted the car to sixth and fully throttled the car, and sang out of context to the playing song, "Breaking the law! Breaking the law! pewn, Breaking the law! Breaking the law! pewn, pewn."