Gambling was a hobby of mine.

See when I was younger, before I got out of the game I used to play back alley poker with a bunch of Genies. As it so happened, Texas Hold'em was their game of choice, though sometimes they demanded we play monopoly. Don't ask me how, and please don't ask why- instead just be content with the knowledge that some of them do look and act like Robin Williams.

I also suspect one of them might have actually been Shaquille O'Neal.

Regardless of the circumstances that lead me to become an honorary member of that particular table, or the consequences that seemed to impact my life in an endless string of oddities before finally stepping away and leaving the games behind: I can tell you that I've won some pretty weird shit.

In my apartment, I've got a toaster that just "pops" out grilled cheese sandwiches it's plugged in: prebuttered and crisped to perfection. In my bathroom I have plunger than can do the dirty work itself, and on my wall I've got one of those magic carpets- only it's too lazy to move most days.

I even have a pet tabby cat that can talk, on occasion, when it wants to.

Honestly, there are some other weird trinkets I'm forgetting. Bizarre objects I've piled high up in the back of my closet, stuffed deep among the boxes with all sorts of other mystic mumbo-jumbo and bits of heeby-jeeby witchcraft. Out of my entire collection though, there is only one possession that truly makes a difference to me. Out of everything I have ever come into contact with, won, lost, or bartered among magic folk and almost all-seeing entities, my car is the crown jewel: The representative Magnum Opus of my past gambling career.

When I first drove it home, this baby was a deep metallic green. Legacy station wagon, Subaru 97' hatchback, roof-rack, and CD player. Mint condition, only slightly used by a Genie from the north country. That unlucky jinn put the car up against a mere fifteen gold bars, and a bag of magic sand that was capable of making you see the universe if you happened to have the cajones to snort some of it under a solar eclipse.

For all the mysticism in the world, there were two magic words sealed the deal for me that day, ensuring that I would be driving in style for years to come: Full-House.

Next thing I knew, I was the proud owner of a Genie's automobile. Rare and almost unheard of for a mere mortal, I made extra certion I left on good terms (which is very important when dealing with Genies) and I passed off the bag of sand when we shook on it.

There's no point in being a sore-winner, or pissing off someone who could easily turn me into a talking parrot named Iago.

That car was special though. You see, there was a trick to the vehicle: It wasn't always a 97 hatchback. No Ma'am, no sir, this autmobile was all-purpose, all-seeing, future predicting, filled to the brim with the powerful energy of some far-off and distant parallel plane of existence.

It could change, shift to accommodate the day ahead of me.

Weather report said snow? Poof: treaded-tires, top tier. Streets flooding over? Snap of the fingers and my car was a raised four by four. But for all the suggestion I might give it, there were some days when the vehicle changed on its own accord- without me even noticing. Like when I had a date I needed badly to impress, it turned into a corvette. And then, when the inevitable break-up came, it turned into a small moped I could hide in my apartment until we were sure she wasn't coming to give us the ex-girlfriend special.

One time it even changed into a crown-vic when I was toggling the radio stations and got me past a speed trap ticket free.

Safe to say, unlike the magic toaster or the talking tabby, my car and I had an real understanding. Only the finest oil changes would do, only top-notch gasoline, routine inspections and transmission flushes on the regular. In return I knew it would have my back through anything.

Well one Saturday morning I went outside after a brunch of grilled cheese and coffee, same as any Saturday morning. Only instead of my normal car I found a metallic green tank parked right up onto the curb. A huge, thick treaded, armor and cannon-mounted, possibly German engineered, war-machine.

"Hey, Human." A deep voice shouted at me.

Startled, I almost dropped my sandwich. As many things as it could do, my car couldn't talk.

"Hey, up here." The voice shouted again.

From the second floor window of my apartment, I turned and peered up, focusing my attention on the window sill home to several potted plants and a large orange patch of... fur. I squinted to see the orange tabby sitting coolly by the screen, eyes all-but shut against the early afternoon light, passing a half-interested glare in my direction.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"If you happen to make it home alive human, don't forget to bring back some tuna."

With that ominous warning the tank's hatch opened, falling back a loud creaking "slam" to announce entry was more than strongly recommended.

Somehow I knew it was going to be one hell of a day.

..........................................

Chapter 1

"I-95 is reporting a major accident by the twin bridges today-"

Bzzzzt

"IN other news, President Trump has tweeted that Hillary Clinton is actual a Lizar-"

Bzzzzt

"HEY there, Billy Fucillo here! This weekend only, we're having a BunkersRus blowout sale, it's gonna be HUUUGE-"

Bzzzzt

"It's the end of the world as we know it! It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fi-"

Bzzzzt-click.

"Fuck it all." I mumbled as the tank's radio shut off with a heavy handed click, once again returning me to the ambient noise of gears and heavy engine pulses reverberating in the metal box of the tank's cabin space. The day was not starting off as grand as I had envisioned.

As per usual, it seemed every station on the air was hinting some sort of disaster. I would say that my sixth sense on these things was generally pretty good, so by that logic alone concern was setting in; however slowly. But even if I possessed little in the manner of doubt that the world was teetering on the edge of ruin, I couldn't find definitive proof today was any worse than usual.

The media status-quo happened to be pretty regular when it came to doom and gloom. Just the other day CNN had almost convinced me Seaworld was closing.

Seriously.

Leaning forward, I peered out the steel enforced slit where ordinarily there might have been a windshield, confirming that we were still heading in the correct direction. It seemed that traffic had adjusted another five feet, but not much more. A dead crawl at best.

"Sure is bad out there today. Not tank-worthy bad, but still bad. We're going to be late."

In response to my mumblings the tank seemed to rev slightly, lever slowly shifting forward to approach the rear bumper of what might soon be a compact-SUV.

"Don't you even think about it." I growled thumping the wall with a light slap as my tiny range of vision narrowed dangerously close to a classically-adorable stick figure family. The approach ceased, abruptly stopping just a few inches from the car's bumper- prompting it to inch forward away from us. "You're a sick bastard Green, you know that?"

The rumble simmered in what almost seemed a chuckle as I checked the fuel gauge. At least I think it was the fuel gauge. Youtube didn't have as nearly many "How to drive a tank" videos as a person might expect, and 4g coverage was notably spotty beneath solid inches of heavy armor.

I checked my notes, flicking pages of my pocket calendar carefully to the bookmarked scribbles.

"Alright, so we filled up with about three hundred dollars of diesel today... that gives us another hour or two." The tank inched us forward, prompting another confirmation of the space in front of us. Traffic had moved again, no pancake stickfigures in our immediate future."I was going to spend that on groceries, so this really better not be a joke." I glanced back down. "If we were travelling in motion, google says we'd be getting like a three and a half miles to the gallon. In this..." I gestured grandly to the stand-still. "Well, I can only imagine what we're making now."

Not even a rumble out of green that time.

"You know, there are times it would be really helpful if you could talk."

Rumble.

"Ah whatever, I know- we make do anyways. Seriously though, we left early but think the client is going to be pissed. If you were a moped we could zip on through this traffic like it wasn't even here."

That prompted a louder rumble, this time with a strong sensation of disappointment. I rubbed my temples, leaning back into the seat to take a swig of coffee from my travel-mug.

BzzzBzzzBzzz

With classic timing, my phone started buzzing, ratting off with an odd echo effect through the cabin space like a bunch of bees stuck in a metal drum. Sighing heavily, I picked up.

"Hello, you've called Jack of all Trades: Mystical Magical and Miscellaneous Services. This is Jack speaking, how can I help you today?"

I fumbled with my pen as I set down the coffee, phone pressed between my ear and shoulder with more than awkward positioning. I needed to get with the century and buy myself a bluetooth head-set already.

"Ah, Goblins in the basement? No, no, that's not a problem. We can deal with that. How many?" I scribbled down the details as the voice on the phone blipped and blurped. "Ah... wow. Two dozen? Any skeletons in the closet?" A slight pause, "Ha! Oh-well, you know that joke never gets old. Hang on just a second."

I pulled the phone away, looking out to confirm the slowly approaching exit. "Hey Green, this lady has two dozen Goblins in her basement! Corner of Rosemont and Washington, if we turn here I think we could wrap that up and take Western down the rest of the way. Might be faster."

Rumble and shift.

Horns began blaring almost at once. For some reason I found the metronome clicking of the right directional far more funny than my own joke.

"Yes Ma'am. We'll be there in fifteen minutes to take care of that for you. No, no- thank you Ma'am. We here at Jack of all Trades put our customers first."

I hung up just as we broke free of the blaring traffic, rolling downward towards the city.

"Well, this should cover grocery money! Things are looking up Green, I really don't know what you're so worried about."

An ominous rumble was my only reply before I toggled back the radio.

Bzzzt-

I hear hurricanes a-blowing

I know the end is coming soon

I fear rivers over flowing

I hear the voice of rage and ruin...