Incidents involving or suspected to involve the Brain Scythe:
May, 1999: both California senators and seven representatives are killed in their homes all within the month. Evidence suggests each involved a similar break-in and ended in the deaths of all inhabitants and personnel, and extensive property damage.
July 16th, 1999: the Texas state Republican annual committee ends in a massacre; all attendees, speakers, and government individuals are killed in multiple bomb explosions after the pledge of allegiance is recited. Governor George W. Bush, prominent on camera, shows visible terror throughout the pledge.
July 31st, 1999: a videotape arrives at Fox News headquarters in New York, New York. The videotape depicts a visibly distressed man later identified as an itinerant named Albert Gore. Gore held a pistol to his own head while reading a letter to the camera, claiming to be speaking on behalf of ‘the Brain Scythe.’ He claimed the Brain Scythe would return to the United States of America before the winter of the year 2000. Gore then committed suicide despite visible attempts to resist. It is believed that Gore, sharing a name with president Al Gore, was selected as a speaker specifically for his name.
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The Loose Lips and Sunken Ships bar was a rustic little wooden building on route 60, a few miles north of Globe, Arizona. It had a parking lot that fit ten cars and enough empty desert around it to fit fifty more. The front porch sat a card table with three men leaning over it, sipping beer and playing Hold ‘Em, and through the old saloon-style doors was enough seating for sixty-six.
Today was a winter scorcher for anywhere else, but for Arizona, it felt just about normal. The big fans in the corners were spinning, blasting meager amounts of cool air across the ten-or-so guests sitting around the bar or at the tables. The big screen television mounted behind the bar was playing ESPN, particularly the highlight reel of the prior night’s college basketball game between the University of Arizona and the University of California, Los Angeles.
The bartender was a pretty young girl with daisy dukes and a low-cut tank top, which would earn some easy tips as she passed out cold bottles of beer and filled chilled glasses with slightly more expensive brews.
Most of the patrons were middle-aged men, almost all of them fitting the rustic aesthetic with a casual, faux-country sense of style that belied their white-collar careers in the city itself, and they were mainly there to kill some time, watch some sports, and flirt with the bartender.
The bar’s owner wasn’t a big exception. Devin Trent was a good looking white guy in his forties, kept looking young with a well-trimmed five o’ clock shadow and sprayed black hair. He kept fit at the gym, and dressed well for the women, and liked his career easy and his hobbies unpredictable.
Devin sat at his office desk at the back of the building, checking profits, losses, and stocks on his computer. Or, at least, that’s what people would assume walking in and seeing him staring at his computer, the wheels turning in his head.
‘Psycho rally on the 28th on E. Mesquite St. We crashing?’
‘Wise Men wise up! Show them they aren’t welcome here!’
Devin tapped his fingertips together as a surge of excitement went through his body. His message was already getting plenty of positive attention; he knew that not even half the number would show up, but if enough good men with guns and trucks did arrive, they could disperse the rally and maybe bloody a few noses.
Maybe send a few of the headcases home in body bags if things were pushed just the right way.
There was a knock at his door and Devin responded: “Come in!”
The door opened a crack, and an older, chunkier white guy with a bald head and bushy eyebrows poked his head through. “Trent, delivery guy’s here.”
“Great! I’ll be out in a moment, Pete.” Devin said, standing up as he turned off his computer monitor and stepped around his desk, unconsciously flexing as he passed by a mirror, admiring the way he filled out a light blue button-up shirt and jeans. “Dickheads better have my Catfish. S’been two weeks?”
“Two and half.” Pete corrected. “Ever since the distillery hired those gatdamn psi-freaks for their testing shit everything’s slowed to shit.” Pete grumbled, and Devin let out a hot, annoyed breath.
“If the beer weren’t good I’d drop them ASAP. Treatin’ us like this, hiring those freaks of nature…”
“I still say we should boycott ‘em. Get the whole state to boycott ‘em. We don’t need those big heads ruining our beer too.” Pete shook his head and held the door for his boss to step into the main bar.
Devin looked around at the patrons with a smile, giving a happy greeting to a few of the regulars and shaking hands as Pete headed out front to talk to the truck driver about their product.
He grinned over at the bartender, but gave pause when he saw the disgruntled look on her face as she filled a glass from the tap behind her. He had seen Lila grumpy before, but she was usually happy with the early afternoon shift.
Devin stepped behind the bar, waving to the men crowded around, and leaned towards the pretty girl.
“Everything alright Lila?” He asked her.
“Everything alright?” She repeated with a scowl. “Ever since she walked in, I haven’t gotten tipped for shit. Last hour I’ve been sitting on a goddamned dollar and a half ‘cuz of her.”
“Who’s her?” Devin asked and glanced around the bar, eventually noting the way how the room full of men kept turning their heads to look down the far end of the bar, well out of the way, out of sight of the television.
One look at Lila confirmed that the woman sitting there was the perpetrator.
One look at the perpetrator made Devin and the world around him slow to a crawl.
Plush, ruby red lips sipped at what looked like orange juice, and the most piercing blue eyes almost lazily met his. Hair as yellow as straw was pulled back behind her head in a low ponytail, a pair of wisps framing her face, its symmetry only broken by a small, black beauty mark at the lower left of her chin. The v-neck she was wearing revealed the ample cleavage of her large, healthy breasts, all but resting on the bar for him and the other men to admire.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She had a mild expression, one that didn’t have any pressing concerns for the day, and a posture that managed to be casual but… intimidating. She radiated a sort of at-ease danger, like a tigress lapping water at the riverside, her eyes firmly on him in case he came close enough for those claws…
Thing was, Devin liked his hobbies unpredictable, and he certainly liked dangerous.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and Lila’s grumbling complaints fell on deaf ears.
“Did she walk in with anyone?” He asked Lila too quickly.
“Huh? No, she came in alone.” Lila answered, giving her boss a weird look as he rubbed the back of his head for a moment, then walked away without another word.
Lila rolled her eyes and moved to clean a glass.
Devin poked his head out the entrance and yelled, “Pete! Handle the delivery for me!”
Pete gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and turned back around, and Devin calmly, confidently started walking past the other guests, slapping shoulders, shaking hands, greeting people excitedly, until eventually he found himself standing within polite chatting distance of that blonde haired dream of a woman sitting at his bar, a big, wrinkly blue dog sitting on the other side of her stool on a leash.
She was staring at him curiously as he approached her, and after a moment’s faltering, he stepped closer and held out a hand.
“Howdy miss, welcome to the Ships! Name’s Devin.”
She set her glass down, taking a napkin to wipe her palm dry, and shook his hand while giving him a smile that put his heartbeat in his ears.
“Hi Devin, nice to meet you.”
Her voice was lovely and alluring, girlish without being annoying. He could almost imagine the laugh out of her being low and sultry, a husky brushing against his eardrums.
“What are you having today? Can I get you a refill?” He offered, and she gave him an intrigued little smile, every little movement of her facial features almost designed to lure him in.
“Please? I’m having a screwdriver.”
“Of course. Lila!” He didn’t even glance at his bartender. “Another screwdriver down here, please.”
“Yes sir!” He missed the look Lila had given him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am – I promise I’m just curious, I’m the owner here after all – but watcha stopping in for?” He asked, kneeling down and reaching out to rub the head of the pooch with her, but the wrinkly pup rolled away from him with a lazy groan.
The woman’s smile grew languid and tired, and she waved a hand through the air as she spoke, “I’m just on a long road trip. I dropped my daughter off at Arizona University and am about to head back up to Kayenta.”
“That’s one helluva drive. How’s your daughter doing?” He asked idly as he stood up, examining her fingers.
“She’s wonderful, and going to be the best damn doctor in the world.” The woman gave a much sweeter smile, and Devin felt all the more blessed to be present for it. “I’m glad, too; she was pretty down for a while after the divorce.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Devin lied, his heart beating with excitement again, more so than at the idea of crashing through a line of granola-swilling psychos. “May I ask what happened? Might get you a stronger drink.” He winked at her, and the woman chuckled.
“Oh, it’s not an incredible story or anything.” She said, her eyes drifting off thoughtfully. “My husband—well, my ex-husband left us about a year or so ago, seduced by some queer headcase from California.” She sighed.
“As in a psychic?” Devin asked, staring at the woman and feeling a flash of anger rush through him at the thought of some psycho faggot abandoning this angel-in-human-flesh.
“Yeah. My husband was a fine, upright man up until the day this big head came into his office with a business proposition, and all of a sudden my husband wants nothing to do with me; all of a sudden, he’s off with that dandy doing God knows what.” Her face sagged with anger and sorrow. “The only consolation I’ve had this entire year was buying this fella down here.”
Devin, beside himself, slid into the stool next to her, frowning as he set a hand on her upper back. He felt her twitch the slightest bit, but she calmed down as he eyed her, unable to resist thoughts and temptations of filling that void left behind…
“I’ve heard it a-hundred times before; that fruit took a liking to your husband and used his freak powers to turn him the wrong way.” Devin said sympathetically, and the woman nodded before rubbing her face, then taking a deep, belabored breath.
“I know. I tried to tell him that he was being controlled, but he didn’t believe me; called me a homophobe, told my daughter to her face that I was a closed-minded bigot, even had the gall to say that I’d forced myself on him back when he was still ‘confused.’”
“What a load of shit.” Devin frowned, then licked his lips.
Lila came by to drop off the drink, and the woman reached into her purse to take out some money, but Devin touched her arm.
“It’s on the house, ma’am, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you, Devin.” The woman smiled a little.
Devin didn’t see Lila’s disgusted face in his direction, but the bar girl still took the dollar-fifty the beauty offered her.
“Listen.” Devin began, his voice suddenly feeling thick in his throat as an idea formed. “If you can find a reason to stick around town until the weekend, I’m with this group of boys that tries to stick it to those psychos.”
“What do you mean?” The woman asked, sipping her new drink as she eyed him curiously.
“These psychics and their sympathizers are trying to take over our way of life, get in our heads.” Devin said in a low, warning voice. “They’re taking over our politicians, our business owners, making them hire them to exclusive positions where they regulate the quality of the product that gets put out, or make laws that give them special privileges. Phoenix has a bill in the government that might let those freaks go around without their privacy bands.”
The woman gave a small, barely audible gasp, and turned back to stare at her glass, her expression tightening, no doubt imagining what might happen to her vulnerable daughter…
“The Wise Men are the thin line between real human beings and the psychos trying to take over our great state.” Devin tried to speak as grandiose as he could under his breath. “We meet every weekend in a compound a few miles southwest of Globe. Place has lead-lining and dozens of patriots willing to die to keep this nation pure. We talk about the future of our people, and keeping those freaks in line.”
The woman seemed uncertain, and she tipped her glass up to sip her new screwdriver, her shoulders slumping a little as she thought. At her feet, her dog sat up and rested his head on her lap, and her fingers tickled along his scalp, making his tail smack at the stool behind him.
“You don’t have to come, but if you do, we meet at 3:00 pm. Password to get in is: ‘Wise Men see all.’ When the guy at the door asks: ‘what did you see today?’ You tell him: ‘devils on the streets.’ He’ll let you in.” Devin said promisingly, and the woman gave her glass a thoughtful look, before giving a small nod.
“Let me think about it. I am pretty worried about how this country’s going, especially with that Phoenix Academy place sweet talking our senators.”
“Oh, don’t get me started on the monkeys running that place…”
With a deep breath, the woman polished off her drink and pushed it forward, staring at nothing in deep thought. “I’ll come by. Will there be other women?” She asked.
Devin had to suppress an excited grin. “Sure, plenty of the boys’ wives and girlfriends are part of the group. You won’t be alone! Hell, you’re not even the first woman there who lost her husband to a psi-fag.”
She suddenly gave a quick, short laugh at the slur, and Devin just smiled, feeling good about himself. The woman turned and gave him a small smile, her spirits looking lifted, her eyes unwaveringly staring straight into his, not even blinking once.
“I’ll see you there?”
“You certainly will, I run it!” Devin nodded, tenderly setting a hand on her knee, finally drawing a single blink from her. “You know, in all this talk, I nearly forgot to ask: what’s your name, miss?”
“Jennifer.” She answered, her eyes still never pulling from his. “Jennifer Whitman.”