November 8th, 1960. 10:07 PM

In an abandoned public bathroom—of an abandoned public park—at a fresh crime scene. There stood Anthony, at the entrance—holding a gun—looking at two fresh dead bodies with bullet wounds on their chest. But he wasn't alone in that park.

"Freeze!" Said Detective Arnold Myles while pointing a gun at Anthony.

Narrator: "Ok, I know you can't see him; and his description only will come up later, but trust me when I say that he's hot. Fuck! I wanna melt in his chest and never let go!"

"What da..." thought Anthony as he turned around to see who was behind him, just to face the barrel of a gun.

Myles: "Here is the U.C.P.D! Drop your gun! Hands where I can see!"

.Facing a gun, Anthony started to panic. In his panicked state, his arms started to do involuntary movements; which resulted in him pulling the trigger—accidentally. Out of reflex, Myles shot; but different from Anthony he was more experienced at shooting, and just like that, he jumped to the left—taking cover. With bullets flying in mid-air—one of them being in Anthony's direct trajectory—we end this scene, for now at least.

Narrator: "A scene out of the contest right from the beginning. Just to confuse and grab the attention of the reader."

"Really? That's some cheap and lazy writing, right there." He said in disapproval.

Author: "Come on! Don't be so mean." he said while pouting. "You need to be more nice to people; otherwise they might go to their dark place." He said, staring at the void.

Editor: "That took a dark turn." He thought.

Narrator: "What are you doing here?" He said to Author.

Author: "The Producer said to me to do the commentary with you."

.Narrator's eyes went red, and his nails turned into claws. The room went darker and shaking as if a small Earthquake had just started.

Editor presses a button to turn on the speaker and say: "Ahh… Just to remember you all. We kind of waste a lot of time on the last episode; so we are running late on the schedule, so it would be nice if you let the whole "discussion thing" to after the recording. Thanks."

Narrator points his finger—angrily—to Editor. But when he's about to start to yell at him.

Editor: "ah! One more thing. If we don't finish this today, we gonna have to stay overtime."

Narrator takes a deep breath—chooses to comply. And the room goes back to normal.

Editor: "He really has some anger issues." He thought.

November 6th, 1960. 07:00 AM

"Good morning! Union City. It is November 6th, 07:00 AM. And here's your handsome; favorite radio host, number one of all time, Evan Zeke."

"By "number one of all time" you mean in arrogance, right? And here is Arnie Manfredi."

Evan: "Really? No catchphrase at the entrance? Boriiing~"

Arnie: "Shut up."

Evan: "And you're hearing Owl's Night Show."

Evan: "And now for our first segment: Hear me out. Bring it on Arnie."

Arnie: "This is a part of our show, where your voice can be heard by the entire city; in the form of an audio or a letter read by us, you even can choose which one of us is going to read."

Evan: "By a price, that is."

Arnie: "No! Shut up… But yes, you do have to pay."

Arnie: "Today's message comes from the self-made millionaire, and self-proclaimed scientist, Trev Gabe. And without further ado..."

Evan: "let's hear him out."

Trev: "Open your eyes! We live in giant simulacra, it's all a lie! No one is talking about it. It is being suppressed! Something is flying in space, toward us. No one is talking about it: the media, not talking about; the scientists, not talking about; the government, not talking about. It is a giant unknown mass, flying at the speed of light. Flying from out of our solar system towards Earth, towards us. The trajectory is clear. It's..."

Anthony: "With the luck I have, it probably gonna hit me." He thought to himself joking.

Anthony was hearing to the radio on the earphones of his portable radio. As he was walking down the street, his radio ran out of battery.

Anthony: "Great!" He thought sarcastically.

.Union City was a city like none else. An urban landscape with skyscrapers as tall as the eye can see. Steam floats up from the drains, and metal grids all over the cramped streets of this megacity. With its unusual power gen, Union City was covered by copper-colored pipes; from the top of the highest building to deep underground, all pipes leading to its core—its heart.

Narrator: "I see what you did there." he said to Author. "Pretending it is a 60s story, but is actually some kind of steampunk bullshit."

Author: "hehehe." he giggles.

Narrator: "I gotta you. You can't fool me."

.Anthony was in an even more ruined part of this decayed city, the little finger was the place name.—Lurking in the crowd—Anthony was trying to avoid attention, as usual. But the attention he was trying to avoid wasn't from humans, it was from something else. Following people by floating, crawling, and some were attached to them like parasites; they were horrors of all kinds and shapes, some even were shapeless. Deformed things that resemble creatures from a horror movie. Anthony didn't know the name of them, or better saying, he didn't want to know—None of them noticed him—Anthony seemed to be doing a good job pretending to be normal, like always. Except for one of them, it was different—smarter. The things lower half was shared, its intestines were dragged through the floor as it floated its way to Anthony; who was standing at the crossing line, waiting for the semaphore light to turn green. He could do nothing but stand still, and pretend that he saw nothing because he was surrounded by a crowd; squeezed in it, he could not move in any other direction but to forward—when the light changed to green. It approaches Anthony—its face was inches away from Anthony's face, waiting for a reaction. Anthony shouldn't show any awareness of "it". The nameless horror used its bony hands to reach for its own intestines, grabbing it. It slowly approaches Anthony's head with its hand full of rotten entrails.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Anthony: "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!!" He screamed in his thoughts, but without showing any expression.

Every fiber of every muscle of Anthony's body was focusing—struggling in this battle to look "normal". He had to swallow every fraction of emotion he was feeling at the moment to the depths of his soul; in order to put up an act of boredom—a bored face—of someone who didn't have a creature worthy of nightmares, floating inches away from them.

.Closer, and closer the bony hand was getting from Anthony's head. It became a fight against time, the time until the pedestrian traffic light turns green. Finally, the light turned green; the color of hope—Hope that won't last long to Anthony—before he could realize that he had nowhere to go, but forward. The crowd had already started moving, pushing him with them. The bony hand was stationary, holding the rotten intestine. Being pushed along, Anthony passed through the ghostly hand; feeling the entrails pass through his head, he felt the most disgusted he ever had been in his entire life. But he endured it—without showing any emotion—out of fear of what might have happened, otherwise. After walking to the other side of the street, "it" stopped to follow him; as If it was bound to that place. Finally free from that nightmarish situation—Anthony cried out of relief.

Anthony: "I hate going out in the morning." he thought, sobbing.

November 6th, 1960. 09:14 AM

.Anthony arrived at his destination. He looked at the piece of paper that he was holding—checking the address—and thought to himself: "You better be right about this place, Joe."

This place was a drugstore, however, its days of glory were long gone. Anthony entered the store. Just to face a "thing" that was large, and overflowing with fat; ugly, and hideous in appearance, covered by greasy. Fortunately—it didn't notice Anthony. At the balcony was the attendant, reading a journal, all grumpy and disgruntled. Anthony browses to the drug store; grabbing a lot of vials of batteries, Adderall, caffeine, etc, and putting them in his basket. When he reaches the balcony to pay, the attendant looks over the journal to the basket.

Attendant: "You gonna need a prescription for this, sir." he said after Anthony put the payment on the balcony.

Anthony: "but joe said..." he tried to say as he was interrupted by the attendant looking at the tip jar, and gesturing with his head.

Anthony: "Oh! I see how it's gonna be..." he says annoyed, as he put 10 dollars in the jar.

The attendant repeats himself and looks back at the jar. Anthony puts more 10 dollars on the jar. The attendant looks back at the jar.

Anthony: "Are you serious?!?!" he said as he started to get angry. And put more 10 dollars in the jar.

The attendant looked again.

Anthony: "You can shove this damn jar up your butt!!!!" he thought because he didn't have the courage to say it out loud. And put more 10 dollars.

The attendant takes the money that Anthony put on the balcony and pushes the items to him.

Anthony: "Finally." he says angrily as he takes the bag.

November 6th, 1960. 12:53 PM

Editor: "Actually, we are running out of time. Gonna have to skip this "lunch" part."

Author: "what? Why? But it is a good part!"

Editor: "Dude, it's just filler."

Author: "No it's not… Narrator, say something!"

Narrator: "I don't care."

Author: "You all, soo mean!"

November 6th, 1960. 06:28 PM

.The daylight started to dim out in this colossal of a city. Pipes, chimneys, drains, and metal grids released steam—clouds of steam went up as if the entire city was yawning as it went to sleep. But its people weren't. Neon lights populated the night scenery, making the city look like a completely different one.

Anthony: "I gotta find a job." he said to himself as he stared at a residential hose. "hump. Not in this economy."

Anthony unlocked the front door with a key; that was hidden in a plant vase—as if he already knew where the key was—a cat runoff from the house, with the opening of the door. Inside the house was a dead body of a middle-aged woman with her face eaten off—by the cat—and the woman's spirit floating above her body.

Anthony: "If you were going to kill yourself; you could at least let the door open, for the cat." he said to the spirit. "Jesus! Cats can do some damage." He said while looking closer at her face.

The spirit grim her face.

Anthony: "Don't look me like that. You were the one who suicides with the cat lock inside." he said outraged. "I mean, cat eating a dead body's face, it's already a cliche by now. Honestly."

Narrator: "What an asshole."

The spirit in the case is dim and can't speak.

Narrator: "If she could, she would be swearing by now."

Anthony starts to loot the house as he realizes that he, alone, wouldn't be able to do it. He reaches for his jacket pocket, grabbing his pocket dial phone.

Author: "top of the line."

Narrator: "Quit the jokes."

Anthony makes a call.

Anthony: "Hi. Zlatan? Good."

"Yeah. I got another one. Can you send people?"

"Good."

"No. I can't make it 70℅/30℅. I found the place, why do I get less?"

"No. YOU are cocky on the phone. You sure you don't want? It got an Ace-Bristo, brand new."

Narrator: "Ace-Bristol is a 60s car. I am looking at a picture of it, and it is kinda weird."

Anthony: "I know you like those things."

"Of course I'm for real. I'm in the place, right now. I'm looking at it."

"50℅/50℅?"

"Good. I'll send the address."

A moving truck arrives at the resistance. Zlatan gang–group started to pack everything.

Zlatan: "fucking happen to the bitch?" He asked while pointing at the woman's face.

Anthony: "Cat."

Zlatan: "Those nasty bitchs."

"How do you want the payment?"

Anthony: "Money, of course. Ahh, I also want the tv. Can you move it to me?"

Zlatan: "For a price."

Anthony sighs and says: "Deal."

November 6th, 1960. 10:27 PM

.Under the city's biggest bridge was a homeless community and there is where Anthony is. Cardboard and leftover wood houses, as far as the eyes can see. It was a very United group, looking more like a family than just a group. And a particular small group of these people was on a corner, under a cardboard roof, making dinner.

Julian: "Nice tv you got over there."

Harvey: "Yeah, right. Why bring it here?"

Anthony: "I didn't have anywhere to put it."

Marty: "Ok, ok everybody. Stop with the Inquisition, ok? All that matters is that our friend, Anthony, brought a nice television. And we are very thankful." He said, having the last word. "Ok, everyone. Let's eat."

Everyone had bought something, be it food or cooking utensils, and they shared it.

Anthony: "Thanks for letting me use your boiler."

Marty: "You are welcome here whenever you want." He said smiling.

Anthony smiled back. After the water started to boiling, Anthony put it on a cup-noodle; One of the ones he brought to everyone. After a couple of minutes, the noodles were ready. But to Anthony, they wouldn't be ready until he gives it his final touch. Anthony adds half of a mayonnaise pot.

Harvey and Julian got disgusted, almost at the same time.

Narrator: "For a good reason."

Author: "Come on, is not all that bad."

Narrator: "please, please tell me you don't eat this thing."

Author looks away. And Editor seems visibly disgusted.

Julian: "Kiddo, you are fucking weird."

Anthony: "Shut up, asshole!" He thought because he did not have the courage to say it. And started to eat, with an expression of enjoyment on his face.