Somewhere on the second floor is where Franco had found a little puzzle box. The thing was just sitting in one of the tubes that was rented last night by a Mr. Johnson. Like they all weren’t rented by Johnson’s every now and again. The Ork smiled to himself letting his tusks fully show. It was one of his favorite facial expressions. It really drove the norms mad when he did it. Franco liked to think it was ‘tusk envy.’ If Freud had been alive now, he’d have a whole hell of a lot to work with besides his Id, Ego, and Superego. But what did Franco know, he was the janitor?
The little cube had etchings all over it. He didn’t know how it worked. There were no switches or jacks on it at all; just the etched bronze metal that lined all six sides of it. The light danced along the sides of the metal surface. There were no input leads or anything like that on it. The little box puzzled Franco. It looked like a puzzle cube he’d heard of. It was the height of envy nearly 75 years ago. The things were running about 5000 nuyen in good condition and about double that in mint. But the little box didn’t look like a normal Rubik’s cube. All the angles for movement were wrong; and this one was made of bronze and steel rather than the standard plastic.
The cube didn’t have the little colored stickers either. The lines were just a bunch of etched designs. Triangles, stars, rhomboids were plastered all over the thing. The normal Rubik’s cube was just a bunch of squares. His grandfather had one when he was smaller. He smiled warmly remembering the fascination that his grandfather looked on as Franco kept solving the puzzling cube in less than two minutes. Franco thought that he might have to call one of his collector friends to get it appraised. He’d have time to ponder the thing later. There were still more tubes to clean.
The sound of boot steps coming from the stairwell told Franco that he was about to have company. He continued on with the rhythm of the push broom. The sounds mingled together as if they were married to the same source. Swish-thump, click-clack, swish-thump, click-clack, the sound repeated another dozen times before the foot falls stopped. Franco turned expecting to see they poor slob unloading gear into one of the tubes he had just cleaned. The Elf standing behind him kind of smiled oddly.
“Good afternoon,” he spoke softly. The condescending tone came through very well. Franco eyed him up and down. Black silver-toed boots stuck out from blue denim cinching at the Elf’s waist. A puffy white silk shirt covered the Elf’s torso. Wrapping up the ensemble was a burgundy long coat with buttons on the lapel. The package was complete when he got to the Elf’s head. Bright red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail with a small braid of the licorice colored hair braided down the left side of the Elf’s face. White face paint was caked onto the confines of the Elf’s face. The guy looked like a clown without a circus. Then Franco remembered - it’s Halloween.
“And what? Trick or treat?” Franco blurted to the Elf, holding the push broom in his good hand and ready to act if necessary.
The Elf’s hollow smile widened. “Yes,” he chuckled, “Tricks and treats. I had almost forgotten about this day.” His eyes danced around the corridor; “Of course it is up to you which one you receive.”
“Look Chum, I don’t know why yer here, but you might want to start explaining yourself before I hafta bust open yer head.” Franco drove his finger into the Elf’s chest emphasizing his words.
The gleeful glimmer in the Elf’s eyes turned hard. “So, this is the choice that you make,” the Elf started, “Some associates of mine seem to have - misplaced a very important item and I was wondering if you had seen it anywhere?” the Elf leaned up against the wall. He was too comfortable, too cocky. Franco thought about cracking his emergency card to call LoneStar.
“Look here pal,” Franco motioned for the Elf to follow him towards one of the open tubes. “You see this here sticker? ‘Light Bearer Industries bears no responsibility for lost or misplaced items left after your stay.’ Do you understand that?” Franco asked plainly. The Elf let out a laugh like no other Franco had heard. It was a full belly roll laugh that had the Elf holding his stomach. Had he not been leaning against the wall, he would have surely doubled over and fallen to the floor. He caught the Ork’s blatant stare and held up on hand as if to ask, ‘just a moment, please.’
“Oh, now that’s a good one!” The Elf announced. “What next, ‘Knights of the Crimson Spire’ action figures? Oh how the mighty have fallen,” he continued, Franco thought he might smear his face paint with the tears. “would that our Order had heard that one.”
“Look, I dunno what your chipped on pal, but I don’t want no trouble here.” Franco explained to the nearly hysterical Elf. “You have about five seconds to leave before I crack the card to get the Star out here.”
“There’s no need for that,” the Elf said, finally recouping from the laughter. “I’ll be going. Here’s my card if you find the item I’m looking for.”
Slender hands reached inside of one of the pockets. Franco immediately moved his hand to the badge that he wore. The LoneStar security card was attached to the lanyard that held his badge for LBI. The Elf produced a card and with a flick of his wrist, sent it sailing towards Franco. The Ork caught the card and examined it. There was a stylish ‘H’ on one side of it and what looked like a jester on the other side. It looked like a playing card, but the dimensions were the right size of a business card. Fragging loony! What was he supposed to do with this card? There was no LTG number, no matrix mailbox, nothing!
“And just how am I supposed to get in touch with you?” he asked. Silence answered him. Franco looked up and the question just hung there. The Elf was gone without a trace. “Fragging wonderful!” Franco seethed through his clenched teeth. “Happy Halloween.”
Franco finished up the sweeping without another incident and headed down to the booth with the armored plexiglass that LBI Coffin Hotel used to check in the ‘guests’. The young guy who he relieved was already itching to get out. The disheveled hair and crumpled T-shirt told Franco that he didn’t do his laundry again. Spike was a good kid, but not responsible. Franco didn’t know why he was hired. He was just another warm body behind the glass to make sure pre-deceased ‘guests’ didn’t check into the hotel. That’s about all he was good for anyway. It happened, but not often this close to the corporate buildings.
“Heya Franco!” he beamed. “I was wondering if I could bolt early,” Spike began to explain, “ya see there’s this party down in Redmond that’s having a live band and an honest to God fortune teller.” Spike pleaded with all of his soul. Franco shook his head. Kids, he thought, always looking for the thrill in life - no wonder the trid was full of shadowrunners. ‘Longshot and Raptor - Runners for Hire’ was one of the most popular shows on ‘Must see Wednesday.’
“How did I know this was coming?” Franco asked rhetorically.
“Well?” Spike asked, impatiently.
“Yeah, get outta here.” Franco smiled his special smile at the teenager.
“Dude, put those things away,” he chided Franco, “You’re gonna damage somebody with those things.” Spike grinned.
“Yeah, but the ladies love ‘em!” Franco winked at him. “Oh and I found something up there in the tubes. Take it to your party; let the fortuneteller have a look-see at it. Let me know what the results are.” Franco tossed him the bronze cube.
“Sure Franco,” Spike looked at the little box quizzically, “I’ll see you later then.”
“Now scat!” Franco growled, urging Spike out of the booth. “Go have fun, and Happy Halloween!” he called after the young man. Spike waved to him as he headed for the monorail station. It was still early enough to catch the rail to Redmond. The sun hadn’t quite fallen from the sky. Dusk was approaching. Franco fished around in his coveralls and found the Elf’s card. Chills ran up his arms. Maybe he should have given the little puzzle box to the Elf with the flaming hair. It was too late now.
Hours passed as he watched the traffic in the inner city slowly cut itself down to an inconsistent drip instead of the flood of headlights. The only thing constant was the changing of the language as he checked in the clientele. “Bonsoir!” and “Merci beaucoup” were for the ones coming from Paris. “Guten Abend” and “Vielen dank” were for the ones coming from Berlin. “Konbanha” and “Bansha” were for the ones visiting Renraku. “An-nyong hashimnika” and “Tedanhi kamsa-hamnida” were for the Seoul men. “Wanv sháng haov” and “Fei cháng gàn xie” for the ones coming in from Red China - it was all the same, “Good evening” and “Thank you very much.” Faces passed by the glass and left promptly. The clouds covered over the sunset and the blackness encompassed the metroplex. Life was good behind his bulletproof glass.
Franco watched the Matchsticks roam around hiding from the LoneStar patrols. The cat-and-mouse game lasted for awhile before one of the leather clad freaks decided to pull a piece on the cruiser. That was a big mistake. Doors flew open and the ganger went down in a spray of bullets and gun smoke. It wasn’t a pleasing sight, but that drew out some of the other gang members. The Yellowjackets were flying high and quickly illuminating the area until the firefight calmed down. The ghetto birds had a strict pattern in this secured area. It didn’t stop the chipheads looking for a thrill though. Franco frowned deeply at the thought. He was glad that Spike wasn’t in one of those stupid go-gangs. He was a good kid. He didn’t need that kind of life or that attitude of nothing to live for except the ‘shadows.’
More out of boredom than anything else, Franco flipped on the little police scanner that he bought at a pawnshop. He tuned it into the LoneStar frequency with a little work. He wasn’t supposed to have that freq., but when you work the night shift in a coffin house, you get to meet people in the know. The chatter was normal for Halloween. The Barrens were having several block wars and the seedier parts of the ‘plex had bonfires going. Firefights and body counts were officially noted in someone’s log file. DocWagon was having a hefty night with all the normal weirdoes and the additional strain of supporting All Hallows Eve. Franco knew that life was good behind his bulletproof glass.
It was coming up on midnight when the group walked through the sliding glass doors of the LBI Coffin Hotel. There were five of them, all norms. Four of them were male, the last female. She was the obvious leader of this group. The last two were as wide as Trolls, but normal height. Their skin-weave must have cost them some big nuyen. The one in the middle was an oddity. The youngster had datajacks behind both ears. He looked about fourteen. Franco shook his head at the shame of it. That boy probably had a future once, but instead, he threw it away to live the life of ‘Longshot and Raptor - Runners for Hire.’ Their demeanor was obvious. They were the scum that the corporate types used to play their power games. They were the ones who corrupted the future and aided in the declination of society. They were shadowrunners.
Franco remembered a quote that his grandfather used a lot, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why’d you have to come into mine.” It was made by another shadowy character named Rick, Franco remembered. His father chuckled at Grandpa whenever he said it. Franco really didn’t feel the meaning of the words until they walked through the door. So much for a nice quiet night, he thought silently.
“Are you Franco?” the woman inquired. Short, abrupt and to the point.
“What’s it to ya?” Franco replied, holding his hand under the counter near the red panic button.
“We got a message for you.” She looked like she’d been through hell and back. Her hair was matted with sweat and could it be blood? Blood was seeping through her shirtsleeve. Franco noticed that she was grasping a meat arm with one that was chromed and solid state of the art. He also noticed that in the meat hand was the puzzle box that he had found earlier. It was opened. The Ork’s eyes opened wide.
“Wh-where did you get that?” he asked the woman, pointing to the bronze box in her hand.
“You Franco?” she asked again coyly. The Ork nodded in silent response. “Then take your hand off of the joy button and let’s talk.” Franco complied; still astonished that this group of mercenaries had the puzzle box that he had given to Spike several hours ago.
“Box, Lox!” ordered the older male to the two skin jobs, “Secure the hotel. No one in, no one out.” Franco eyed the two. They were like bookends guarding the only exit to the outside.
“Rightey-O, mate!” one of them said.
“All’s tidy here Lance,” the other finished.
“Zipper, find a matrix point and get jacked in. We need all the warning we can get.” Lance barked to the youngster.
“I’m on it,” was all he said. He was gone in a flash to one of the data lines that brought in the live feed for the executive coffins. In a flurry of motion, the kid reached in his bag and dropped a toolkit on the floor. Within two minutes he was wired and jacked in. The security camera nodded. The kid was wired into the building security system. Franco just stared.
“Secured Captain.” Lance informed the woman as he drew out two very large pistols from behind his back. Franco recognized the Predators. All he kept thinking was, “This can’t be for real! This happens on the trid, not in real life. Shadowrunners just don’t come up and hold your place of business hostage. That was terrorism. The law didn’t allow terrorism in the metroplex.”
“Look,” the Captain explained, “we’re tired. We don’t want to alarm you, but I see we’ve already done that. My name is Sylvia. Here’s my face. Get a good look because I don’t know how much longer we’ll be alive here.” Franco’s eyes went wild; his hand went for the panic button instead of the shotgun that was hidden under the desk. “No! No! No! Please don’t do that.” It was already too late. Franco’s hand hit Big Red and waited for the phone call. LoneStar would be here in less than two minutes if he didn’t pick up the line. “Slag it all to hell!” the woman screamed. “Zipper, you got an intercept ETA?” Lance shot a hand to his ear, trying to block out the other noise.
“Tee minus two and counting, Captain.” Lance reported in lieu of the jacked-in teenager. The phone began to ring. Franco didn’t make a move. LoneStar could handle these slime balls. Sylvia screamed in pain. Franco’s eyes focused in on her. The little puzzle box was moving on its own. Turning, spinning, and sticking razor-sharp edges into her meat hand.
The living bronze shrapnel dropped from her hand as the fingers came loose. “Shit!” she cried out, “It’s too fragging late! They’ve found us.” The lights dropped in the LBI Coffin Hotel leaving Franco and the rest in complete darkness.
In the foyer, a bell went off. Vile, black and crimson rays of light shot out from the opened puzzle box. Sylvia was on her knees in pain. Faint music could be heard echoing off of the tiled walls of the foyer. Rotating pillars of wood came through the floor. The sound of the wood and metal scraping through the tiles tore into Franco’s soul. He felt rendered from the inside out as the chains attached to them started whipping about catching the humans in the foyer. Angled chains of black metal shot out from the ceiling, floor and walls. The foyer was now a web of twisted metal and hooks.
“We didn’t even open the box!” Lance pleaded to the air within the foyer. New chains shot out of the ethereal, piercing the flesh in his hands, pulling his arms up. The scream he let out was half finished when another hook shot out from behind Lance and shredded his throat. Blood bubbled up from his mouth clogging the scream.
“You didn’t open the box,” a raspy voice thundered, “and what was it last time? ‘Didn’t know what the box was.’ And yet we keep finding each other, don’t we? Perhaps you’re teasing us. Are you teasing us?” It asked through grotesquely pierced lips. “No more delays. No more teasing. Time to play.” The thing raised its arm and snapped its fingers. Three more hooked chains flew into Lance. His scream was barely audible.
Lance’s body was pulled in five different directions at once. The razor sharp hooks attached to the twisting metal links of the chains were holding him above the tiled floor. Pain wracked the shadowrunner’s body, Franco could tell. He had a full view of Lance’s face. Dark blood seeped through the armored vest he was wearing only to collect on the underside of his torso before it fell to the floor. Lance’s eyes pleaded with Franco to do something, anything. The Ork stood still behind his bulletproof glass. He could do nothing to save the shadowrunner. Entrails and bits of bone splattered the plexiglass as Lance was rendered into several pieces. Franco leaped backwards as the guts of the shadowrunner hit his bulletproof shield.
Franco studied the thing that had just disemboweled the man. Dark leather was sewn onto the thing’s body. The course leather stitching could be seen plainly. The thing turned, giving Franco a better look. It was focusing on Sylvia now.
“For God’s sake,” she exclaimed, “what in the hell do you want?” The thing smiled in response.
“That is an interesting question, Sylvia.” It responded coolly. Franco could see the miniature chains attached to its eyelids, undulating through the bone and muscle in the face to link up with the hooks piercing the creature’s lower lip. “But to rephrase, it is not ‘what in the hell do you want,’ it is ‘what does Hell want with you?’” The thing laughed. Small bells hanging off of the beast’s neck rang off as Sylvia started to cry. Streaks formed on her cheeks where the mascara was running down her face. “No tears please. It’s a waste of good suffering.”
Near the doorway, Franco witnessed the two skin jobs were spread eagle on the rotating cylinders. In front of them was another leather-clad demon whose head was tattooed with an intricate grid. Franco noticed that the intersections had jeweled pins that were sticking through the beast’s skull. The thing turned to face him and stuck out its tongue at Franco. The tattoos didn’t stop at the surface. The muscle was also lined with the grids and had the pins sticking out of it. With a light, breathy voice it called to Franco, “We have such sights to show you.” The voice was almost shrill, like an excited girl.
The leather clad demon spun the wooden cylinders faster and faster. The chains attached to each pole were cutting the opposite shadowrunner. The two had to be twins to look that much alike, Franco noted. It was a pity that they were going to die together as well. Hooks cut and flayed the flesh off of the two big men as they passed each other. The Pinhead just stood there, reveling in the amount of blood and flesh that was coming off of the two bodies. “So eager to play, so reluctant to admit it!” the Pinhead seethed with glee.
A third demon was in the opposite corner closing in on the young decker. All the fat beast would do was grunt at the near comatose teenager. Its bald head was scarred beyond belief. Dark glasses found a home on the ugly face of the thing. The Fat One was interested in Zipper’s datajacks. Chubby fingers were toying with the input from the cyberdeck. Blood was staring to run from the interface. Zipper screamed.
“Your pain will be legendary, even in Hell.” Chain-face quipped as it turned to Franco. Locked in the booth, Franco knew that it would take an immense beating to get through the armored plexiglass. What he didn’t know was if the plexiglass was enough to keep the demons out.
“Well, ya know what slick?” he asked the Chain-face. “I aint ready to go to Hell just yet. I’ve got things to do and people to see.” Franco was nearly foaming at the mouth. He didn’t know where the words came from. Just that he was comfortable with them. The demon seemed to be taken aback from his response.
“We have an eternity to know your flesh,” the Pinhead joined in, leaving the two bulking masses still chained to the twirling posts. The Fat one grunted a giggle and removed the glasses from his head. Leather binds were sewn over his eyes to keep them shut. Franco dug into his pockets trying to find something, anything that would ward the demons off. His hand happened upon the card that the Elf threw at him earlier in the night. Quick fingers bent the card in half in his pocket. A perceptible snapping came to Franco more through his fingers rather than his ears. He hoped this was the way to contact the clown.
A faint whistling could be heard above the din of chains and torment. Franco heard the familiar sounds of the Elf’s boots as he walked calmly on the linoleum. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, and then the footsteps stopped. “Now how did I end up back here?” the painted Elf asked himself. “I surely don’t remember wanting to be here. But here I am nevertheless,” he explained to no one. The Elf glanced through the foyer of the coffin hotel and his eyes widened. “I need another drink.”
Franco pounded on the bulletproof glass trying to get the Elf’s attention. He now understood the importance of the little puzzle box. It was some sort of magical juju gateway to whatever nether realm that these demons came from. Lamentation poured over the Ork for not giving the damned box over to the Elf in the first place. Spike was probably dead, and all his friends. The party in Redmond turned into a bloodbath because he sent the box there. All those people, all those deaths, on his hands, Franco should just step out of the booth and let the demons have their way with him.
“They solved the box, Franco,” a new demon started. Franco looked towards the voice. All he saw was a hooded robe and gray skin underneath; “We came.” Slender arms lifted the hood off of a bald head. Thin wisps of hair were left, but not much. Scar tissue ran all over the head of the new demon. The voice was husky, but definitely feminine. “Now you must come with us,” the She-beast taunted. Franco could see her bare feet shuffling underneath the dark robe as she was walking towards the booth. As she walked, bare knees showed themselves from within the dark confines of the robe. “Taste our pleasures,” the She-beast offered as she spread her arms out revealing her nude body underneath the robe.
Franco was stunned. The She-beast’s skin nearly glowed in the carnage that was taking place in the foyer. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster. Sweat was starting to form on his hairline. Franco knew he was going to die tonight. ‘Just as well,’ he thought, ‘I’ve been the cause of the death of so many others this night, why not me as well?’
“Because!” yelled the Elf from across the room, “It wasn’t your hands that opened the box, Franco.” The Ork’s mouth dropped open. How could this Elf clown read his thoughts?
“It is not the hands that call us Caimbeul,” the She-beast explained, “it is desire.”
“Well,” thought the Elf, “that is one way to put it.” Slender hands drew a broadsword from a sheath on his back. “But I really don’t think that these poor fellows desired death and dismemberment quite so soon,” he chuckled to the She-beast.
“We’ll tear your soul apart, Caimbeul!” the She-beast seethed. Chains launched at the painted Elf from all directions. He parried and jumped away from most of them. Franco stared as the battle was commencing. The Elf’s sword began to glow as the chains bounced off of the steel blade.
“You’re welcome to try,” he retorted, “but you’ll find out that it wouldn’t give you as much satisfaction as you think.” He winked at the She-beast. The torrent of barbed chains continued throughout the foyer of the hotel. Franco watched the Elf block the barrage of twisted unholy metal to his best efforts, there were times where the hooks sliced through the burgundy long coat leaving raised welts of blood.
There was no mirth left in the Elf’s eyes as Franco witnessed the battle. Waves of flashing light glanced off of the blackened metal of the chains. The rebounding echoes sounded like a morbid song consisting of chimes and bells. His hands were shaking so badly that he didn’t bother to stop them. Franco’s eyes ate and swallowed the macabre scene surrounding him. Pieces of entrails and much blood stained the walls and tile floor of the foyer. The slime trail left by Lance’s intestines was still on the plexiglass in front of him. His hands had a mind of their own; Franco let them wander. They found the shotgun.
Franco held the gun close to him more out of comfort than self-defense. The chains had latched into the Elf’s left leg. The Ork could see the skin bulging from the amount of pull on the chain. These demons didn’t want their prize escaping, Franco could see that clearly. Movement was becoming harder for the painted warrior to maintain with one of his legs out of commission. His sword still flared as he blocked off another volley of snaking chains.
The Fat demon was out of the picture. The scarred head had been neatly cut off from the rest of its body. Dark glasses sat askew on his bloated cheeks. That left the Elf with three of the things, all doing their damnedest to nail him with whatever they had. Franco eyed Sylvia sitting on the floor still trembling. Her face was streaked black from her tears and makeup. She was more a wreck than Franco had figured a shadowrunner should be. Sylvia was leaning most of her weight on the cybered arm while reaching out with her meat arm for the little bronze box.
The Pinhead must have sensed her movement because four chains came out of nowhere to string the shadowrunner up just has they had done with Lance. Her screams were loud. Franco tried to cover his ears but it didn’t work. He heard the screams in his soul. Zipper was leaning against the wall huddled into a little human ball. The jack at the end of his input was a bloody mess lying on the floor. The kid needed to get to a hospital. The damage was already done. Franco didn’t know much about how the melding of meat and machine worked, but it couldn’t have been good to have a piece of your nervous system just yanked out.
“You will learn to know the difference between pleasure and pain,” cooed the Pinhead to the outstretched Sylvia. “And we have all eternity to explore the pleasure of pain.” The beast was licking her face with its pinpricked tongue. Sylvia shook all over in response, further driving the hooks deeper into her flesh. Franco’s hands found the keypad for the door and opened it. The Pinhead just chuckled.
The Elf was still having problems defending himself against the assault of Chain-face and the She-beast. Franco heard sirens in the distance. ‘Great,’ he thought, ‘more bodies to throw in the fray!’
“Not this time!” Franco bellowed loudly. The Pinhead turned as the Ork pumped, cocked, and fired the shotgun. The Pinhead continued the turn and fell.
“At last!” the Elf cried out, “our Halloween Knight has arrived!” With new energy, the Elf flipped the sword around his body gathering as much light as he could with the strokes. The chain snapped with a shower of sparks as the sword bit through the black links. With four more shots Sylvia was freed of the tension that was ripping her body into pieces.
“No!” the She-beast screamed. “Her soul is ours for the taking. It was offered and we accepted,” she demanded. Her arms thrust out and sent more chains flying, this time towards the Ork. He wasn’t as fast as the Elf. The razor chains struck him in the sides. Franco frowned. Now he was mad.
“Light Bearer Industries bears no responsibility for lost or misplaced items left after your stay.” Franco informed the demon and pumped the rest of the shells into her face. The She-beast dropped like a sack.
“Well met!” the Elf cheered. “Well said!” Chain-face was still trying to get at the Elf. Chains ripped up from the floor and the ceiling in vain. The clown dodged the oncoming metallic snakes and picked up the bronze box.
“We’ve waited long for you, Caimbeul. You will be astounded at the sights that you will see. We do have such sights to show you.” The Elf’s body moved too quickly to be ensnared by the warping reality around him. Franco’s sides felt like they were being pulled out from the inside. A burning started in his sternum. He cried out in pain.
“Here!” the Elf cried out to him as he tossed the Ork the puzzle box, “Work your magic Halloween Knight!” The barely conscious Ork felt the box hit him in the chest. The cool metal screamed to him. His right hand dropped the shotgun and grabbed for the already falling etched cube. It fell into the palm of his hand without effort.
The patterns called to him. They spoke their own language. It was if the box was telling him which sections to turn. The triangular piece, then press on the circle, rotate just so. The bronze metal was no longer cool. It burned the tender flesh on his fingertips. Franco shook his head to remove the sweat stinging his eyes. His hands were locked in their own combat with the puzzle box. All at once, it flew out of Franco’s hands and landed on the floor. A small ring-shaped piece lifted, rotated and then declined of its own accord. Screeching tires could be heard from the street outside. It was over. Franco dropped to the ground as the chains and the gore of the carnage disappeared.
Hobbling over, the Elf grabbed the bronze puzzle box. He stared at it for a while, pondering the thing. “Happy Halloween,” he finally said.
“What now?” said the Ork.
“You go to the hospital, and I disappear.” Franco watched the Elf fade from existence as the sliding doors opened up in front of the LoneStar patrolmen.
“Are you OK!?” one of them asked Franco.
“I quit,” muttered Franco, “the hospitality industry is just too fragging weird on Halloween.”
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