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Violent Lives

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It was Wendesday afternoon, in the year of our Lord: Mighty Hastur, 1987. Rick found himself standing and gazing at himself in the bathroom mirror of a shitty motel somewhere on the outskirts of Sanostee, New Mexico. The mirror was freshly cleaned, and by that I mean was he smeared away a bit of the filth that covered it with a bit of rag that he had long ago fashioned from one of Stan’s old shirts that their misadventures had quickly rendered useless as a garment. He looked upon the “clean” surface of the mirror. He studied his face in the manner in which an artist might study the subject of a painting. He could see age beginning to set in. He saw how his face had begun to sag, and how the hair at his temples that was once as black as the night itself were turning a dull pewter shade of grey.

Christ. He thought to himself. I’m beginning to look like a damn geezer.

He chuckled a bit to himself for a second. It was a nice little humouous pause before bitter reality gave him a firm slap to the back of his head.

His thoughts were interuppted by a violent banging upon the door to the motel room. He quickly, but quietly exited the bathroom of the motel. Near the door he eyed the loves of his life: Diane and Stan as they cuddled kinda close to one another as they slept, with his daughter Beth curled up close to her mother as they slept. Jesus, these guys can sleep through anything. He quickly stepped over to the door and piered into the peep-hole.

On the other side of the door stood a tall, shaved headed, hulking figure of a man. He was dressed in a ratty pair of jeans, and an unbuttoned leather vest, which served to only expose his thin, blonde body hair that barely covered his intense white supremcist tattoos. Rick quickly fell back.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!”, he began to rush around the motel looking for little bits of whatever to aid him in whatever battle that might take place. All the while the brute of a man continued his violent knocking.

“I know yer in there Sanchez, you scrawny little spic! C’mon out and take what yer owed, ‘fore I have to break this damn door down and skin you, yer faggy friend, yer beard, and that lil mistake’a yers!”

Rick fought the urge to shout, “C’mon in you fucking prick, I don’t have all day.” but then figured that it night not bode well for him if he were to put his daughter in harm’s way. He continued searching for the parts that he needed, he made quick calculations in his head as he fiddled around with bits of machine and chemicals. He quickly finished and ran over to Beth, Stan, and Diane.

“H-hey, hey. Wake up, there’s a fuckin’ nazi at the door, we gotta get the lead out.”

“Whuh? What’s a goin’ on ?” said Stan through a sleep induced haze.

“Rick. Language, I don’t want Beth to say that kinda stuff.”

Rick groaned in frustration, “Babe, w-we kinda have bigger fish to fry than that. There, there’s a damn nazi at the door and I’m pretty sure he could rip through it like it’s balsa wood. So forgive my “foul” language, but we have to get out of here, or we will die!”

“Okay, geez. Don’t be so snippy.”

Rick took his device and aimed it at the nearest wall.

“No, no. I’m not goin’ through that.”, said Stan as he picked up and cradled Beth in his arms as she slept.

“Stanley, I really don’t think we have a choice. We pi...angered... those nazis back in Sarasota, now it looks like they’re out for blood. It’s not really the type of thing we should be debating right now.”

“No, the things untested. Last night Rick told me about one of him that got cubed by one’a those things.”

“Jesus, Stan. Babe. I-I need you to trust me, I-I’ve ran the calculations, we’re good.”

The nazi finally busted down the door, armed only with a massive baseball bat which had multiple carptenter nails and razor blades imbedded in it’s body.

“I’ve finallyf found you ya little snake. C’mere.”

“Okay, let’s fucking go I guess.”, Stan said and he lept into the portal followed by Rick and Diane.

Oskar, the nazi was left in a destroyed motel room. Completly fucking dumbfounded, and would later be gunned down by police officers when they found him running buck naked through the town shouting, “I am Christ!” His nephew would later become the mayor of Sanostee.