FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

"You couldn't've barged in while my buddy was still here?"

Two samurai emerged from the kicked-in wall. Both wore elegant kimonos, and wielded four swords between them.

Two samurai.

Four swords.

Unless the Kage Manor doubled as a Kabuki theater or cosplay meet-up, that could've only meant one thing.

"It's you we want," the male tiger said, tossing his coat aside. The woman hastily caught it before it landed on any of the dead guards, or the growing, red puddles beneath them. "Our Masters are fighting upstairs as we speak. You a betting man, bear? My money's on the otter that can tie his shoes."

"I agree," Ed said, pacing right. "Masamura Kage can’t tie shit without a head."

"Your insolence rivals your repugnant stench," the woman said. Both tigers now approached his left flank.

Ed ignored her provocation. He’d bathed with soap the other morning—even borrowed Stowhart’s deodorant! No, he had more important things to worry about now.

Split them up, Masamune's voice, from many years ago, echoed in his mind.

How? a younger Ed asked.

Nobody's wholly synchronized with one another. Aspirations differ. Personalities clash. Th'tightest bonds don't pull far before they snap.

No more fortune cookies for you, old man.

Present day Ed gripped his axes tightly. "So, this is how Masamura Kage's apprentices..."

"Meikurichi," the woman said, "of the Six Demonic Petals of the Twin Lotus."

"Rinkachi," the male said. "Same club."

"Right. So this is how Masamura Kage's apprentices, Meikurichi and Rinkachi, fight their opponents? Hidin' in th'shadows, jumpin' people two ta one?"

"Pouncing," Rinkachi corrected. "Tigers pounce."

"Sounds more like rat bastard behavior t’me.”

"The criminal vagabond speaks of honorable tactics, brother," Meikurichi laughed dryly. She'd since found a dry spot to place Rinkachi's folded coat, and now drew her katana. The unsheathing blade's spirant hiss mirrored the serpentine qualities of its wielder's smile.

"They always do when they're about to lose, Sis." Rinkachi said, his fanged grin a homogenous show of malice as he drew his swords.

Ed stood in place, widening his stance.

The siblings stopped too, glaring.

The path between their glares crackled with malice the way an egg fries on scorched asphalt. A heavy quiet weighed down the destroyed room, threatening to swallow the whole manor into its singularity. It was the perfect stand-off vibe. All they were missing were tumbleweeds, assuming helmets rolling off the heads of deceased guards didn’t count.

"But!" Rinkachi abruptly said, thrusting a finger outward, "let me fight him one on one first. Mano a Mano."

"Rin," Meikurichi began in a tone that’d flash freeze a bonfire, "don't allow pride to sully your judgement."

Ignoring her, Rinkachi stepped forward and loosened his kimono so his bare chest became exposed. "The last time I had any fun was sparring with Lord Muramasa's bodyguard. Besides, you wouldn't wanna get your pretty kimono dirty, tussling with this wild animal, would you?"

His sister scowled, but relented.

Rinkachi turned back to Ed to look him up and down. He raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"Where are your swords?"

Ed turned his axes with their engraved sides shown. Get Fucked, Or Else. A warning so few of his enemies heeded.

"These are all I need."

Rinkachi laughed. "You're a cool dude..."

"Ed."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"You're a cool dude, 'Ed'. I’ll have the taxidermist make a nice trophy with your head."

"Fraternizing with the enemey," Meikurichi sighed behind them.

"Let's get this over with. Sis's getting pissed."

Ed barely saw Rinkachi’s pounce before blocking his sword with one axe, their colliding weapons spitting white sparks at his throat. He swung his other axe, intercepting Rinkachi’s second strike in another screeching, metallic clash.

They both stepped back, disengaging as swiftly as they’d met.

"You're faster than you look," Rinkachi said, snarling.

"I take my time when it counts," Ed replied.

The tiger narrowed his eyes.

"In bed," Ed explained. "It's a sex joke."

"Ooooooh! Ha! You're a fucking idiot."

"I try."

"So will I, it seems. Let's see if you block this."

Rinkachi sheathed his swords with a twirling flourish, then grasped both hilts, left hand taking the left sword, right taking right. Ed couldn’t remember every Kage form’s name, but he recognized this one. It specialized in low-angle strikes aimed at the opponent's mid-section and under. Goose Flower Pruning. Or was it Hawk Pruning Petals? Anyway, it was the perfect stance for big, dumb brutes like him. In another life, Ed would’ve rushed in with a battle cry and an axe looking to acquaint itself with the tiger’s medulla oblongata. Rinkachi would’ve sidestepped his swing, drawn and attacked with both swords in the same instant, then sheathed them with a smug grin, leaving Ed wearing his intestines like so many loose belts. In this life, Ed crouched low, axes held out at an inward slant. This one was called…uhhh…

"Wolverine's Grimace," Rinkachi said, contemplatively.

"Yes," Ed agreed, stone-faced.

"The fuck's that stance supposed to do?"

"Kill you, preferably."

Both men dashed forward.

Rinkachi drew and slashed his left katana at Ed's belly, who swung his axe to knock it off course with a tinny clang. Ed braced to parry Rinkachi’s right katana, nearly missing the moment where the tiger’d ducked and rolled between his legs. The sword shot from its sheath like a cobra from its burrow as Rinkachi turned and slashed at his kneepits. The blade drew a red streak across the backs of Ed’s thighs as he spun around, barely saving his legs as he swung both axes again. He about-faced with his attack, slicing empty air after Rinkachi’d followed his movements to stay behind him. Ed staggered, Rinkachi’s malicious sneer filling the slow gaze over his shoulder, milliseconds before the slash that’d slice through his backpack and deep beneath his shoulder blades connected.

Then, it did.

Ed bent backwards with a reflexive cry as sharp as the sword cutting him. He barely felt it. What he then believed was his spine fell away like a heavy branch snipped by sturdy shears.

It all spilled from his sliced bag, onto the red-stained tatami mats between them. Not blood or flesh or bone. This was worse. Far, far worse.

"Are those...video games?" Meikurichi said with disgust normally reserved for hair in her tea.

"They were," Rinkachi said, eyebrows raised. "Hope your saves are in the cloud."

"Saves? Cloud?" Meikurichi’s voice was a subdued murmur as it swam through the hardening concrete of Ed’s rage. His already horrified gaze widened at the destroyed games on the ground. He breathed sharply through clenched fangs, as though taking a kidney blow from a battering ram.

"The cloud preserves game files without a memory card, or external storage," Rinkachi explained while steam rose above Ed's shoulders.

"How could cards have saved his games? Are they some kind of talisman?"

"They're for data. Like USB sticks, or cogwheel modifiers from Overworld catalogs,” Rinkachi said, then thumbed his chest proudly, "I've got twelve of them!"

Behind them, air began a slow whirl around Ed. Instead of noticing this and bracing for the freight train about to run them over, Meikurichi sighed at the pile of sliced disks and jewel cases by her brother’s feet.

"Honestly, if you trained instead of wasting time with these silly—"

Rinkachi turned and ducked backwards, dodging Or Else’s swing at his neck. He’d anticipated Ed’s attack through miniscule changes on Meikurichi’s face when she saw him coming, and moved before her expression finished its shift from annoyed to dreadful. Only a Twin Lotus Master, or a younger brother conditioned to read his sister’s stoney face to gauge how much trouble he was in, could’ve reacted this way.

A red, hateful aura encased Or Else with a sound like a turntable jockeyed by metal claws, gouging Rinkachi’s cheek as he avoided its actual blade. He touched the wound and recoiled, wincing. It burned like a bonfire doused with oil, crackling on his face until the residual energies dissipated moments later.

“He can use aura!” Rinkachi exclaimed.

Any other time, Ed would’ve sneered at this supposed revelation, maybe even drop a witty one-liner or two. Now, the only things dropping out of his mouth were rabid waves of spittle.

Masamune neither taught him how to properly channel his aura nor gave him a reason to believe he knew anything about it, outside of people using the word to describe his scent after an eventful week without soap. They never meditated by gentle streams. Never talked about pressure points or chakra veins. The only holy temples they ever visited were ones that decided food carts weren’t sacrilege. Like with their physical training, he allowed Ed to discover things on his own, assured in the knowledge he’d’ve consulted him if he really needed help.

He never did.

If it was weird to sometimes black out and wake up surrounded by bodies in more pieces than a china shop after an earthquake, it was because he couldn’t call upon this rage-power at will like a proper barbarian. Warriors from his clan could. Papa and his brothers could. Ed couldn’t. He’d’ve sooner gargled thumbtacks doused in hot sauce than consult the old man over this ineptitude.

Elsewhere, Lain sensed Ed's aura the way one notices lit dynamite thrown into a classroom but, like the students in this analogy, was too busy running for his life to wonder where it’d come from.

The siblings stood in awe as fiery steam rippled around Ed. His dilated pupils bobbed wildly on his red glare. Abs Masamune could’ve only dreamed of clenched on his gut, tighter than a white-knuckled fist. Both arms and legs competed to see which would grow wider as they bulged in unison. It all culminated around the cinder block of testosterone that was once his penis. Fully erect, it stretched his thong so taut you could see its undulating veins beneath the staining fabric.

"Kill you...! KILL YOOOOOU...!!!" Ed snarled as he stomped forward, a manic junkie riding his strongest hit of crack cocaine yet. Then, almost faster than either sibling could’ve discerned, he sprang toward them.

Rinkachi crossed his swords above his head on pure instinct, catching Get Fucked in their joined groove before it split his skull like a watermelon. Their metallic clash wailed in his ears, followed by an internal barrage of brittle pops as Ed’s continued push forced Rinkachi onto a knee. Just when his leg threatened to grind itself to dust under this massive weight, the bear spun left and swung Or Else at his face.

Holy shit, he’s even faster now!

He jumped away, dodging the axe and its sharp aura while raising his swords for a counter attack, only to land heel first on a severed leg behind him. Stumbling backwards, Rinkachi was completely open as Ed lunged at him again, an ursine eclipse blotting out any hope of victory.

Tiny bells jingled before another tinny CLANG! reverberated around the destroyed room.

Ed rebounded as though he’d run face first into a wall, a sword-wielding wall that wore a pristine kimono and a stare that gave glaciers the chills. Meikurichi, positioned immovably between him and her prone brother, watched as the disarmed Get Fucked fell with a clatter behind Ed. He blinked hard, the blunt denial raining coldly over his moshpit of rage. Awareness, startled out of bed, gratefully found its venue mostly intact as he groggily backed away.

Meikurichi watched his heel nudge the fallen axe. He bent clumsily to pick it up, leaving himself wide open. Instinct dictated she remain cautious rather than attack him unawares, an excuse germophobia eagerly latched onto. She’d only clashed with him for a split second and could still taste his abominable funk, like stale jalapeno chips on long, soapless hikes, through her nose.

Rinkachi stood behind her, snarling. "Why did you interfere?"

"To save your life," she said. "You're welcome."

“He got lucky," Rinkachi snapped, turning toward Ed. "Tell her you got lucky, if you aren’t an honorless fuck!”

Ed blinked, their deathly duel apparently paused in wait of his answer. While his parents never fought (Papa joked about not bringing work home, especially since Mama knew where he kept his knives) he knew a sibling feud when he saw one. Rinkachi, a hulk of feline genetics, seemingly would’ve preferred his sister watch his face getting turned into a chopping block if it meant his pride stayed unmarred. It was almost adorable, in a way.

He considered this.

Whatever’d just happened, he probably HAD gotten lucky. More pertinently, he was also an honorless fuck.

2

Meikurichi’s parents' execution was the second biggest break of her life. Rinkachi could barely walk at the time. He didn’t remember them, and she never brought them up. Some anxious, traumatized children see their parents’ dying faces in their worst nightmares after witnessing their tragic deaths. The memory of Meikurichi’s hanging parents lounged in the VIP room of her mind, a place she revisited to feel warm and fuzzy.

From then on, it’d been just her and Rinkachi. She cut his hair. She combed out his fleas. She was more of a mother to him than theirs was to her which, considering her competition’d recently become someone’s compost, wasn’t hard. It sucked. Her favorite heroines didn’t play mommy for some doughy-eyed imbecile, the ones that kept being badass after their introductions and didn’t need saving from said dumb male leads. They had things. Make-up. Cool adventures. Superpowers. Penthouse suites with butlers named Jeeves and champagne and all the tubs of icecream they could eat. All she had was Rinkachi. At least a ball and chain didn’t need to be changed. But he was HER ball and chain, a hungry one. She’d already gotten used to stealing to feed herself before the execution, but now Rin was her responsibility. They say money can't buy happiness, but it bought food. That’s as close as a street urchin like her could get.

Even after Rin became old enough to help, she never let him.

Getting caught red-handed in High Lotus Village wasn't a big deal—after the bleeding stopped. You could spot a pickpocket and, conversely, how bad at it they were by counting their remaining appendages. Years later, Meikurichi still had all of her hands, fingers, toes, feet, arms, legs, and even both her ears, which she didn’t think anyone would wanna chop off before meeting that one elephant kid.

Point being, Meikurichi was the best. Most people wouldn’t brag about reaching into fat merchants’ sweaty pockets as they passed, but most people had A/Cs and plumbing. Pride welled in the holey bucket of her heart for the first time. If she was gonna be a street rat, she’d be even better than the ones with long tails and gnarly whiskers.

This determination, as demonstrated on the day of her biggest break, made her bold.

She’d’ve kept being the best feline street rat if she hadn’t fucked up that day. Masamura Kage never would’ve snatched her hand out of his pocket, and out of this life of toiling for scraps. She'd've never worn anything nicer than her stained burlap shirts. She'd've never become his apprentice.

Masamura Kage could've had his bodyguards kill her on the spot. He could've drawn his sword to do it himself, right in the middle of the hushed market. He could've broken out into a whimsical song and dance routine, forcing everyone present to sing along under threat of execution, and in many alternate universes, some admittedly stranger than others, he did.

In this one, he said, "That was slick. What's your name?"

Meikurichi told him.

Her dog-eared paperbacks taught her how to spot a life-changing hook.

In many ways, life became even harder. It didn’t matter. She’d already fixed her track on the rollercoaster of fate. If it took a loop or bend she didn’t like, she’d turn it to her liking, no matter what it took. Anything for Rinkachi. He was all she had. She knew him like the weird mole between her middle and forefinger. It was why, in the present, she instantly knew Ed’s answer would’ve made Rin shout—

3

"You lying fuck!"

“I had ya dead to rights,” Ed shrugged. “I knew that ‘one on one’ crap was bullshit, but I didn’t think she’d swoop in t’save her widdle brudder so soon.”

Branch-thick cords stood out on Rinkachi’s neck.

"Don't listen to him," Meikurichi said, watching Ed. "He's goading you."

"Listen to the woman, Rin. She did save your life."

Meikurichi raised her hand, and Rinkachi halted behind it like a charging elephant before a squeaking mouse.

"I've indulged your infantile pride long enough. We’re here to defend Lord Masamura" she said, glaring cooly over her shoulder.

Rinkachi, first glaring into his sister’s steely gaze, eventually looked away. “You’re right,” he said. “For Lord Masamura.”

"I'll go in front," she said, facing Ed and flowing into a low, crouching stance. After another moment, breathing deeply, Rinkachi assumed his stance behind her. Holding her swords upright, his parallel with her’s, the siblings faced Ed, standing in a formation like jigsaw pieces locking into place. It reminded Ed of sentai rangers combining their weapons. In a less dire situation, namely if he wasn’t the monster of the week aimed down in their sights, he might’ve laughed.

One's always a step out of place, a bygone Masamune echoed in his mind.

Cuz even if th’gap's tight like a virgin, one's always better than th'other. Th'weaker one'll dip in and outta synch cuz they suck, and th'better one'll misstep to cover 'em. These openings'll get tinier 'n tinier th'better the pair is, but they're there. Kill th'weaker one first.

Ain't it smarter t'kill th'stronger one first? A younger Ed'd asked. Masamune shook his head.

A chain’s only as strong as its weakest link. If one of ‘em drops, th’other ain’t too far behind. Findin’ th’weak link’s th’hard part.

Ed readied his axes. Rinkachi was obviously the physically stronger fighter while Meikurichi was faster. He never saw her move to deflect his killing blow. Hell, if she weren’t so focused on saving her hothead brother, she could’ve diced him up and let him walk himself into pieces before he even realized she’d killed him.

The tigers dashed forward as he considered this.

Ed side-stepped Meikurichi's forward thrust and parried Rinkachi’s horizontal slash at the same time. The siblings launched another synchrony of blows, Rinkachi’s coming from overhead while Meikurichi swung from below. There weren’t any openings, no gaps in their advance for Ed to exploit. He blocked or parried each incoming strike, all the while forced backwards by their unending assault.

Their colliding steel rebounded with tinny yowls, tearing nearby walls and furniture apart like the prey of an invisible beast. Each steely impact unleashed a flurry of sparks, accompanied by an orchestra of sharp twangs. Tigers bobbed in and out of Ed’s view, striking, prodding for an opening, wearing him down. Somehow, Ed kept up. Instinct and twitch reflexes kept him alive where conscious thought would’ve sent him hurtling head first into their lethal bender, and out the other end looking like Three Worlds' largest, bloodiest orange peel.

Both sides disengaged after another reverberating clash.

A deep wound ran across Ed’s heaving chest. He’d been stabbed in the thigh and through his shoulder, both screaming for attention. A piece of his right ear lay by his feet like shriveled bacon. Many more wounds stood on a miles long line of injuries, riled and impatient to be noticed. He’d survived the blender, but felt held together by staples and prayers.

The tigers insides, meanwhile, were comfortably intact. He hadn’t so much as scratched either of them.

Meikurichi stepped in front of Rinkachi. Looking as pristine as two people could while turning a man into mincemeat, they interlocked their swords again, their blades whistling into place. Twin Lotus. The perfect offense. Perfect defense.

Fuck that.

Ed crossed his arms over his chest, placing both axes over his shoulders. If he couldn't find an opening, he'd make one himself.

Moonlight Cleave (he remembered the Common name for this one at least), a slashing stance for engaging multiple advancing enemies. Ed bent his knees, widening his posture.

Rinkachi snorted. Meikurichi didn’t react, but they both had similar thoughts. One last bull-headed attack, like a stuck pig who refused to die (and become tasty barbeque, but Meikurichi’s train of thought didn’t go that far).

All that separated them were tense moments and severed body parts, whose owners learned another meaning for "severance package" in their final moments. Ed breathed foul, tacky air, like he’d licked the adhesive side of gauze. Nerves blared their sirens in his ears, a final call to his common sense, whose line he’d cut ages ago.

Ed attacked first and Meikirichi met him by thrusting both kanatas at him. He’d parry or dodge. Either way, it’d leave him open for Rinkachi’s and, subsequently, her flank attack. This was it. Now, it was only a matter of time until…

He continued running into her swords, arms and axes still crossed. Both blades dug through his sides until, their hilts pressed to his gut, they sprouted from his back like two crimson blossoms. The charge continued. Ed bulldozed over her, the ursine equivalent of a runaway train, and swung his axes at an utterly flabbergasted Rinkachi's face.

4

Long ago in High Lotus Village, two orphans, a boy and a girl, sat on a dusty curb. A whole gamut of colorful travelers: merchants, guides, adventurers turned away from inns for tracking blood, funneled through the village’s seaside gate in front of them. This trampled vein, like an artery clogged by mobs of cholesterol, led directly to the Wilds. It was a place as equidistantly foreign to the children as the inside of a stocked pantry. It was vast, dangerous…wild...not the pantry (unless hot peppers and spoiled milk were involved), but the untamed jungles surrounding the coastal village.

Everyone wanted to be there.

Out there, travelers endured bush-choked paths prowled by mangy savages. Wizards and warlocks and mages erected big towers behind dense thickets, where they conducted wicked magical experiments. Hedonistic sex maniacs erected things in the Wilds too, but they didn't fit as neatly into the orphans’ jigsaw of ominous wonder.

Like a pantry, the Wilds were so close, yet so, so far away. For one of them, sneaking onto a passing cart to invade that world of adventure would’ve been easy. The girl knew she was quiet enough to hide as far as the next town, or village, or wherever those long, twisty roads wound up spitting her out. Her brother, her slow, clumsy brother, unaware of her thoughts, offered the rest of his lollipop. She’d bought it for him with the change she stole that morning. It used to be a big, rainbow-colored swirl. Now it was a melted crescent moon, covered in enough drool to drown a beetle.

Rinkachi smiled broadly at her.

Meikurichi took it, licking whatever dry spots she could find.

5

Meikurichi fell onto crimson-stained tatami mats, time crawling as the bear swung his axes and Rinkachi flipped backwards. He performed a one-handed spring, then landed on his feet.

It flew overhead, flipping end over end before hitting the ground behind him with a pitiful splat.

"Ha! That was close," Rinkachi said. His jaw twitched. He dropped his swords. A dark fluid spilled down his face, painting his vision red. Meikurichi screamed as he reached up and touched something soft and squishy above his eyebrows. That wasn’t odd. She was always upset about something. Although, usually he didn’t have to strain to hear her.

Don't touch it, she’d said.

Rinkachi snorted.

When he was a boy, he almost picked up what he'd thought was a pile of melted chocolate on the side of the road. Her screams now, shrill, teetering between horror and disgust, reminded him of back then.

"Don't worry, Sis, I was gonna share!" he said, miming his younger self, cackling wistfully.

Afterward, Rinkachi dropped dead beside his severed scalp.

6

Ed ate many things. Meat. Edibles. His words after online 1v1s. He might’ve sucked a few dicks once, while white girl wasted and going through a phase. Speaking of sucking, he sucked at eating pain. Now, he barely endured two katanas skewering his gut, managing the way he did those bygone cocks: swallowing whole, taking deep breaths, and ignoring the foul taste bubbling up in his throat.

The woman, Meikurichi, gave his eardrums a taste of what his stomach was going through with an echoing shriek. Pristine hair, tarnished, kimono, begrimed, her bells smashed together as she darted toward Rinkachi. She stood beside him briefly, then dropped to her knees.

"Get up," she cooed, shaking his broad shoulders the way she might’ve woken him up on a lovely morning, eons ago. Rinkachi, his countenance stretched by his last smirk, didn't respond.

She shook him harder.

"Get up. Get up," she said.

"Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up! It's time to wake up, Rin. Wake up, Rin. Rin. Rin. Rin. Rin."

Ed tiptoed backwards, toward the hallway door. His heel sent someone’s helmet clattering aside.

Meikurichi whirled, her face twisted with the demonic snarl of a mother bear who caught her cub’s fingers in her freshly baked pie. Ed, out of pure coincidence, froze.

"Don't touch him!" she shrieked. "You disgusting, Godless freak! Don't touch him! You've hurt him! You...You...You've hurt him! He needs to rest! Leave him alone!"

Rinkachi’s brains spilled onto her lap when she clutched it. It was like she upturned a bowl of raw ground beef all over herself and lathered it in. Ed’s stomach lurched, which made him cough blood, which made his stomach lurch again.

A sensible person, faced with a similar situation, might’ve shut up in their befuddled terror. Said person probably hadn’t killed a whole football division of guys that day, nor were they likely queasy from blood-loss. Ed thought he was pretty sensible. A sensible person wouldn't’ve told him he was sensible the way a butcher is a kind of surgeon, or a university dean a type of therapist, because they were sensible enough to not risk him understanding the joke.

"Actually," Ed began, "I worship th'Mettled Warlord."

Meikurichi stared through him.

"Th'ursine God of War, Conflict, and Inebriation," Ed continued. "Papa was th'village chief, 'n priest of our local sect."

The room became so quiet that, from some other, dryer, unmarred room, a wall clock’s monotonous ticks could be heard.

Meikurichi’s screech played on Ed’s eardrums with pickaxes instead of sticks. She pounced, claws and fangs and enough unrestrained hatred to make a genocidal dictator look benevolent bared. Ed woozily sidestepped her and cleaved her back with his axe. Blood misted his face. Her screech became a hitched wail as she stumbled forward, then fell in a motionless heap.

A distant wall clock resumed ticking.

It all hit him at once. Exhaustion. Pain. The dreadful certainty that he’d have to visit GameStock, for some reason, versus the grim realization that he’d never stand on line in one of those fucking normie cesspits again. He leaned against a wall, shouted when it pushed against the blades sticking out of his back, and sat down instead.

Normally, Ed would shut his eyes, slump over, and bleed out. He'd go straight to Hell. His entire family, clan, and generations of ancestors would welcome him uproariously. He'd meet the Mettled Warlord, who'd've said, "Holy fuck, dude. What the Hell's your problem? Haha, get it?" Ed would laugh politely, then receive his eternal reward for being such a good sport about the whole tragic-backstory-and-gruesome-demise thing.

It would’ve been real.

Or, maybe a fever dream. One last matinee before his fading consciousness shut off the lights, locked the doors, and it stepped out into oblivion.

That wouldn't've been as fun.

Equally unfun, yet paradoxically better for his health, was how the wall behind him blew up in a flaming burst.