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The Laboratory; I'm sorry Haner, he can't be stopped.
Topic Started: Oct 4 2011, 06:46 PM (187 Views)
Judas Vant
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Spanish Goat
There were days when Judas woke up and decided he needed something to do. The endless possibilities that lay before him were in no way interesting to him, and the house he usually elected to remain holed up in seemed more like a prison to him than it did an actual home.

On those days, his own mind worked against him in a way that made it absolute agony to roam the hallways by himself and instead of opening his front doors and trying to invite everyone over, moody and distant he didn’t want people trying to impress him or fawning over him like he usually did.

And there was only one answer for him.

Megan.

The problem was though when he was off, she was off and she would refuse to come and see him most of the time. The only way he could get to her was to track her down, and nine times out of then that was harder than one would assume. He didn’t have her address, she would not provide him with that or show him where she lived so he couldn’t ever go to her house to find her.

Well. He hadn’t been able to do that.

Suddenly he was in possession of something that made him more powerful than he probably should have been, Megan could no longer hide from him. He had Megan’s address now, punched into the GPS on the dashboard of his car, and he had gotten it through a careless action in the office; the receptionist leaving a file open on the computer while he was in the room. Giving him enough time to write down the address, and even peruse Megan’s emergency contact information. He now had not only Kit’s phone number, but Megan’s father’s, and some guy named Jack.

He would keep that all secret though. He had already thought through just what he would tell her when she demanded to know just how he knew where she lived.

He was surprised when he pulled up in front of her house. It was in an apartment complex, it wasn’t a house – how did she not own her own house? She got paid enough he would have assumed, that was something he didn’t know about her, and had never really thought about but now that he saw where she lived he was suddenly very curious. Apartments seemed… Third world to Judas now that he had his own twelve bedroom castle, and he had always imagined Kitten living in a two level house with secret rooms and a laboratory in her basement where she went crazy with her science.

The fact that she didn’t was… Well, wrong.

He parked in the lot, glancing around as he pulled his expensive, sleek black model in among all of the more common things. Cars that probably had French fries in the seats, garbage in the floor boards and problems people couldn’t afford to fix, unlike his car which money allowed him to maintain to a near factory quality level.

Sliding out he didn’t do what anyone with a car like that should have done, so immune to the idea of robberies that locking the car didn’t cross his mind anymore. He prowled from the vehicle to the building, glancing around before he entered and peered up the stairs. The building smelled a little musty, well lived in – typical for apartment buildings – but, as was previously stated, it seemed poverish to Judas and the fact that Megan Haner, his assistant lived here appalled him.

He thumped up the stairs, shifting his car keys into his pocket and surveying the cheap carpet on the stairs, the plain white walls with the brightly colored paintings that were obviously supposed to spice the building up but did so terribly. A chandelier hung over the landing, wrought iron and cheap to his discerning eye, he would not admit that it lit the area up well and looked nice. He looked from door to door, with the stylized black letters on the doors. This level only went to the letter ‘M’, and he needed to find ‘X’ and he was disgusted by the fact that building lacked an elevator (so far as he had observed).

There was the sound of music colliding with voices from other apartments, on all floors and when he hit the third floor a door banged open and two young girls broke out of the confines of their home. When they saw him, they faltered in their race, regarding him like some alien before they tore across the landing, their feet slapping and pounding so loud that he knew the chandelier on the first level was shuddering. They screamed, terrorizing one another in a way he had never realized little girls did and the taller of the two slapped the wall, a tone sounded and Judas was surprised when a set of doors slid open, and they raced into the elevator that the building did have and he had simply missed.

He didn’t attempt to get into the elevator with them, as they set on one another in the elevator after hitting each of the buttons, and leaning against the wall. The last he saw of them, as he passed across the landing and the doors closed was hands flying and slapping at one another, laughter closed off as the doors hummed shut.

The trip up the next flight of stairs was less eventful, and when he finally came to the last landing he was a little breathless and that pissed him off. He glanced towards the elevator doors, reminding himself he would take them the next time and then his eyes found that brand, the letter “X” across the quiet, innocent door that he knew she was behind.

After a moment to observe the door, as if trying to find something not normal about it he stepped forward and smacked his fist against it three times, leaning forward to listen to what might have been going on inside of it. He stepped out of the way of the peep hole then, leaning against the wall between door X and door Y, getting his phone out of his pocket as he waited for Megan to answer her boring apartment door.
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Megan Haner
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She had been waiting six weeks.

Six weeks, she’d been waiting for the package to arrive. One twenty-foot intact snake skin shed from a zoo in Cincinnati with eye caps. Not only had they sold her the shed, but they had been inclined to send her a gift as well for her generous donation…and seeing as she wasn’t one for t-shirts and messenger bags, Megan Haner had begged for their biological trash. Several quills discarded by their resident porcupine, the clefted shells of cloven heels left behind by their rare Sitatunga Antelope, a small jar of pregnant giraffe urine (one of the few species without the undesirably high concentrations of various inorganic salts like that pesky sodium chloride), and a bouquet (though truly it was just a bag) of 150 different ‘non-native’ species of bird feathers.

The snake skin was on its way, according to the shipping liaison. The other organic materials were being collected, had been collected, and were being cleared and labeled to be shipped. She’d paid their shipping- in fact she’d tried to pay for the gift herself, considering it’s highly unusual nature, but the zoo had been more than happy to hand over the waste that would have otherwise been simply tossed out. For a donation of her size, for a donation of that amount…truth be told, they should have built a bench shaped like a Dik Dik with her name carved in the seat.

She’d rather have the giraffe urine.

Looking up from the magazine slash journal in her lap, Science Weekly, she furrowed her brow and listened intently to the sounds in the hallway of her apartment. The girls downstairs were playing, she could hear their laughter and their thundering footsteps. Any minute now there would come the call from- yep…

You are lucky this isn’t a tenancy at sufferance establishment!” came Mrs. Winfred Baker’s totalitarian screech. She could hear the sound of a little dog barking loudly after that cry into an open hallway, a knock on her door, the usual sounds that followed the girls getting home from school and their-

Wait.

A knock on her door?

That wasn’t usual, was it? A knock on her door. Who could it…

A knock on her door.

A knock on her door! Six weeks! The giraffe urine!

Megan crawled across the futon on her hands and knees, grappling at the cushions until she could throw her leg over the side and scramble for the door. “I’m coming!” she shouted, and it was with a tightening fear she imagined the thin walls were suddenly ten feet thick. What if he couldn’t hear her? What if he left before she could answer the door? That jar was important! That snakeskin was essential. She couldn’t risk him running off with it to goodness knows where to do whatever people do with unclaimed mail.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” she shouted again, nearly tripping (stubbing her toe instead) over a pile of books beside the door.

But that could wait. For porcupine quills and exotic bird molt, the pain now lancing up her shin could wait.

She grabbed the handle, excitement rising in her like microwaved marshmellows. Just on the other side of this door was the delivery man. Brown shorts, a brown shirt, probably bald and with a razor thin smile that always cut her heart wide open. Gosh she liked the delivery man. He was always so nice, so prompt, so friendly. He always made her day. He was just so likable..maybe it was the fact he always came baring gifts..?

She thought she finally understood Kit’s obsessive lust for the UPZ uniforms. They were always such wonderful people.

Megan unlocked the lock, pulled the door back over her higher-than-it-should-be carpet (which offered as much resistance as it could), and she shoved her hip against it with a grin as she began speaking. “Oh god you have no idea how long I’ve been…” she stopped.

No one was there.

What.

Did he leave already?! That was barely even one knock!

Her heart was throbbing in her throat at the idea that the package or packages MIGHT be delivered to the post office and left for her to pick up. Or, worst case scenario, stolen or discarded on the side of the road somewhere –all the precious biological matter given so willingly by those wonderful animals…—oh no, she wasn’t gonna let him get away with that.

She threw herself out of her own open door, leaving it wide open and unattended to race for the banister. Hitting the railing at nearly a run, she almost vaulted over it and the cheap metal bars wobbled where they stood at her impact. She looked over, hair falling in curtains to dangle over the abyss. Down two floors, playing on the railing, were the girls.

“Don’t let him get away!” she shouted to their bewildered faces. “Is he down there? The mailman did he- where’s the mailman?”

Out popped Mrs. Winfred Baker’s bespeckled face, peering at her with all the stiffness of a corpse. “Mrs. Baker did you see-”

“Bless my soul, child, I never took you for one of those people. Loud ruffians screaming at all hours of the night and making so much noise a poor old lady cant die in peace,” she sniffed angrily, “if this were a tenancy at sufferance you’d find yourself out on that cute little behind of yours and I wouldn’t feel a sweat of sorrow for you- making all this noise I can barely hear myself think.”

“Yes,” Megan shouted angrily, “but did the mailman come?!”
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Judas Vant
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Megan's shouts from within the apartment made him grin, glancing towards the door as he waited for her to tear it open and look around, then spot him and get so angry she would bleed out of her ears. He was mildly interested when she started to speak after she banged the door open – going to tell him how long she had been waiting – but then she stopped when she didn’t see anyone. He was immediately curious, and a little angry, wondering who the fuck she was so eager to see and he prepared to speak but as things played out, he didn’t.

He expected her to see him, but she didn’t and Judas balked, but miraculously remained silent. He watched her race to the banister, nearly fall over it and then shout, desperate to catch whoever the hell she thought he had been and actually yelling back at some batty sounding old broad about the mailman.

He heard those little girls shouting about the mailman, stomping down some stairs and then breaking out into meaningless, childish song about the mailman before a door slammed open and someone yelled – “Elizabeth, Nicole!” in such a tone that promised an ass beating and the girls screamed in terrified, laugh riddled unison. He heard their feet pounding the floor, that same angry voice shouting after them but a door slammed open then banged shut and the girls were suddenly gone, while their angry caregiver swore on the level below.

Standing there like some overgrown spider frozen on the wall, Judas watched Megan’s back as she shouted. He considered her rear, noting how nice it would probably be to grind his hips against it to get her attention, but also thinking about the fact that she might have screamed and shot right over the banister knowing how jumpy she could be, and he didn’t want to kill her.

Instead, as he listened to the yelling continue Judas peered towards her open apartment door. He watched it like it was going to break into song and dance, before he leaned to look into her home, and then glanced back towards her. Thinking on his options for less than was healthy, Judas scuttled into her apartment like an invading cockroach and walked deep into her home as though he knew it. He left the sounds of her panicky demands for knowledge on the mailman, and her neighbors complaints behind.

Curiosity took him instantly. He observed the walls and the carpet; plain, white walls, a white plaster ceiling and clean cream carpets. It was a tiny apartment, he felt almost like he needed to bend over to walk in it properly and he did have to duck his head to peer into the tidy, sterile little kitchen that looked more like a doctor’s office because of its cleanliness than a kitchen should have. Even his kitchen seemed more lived in than this one.

The floors were white tiled, and the cabinets a plain pale wood with pale countertops. A white, run of the mill stove and refrigerator, with a set in microwave and a dishwasher, it had all the proper bearings for a kitchen but he couldn’t imagine Megan sitting at the table by the window and actually eating. There was paperwork on the kitchen table and there were books heaped in several of the chairs, and when he approached it he saw something labeled "LARGEST VIRUS EVER FOUND, 20 TIMES THE AVERAGE" with several pictures of lumpy, strange looking things that obviously came out of a science book and probably had Megan near hysterics, followed by an insane amount of illegible text that was obviously in English, but he would never understand.

He shuffled the papers, glancing up as he heard a bang out in the hall – a door slamming - and he listened for further movement from Megan before he continued on through her home. The kitchen joined to the front room, there was a wall that separated the rooms but remained unfinished so one could either walk through the entry way, or around from the far side of the kitchen. Her front room was just as tiny as the rest of the house, and he felt constrained in the little home as he loomed like some shaggy haired, leather clad alien in the void between the kitchen and the front room.

He couldn’t believe how tiny the place was. It wasn’t right.

There were two futons facing a television, and there were books everywhere; spread across a futon, stacked by a corner, higgledy-piggledy on a bookshelf where there was also was looked like a cage full of… fluff. He squinted at it, before rolling his shoulders and glancing down the tiny, dark hall where her bedroom would not doubt lie at the end and he was instantly drawn towards it with an irresistible interest.

He made it halfway down the tiny hallway before he tripped on a stack books and had to put a paw against the wall to keep from falling. Why the fuck did she need so many books?! Glancing into the dark bathroom curiously he froze when there was the sound of movement around the front door. He lingered in the hallway, a dark, jagged shadow with tensed shoulders and eyes focused on the wall as he listened hard; waiting there in the hallway like some creep for Megan Haner to re-enter her tiny apartment.
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Megan Haner
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Megan slumped against the banister at the news that the mailman had not been by. The wave of excitement that had swelled in her at the thought of those quills and that snake skin ebbed away as fast as the remaining dregs of water in a bathtub. She felt instantly depleted, grimacing openly as she turned and made her way back to her apartment. Slamming the door closed behind her, she leaned back against the solid surface and sighed, long and slow.

Using one arm to lock the door, Megan canted her head back, skull clunking against the door with a dull thud and she swept her eyes closed. She bet she looked insane out there…yelling at everyone to stop the mailman. Other than that, she probably made her neighbors feel like they were living in some white trash apartment complex with screaming neighbors and loud noises going on in the hallways for no reason at all.

She always associated that type of behavior with run down, cheap apartments with lower class citizens; people yelling in the hallways, running up and down the stairs looking for something, some batty old woman screaming for everyone to shut the hell up.

She sighed again, the sound buzzing her lips, and quickly she pushed off of the door and ambles down the hallway, eyes on the carpet in her usual meandering walk. She rounded the corner leading into the open living room and this time, she sidestepped the pile of books. She looked up, eyes falling on the futon.

Something dark lingered in her peripheral vision. She looked up, heart jumping into her throat in a brief influx of fear. It was nothing, just a man shaped shadow. She looked back to the futon, reaching out for the cushions before the realization of what she’d seen hit her.

A shadow. Of a man.

A slash of cold dread crashed against her, growing in intensity like blood blooming up from a deep wound. She jerked her eyes back to the hallway, panic swelling in her throat like a lump as the image of what she thought she’d just seen filled her mind once more; an enormous creature shaped somewhat like a man. Long limbs like a spider, a hair like an unkempt hobo clotted and jutting out in all angles, thick and menacing as he filled the narrow hallway leading to her bedroom. Featureless. A black silhouette.

She stared into the darkened walkway- straining against the bleakness as the silence of her apartment filled her ears with a ringing buzz, a ringing she couldn’t hear anything through. Strange how silence can be so loud. Her eyes probed the shadows, looking for that shape. There was nothing...

But Megan swore she HAD seen something.

She took a step forward, furrowing her brow down in confusion and curiosity. Her faltering steps spoke of fear and trepidation, the pounding of her heart to anticipation and dread. A ghost? A minor eye irritation? Her brain reacting to the sudden drop in dopamine left behind by the phantom mailman.

Or…

Was there someone in her apartment? No, there couldn’t be! She’d been in the house all day and she definitely would have seen someone walk past the front room to get to that hallway.

She froze before she could reach the bathroom, dropping down and reaching for a book piled on the ground. It was a heavy book, a Virion and Viral Encyclopedia, and she wagered that it would make a good weapon IF someone was in her house.

Which there wasn’t.

There couldn’t be.

She slowly advanced for the bathroom, heartbeat drumming faster and faster in her chest, blood roaring in her ears. She could feel sweat prickling now along her spine, neck, and shoulders, a damp and swampy coldness that didn’t ease the panic in her heart and head.
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Judas Vant
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Judas made the decision to dodge out of Megan's eye line at the last moment. For a heartbeat he thought she had seen him, looking right at him but she turned away. He moved quickly, and silently into her bedroom then - taking a few steps back and then to the right and thankfully he hadn't worn any of the chains he usually did.

She was approaching, he could hear that in her quiet steps along the carpet and then movement in the hallway though he could not define just what she was doing in the hallway. He knew he heard the movement, but when she fell silent again he couldn't track her any further.

His heart hammering in the thrill of stalking her he took a deep schooling breath in an attempt to silence himself and took another step back into her dark bedroom. With his eyes focused on the door he didn't pick up much detail in the room, but managed to sense that it was a small space. There was an indefinite shuffling from one corner and he gave a cursory glance towards the noise but was unable to determine just what it was. There was a soft, light blue nightlight that glowed against one wall and he had to smirk, because he was reminded in that instance that Megan was scared of the dark. Scared enough that she would have a nightlight in her home, left TV's on in hotel rooms and turned on the closet light when she stayed over at his home in the guest room.

He looked back to the door, listening to that silence and he knew she had to be looking in the bathroom by now. He carefully leaned to peer out into the hallway, and sure enough the bathroom light was on and he could not see her. He withdrew, and glanced around the room, spotting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness a clean, white stack of papers on a desk against a wall. He stepped towards it, and stretched out a hand, carelessly upsetting the order with a swipe of his fingers; scattering the papers all over the floor with an audible fluttering. Then, with a lightness of his feet that a stranger wouldn't assume he had he dodged from her bedroom and across the hallway, into the open door of what he discovered quickly was the office.

He retreated into a far corner, standing in the dark and watched the hallway, waiting. He was grinning as he watched.

((>:O JACKASS JUDAS.))
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Megan Haner
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Haner crept into the bathroom, flicking the light on, and saw no one. Her eyes, though, didn’t move from the interior of the bathroom- locked in place and staring at the shower curtain straight ahead. Behind it anyone could hide. Behind it anyone could conceal themselves.

Lifting her book and treading softly, heart banging in her throat, she advanced across the small room. Her sock clad feet stepped delicately on the plush wine rug, then across the cream tiled floor. She reached out, fingers itching and jaw clenched tight as the red folds of the curtain slipped into her fingers, a rippling wave sliding across the entire sheet.

She grabbed a hold of the curtain and paused, attempting to bolster her nerve. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, reminded herself she was just being paranoid, and finally yanked the curtain back, plastic hooks sliding at an unholy volume across the metal bar above her head. She hoisted the book higher as though preparing to beat a fly to death with it, brandishing that book at…at nothing.

The curtain pulled back, it was easy to see there was nothing in the tub; no man, nor beast.

Just white, clean, porcelain and orange bath products.

At this exact moment, the sound of rustling paperwork- movement in her normally crypt silent home- chased a chill down her back and lifted the hair of her arms and neck. Her skin felt clammy. Cold. Her heart was thundering with fear and life. It was as though she’d been dipped in a pool of frigid water. No, it was thicker than water, a feeling like being dunked in a pool of blood.

Way too quickly, her back felt instantly exposed. She spun, looking in the mirror and searched the hallway.

“Wh-Who’s there?” she called.

There was no hiding that she was there, no reason to conceal from the intruder –or the ghost—that she was in the house. It, whatever gender, must have heard her opening the curtain.

She crept slowly, cautiously, out of her bathroom and looked to her bedroom. She could see, through the crack in the door, the papers littering the floor. Eyes lifting to the doorframe, then further into the room, she tried to distinguish any shadows through the room- but she couldn’t see enough through that little sliver.

“I’m leaving to call the cops,” she called, then backed silently into the bathroom.

She turned the light out and retreated back into the shadows, holding the book up. Maybe the creature would move or try and leave. If he did, she’d ambush him. Her. It.

She whispered to herself, hoping to bolster her nerve. “The chances of attack during a burglary are less than 3%. Less than 3%. He didn’t know I was home. It’s not a burglary. Ghost don’t exist. There’s no evidence to support life after death- nothing to support the existence of souls or spirits or…forced entry. There were no signs of forced entry on the door…”

(Crap poats is grap. :ha:)
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Judas Vant
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There was a light disappointment that Judas experienced when Megan did not creep into the study like he had hoped. He waited and listened, watching her from the corner when she came into eye-line and the look of controlled terror that gripped her in the pale light from the bathroom almost made him giggle in delight. However he remained silent, and waited for her to back away again and call her warning to her intruder.

Then, she disappeared out of sight and the light from the bathroom went out. He stood in still, expectant silence waiting for movement, sound, her front door to open and close or for her voice to echo from the front room as she called the police. But there was none of that - just silence and as it stretched on and on Judas grew more restless.

What was she doing? An uncharacteristic worry gripped him; what if she had collapsed or something because of the stress? He’d seen it happen – not with Megan – but others, he had driven secretaries to the point of passing out several times usually just through his typical attempts at everyday theatricality. Thus far Megan had managed to avoid doing something so melodramatic as fainting on him, but there was always room for a first right? He could recognize this concept, but failed to acknowledge that there might be the first and last day that Megan walked away from him forever in.

He looked around, shifting from foot to foot in the silence and in the dark his eyes adjusted to the little room that he was in so he could clearly observe it. There was a desk with a computer on it, which was apparently hibernating but the dim light cast from the power source threw off a soft sort of glow that helped his eyes. The desk was nice, for someone on a low to embarrassing budget and the chair with it was even worse than the desk. There were little trinkets scattered all across the top of it that Megan had no doubt picked on her own, he drifted towards it to inspect them. There were books and paperwork of course, because where weren’t there books in this place – it was as though she had robbed the library of half of its stock, but he knew better.

The idea of the look on her face were he to ever accuse her of stealing a book from the library was priceless; a shocked, light gasp of disbelief and a look as though he were accusing her of raping him, “I would never do such a thing!!” And she would say his name like a curse, “Judas!”

He smirked, and wrapped thick, rough fingers around something round and smooth, with something carved into the surface of it. It made a soft tinkling sound, like a rattle and he lifted it to his ear, before he placed it back down against the desk with a soft thump into the material it was stretched on. There was some sort of animal skull near to it, and he picked it up to look at it, sniffed it like some freak and then placed it back down in the relative area he had picked it up from. Moving on, he looked around the room now at the bookshelf against the wall, what looked like an old trunk in a corner with books stacked up on it as though the bookshelf had exploded (though it was filled to the bursting point without all of those books) and a futon in the center of the room.

With a shock, he realized this was really all that there was. He looked around the walls, barren and probably an eggshell white he couldn’t make out as anything more than paper white in the dark. He turned in a circle, attempting to find something else that he had missed; there was a pillow on the futon, a rug on the floor and there were books all under the window. The ceiling fan made slow, silent sweeps over his head in its eternal circle and that was it. Not a TV anywhere in the room, no stereo or sound system set up for her computer which looked too tiny, there wasn’t a fish tank or any kind of life in the room, no distinguishing features against the wall – hell, not even a lamp.

Really – how could she live like this??? This was like… Third world shit!

He glanced towards the doorway he had been hoping she would enter, now completely sure she wasn’t going to come through and he started towards it, aiming himself right for the doorway to her bedroom to walk in there and get a better look at it.

Really, she needed help. Who could live without total excess? Particularly when she should have had a salary working for him that allowed that, because he was so rich and so important that anyone working for him as directly as Megan Haner did should have been at least marginally rich and important, but this house belonged to someone who was not rich and probably struggled to make ends meet from time to time. That was unthinkable.
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Megan Haner
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There was no movement after that. The silence that sat and stretched from her called threat lingered languidly. The chill and itch in her skin slowly dissolved away, and quietly the tempest in her stomach began to chill.

Maybe she hadn’t heard anything in the first place? Maybe what she had heard had been the mice shuffling around. With that thought gaining more and more favor in her own mind, Megan Haner began attempting to convince herself that the figure she’d seen in the hallway hadn’t possibly been anything to be alarmed about. It was probably a shadow of a book, or one of the small piles of books everywhere. Maybe she’d seen her own shadow engorged with distance thrown onto the opposite, shadowy wall of the hallway.

Or maybe something from Pickle Rd. had followed her home.

NO. No. That was insane. There was nothing for the “spirit” when the body decomposed. There was no such thing as a soul, no matter how comfortable the thought of one was. People died. That was it.

Creeping from the bathroom slowly, Megan still held the book in her hand. What if, just say, this was a burglar. She’d need some kind of weapon to defend herself, wouldn’t she? If said, proverbial, attacker lunged out at her, she’d need something she could distract him with while she…did whatever she would do after that. But there wasn’t anything in her house. She was almost positive it had been her shadow and the sounds she’d heard had been the mice- noisy assholes.

She strode down the hallway, confidence returning to her from with every step, moving back to her bedroom to check on the mice and to make double sure there wasn’t anything…out of the ordinary in her apartment. She turned the corner leading to her study and was immediately blocked in the doorway by a huge bodied, arm wielding, leg bearing, face possessing, looming figure of a man.

Her blood turned to ice. Her brown eyes peeled wide and the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up, hair on her arms on end.

Megan’s scream was so loud and so high pitched that, were this a cartoon, a funnel of bats would be making their way towards her house by now. She wrenched her arm back instantly and chucked the only thing in her hand –the book- right at the face of the intruder. Then, still screaming her shrill scream of terror, Megan turned tail and scrambled for the front of her apartment- tripping over just about every stack of books she came upon.

(What Haner Saw: Posted Image )
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Judas Vant
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Everything that happened after Megan Haner stepped into the doorway happened so quickly, that Judas had no time whatsoever to process any of it. She screamed, and he screamed – though it was more of a laugh than an actual scream, half of a sinister bark and a booming of her name, “KITTEN!” but it was lost under the noise of her terror.

He didn’t even see her movement, too intent on reaching out for her like he was going to snatch her up, but he certainly felt the book hit his face. Yeah, he felt that.

Right under the eye, against the cheek bone. It was like being cracked by a very pointy, angry fist and there was no way Megan could reach his face that well, let alone hit him that hard that it would make him swing backwards. His entire upper body moved with the shock and the force of it, a lurch backwards and his legs scrambled to keep up. He threw out his arms, as that ultimate, ferocious pain bloomed on his cheekbone. He shouted out in pain, screaming his choice obscenity and then he hit the floor on his ass – tearing down half of the contents of the desk his hand swiped across in a search for stability.

When his ass hit the floor, the rest of him followed. Laid out, prone and with an aching face he jerked his hands upward and let out a groan of total agony. Cupping his face, he then rolled and tucked his legs up, curling into the fetal position with his face buried in his hands.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT KITTEN.” And he screamed it. Rage filled and trembling, it was sharp and dark, like something insidious and completely unholy. He sat up then, fueled on by rage, and pain that fueled that and he got to his feet with one hand still on his face, to pace and thrash about angrily.

He blundered out of the bedroom, howling and stumbling over a pile of books that Megan had kicked over in her mad dash towards safety. Feet slipping across the surface of a compendium of micro-viruses he shouldered against the wall, but carried onward. He kicked Remarkable Creatures: Epic Adventures in the Search for the Origins of Species across the hallway, and then just because he could he picked up American Crusade: The Polio Experience and sent it whizzing into the front room, where it soared with its pages flapping and slammed into the wall.

“MY EYE!” he roared, and stopped in the hallway with his legs squared off, shoulders heaving with each angry breath he took and one hand smashed against his face, the other at his thigh and bunched into a fist. A stack of books on a spindle legged table caught his ire, and he punched the books, upturning the delicate little table and sending books fanning out across the floor. He then proceeded to kick them, sending them to slap against walls, furniture – whizzing into the darkness of the kitchen.

“ALL THESE STUPID BOOKS KITTEN, I HATE ALL THE BOOKS!”

(He hates all of the books. :D )
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