Re: Your Brains

 Wowee, it's been a while since I posted here. At work, we've organized a little #writers-retreat Slack room where some of us have been posting our work and writing challenges. This week, I posted a writing challenge for everyone. Some of you might be familiar with Chuck Wendig and his Flash Fiction Friday challenges. I did this one a few years ago, hit that shuffle button on your favorite music player/app and whatever song you land on is the title for your story. So, I did that again today and got "Re: Your Brains" by Jonathan Coulton. So, here goes!

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I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my dad loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu. I felt like I had read this same memo before, though I didn’t know how that could be possible.

I glanced across the aisle to where my coworker Kyle was sitting. He saw me looking and smiled and waved. I saw a piece of paper sitting on his desk that I assumed was the same memo, but it didn't seem as if he'd read it. If he had, he would probably have been as freaked out as I was. It was a weird memo to say the least. Well, maybe he wouldn’t freak out. Kyle was nice, but a little vapid. I’m actually not sure how he got a job at a think tank. Now that I think about it, it was probably nepotism. To be honest, I didn’t know Kyle that well. I awkwardly waved back to him.

As I’ve hinted at, I work at a think tank for one of the biggest neurological research hospitals. You see and hear some weird stuff at these types of companies. For example, just last week, a headless chicken ran down the aisle between Kyle and my cubes. There are still blood stains on the carpet from where the neurologist tackled the chicken right outside of my cube. They're replacing the carpet next week. I don’t know what happened to the chicken afterwards.

Even at a neurological think tank, you don't ever expect to get a memo titled, "Re: Your Brains" and even if you did, you wouldn’t expect to have it tell you that your company has been given legal rights over your brains when you die. The memo was unclear as to what claims the company had to the other parts of your body, but it was hard to focus on that bit at the moment.

How does a company get legal claims on someone's brain matter you might ask? Well, being a neurological research think tank, the researchers need a lot of brains to study, both alive and dead. I've done some of the studies, the living ones obviously. They pay you a bit extra and all you really have to do is wear ridiculous contraptions on your head while they ask you all sorts of random, off the wall questions. It’s kind of boring, but the extra money is nice. I used it to lease a new car. It’s blue, I think. That’s funny, I can’t seem to remember what color my car is. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s blue. Or maybe green? Anyway, I had to get a hard top because they were out of convertibles, but it’s only a two year lease, so I’ll get a convertible when the lease runs out.

I'm getting off track, sorry. The point is, they need lots of brains and supplies are limited, especially for dead brains. Apparently not everyone wants people to experiment on their brains after they die. I know that I wouldn’t want that. Sure, harvest my organs to save some lives and whatnot, but my brain is not going into some lab when I die. Who knows what kind of inhumane experiments these scientists have concocted.

So, supplies were an issue and when some lawyers for the company found that out, they thought it would be a slam dunk to get the government to award the company the employees’ brains for use in their experiments after they die. Apparently, some numbskulls in the government thought that anyone working for a "think tank" ought to have known that having their brains harvested when they die was a known risk when taking the job. I can tell you that I never had that thought cross my mind when I took the job. Given a few months and probably millions of dollars, it's now codified into law. Representative government at work, folks.

Anyway, back to the deja vu for a minute. I have the feeling that this has definitely happened before, but I don't know how that's possible since the law was just passed last week. It was last week, right? Yeah, it was last week, the law passed on the same day that I bought my red car, September 18th, 2034.

I idly glanced at the calendar on my computer and saw that it said November 11th, 2037. That is weird because the memo in my hand dated September 25th, 2034. How could it have been three years since the law was passed? No, my computer must be wrong somehow. I got a two year lease on my orange car and it’s sitting out there in the parking lot right now, I just drove it into work this morning. I remember because I had to have the top up because it was raining pretty hard. I can barely see the windows from my cube, but I do see that the sun is shining. I thought it was supposed to rain all day.

I shrugged to myself as I glanced over to Kyle again and saw that his smile was empty and hollow and he seemed to sit as still as a statue. Then I saw that the blood on the carpet from the headless chicken was gone. Something about this whole situation was off. I dropped the memo on the ground as I jumped out of my chair to go over to his cube to shake him out of his stupor. Just as I was about to leave my cube, I heard a terrible grinding sound.

I looked up to the ceiling and watched with horror and amazement as it began to slowly melt towards me. I screamed and the world lost focus for a moment, and then…

I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my mom loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu.

The End of a Long Journey

It's been a while since I posted anything that I've written, or anything at all on here. Chuck Wendig, who's Flash Fiction Friday Challenges I've written for in the past, put out this challenge. I immediately thought of my Necromancer's apprentice, Max, who I've written about before. This entry comes in at 1,433 words and is called "The End of a Long Journey". I hope you enjoy it.

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Max knew he was getting close to his master's tower as the forest got quieter and quieter. The normal denizens of the forest here knew that a powerful wizard lived in the spire and, as such, stayed away from it most of the time. He sighed with relief. He'd been away for over four months and it hadn't been an easy journey. Max felt like he'd earned a little respite for the last few miles.

He trudged up into the foothills of the northernmost reaches of the Bortan Mountains. It was getting dark, but Max didn't want to stop for the night when he was so close to his home. Thinking of his home reminded him that he'd been Alacast the Necromancer's apprentice for just over five years. It had been a great five years. Max learned so much, not just about Necromancy, but about how to be a wizard.

Finally, he reached the top of a hill and saw his master's simple black spire coming up out of the forest below him. He picked up the pace and was at the door within minutes. Max spoke the magic entrance words at the door of the tower and entered. The first floor was where his master kept all of his protection. Several undead minions stirred as Max entered, but they quickly recognized him as a friend. He walked right by them to the stairs in the back and went up to the second floor. The floor was dark, unlike the entrance. Max tried to navigate his way to the stairs upward, but almost immediately stubbed his foot on something, nearly dropping his pack in the process. He cursed and hopped back, running into something else behind him.

He sighed and muttered an illumination cantrip, lighting up the room around him. He noticed that the room was not at all like he remembered it. All the same furnishings were there, but they'd been haphazardly rearranged. Shrugging to himself, he wound his way through the jumble to the stairs. These stairs wound their way up the outer wall of the tower. He reached the third floor, where his own rooms were. Max was tempted to enter his rooms and sleep before reporting to his master, but he knew that probably wasn't the wisest course of action.

He sighed again and continued up the stairs to the top of the tower. He reached his master's chamber and rapped on the door. "Enter, Max," he heard his master say through the door.

Max opened the door and entered. His master looked up from the book he was studying and said, "Well?"

Max smiled and said, "I have it, master. I have the Amethyst Crystal Ball you desired."

Alacast rose excitedly and walked over to where Max stood. He reached his hands out, waiting. Max kneeled down and placed his pack gently on the floor to rummage through the bag. He pulled out a purplish orb the size of his own head. He stood and placed the orb in his master's hands.

Just as he was releasing the orb, his master sneezed and dropped the orb. Mune, the goddess of luck, must have been with Max because he managed to catch the orb before it could smash into pieces. Alacast and Max just stared at each other with looks of utter surprise on their faces. "How did you ever manage to catch that?" Alacast asked. "I think that, besides myself, you might be the clumsiest man on the entire planet of Uroth."

Max nodded and shrugged. "I don't know, master. I just don't know."

Alacast let out a little chortle. "Well, let's take it to the ceremony room, Max. I'm sure that you're eager to rest from your long journey."

Max carefully put the orb back into his pack and followed his master down the stairs. Alacast said, "Tell me of your journey, Max. It must have been quite the adventure."

Max replied, "Oh, it was indeed. You were correct that the Wizards' Guild in Bortan City had one Amethyst Crystal Ball in its possession, however, they were unwilling to sell it. They were, however, interested in a trade. There was an item they sought that was lost in the Delrool swamps. So, I hired a group of adventurers and we recovered the item. It was some sort of staff. I tried identifying it, but it didn't seem to like that."

Alacast paused on the stairs and said, "It didn't like that? What do you mean?"

Max shrugged, "I could sense that it was a moderately powerful item, of course, but it seemed to have a sort of sentience of its own."

Alacast turned and headed down further. He said, "Interesting. It would have likely spoken to you, had it been a truly intelligent item. I've read about semi-sentient items before, but I have never had any experience with any myself. Anything else?"

"Well, I got to know the adventurers really well," Max repled as they reached the second floor.

Alacast stopped, glancing back at Max. "You want to leave me to go on adventures with these people?" He made a placating gesture and continued, "It wouldn't be uncommon for apprentices of your age to want to leave their studies and see the world a bit. If that's what you want, I would support you and welcome you back when you were ready to return."

Max shook his head, "Oh, it's not that, master. I am very happy here with you. It's just..."

Alacast nodded, knowingly. "Ah, what's her name?"

Max blushed, not knowing he had been that obvious. "Rixi. She's an elf."

Alacast chuckled and continued down the stairs. The two of them didn't speak as they passed down to the first floor. The minions stirred again, but this time they eagerly approached Alacast and Max. Alacast smiled at them, "Ah, my pets. All is well, you all are doing a fantastic job."

The minions grunted and moved back to their places as Alacast and Max passed to the basement stairs. Alacast asked slyly, "So, should I be expecting a young elf maiden to visit my tower in the near future?"

Max blushed again and shook his head. "I don't think so, master. They're off questing. They were going to use the gold I paid them to book passage to Faald Island."

Alacast whistled, "Heading to the frozen north, eh? An old acquaintance of mine lives there. Or did, I haven't kept up with my correspondence the past few years."

The two of them reached the ceremony chamber in the basement. The room was dark until Alacast spoke a command word that set the dozen braziers around the room ablaze. Max saw Alacast's pet rats scurry from the corners of the room towards them. Alacast reached into his pocket and pulled out an old piece of bread. He tossed it into a corner and the rats ran over to fight over the snack.

Alacast motioned to the pedestal that was meant for the orb. Max set his pack on the stone slab in the center of the room and carefully removed the Amethyst Crystal Ball. He placed it on the pedestal. As he stepped back, he felt something squish beneath his right foot. He heard a squeak and then felt pain as one of the rats bit his foot after he stepped on its tail. Max hopped around in pain and ran into the pedestal, knocking the orb from its perch. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Max and Alacast watched the orb fall to the ground and explode into a million little Amethyst shards.

Max sank to his knees, in despair. Alacast shook his head as he walked over to his apprentice and placed a reassuring hand on Max's shoulder. "It's alright, Max. As you might know, Amethyst crystals are a component of several powerful spells."

Max let out a deep sigh and said, "But you needed that orb to commune with the dead."

Alacast shrugged and said, "There are other Amethyst Crystal Balls out there. In fact, I've heard rumors of one with the Druids of Mirewood."

Max's face fell into his hands as he contemplated the journey he would soon be taking. The Mirewood was on the continent of Darel, more than three times further than he'd already travelled to retrieve the first orb. Assuming all went well, he might be gone for over a year, longer if the druids needed convincing as the Wizards' Guild had. However, his master needed the orb, so he said, "I'll set out tomorrow, master."

Story: Perfect Match

After several months, I finally managed to write a story! This is another Chuck Wendig flash fiction challenge. This one was to get a random plot and write a story from that. I'll keep what my result was until the end. I wouldn't want it to spoil anything.

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Mike double checked the form to join FindYourMatch.com. Satisfied that he'd filled out the form without embellishments, he hit the submit button. He sat back and wondered when, or if, he'd get a response when his computer signalled that he had an email.

Expecting a welcome message from the dating site, he leaned forward and opened his inbox. That email was there, but in addition was an email saying he had a message in his FindYourMatch mailbox. A wave of excitement tore through Mike as he went back to his browser and refreshed the page. Sure enough, there was a message from a woman with the simple title of "Interested in meeting". Another wave of excitement, this time mixed with nervousness, hit him. He clicked the link waited eagerly for the page to load.

He was greeted by an image of a woman in a flight suit standing by a fighter jet. The image told him that she was a pretty brunnette of average height that is or was in the military as a pilot. Her message was short and to the point. Her name is Pam, and she read his bio and was interested in a meet up tonight.

He fired off a message back to tell her he was interested in meeting. Before he could even sit back again, he got a reply telling him where to meet her. He looked at his watch and jumped up. He didn't have much time to get ready if he was to make it on time.

When he arrived, he saw someone who looked like Pam talking to the hostess and walked over. "Pam?"

She glanced at her watch and nodded. "Ah, five minutes early, excellent." She looked up at him and smiled. Mike thought she had a beautiful smile. She held her hand out and said, "It's nice to meet you, Michael."

Mike cursed himself for putting his full name on his profile. The only person who called him Michael was his mother. He took her hand and shook it, smiling back at her. "Everyone calls me Mike, actually."

Pam frowned and said, "Well, Mike, it's customary to put your preferred name into your profile." She made a wave of dismissal. "Never mind. Our table is ready, shall we?"

Mike nodded and followed Pam and the hostess to their table. They looked over the menu in awkward silence for a few moments before Mike said, "I just signed up for FindYourMatch today, so I was a little surprised to get your message."

"I have an alert for when a man in my area signs up that meets certain criteria. It is more efficient than sifting through old and out of date profiles," Pam replied.

Mike nodded. "That makes sense. I didn't know you could do that alert thing."

Their waiter arrived then and asked, "Are you ready to order?"

"Typically, you're supposed to ask for our drink orders first," Pam said. "However, I am ready to order my meal. How about you, Mike?"

Mike nodded and they ordered their meals and drinks. As Pam was ordering, Mike looked her over and decided there was something he really liked about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The waiter left and Mike said, "So, are you a pilot? In your profile pic, you are standing next to some sort of fighter."

Pam smiled and Mike thought again that she had a beautiful smile. "Yeah, that one is a ZF-132. It was fun to fly, but probably won't make it to production."

"What does that mean? I've never heard of that model," Mike replied.

"You'll likely never hear of it. It failed several tests regarding safety, operability and performance." Seeing that Mike was still confused, she added, "I'm a test pilot for the USAF."

"Oh, that must be dangerous," Mike said, concern in his voice.

Pam laughed, "It's not as bad as in, say, 1950, but it can be dangerous. Fortunately, we haven't lost a pilot since I joined the 412th a few years ago." She looked down at the table. "The silverware isn't placed correctly. The fork goes on the left and the knife on the right."

Mike noted that his silverware was misplaced and corrected it, too. He looked back up at Pam and said, "I'm glad we could meet up for a date-"

"You're mistaken, Mike, this is just an informal meet up, not a date," Pam interrupted.

Mike was taken aback a little, but continued, "Err, as I was saying, I'm glad we could meet up on such short notice. I'm having a good time."

Their meals came and Mike told Pam about being a college math teacher. Then, Pam told Mike more about being a test pilot. They ordered dessert and another round of drinks. At closing time, the waiter brought them their bills.

Mike reached for both checks and said, "I can cover these."

Pam quickly scooped up her bill and shook her head. "Maybe on the first date, Mike, but it wouldn't be proper for you to pay for my meal at an informal meeting of friends."

"So, you're saying that we're going to have a first date?" Mike asked with a smile on his face.

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Have you been able to guess the scenario?  My scenario was:

The story starts when your protagonist joins an online dating site.

Another character is a test pilot who wants everything done by the rules.

Story: The Necromancer's Apprentice

This story is another Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction challenge.  It's a fun one, I hope you enjoy it!

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Max sat amongst the dead, whistling to himself.  He counted them one more time to make sure he had collected the twelve bodies his master had asked for.  He nodded with satisfaction when he saw that he'd gotten enough.

Max reflected how happy he was with his current role as a Necromancer's apprentice.  He'd tried other occupations, of course, but none of them gave him the job satisfaction that this one did.

He laughed as he thought about his tenure as an apprentice in the Thieves' Guild.  When the authorities brought down the whole guild, the rest of the thieves had pegged him as a mole, but he had just accidentally led the authorities back to the hideout after stealing the mayor's "Key to the City".  Who knew that the key didn't actually unlock any doors?

Then there was the time that he tried to join the Druidic Order.  The look on those Druid's faces was priceless when he walked into a society meeting wearing the chain mail he'd found on a dead bugbear.  He still found their dislike of metal armor silly.

Max walked over to the cabinet that held the spell components that his master would use to raise the corpses.  He pulled out a little of this and a bottle of that and placed them on the ceremonial table in the middle of the room.  Next, he grabbed the large cauldron and placed it on the table.

Laying out the spell components reminded him of his tenure as a cleric's apprentice in the Church of Slinne, the Goddess of Life.  He was still making payments to pay for the repairs caused by the fire he accidentally started with the ceremonial torches.

Now, though, he'd definitely found his niche.  He'd been with his master for almost a year now.  It was Max's longest term of employment by at least three months.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of something gnawing on bone.  Max looked over at the bodies and saw one of his master's pet rats chewing on the femur of one of the more decomposed bodies.  He ran over and shooed the creature away, shaking his head.  He didn't know why his master kept those creatures around.

They did remind him of the time he apprenticed for a Ranger in the Hundart Forest.  The Ranger's companion, a very large wolverine named Scrappy, had never liked him.  His apprenticeship ended abruptly when he accidentally lit the creature's tail on fire.  It was also how he got the scars on his thigh.  Wolverine claws could do a lot of damage.  Good thing his former master had had a healing spell prepared at the time.

He heard his current master coming down the stone stairway and quickly finished organizing the table the way he knew his master liked.

"Good evening, Max," his master, Alacast, said as he approached the table.  "Is everything ready?"

"Oh, yes sir," Max excitedly answered.  "We've got twelve corpses of varying levels of decay all ready to be risen."

Alacast spent a moment looking over the dead.  "No trouble in the cemetery?"

That question reminded Max of how he'd met Alacast.  The Necromancer had sent his previous apprentice to the graveyard where Max had been working as a gravedigger's apprentice.  He'd interrupted the apprentice as he was robbing a grave.  Max had offered to help him dig up the body, but the apprentice had refused.  As Max leaned against the gravestone to watch the apprentice work, the stone shifted and fell into the grave, crushing the apprentice.  Alacast's magic had alerted him to his apprentice's demise and he'd hurried to the cemetery.  When he arrived a few minutes later and saw what had happened, he offered Max the apprenticeship.  Gravedigger work hadn't been for him, so he accepted.

Back in the present, Max answered, "No, sir.  The gravedigger was passed out drunk again."

His master nodded and returned to the table and began the chant that would raise the corpses into undead.  Max stood behind his master watching intently as he chanted.  Max knew that this spell would take some time, so he leaned back against the wall.

What Max hadn't realized was that it wasn't the wall right behind him, but rather a lit brazier.  The brazier fell over, knocking down the one next to it and so on until the dozen braziers around the room had all fallen over.  Max cursed himself when he saw that several of the corpses had caught fire.

Alacast stopped chanting and glanced over his shoulder at Max.  Sheepishly, Max said, "Sorry, master."

The Necromancer turned and knocked over the cauldron on the table in front of him, spilling the contents onto the remainder of the bodies that hadn't been burning but were now being eaten away by the acidic contents of the cauldron.

The two of them glanced at each other and broke out laughing.  Alacast, between chortles, said, "This is why we work well together, Max.  Birds of a feather are we.  At least they were already dead."

Max smiled and nodded.  He said, "I'll get the mess cleaned up, master, and fetch you a dozen new bodies."

Story: The Cause

I wrote another story this week for one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges.  This one was similar to last week's in that you randomly picked from three buckets of story elements to create your story.  I would have been happy to write in almost any of the genres, and I got cyberpunk.  I love William Gibson, so this pleased me immensely.  For setting, I got Wal-Mart.  Meh, I would have liked any of the other settings, but this would work.  For the element to include, I got a robot.  That would work beautifully with cyberpunk.

My first draft of the story was over 1300 words, which is way over the 1000 word limit.  It was hard to pare down to 1000 words, but I'm coming in at 992 words now.  I had to remove a part of the story that I really liked, but I think that the story is still as good without it.

I hope you enjoy my attempt at cyberpunk, Wal-Mart and robots.

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Gibson sat down at a public terminal in the library section of Wal-Mart.  He glanced around to make sure that no security robots were around before plugging his neural adapter into the connector and transferred his consciousness into the terminal.

Inside, he took a moment to get his bearings.  As with most public terminals, viruses and other malware were prevalent.  He ignored those as they couldn't harm him.  He was on the lookout for either an AI or another user connected to this terminal.

Satisfied that he was alone, he began unpacking the tools that he would use for The Cause.  First, he constructed a worker factory.  Workers would free him up for more important tasks.  Then, he built a firewall factory.  The firewall factory would build pieces of firewall code that Gibson had customized to defend this terminal from outside influence while allowing the traffic that he wanted to flow.

Workers started emerging from the factory and he sent them to clean the terminal.  With the firewall factory finished, he began assembling his firewall as his workers began to tear down the terminal's firewall.

Suddenly, several workers were vaporized and Gibson realized he'd forgotten to disable the terminal's antivirus program.  He cursed himself as he couldn't afford any delays.  Antivirus programs were a joke nowadays, but they were still better than leaving a system free to any virus from the 21st century still lurking around.  Also, they could still identify and kill processes trying to overtly seize a machine.  That's what the worker processes would look like to the program.

Gibson left the firewall and went back to his tools.  He pulled out what looked like an tablet computer and punched some keys and told the terminal's OS to disable the antivirus program.  The tablet made the terminal think that he was an administrator, it complied.

He chided himself for forgetting such an easy step and went back to the firewall.  He knew that he had to hurry because the network security AIs would soon detect his firewall and try to retake control of the terminal.  A human couldn't control an AI and they could easily eject him from the machine if he didn't have his defenses up.  An AI wasn't as clever and adaptive as a human, but they made up for that by being faster.

The firewall work was finished before long, which was good, because a moment later a network security AI hit his firewall, trying to access the terminal.  He shored up the port it was trying to access and sent workers to the firewall to maintain it as the AI would start trying to break it down soon.

Gibson took the tablet computer out and opened an unsecured connection to the security terminal of the Wal-Mart.  The security terminal controlled the security robots.  The plan was to destroy every Wal-Mart, worldwide, from the inside in order to try to break the megacorporation's oppressive control of the world's culture and economy.  The security robots would be Wal-Mart's downfall.  If The Cause could break Wal-Mart, it could free the people of the Earth.

He found the security terminal and ordered his workers to start building a secure tunnel to it.  They opened a port in the firewall and began constructing the tunnel as Gibson pinged the security robots.

Panic set in as Gibson realized that one of the security robots was heading his way.  The network security AI must have sent it to physically check out the terminal.  The defenses would have to hold in his absence.

He removed the neural adapter and shoved it into his backpack.  He moved to another terminal as he gripped the EMP gun he had stashed in his backpack.  He pretended to work on the terminal as he waited for the robot.

He didn't have to wait long.  The robot rounded the corner and said, "Greetings, Wal-Mart shopper.  Is there anyone using this terminal?"  The robot was pointing at where Gibson had been sitting before.

"You just missed him," Gibson said, his grip on the EMP tightening.  He used his other hand to point, and said, "He went off towards the bathroom."

The robot looked down at Gibson.  "The security cameras tell me a different story, citizen.  They..."

The robot stopped speaking when Gibson pulled his gun out.  It tried to raise its own weapon, but Gibson had the advantage of being ready.  He fired and the robot crumpled to the ground.  He didn't have much time now, so he quickly plugged back in.

His found that defenses were holding, but there were now three AIs trying to break down the firewall.  He quickly sent all of his workers there and went to complete the tunnel himself.

Once the tunnel was finished, he entered the security terminal.  Luckily, there wasn't an AI there.  They were probably all at his firewall by now.  Soon, it wouldn't matter.  He pulled a small cage out of his tools.  It housed a virus that The Cause wrote just for this occasion.  The virus would take control of the security terminal and order the security robots to destroy the store.

As he released the virus he felt a breach open in his firewall.  He left the virus to its business and hurried back to the tunnel, only to find he was too late.  Two AIs were in the tunnel heading his way.  Trapped, he knew that he was dead.  He couldn't be harmed by an AI if his consciousness was still in the terminal he was physically connected too, but if the tunnel collapsed, his consciousness wouldn't make it back to his brain.

He glanced back to the security terminal and saw that the virus had taken control and had disconnected the terminal from the rest of the network.  The Cause had won in this store.  As the tunnel collapsed around him, Gibson smiled.  He'd done his part to save humanity.

Story: Geology Addiction

Today's story is another one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges.  I started writing this on Friday, but got stuck on the ending.  I finished it up this morning and it ended up being 998 words, just shy of the 1000 word limit.

The trick of this challenge was to randomly select a word from three sets of words that he provided.  I first got Dystopian, which I liked a lot.  Then I got Geology.  That one stumped me quite a bit, at first.  Finally, I got Addiction.  That I was all right with.  I hope you like the results.

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Carl could still hear the sounds of voices and motorcycles outside of the dumpster he was hiding in.  Two of the members of the Federal Protection Force had already opened the lid and hadn't spotted him, so he was sure they wouldn't find him today.  Of course, they have been searching for him for over an hour, so they were being admirably persistent.  If you could admire anyone in that organization.

He reflected on how he'd gotten into this situation.  Everyone knew that practicing any sort of earth science was against the law, but Carl couldn't help himself.  He was addicted to geology.  He found it fascinating how the Earth worked and how different minerals were formed.  Living in the Hawaiian Federation would have been a geologist's dream, if you could have been one in the modern world.  He'd gotten careless and went out to Mauna Kea three times this week and had finally been spotted by a patrol.  They'd chased him, but he'd made it to his motorcycle and gotten to Hilo before they could catch him. It was too close of a call, he'd have to be more careful next time.

It struck him, not for the first time, that the government's ban against the earth sciences was an unfair and old fashioned idea.  History wasn't his strong suit, but it had been over one hundred years since the ecological disasters of the early twenty-first century.  People who studied the earth wouldn't make the same mistakes as their counterparts from the century before, would they?

How anyone studying the earth sciences had even caused the disasters in the first place still confused him.  Of course, he was only an amateur scientist, so perhaps he didn't have the insight that his predecessors had.  Before, he'd always assumed that the government had everyone's best interests at heart about this since the laws were enacted during the height of the crises, but now he was doubting that more every day.

Things weren't all bad, though.  News agencies were starting to report that the environment was improving around the world and that people would likely be able to return to the large continents within his lifetime.  It made him wonder what it was like to live on a large landmass.  To have the freedom to roam.  To be somewhere where you knew that there wasn't another human being within kilometers of you.  People were so crowded in Hawaii that you couldn't be alone unless you went up to the volcanoes.  That was part of the appeal of geology to Carl.

Carl realized that the sounds of the patrols had gone away.  Cautiously, he uncovered himself from the trash around him and slowly lifted the lid of the dumpster.  He breathed a sigh of relief, not to mention fresh air, when he saw that the coast was clear.  He crawled out of the dumpster and headed home.

He managed to get home without encountering another patrol, which was good since he was out past curfew.  When he entered his house, he found his wife waiting for him.  She looked angry.  "You were out at the volcano again, weren't you?"  She sniffed him and said, "You almost got caught this time too, didn't you?"

Carl sheepishly replied, "Yes to both questions.  I got away though and hid my bike on the west side of town.  It should be fine until we can go get it in the morning."

Marsha's expression didn't change.  "Did you at least remove the plates?  Or should I be expecting them to break through the door at any moment?"

"No to worry, my dear, we're safe in that regard," he replied.  "If you don't mind, I'd like to remove these smelly clothes and have a shower."

Carl started to step around his wife when he heard the sounds of engines outside.  He froze in a panic as the front door flew in with four Federals right behind it, guns first.  Two of them grabbed Carl, the third pushed Marsha back with his gun at her head and the fourth put a cowl over Carl's head as the first two bound his hands behind his back.

He was pushed outside and into a vehicle before he could say anything.  "What's going on?  Where are you taking me?"

A gruff voice said, "Shut up.  You've violated Federal Laws and will be punished.  Speak again at your own peril."

Carl didn't know what that meant, but everyone heard stories about people who went into Federal custody.  They typically didn't come back.  He was forced to bide his time and see what would happen, since there wasn't much he could do anyway.

After what seemed like hours, the vehicle stopped.  Carl was pulled out of the vehicle and pushed around for a while until he was pushed into a chair.  The cowl was pulled off of his head and he blinked against the bright light that was shining in his face.  A few moments later, his eyes adjusted somewhat.  He sensed, rather than saw, two figures on the other side of the light.  "What's this all about?" he asked.

"Mr. Walters, you've been caught practicing forbidden sciences.  We've found your motorcycle laden with ill-gotten volcanic rock and our search team has found the geology lab you've been hiding in your home," one of the voices said.

The other voice said, "You know that practicing geology is a crime in the Hawaiian Federation.  You are guilty of this crime.  Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I haven't done anything wrong.  Science helps us understand the Earth better.  Maybe if people had understood the Earth better, we wouldn't have had the..."

Carl suddenly felt an intense pain in his chest and looked down to see the end of a blade sticking out of it.  A man walked around from behind him.  As Carl died, he heard, "You were too smart for your own good, Carl.  Can't have those ideas floating around."

Story: The Day the Saucers Came

This is another of Chuck Wendig's flash fiction challenges.  I hope that you enjoy it!

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Everyone else remembers it as the day the saucers came, but I remember it as the day a man in a suit shot my father.  First, let me back up a couple of days.  It all started Friday afternoon.  My mother was in the kitchen and I was in the living room, reading.  My father came in the front door and I heard him cuss.  This was surprising to me, since he rarely swore.  I looked over and saw a large bird fly into the house through the open door.  My cat, Onyx, jumped off of my lap and started jumping at the bird, trying to catch it.  She chased the bird into the kitchen and I hear several crashing noises, coupled with the shouts of my mother.

I jumped up and ran into the kitchen to see a lot of shattered glass on the floor.  Onyx was on top of the bird, laying amongst the ruined dishes.  I grabbed a nearby kitchen towel and stole Onyx's prize from her.  The bird was badly injured and I carried it towards the front door.  My father saw me coming and said, "Darn bird.  Startled the heck out of me."

I could tell that he was making an effort not to cuss now, which put a smirk on my face.  The smirk faded as I said, "I don't think that the bird is going to make it, Dad.  Can you take care of it?"

He nodded and took the towel from me.  He opened it up a little and I heard him cuss again, under his breath.  "What's wrong now?" I asked.

"This is one of Mr. Trundel's racing pigeons," he said.  "He's not going to be happy about this.  Well, he's out of town until Monday.  I'll leave him a note."

My father left with the towel and bird and I went to go help my mother clean up the mess my cat had made.  She had already broken out the broom and dustpan.  I took them from her with an apologetic smile.  I swept up the broken dishes and tossed the bits into the trash can.  It was full, so I took the trash out.

The rest of that day and the weekend went by without any further incident and I'd totally forgotten about it all until Monday.  That morning was similarly uneventful, and it wasn't until after my father got home from work that things got interesting again.

The excitement started when the UPS man came to the door.  I answered it and signed for the medium sized box he delivered.  The box had my mom's name on it, so I called up the stairs for her.  She was in the kitchen, so I brought her the box.  She was so excited for what was in the box that she called out to my father who was changing into casual clothes after work.

"Simon, they've arrived!  The saucers have come!" she yelled down the hall towards their bedroom.

I rolled my eyes.  At that age, I didn't understand how a little thing like teacup saucers could make someone so happy.  Another knock came at the door, so I went back down to the entry way to answer it.

It was Mr. Trundel, our neighbor, standing on the other side of the door this time.  He must have just gotten home from work, too, as he was wearing a very nice tailored suit.  I knew that he was a business man of some sort.  "Is your father home?" he asked.

I nodded and said, "I'll go let him know you're here."

I ran up the stairs two at a time, as was my habit when I was younger.  My father was in the kitchen with my mother, who was unboxing her saucers.  "Mr. Trundel is here, Dad.  He's waiting at the front door."

My father nodded and walked out of the kitchen.  My mother said, "These are replacements for the saucers that your cat broke a few days ago."

Suddenly, I felt a strong surge of anxiety.  "Oh, no, that's the day that Onyx killed one of Mr. Trundel's birds!"

I heard a funny popping sound coming from the entry way.  I ran to the top of the stairs and saw Mr. Trundel lowering a peculiar looking gun.  I looked in horror at my father who appeared to be covered with strange blue and green spots.  It took me a moment to realize that the gun had been a paintball gun.  "That's for Frenchy," Mr. Trundel said.  Without another word, he turned and walked back towards his house.

My dad turned to me and we both started laughing uncontrollably.

Story: Crooked Tree

I'm doing another Flash Fiction challenge by Chuck Wendig.  This story totally evolved from what I had first imagined, but I really like where it went and I hope you like it too.

Edit: Added the picture hosted on Chuck's site.  FYI, the image is Copyright Chuck Wendig and I claim no rights to the image.

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My mother always tells me not to play by the crooked tree, but I can't help myself.  I think that the tree is very interesting to look at and fun to play around and climb on.  She says that the tree is cursed and I don't know what she means by that, but I'm sure that the tree means well.

I know that the tree is dying, but every spring it still grows new leaves and last year a bird had a nest in it.  My father says that the tree will fall all the way down soon.  That makes me sad.  I will miss the tree when it's gone.  The tree is my best friend.

My mother won't go near the tree and refuses to let my father mow that part of the backyard.  She says that the tree is on the edge of our property anyway, so it's fine that the grass is long there.  I like the long grass and shrubs that grow near the tree.  Sometimes I hide in them when I feel like being alone.  My mother is always very cross with me when she finds me hiding from her there.

My father sometimes tries to get mother to let him cut down the tree.  He says that the bad memories will go with the tree.  I don't know what bad memories they are talking about, I only ever remember the tree fondly.  She always refuses, but I don't really know why.  If I didn't like the tree as much as she doesn't, I would let my father take it away.  I'm always happier when he takes the darkness away at night.  I don't like the darkness and he's happy to make it go away for me.  My mother might be happier if she let my father take the tree away.

I'm happy that the tree is still there.  I often wonder why the tree is so crooked, none of the other trees are crooked like that one.  I asked my father about why it was crooked.  He looked very sad and said that something bad happened ten years ago.  I wonder why he is so sad, but I don't ask him about it because I don't like it when people are sad.  I gave him a big hug and that made him happy again.

Yesterday, I heard my parents talking about the tree when they thought I wasn't listening.  They were talking about a ten year old boy named Bobby who got hurt when the tree became crooked.  I felt sad for that boy and wondered if I knew him.  My name is Bobby and it would be nice to know another boy named Bobby.  Maybe he could play with me and my crooked tree.

Story: Lovely Hypocrite?

I've decided to try one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Friday challenges.  This week's challenge was to go to use a random sentence generator to generate your first or last sentence in your story.  I got "Will the company suffer the lovely hypocrite?"  I figured that I could work with that, so I wrote the following story.  I hope that you enjoy it!

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"Will the company suffer the lovely hypocrite?" General Mitchell asked. It was clear from his tone that he would not suffer my presence any longer.  Asking the rest of the company showed that he was sure of their answer.  "He has defied my command and has tried to sow dissent into our ranks.  Would you keep him in our honorable company?"

The company responded with growls and many men shouting, "No!"  Their anger didn't intimidate me.  I was in the right and didn't need to fear any immediate violence from them.  The code of conduct amongst the mech companies would prevent anyone from hurting me, for now.  Instead, they would just exile me from the city to roam the wastes.  People survived out there, but just barely.

Mitchell let the growls and yells settle down before speaking again.  "It is decided.  Rex Waters, you will be exiled in the heat of the day tomorrow."  He pointed to two men who grabbed my arms.  "You two take him to his quarters and lock him in.  Stand guard until someone relieves you."

I considered fighting, but I quickly dismissed the idea.  The entirety of the mech company surrounded me and I would be quickly overwhelmed.  They would hurt me, if I started a fight.  I needed to bide my time for an opportunity to escape to present itself.

The men guided me back to my quarters.  Without a word, they pushed me inside.  One of them pulled a pistol out and held me in the corner while the other ransacked my quarters.  Further hope fled as they found my service pistol and the two backups I had hidden.  Smiling at me, they pocketed my guns and left the room.  I heard the door lock.  "At least they didn't take what little money I have," I said to myself.

Knowing that I would need as much rest as I could get, I laid down on my bed.  I must have fallen asleep, as I was awoken by voices in the hallway outside of my room.  I quietly crept close to the door and listened.

"...come to relieve you," one of the voices said.  I recognized the voice of Sergeant Clost, the left gunner of the mech I commanded.

"I doubt the general would send two of Waters' subordinates to relieve us.  Go away before we lock you up with your former commander," one of the guards replied.

Corporal Winters, my right gunner, laughed.  "That bastard is getting what he deserves.  We said as much to the general when he offered us the opportunity to push the traitor out of the gates tomorrow."

Clost chimed in, "I look forward to pushing that backstabber out into the wastes."

The four of them laughed for a moment.  The same guard said, "Welch, you wait here with Clost.  I'll go with Winters to verify that they're legit."

I heard some footsteps, then what sounded like a scuffle and two loud thumps.  A moment later, the door opened.  I saw Winters standing there smiling at me and the bodies of the guards lying in the hallway.

"Move over, Colonel," Winters said, "we need to hide these two before anyone else comes to join them in their fate."

I sidled over so that Winters and Clost could drag the guards into my quarters.  Clost said, "I don't envy the headaches these two will have in the morning."

Winters laughed and added, "Not to mention the beating they'll get from the general when he finds out about this."

They dropped the bodies unceremoniously on the floor, turned to me and saluted sharply.  I smiled for the first time since my confrontation with General Mitchell.  Returning the salute, I said, "So, you're looking forward to pushing me out of the gates?"

The two exchanged amused glances.  Clost said, "The general did offer us that chance, sir."

Winters remarked, "And we did tell him that.  I wish we could see the look on his face when he figures out what happened."

I smiled back at them and said, "Do you two have a plan, or do I have to do everything around here?"

They chuckled.  Winters said, "You are the commanding officer, sir.  We're just a couple of grunts following our commander into battle.  What are your orders, sir?"

I retrieved my weapons from the guards.  Once that was done, I said, "Let's go get our mech and show the general how strong our convictions are.  If the general thinks I'm going let him overthrow the civilian government of the city, he has another think coming."

We raced towards the armory where the mechs were stored.  Since it was night, we didn't run into anyone in the halls and the armory was deserted.  We stopped in front of my mech and I was surprised at how relieved I was to see it.  A mech soldier spends most of his time in his mech.  It was like home to me and I hadn't known if I would see it again.

We mounted up as quickly as possible, but someone came in as we were finishing our pre-mission checklist.  Winters quickly aimed the right arm of the mech and fired one 50 caliber round.  The man's torso exploded into red mist as the round tore through him.

"Well, so much for secrecy," I said as I got the mech moving.  "We'll have company soon, gents, let's get out of here."

I ran the mech through the armory doors and into the same courtyard where I had been condemned earlier.  Clost aimed his arm of the mech back towards the armory and launched a few missiles into the building.  We cheered as I directed the mech to jump the wall of the compound to the sounds of secondary explosions.  The excitement of fighting for a just cause was a welcome change to our previous role of oppressing the people of the city we were supposed to protect.

Story a Week 41 - What I've Done

Hello everyone!  This week's Story a Week is a flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig.  Basically, you hit shuffle in a media player and take the song title and write a story based on it.  I got "What I've Done" by Linkin Park.  I think that made it easier, since the title is pretty generic and kind of thought provoking in itself.  He put a 500 word limit on it and I'm coming in at 484 words.  I hope that you enjoy it.

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"Truth be told, I'm not proud of it.  They say that people do what they need to do to survive, but I don't know if I can live with this.  Sometimes I think that it might have been better to have just lost everything than to do what I've done.  I don't even want to talk about it, but I feel like if I keep it bottled up any longer that I'll explode.

"There are times, of course, that I forget about it.  There are times that, when I look at how my family is thriving after the crisis, that I think that it may have been worth it.  Those times are rare.  When I lay in bed at night, next to my beautiful wife... even the warmth of her body next to me isn't enough to keep those feelings away.

"Sometimes I get so angry at myself for it.  Sometimes, while I'm driving alone in the car, I'll yell, 'You would have lost everything, you fool!  You have to do this to keep your house and your family together!'

"I know that I'm not the only one who has done the same thing that I have.  I know that I'm not alone, but that doesn't console me either.  I don't know that anything can console me.  Being a part of that group shouldn't make anyone proud.

"My family doesn't know about it, of course.  My wife doesn't ask where I go, or where the money comes from.  I don't think that she wants to know.  I'm afraid that if I tell them that they would leave.  I did it for them, to have them leave now would be the end of me.  It would have been all for nothing.  They can't know about this.

"Maybe that's why I'm telling you all of this.  You're a stranger to me.  It can't hurt to have someone else know.  Someone has to know.  I just can't keep it to myself any longer.

"You won't judge me, right?  You can't judge me.  You don't even know me."

The man stood there for a moment.  He just looked at me with desperation, anger and fear in his eyes.  I said, "Um, I just wanted a coffee, man, not your life story."

He looked confused for a moment, then down at his clothes.  He sounded sorrowful as he said, "I still can't believe that I got a second job as a barista."  He sighed, then blurted out, "That will be $4.55."

I handed him a fiver and told him to keep the change.  After I got my coffee, I hurried back to my car.  My wife asked me, "What took you so long?"

I replied, "I just heard the saddest story.  I feel bad for him, but I think he did the right thing."

My wife was obviously confused, but I just shook my head and we drove away.

Story a Week 33 - The Road Warrior

So this week is a little ahead of schedule.  You can blame John Scalzi for that.  He put up a post on filmcritic.com with several story ideas and I took one and ran with it.  It's a little different from what I normally write, but that's nothing but a good thing.  I'll save the story that I was writing for this week for next week.  Enjoy!

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My name is Bob Farley and I'm a car salesman.  A damn fine car salesman too, if you ask me.  I didn't earn the name The Road Warrior for not being able to sell cars, if you get my drift.  Anyway, I've got a story to tell you about the strangest customer I've ever had.  It all happened on a fine day in July of last year.  It was nearing closing time and my sales manager stopped by my office on his way out.

"Hey Bob, I'm heading home a little early today," he said to me.

"Alright, Jake.  I'll see you tomorrow," I responded.

He turned away to leave and stopped short.  Smiling to me, he said, "Bob, I think there's a man outside who needs the Road Warrior treatment.  Looks like a tough sale, but you could sell an ice cream truck to an Eskimo."

I smiled at Jake's vote of confidence as I stood to get a look at the potential customer.  Man, this guy just looked strange.  It must have been at least one hundred degrees on the pavement out there, but this dude was wearing beat up jeans and a black leather jacket.  He had on some of those shades you saw on the CHiPs guys in the 80s.  He looked like a tough customer alright, but I'm up for any challenge.

"You'll see a sales form on your desk in the morning, Jake," I said to him as I slapped him on the shoulder on my way to the lot.

"Good luck!" he called out as he headed the other way.

The guy didn't seem to be looking at any car in particular.  Normally, when I size up a customer, I look to see what they're interested in and see if they are longingly glancing at anything else.  This guy seemed a little blasé about all of the cars.  He just kept glancing around and shaking his head.

I got a couple of feet away from him, but he didn't seem to react to my presence.  This wasn't unusual in itself; most people ignore a salesman until he speaks first.  It kind of goes with the game.  So I said, "Howdy, friend.  Looking for anything in particular?"

The guy looked over his shoulder at me for a moment before turning his head back to look at the sports car in front of him.  He had one hand on his hip and the other in front of himself.  It looked like he was holding something, but I couldn't see what from where I was standing.  When he spoke, he had a strange accent that told me he wasn't from around here.  He said, "I'm looking for a man who calls himself 'The Road Warrior'."

I smiled to myself.  My reputation must have spread for someone to be seeking me out to have me sell them a car.  I said to him, "You've found him, friend.  Name's Bob Farley."  I extended my hand.

Suddenly, he whirled around and pointed a sawed off shotgun at me.  Shocked, I raised my hands and quickly stammered out, "Look, buddy.  We don't have any cash here."

The man frowned at me and growled, "I'm not here for money.  I'm here because you're soiling my reputation!"

I quickly went from scared to confused.  "I'm afraid that I don't understand you," I said.

The man threw his arms in the air in disgust.  "You mean that you haven't heard of me?" he yelled.

"Well, partner, not by just looking at you.  Maybe if you told me your name, I may have," I replied.

"I've been known by many names, Bob," he said my name with much disdain.  "The Road Warrior is one of them.  I've also been called Mad Max, and The Man With No Name."

He looked at me with anger and a little bit of hope in his eyes.  I knew that this man didn't really want to hurt me, so I put my hands down.  "Listen, Max," I said in as friendly a tone as I could muster.  "I'm married to the job, you know what I mean?  I don't get out much.  It's mostly just home to work to home again."

Max looked dejected.  I put my arm around him and said, "Listen, pal.  If it helps you feel any better.  I'll tell everyone to stop calling me 'The Road Warrior'."

He looked up at me with hope renewed showing plainly on his face.  "You'd do that...for me?"

I slapped him on the shoulder and said, "Sure thing, though you gotta do something for me in exchange."

Now Max looked a little suspicious, though I couldn't blame him.  I was about to throw him a pitch.  "What's that?"

I put as big a smile as I could on my face and threw a little wink out there too.  "Well, Max," I said, "you're going to have to drive off of this lot in one of these cars."

Max looked a little surprised and glanced around.  "Uh, I'm not sure..."

I interrupted him and said, "Now, now Max.  Let's not be too hasty here.  I'm not even going to ask you if you're in the market for a new or previously owned car.  Everyone is in the market, Max.  They just don't know it yet."

I let him soak on that as I turned him around to face the sports car that he was looking at earlier.  It was a two year old Corvette that we'd had trouble offloading because of how many miles it had on it.  "Now, take a look at that beauty right there.  What do you think?"

To his credit, Max really did check the car out before replying.  He said, "I don't think that this is the car for me, Bob.  It doesn't have any storage space, though I like how fast it looks."

At that moment, I knew that I was going to sell a car today.  He didn't outright refuse and he gave me some ammunition.  I fired away with, "Alright, Max.  Not enough storage capacity, eh?  How much do you need?  I've got some mid-sized and luxury cars around the corner, if you're interested."

I started to guide him towards those cars, but he wouldn't budge.  He shook his head and said, "No, I'll be travelling for quite a while, so I'll need to be able to haul a lot around with me.  Maybe a pickup?"

To this day, I'm not sure if I successfully suppressed the wince that wanted to fight its way onto my face, but either way, he didn't seem to notice.  The problem was that I'd just sold our last pickup the day before.  The dealership is in farm country, so we never keep good pickups for very long.  I thought quickly to try to figure out a way to spin this.  "Well, Max, I hear what you're saying, but I think that I have an even better idea for you, if you'll follow me."

He shrugged and nodded then followed me as I led him over to where our minivans were parked.  "Now, Max, if you're going to be on the road a lot, hauling things...sure, you could have a pickup, but there are a couple of problems with that."

I paused to let him soak on that and to make him ask, "What problems, Bob?"

"Glad you asked, Max.  One, I'm assuming that from day to day, hauling your goods, you're not going to be able to park yourself in a garage of any type, right?"  He nodded and so I continued, "Right.  Well, with a pickup, your goods would be right out in the open for just anyone to come by and scoop up while you're sleeping.  Am I right?"

Max stood there thoughtfully for a second, then nodded and said, "I guess so."

I smiled.  This was like shooting fish in a barrel.  "The next problem is the elements.  In an open bed truck, you've got rain, dust, hail, all sorts of weather getting all over your goods.  In an enclosed van, you don't have those issues."

Max nodded and looked over the minivans that were parked in front of him.  He looked unconvinced and said, "I see your points, Bob, but I just don't know.  A minivan?  Won't I loose style and cool points?"

I chuckled and said, "Shoot, no.  Just look at these beauties, Max.  The new style of minivans are sleek, stylish and have great gas mileage to boot!"

I saw that I had piqued his interest.  "Really?" he asked.

I nodded and guided him towards one of the pricier model's sticker.  "Heck yes," I said.  "Look at that.  You can't beat that with a stick.  You certainly wouldn't get that kind of mileage with a truck."

Max looked it over and I opened the doors for him.  He sat down in the driver's seat and said, "Can I test drive it?"

With a big smile on my face I said, "Sure thing, Max.  Though you're going to have to put that pea shooter away.  Don't want anyone to think you're car-jacking me."

He blushed as he looked down.  He must have forgotten that he was carrying it.  "Oh, yeah.  Sorry about pulling that on you earlier, Bob.  You know that the damn thing isn't even loaded?  Hard as hell to find shells for it these days.  Even if it were loaded, damn thing misfires more often than not."

As confusing as he was, I knew that this sale would be closed within an hour.  During his test drive, I steered him towards a buddy's gun shop to pick up some 12 gauge shells for him.  He was elated.  My buddy even cleaned and fixed up the gun for him.

As he was leaving with his new minivan a little later he stopped and said to me, "You know what, Bob?  Keep the 'Road Warrior' nickname.  It suits you better anyway.  I'll stick with Mad Max."

I just laughed and waved as he drove off.  Strangest customer I've ever had.