Seanday Switch: Stolen

"Damn! Fuck! Shit!" I cursed, watching from the window. "Why did that bitch have to die and screw everything up?"

For the past twenty minutes I'd watched a man take boxes from my neighbours house to a truck. "This is not good," I muttered to myself. My gut was in knots, I needed to find out what was going on.

I made my way to the truck, the man had disappeared back inside the house. With a little caution I peered inside; chairs, tables and crates. Crates! I craned my neck to see if there was anything that looked familiar--nothing.

"Mind your back," came a gruff voice from behind. I jumped, the man was back--he was huge. I was going to offer to help him, but it was obvious he could handle it by himself.

"Um, what's going on?" I asked nervously, studying his physique.

"Old girl died, her nephew is here clearing the house," he told me as he leaned on the tailgate.

I had to bite my lip, his biceps were thick and pumped with blood. A heavy odour hung around him, dark patches of moisture stained his shirt. I looked over at the house, it was large--at least six bedrooms--I needed to get inside, figure out if the nephew had discovered my prize. My attention returned to the worker.

"Just you, and the guy?" I asked raising an eyebrow.

Heads Up!

just to let you know I intend to continue "New Chicago" in a weeks time. I've just finished a little epic of a story for Seanday tomorrow--which I hope you will enjoy.

Caption This (18th Jun)

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Seanday Extra: New Chicago pt2

Read Part One here

I have to admit, the custom face on the Soviet suit made him look no older than twenty-three. The tattoos only made the suit look more believable.

It made sense, if he was selling these suits, what better way to showcase them than wear one yourself--admittedly one that was fixed and wouldn't fry the occupant.

Danny followed us into the room, and dropped the rucksack to the floor. Menshikov circled him. "So this is an AI?"

"Yeah, young and tight; checkout its cute face and eyes." Menshikov reached up to Danny's face, but got his hand batted away. "Danny, standby." Jackson--my partner--was playing the part of the AI perfectly, with a sigh, he relaxed.

I could see he was just as interested in Danny. I needed to get him out of his own suit, it's not possible to open them from the outside without damaging them.

"You know I didn't think they made any this young."

"Well, officially they don't," I said lowering my voice. "These two came as a pair, father and son. They both have a complete history, real IDs." He looked at me blankly. "They used to be real, live people. I don't know what happened, but they're suits now. If I'm wearing the kid, then this suit's AI kicks in and he acts like the father." I glanced at Danny, I could see him smile for a split second. It was all lies, these were just two suits created from scratch.

Menshikov's shorts were tenting, maybe the kid was of more interest to him than the muscles I was wearing?

Caption This (11th Jun)

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Seanday Extra: New Chicago pt1

I'd been assigned a mission. I couldn't tell you by whom, that's confidential. But I can give you its parameters.

Search, infiltrate and destroy.

They're always the same three steps. They keep it simple, not because I'm dense, but because I'm damn good at my job and I don't need to be told.

It was in New Chicago, it changes every time I have the misfortune to visit. They tell me it used to be a beautiful place, maybe so, but after the accident at the end of the last century I couldn't say there was much proof.

What happened? All I know is that one mother fucking hell hole opened and swallowed the whole city; people, cars, buildings and every last stinking cockroach. There were lots of conspiracy theories, terrorism mainly, but I have my own theories. Needless to say was what built in its place was far from a utopia.

With a city like New Chicago, as it is, comes the low-life scum that I have to clean up. Those that have taken advantage of the situation, gone further than the authorities can tolerate.

So my assignment, Rick Menshikov; a dealer in body-suits. He specialised in ex-military--mainly Soviet Sector, so heavy build, but none of your pretty boys. You see the city has become a place for people to hide. It was dangerous as hell, so Menshikov sold suits. It means you could hide, and protect yourself. But there'd been problems, the suits were faulty. They were turning up at morgues with their occupants fried.

The solution you may think would be simple, take out Menshikov and stop the supply. Wrong! Although he's a powerful man in the district, his supplier would just push in another direction. They didn't care their suits were killing people, meant there'd be no creeps bitching about the two week charging cycle. That's why I'd proposed to take down their whole framework. My superiors knew better than argue with me, and signed off the mission plus expenses.

Caption This (4th Jun)

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Caption This (28th May)

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Caption This (21st May)

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Phantom Rider

On a dark desert highway, no cool wind in my hair thanks to my helmet, I could see him in my mirrors, a nightmare in black leather and helmet. I had no idea who he was or why he would be so persistently trailing me along a desolate road in the middle of nowhere but he had been with me for as long as I could remember. If I went faster, he would as well, his black bike glowing eerily. Who was this guy?

I came upon a roadside diner. The neon lettering in front flashed a bright “OPEN”, casting shadows on the forsaken parking lot. I smoothed the creases from my white leathers as I dismounted my matching ride after pulling into a spot near the door. Good chance to stretch my legs as I cautiously peered over my shoulder for any sign of my pursuer, hoping against hope that it had been just by chance that he had been behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief; no sign of him.

After entering the diner, I made my way to one of the booths. My body shook as the stress of the ride finally hit me. For some unknown reason that black rider bothered me. There was something unearthly about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As much as I told myself everything was fine, that no one had actually been following me, the more my mind dwelled on that phantom and wouldn’t let go.

Seanday Shorts: Better Red, than Black

It showed no remorse after discarding its last victim, it oozed out of the construction workers mouth, a viscous slime so dark no light escaped its surface. As the last of the substance vacated its host, the shell of the once powerful man crumbled into dust leaving only a pile of dirty, oily work clothes that reeked of hard work.

The slime was a hunter, but not of this world. It would capture, and consume, disguising itself as its victim. It would live the hosts life undetected until it felt the hunger again, then it would reap another.

He was a big man--the construction worker, a veritable feast, it could easily stayed within the workers husk for another few months, but his life and routine was mundane. Although it didn't need to feed, it wanted stimulation.

Darkness of the evening shrouded the ooze as it headed for the nearest house. Keeping to the shadows it discovered a side door and slipped inside. It recognised it as a kitchen, and slithered up a wall to a higher vantage point. There were noises from elsewhere in the house--a tv, voices.

The slime migrated to the ceiling, adhering easily to its surface. Below the door opened and someone walked in, a teenager. The creature studied it for a moment; possibly 5'6", a small stature, but he had a stocky strong build. This would normally be rejected by the slime as he was far too small to provide any long-term sustenance, but it's previous meal will be sufficient to last more than a few months.

Caption This (14th May)

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