Have you ever wanted to read near-future, alternate-earth Battlestar Galactica fan fiction that stars Paul Brooks? Want no more!
It was 5:37 a.m. in Los Angeles. The sun rose slowly in the west, setting the Pacific Ocean on fire. Paul thumbed through Tinder, wishing his date from last night would vanish from his sheets, melt back into the sea of digital noise.
She’s been here too long, he thought. The room is starting to smell different.
Paul knew he shouldn’t have had that last PBR but he grudgingly admitted to himself that the cycle will repeat tonight. He didn’t reprimand himself though. At that moment, blinded by the western sun piercing through the blinds, he was just too hung over and tired to care.
Paul slid out of bed without waking her. He longed for that fresh-out-of-the-shower feeling without wanting to do the work. He was happy to find just enough coffee grounds to make a cup of Ronald’s Lite, his favorite.
“Hey Mac,” his date said, yawning from the mess of sheets.
“It’s Paul,” he replied. In the span of a breath he imagined murdering her a dozen different ways.
More than anything Paul wanted to be alone in his room with his cat, a working air conditioner and about eight more hours of sleep. His dream did not include this bedraggled Tinderella.
“Are you from here?” she asked, clearly not remembering their conversation from last night.
“No one’s from Los Angeles,” he replied. “Caprica City.”
“Go Seabucs,” she said, rolling over bare-assed. Lords of Kobol, he wanted her gone.
A few coffee grounds fell into his mug. Perfect.
Paul grabbed a tiny spoon from the drawer and went fishing for the dark specks. With his other hand he absent-mindedly flipped through Tinder, glancing at every third image. Finally one caught his eye. It was the familiar face he’d been looking for. Just then he felt the woman’s warm hands slide around his waist from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder. Paul dropped his phone into his pocket.
“Got any plans today?” she whispered then nibbled his earlobe.
“Yeah, I have a meeting.” He turned around. Her rat nest of blond, curly hair was in perfect fashion for a walk of shame. She stuck out her lower lip. It was a cute pout Paul was totally not in the mood for. He sighed. Time to get down to business.
“What’s for breakfast?” she asked in her cute voice.
“Burnt toast,” Paul replied as he chucked the scalding hot coffee into her face. The girl screamed and clawed at her eyes. She tumbled backward over his chair, narrowly missing his cat, Saul. Paul casually reached behind a cereal box and pulled his pistol. Her shrieks were unbearable to his booze-dried brain. Her spine was glowing hot red.
Paul dropped his knee onto the back of her neck, pinning her to the ground. He put the pistol to the back of her head and pulled the trigger without saying word. Now he had THAT to clean up. New rule: get a hotel room if you’re going to have fun with the cylons before killing them.
Paul pulled his phone from his pocket. Blood had seeped through his pants so he used his shirt to clean off the screen. He checked Tinder for his new girl. She was identical to the one he just shot except for her straight dark hair. It was going to be a long night and Paul knew he’d better make his introduction…
“Dad, I’m gonna have two eggs just scrambled.”
A man and his son sat in a diner. It was the weekend and he had custody. He enjoyed the time he was able to spend with his son. Even if it was a heart-wretching reminder of his collapsed marriage.
“Morning boys, are you ready to order?” a waitress asked as she approached the booth.
“I know what I want.” said the boy. He had blonde hair, and looked to be about 7 years old. He was actually 8 and his name was Alex. He had the biggest, most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen.
“What will you have then, Sweetie?”
“I want two eggs please. Just scrambled.”
“Oh my, two eggs?” the waitress asked, sounding facetiously concerned. “I’m afraid we don’t have any eggs in the kitchen.”
The boy frowned and his eyes grew even bigger as he looked up at the woman. “Okaaaaaay.”
“It’s alright Alex,” the boys Dad chimed in. “You like hashbrowns. You can get some hashbrowns.”
“I don’t really want hashbrowns today.”
The waitress looked down at the doe-eyed boy and then back at the cook behind the counter. The cook looked busy toasting and frying things, but he was paying close attention to the waitress and her table. He looked back at the waitress and gave a subtle nod.
“I’ll tell you what Sweetie,” she said as she leaned over toward Alex. “I think we might have some eggs down in the basement. Would you mind looking for me? I’m really busy right now.”
Alex got excited. He liked to help in the kitchen and this was a REAL kitchen. “Can I Dad?”
The father looked at the waitress. “Sure, why not?”
The waitress took Alex by the hand and walked him over to a door in the back of the diner. She opened it and let him walk in.
“Be careful Alex.” The Dad called. ”Don’t drop any of the eggs!”
“You’ll be fine.” The waitress whispered to Alex as she gently pushed him further through the door and closed it behind him. Locking it.
The father stood up.
“Did you just lock that door?!”
The waitress stood against the door, guarding it.
“Let him out. What’s in there?! LET HIM OUT!” The father yelled as he ran toward the waitress and the door.
“Stay back!” Hissed the waitress and she pulled out a crooked knife.
“Come any closer and I’ll send you to hell!”
Not losing a beat, he charged the waitress, pushed her passed the door and punched her square in the face. She went limp.
He unlatched the door and swung it up. His son was walking back up the stairs.
“Look Dad, eggs!” Alex said as he looked up at his father, presenting the two eggs he had found in the basement.
The father stood completely still, horrified. The eggs were covered in blood, and they weren’t eggs. They were the two biggest, most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.
Alex collapsed on the stairs, blood oozing from the holes his eyes had once filled. The father knelt down and held his son. He screamed.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”
The door closed and everything became dark. Forever.
A young woman shook her husband awake.
“It won’t stop. He won’t stop! Why does he have to work on that damn launch pad at this hour?
“I don’t know, Honey. Call the police if it’s bothering you that much.”
“You know they won’t do anything about it. They never have.”
“Just try to drown it out. Here, rest my pillow over your head.”
He handed her his pillow.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she smiled adoringly at him. “He’s so sweet,” she thought.
As the man rustled back into a comfortable sleeping position, resting his head upon the bicep of an outstretched arm, a series of loud bangs rang out. The woman screamed and the man fell off the bed.
Galen Leivold was a retired veteran of half a dozen wars. Some thought of him more as a washed up mercenary. He didn’t care. He had stashed enough credits to live the waning-half of his life in one of the more favorable neighborhoods of Mos Eisley and he was comfortable. That’s all that mattered.
He was a pilot back in his fighting days and when he quickly grew bored of retired life he went looking for hobbies. He tried Lugjack, Sabacc, even Blob Racing but each attempt to keep his aging mind agile eventually faded. Until one Dual Noon when he saw the most beautiful space vessel he’d ever seen.
It was a Mon Calimari scout vessel. The kind he’d once seen as a child over 60 years ago. It wasn’t a new model, but a classic. He’d dreamed about owning a ship like it and fixing it up.
He wanted to buy it. He had the money but no place to put it. He would need to have a launch pad installed. He could build it. He was handy and it would be another hobby of sorts.
With the shutdown of Tatooine’s government, the Mayor’s hours had grown long. No government employee was allowed to work, but he didn’t care. This was his city. He wasn’t going to let it fall apart just because some out-of-touch politicians couldn’t agree on evaporator regulations or blaster control.
Early in the morning the phone rang.
“Grrrrrrrrgumf?” The Mayor answered.
He slammed down the phone and ran out of the building. There was a disturbance of the peace, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.
Galen was laying down some of the thermo tiles for his launch pad. These were supposed to hold up under the extreme heat from the engines of even a mid-sized spacecraft.
Part of the fencing near the front of his compound shook then slammed to the ground. A giant bear charged through the opening. Growling and roaring. Saliva falling from it’s mouth like booze being thrown in a bar fight.
As the Mayor charged, he raised a blaster rifle from his coat. Then, becoming fully erect, pulled a rocketed projectile launcher from his fur.
*BANG* *BLAM* *BANG*
All three shots hit Galen. It burned. The blaster had scorched his chest and throat, and the rocket had removed his legs from his torso.
As he lay there, he imagined he was flying in is scout ship. Cruising through the galaxy, impressing those who had told him he was worthless. Galen could feel a tickling sensation in his stomach. It must have been the sand shrimp he had for dinner.
The young man and woman looked down through the window into their neighbor’s yard. A large bear was rummaging it’s nose inside the ribcage of their obnoxious neighbor.
“I’m glad I called the Mayor” the young woman said as she rested her head upon the man’s shoulder.
“No Sir. I didn’t put that on your desk. I don’t know where it would have come from. No one has been here.” Miss Baxter peed a little bit. She was scared.
The Mayor pawed at the envelope that had appeared on his desk. Something was fishy and it wasn’t just the sushi he had for lunch.
“No one came in while you were out, I swear. Did you check your windows? Maybe they-“ BOOM!
The envelope exploded. The small explosion knocked the Mayor back against Miss Baxter and slammed her against the wall but shielded her for most of the blast.
“Grrrraaaammmmrrr!” moaned the Mayor as he pulled himself half-way up off the floor. He hurt. All of the hair on his right arm and chest were singed and blackened. His skin was exposed. The sensation of even the lightest draft of air stung like a hot iron.
“Rrowwwrrnnnn?” he called to Miss Baxter.
“I’m OK. I think I’m OK. My head hurts but I think I’m OK.”
The room was creaking and settling. There was a new “window” in the lobby of the office. Dirt and ash covered everything. Just over the smells of gunpowder and Miss Baxter’s urine the Mayor could sense something foreign, something in the hall.
The Mayor burst through the door and into the hallway just in time to see a figure scuttle into the elevator. He bound toward the stairwell on all fours, though favoring his wounded arm.
1, 2, 9 flights of stairs he leapt down, slamming into the walls at each turn. His eyes were bloodshot. With each floor he became more furious, more ravenous.
The elevator slid open in the lobby of the government building. The figure peeked out, thin and green, a Rodian assassin. No one saw him because, as the Rodian stuck his head out, the Mayor crashed through the stairwell door, leapt over the lounge area, and pounced into elevator.
He raised his powerful paw and swatted the would-be assassin across the shoulder, knocking him down and tearing away green flesh. Serrating the muscle tissue that remained. From within his coat, the Mayor pulled out an overclocked blaster. It was something he had been tinkering with and he was more than pleased to try it out.
“Grrwwwarrrrrgggrrraaaahh?!” the Mayor roared. “Grrwwwarrrrrgggrrraaaahh?!!”
“NO! I won’t tell you who. But hear this. Hear this before you tear me apart, you monster!”
The Mayor had carved claws into the tip of the blaster so blood began to drip down the face of the Rodian as he pressed the tip against his forehead.
“This city will burn, Mayor. You say you’re changing this place for the better. You say you’re going to upgrade the public works and streamline the transit system. But no one wants it!”
The Mayor twisted the blaster, carving a blood-spewing circle into the Rodian’s head.
“This city is a hive of scum and villainy and it’s better off that way. It’s better off being worse. This city will burn, Mayor…and you will burn with it.” BANG!
The Rodian slumped over and the Mayor lapped up the blood from the floor. It tasted metallic but also sweet. Rodian blood was good.