Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Further Revisited

So, I finally finished this album. Here's the art, the list of tracks and a link below to download your copy. It's in MP3 format (contact me for FLAC), 320kbps. This served as a way to finally wave goodbye to my old style of music and tracks. It's been fun recreating things and dredging up old files. Enjoy.

Further Revisited

Disc 1:
1. Precursor
2. This Far
3. Akihiro, A Leader
4. Resource
5. Interlude Manifesto
6. Memory of the Ocean (Extended)
7. Mixed Clay
8. Away & Distant
9. Probability Cloud (Version)
10. Viability
11. Echoes After A Storm (Extended)
12. Static

Disc 2:

1. Retrospective & Commentary
2. Ogg (Demo)
3. Coaxial
4. Probability Cloud (Original Release)
5. Construction Of A Metropolis
6. Tribute To The Undertaker
7. Memory Of The Ocean (Original Release)
8. Echoes After A Storm (Original Release)
9. Wind From The Echoes
10. Industrial (Demo)
11. The Pavement (Demo)
12. Leaving Silent Hill

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Rubber Funk

I finally finished the six-month-long-way-longer-than-it-should-have-taken EP Rubber Funk, inspired by Aphex Twin and similar artists. Here is "Sinespace" from the aforementioned extended play and of course, you can download it in my "free stuff" section. On to finishing Born Of Darkness and Further Revisited.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Minor Updates

So, I haven't been posting for several months. I promised that wouldn't happen but I did it anyway. Aside from that, the consistency of subject matter is pretty stable. At the moment, I've started a few new audio projects. The Razorwire Halo remix project is kind of on hold for the time being because I can't quit figure out what the hell I'm doing. Sometimes I do my typical drone stuff, other times I try to homage Nine Inch Nails and here or there I drive some Akira Yamaoka into things. Whatever the problem is, it's not working so I'm restarting (for the third time). 

So, here are the new projects:
  • Driving Through A Wasteland
  • Further Revisited (Revisited Remastered & Extended)
That's all I have to add right now in terms of music. The Further Revisited LP is about 50% done. Driving Through A Wasteland is about 20% done, if that. I have two of the tracks available on Soundcloud, while the only public track from Further Revisited is on my YouTube account (Echoes After A Storm, extended and remastered).

Weight loss is going according to plan, though September yielded little results. That's my fault though, I wasn't particularly trying and I plan to correct the situation during October. Smoking is being particularly rough; I can't seem to quit as easily as I'd like, though I'm weening myself off. It will take time, but persistence is key, I think.

More updates later. Here's some new music:

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

As I'm Fading Away

Author S. A. Lusher and I have been trying to recreate a detailed timeline of when we met, month for month with key events. This is a double-edge blade. On one hand, we can pull things out from it that we had once known and possibly improve them. On the other, we get to remember, in exquisite detail, what happened to us. Misery ensues along with happiness. I can say that it's helped a lot in terms of remembering what was important to us then and, in an odd way, still relevant now. The project was originally started in early 2012 and just now we're moving into documenting points from 2003 (the timeline starts in 2001). 

I'm currently rewriting some of his older fan fictions as well. I feel now would be a good time to give them a makeover, especially since I won't have to work quite as hard on them. It's amazing what reading some books and eight years or so of thinking can do for you as an author. Our second project was writing down all the classic song we used to listen to. That list is actually done or at least mostly complete. At the moment, I'm separating them into playlists relevant to each set of years, which usually occur in threes. It's bittersweet from my current perspective. Yes, those songs are awesome and yes, I had a lot of good times while that music played. But those people and places are gone now. One of our favorite places to walk has been completely made over - there's not much left if anything.

Xanga is more useful in terms of retrospect for anything 2005+. A lot of stuff before that only exists as a small amount of pictures, text files, operating systems or music. We're not at a total loss, but it's difficult trying to remember everything.

Through this, I've led myself to realize a few things. Through all the turmoil, all the happiness, all the people, all the places and all the memories, I need to let go and just leave behind everything that has already been. This will serve as useful for me with my music, writing, art and movies. Even in other facets like programming and philosophy, it will all come full circle. That's why I'm creating the timelines of music, events and documents. 

It's why I'm rewriting his old fan fictions. Giving them a final wave goodbye in the most respectful way I can, which to me is one last rewrite or compilation. As I'm sitting here, I'm thinking about the past six years, all the things I've done and haven't done. I'm on the cusp of a new life and while yeah, I feel pretty depressed right now, I am somewhat excited to drop everything and start over. Not just get a new job, but get a new career, a new place, a new outlook, a new body, a new portfolio of everything creative I've done. 

As for the moment, I'm going to go take a walk. Think a little bit.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Notes & Metamorphosis

A long time ago, about 7 years to be precise, I had a Xanga. I'm sure a lot of you remember those old blogs. In a lot of ways, besides LiveJournal, I feel it streamlined the blogging process. My updates finally ended in late 2011, the final post titled "Where I'll End Up". I then moved to Blogger, specifically this and another iteration which failed. For a couple years, I had a theme that was reminiscent of Halloween colors. Orange, black and maybe some white here or there. I didn't feel like using anything else because, well, it was a new time. I'm a horror kind of guy, right? Reflection was my best asset.

And it still is.

My Xanga was simple: all black background, light-blue text with some white accents. That was it. When I went back to look at it again today, I realized that's why I loved it; the design's simplicity. I greatly miss the days of minimalism on the web and I suddenly felt a burst of nostalgia. I have to be careful with that, however. Rose-tinted glasses aren't the best thing to make decisions with. Ultimately, I longed for that theme. I haven't touched a blue palette in ages and given this entire blog just got a massive revision, timing was convenient. 

So I present you "The Aphotica Theme" (that alias will be elaborated on in a following post), nothing more than light text and all black backgrounds. Also, a full-width blog. Hopefully I don't lose any readers because of this. I'm going to back off on pictures and videos as well (except the pages; if you notice, I joined SoundCloud - there's a player in the separate music page, freshly added). As a final note, I will be porting all of my Xanga posts to this blog with correct dates and formatting. Some will be dismissed. Their short context isn't useful to insight on me as a creative person, just obsessive tidbits of weight tracking instead. 

  • New "Aphotica" Theme
  • Addition of SoundCloud player
  • Links added on the left side
  • Side bar moved to the left
  • Font sizes and type changed
  • Reviving some older posts of Blogger

On the profile picture. It was one I used on the old Xanga. I picked it from a depression/suicide help page, which can't be found anywhere anymore. Luckily I still had it and with a bit of magic, I was able to make it an avatar. My e-mail is included just below it (the header system right now is kind of broken, that's why my text is in that spot - apologies). 

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Division Bells

I haven't updated in quite a while. One new thing I have added is a specific page that displays cover art I've created. Feel free to go there and check it out. Eventually, I'll add one for my arts. Right now, it's not as important (also, this process will be somewhat difficult). The page with music is coming soon, which will be constantly updated. I decided for the rest of this year not to create a personal homepage but rather fill up Blogger with as much as I can. Any particular thoughts on this? Anyway...

Dark Nexus Fiction is alive and well. Currently, we're gearing up to produce more things. We've lost a couple authors, but we're still steaming strong ahead. S. A. Lusher's novels are coming out on time and E. Godhand's Wattpad piece is chugging along. David's currently rebooting his series and as for me, I'm working on more music and art (some short videos on the side, too). I'm going to pick writing back up.

I want disclose the intent of this blog. There is no intent. Some posts will be personal, some will be strictly creative and others will be reviews. It just depends on what I feel like doing. For strictly creative updates, head to Dark Nexus Fiction's blog. There you will find a myriad of updates and weekly posts.

Current projects:
  • Hesitation Marks 
    • A crossover of Nine Inch Nails, Teen Titans and Bible Black.
  • Vehemence In The Dead Of Winter
    • My original novella. Trying my best at Lovecraftian horror.
  • [With_Teeth]
    • A companion novel to the NIN album of the same name. First-person.
  • Who Goes There?
    • Teen Titans meet John Carpenter's The Thing and bits of the original novella.
  • Rubber Funk
    • An EP of Richard James inspired IDM.
  • Collage Of A Dying City
    • Experimental album warping sounds of the city I live into weird abstracts.
  • Untitled Furry Project
    • A series I'm writing (yes it's erotica; lots of sex) for Kindle.
  • Untitled Serial Collaboration
    • A collaboration with S. A. Lusher in the vein of Goosebumps, but longer.

Taking my time with the written portions, especially the Lovecraft one. I feel if I rush it, the horror will become stale and diluted. I want potent, permeating build and tension. I think it works best that way. Aside from that my life has been pretty stable aside from solid income, so I don't have much in the way. I will be compiling some old Xanga posts if anyone's interested. I'm very disappointed with the content I've produced because I haven't produced any content to begin with. Music, sure. Art, yes. But writing has been virtually null; it's something I seek to functionally correct. If I can improve the facets of my life by 1% overall, it begins to add up (fascinating concept - look into it). 

Not sure if anyone here is into weight loss, but I definitely am. General health. I've gained significant weight this year (sitting at 240lbs) which needs to be lost (about 60lbs worth). When I take my walks I'll bring my laptop to write with. I wonder if the results will be different with more blood running to my head. Considering reading more to boost some things. I'll report back on how that goes.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Nostalgia: "The Immense Propositions Of Dr. Albert Klein"

This is the original draft of "The Immense Propositions of Dr. Albert Klein". It was published on standard copy paper with a cover (front and back). After pressed, it was sold for twenty-five cents. Until now, I had no digital copy of this. Enjoy. 

The Immense Propositions Of Dr. Albert Klein
A Novelette

“...To my distant future... and these whispers it brings...”

  • Prologue: Echoes I

Imagine, if you will, a desolate little city somewhere off the edge of a metropolis. A place where many things can happen; a place where unimaginable cruelties, vast, otherworldly pleasures and insane horrors create thunder between their tense surfaces, but are rarely heard beyond that. This place isn't very well known nor is it something to capture upon a postcard. The city hall is a but a whisper, the parks an echo of what could have been and the inhabitants a reflection of poverty and innovation. The dreary, bleak atmosphere chills the morale, leaving but skid marks of a gray undertow. People die here all the time. Children are either raised incorrectly, or leave with a hint of intelligence. Here, the air breathes thick.

You can mistake the cold breeze as blood, a simple, gaseous form of it at that. You could mistake the maintenance for a superior with an alcohol problem. The last thing you should mistake it for falls under Eden.

This place does exist.

Records of it do not.

What you're about to engage upon is a simple transgression; a log of events that transpired. To refrain from causing waves, the name of this city will be entitled “Benton Fields”. If you know what the actual name is, or perhaps even the location... do not share it – the text within this tale is sacred.

  • I: The Atrium

Fyodor Rosen had been the polar opposite of an extraordinary student; instead, this pupil failed with falling shades. Well, him and his friend Daniel Thorn, did that together. Fyodor, a tall, distant-looking composite of the classic, Victorian male spent most of his time fantasizing about redemption; possibly leaving the endless abyss know and Benton Fields. Daniel had been much the contrary in that respect, delving more into the youthfulness of his own prospects. Together, they conquered trend, desolate professors and on occasion, remote incidences with authority officials.

They had been quite the pair.

School had let out twelve minutes earlier, the two pressing through a weary, sunlit day. They were clad in the most dissonant of trendy clothing, harking back to the days of nu-metal and grunge. Pearl Jam and Korn had come to mind, likely to spawn the argument readying to occur between the two. Daniel, of course, had been the one to instigate the debate.

He glanced about, noting the bizarre and strange teenagers wearing trans-gender clothing. “I don't get it.” he said.

Fyodor yawned, stretching as he paced. “You don't get what, Danny?”

“This emotional nonsense. Who wears chick pants if you're a dude?”

Fyodor laughed, probably because somewhere in his nihilistic mind, an answer brewed. “Dude, it's like... Neo-Gothic. Imagine, if you will, a bunch of punk rejects mated with a whole lot of Gothic nobodies in...” Fyodor fought for an improper time to mate for animals, “in the dead of Halloween.”

“No, no. That's not it all. I know punk, I know Gothic. That's simply not it, man.” Danny retorted, confident in his vague denial.

“Look, it is.”

“No, it's not.”

“Alright... perhaps a demonstration?” Fyodor sifted through his pockets, searching for something useful.

“Like what?” Danny shrugged.

Fyodor extracted a particularly arrogant jawbreaker from his pristine, cargo-jean pants. “This.”

Danny paused, forgetting to walk. “Honestly, I don't know about you sometimes.”

“And you didn't know about the Gothic culture, either. Let's find a place to sit.” Fyodor finished, finding a nearby sidewalk to the fore of their school. He hunkered over, setting the sphere of hardened candy in the pale rays of an Autumn star.

“I'm not following.” Danny stated, shifting his backpack.

“This... this jawbreaker is the opposite of the sun. It's a condensed, infinitely laughable version of the sun.”

“Dude, it's a sphere.” Danny replied.

“That's besides the point.”

“I'm not following.”

“You've already said that,” Fyodor stood, a nearby student clad in traditional Gothic attire passing through, “you'll see, Danny. Excuse me, miss! Miss!” Fyodor shouted, garnering her estranged attention.

“Damn. It's you. What do you want, Mr. Condescending?” she asked, clasping her purse against a slender, curved hip.

“Your black lipstick.” Fyodor demanded.

“You can't just assume-” Fyodor cut her off, offering a mere five dollars.

“Just for a minute.” he grinned, a container of black lipstick laid upon his open palms. She snatched the dollar currency, bickering into the distant sidewalk, obviously hoping for her make-up back the next day.

“Okay... so, business man, you've the lipstick. A jawbreaker, a really confused me and a whole lot of aimless ambition. What the hell do you plan to do now, young Grasshopper?”

“Demonstrate.” Fyodor replied, a wide smirk piercing his gaunt complexion. He hovered over the jawbreaker, dampening it with a glossy, obsidian grin that referenced a recent superhero film, only black instead of red.

“I've not followed you since you had begun this... rant.” Danny finished, crossing his arms in a condescending fashion.

“Listen...” Fyodor's expression and voice lessened upon a shadow leering over him, someone tall and dark. He turned, glancing upward and eying the assailant. The man had been clad in an expensive, burgundy-brown suit, a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He looked somewhat concerned, lighting up a cigarette.

“Do we know you?” Fyodor asked the tall man, confused.

“I'm afraid not. But do you know Morrison Laws?” the man asked.

“What business is it to you?” Danny demanded, irritated with the adult's presence.

“Well, you see Mr. Daniel Thorn, he's been missing and as a doctor, this is of great concern. But I can clearly see that you're most... uncooperative at the moment,” the man hunkered over with such grace, handing Fyodor a card, “call me Dr. Albert Klein. Give me a call when you'd like to spill some information.” And with that, the tall, expensive doctor dispersed into the dreary distance.

“Nice. An pricey nut-job.” Danny laughed.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Fyodor shoved the business card into his pocket, glaring at the feathery sky. “I'm going home.” he finished.

  • II: The Proposition

It had been the lunch shift, Danny and Fyodor clearly having nothing to do with that. When ordered to eat, they'd simply cheat; it was a demise most preferably chose. The two would simply pace outside the cafeteria and chatter amongst themselves, perhaps smoking a calm, relaxing cigarette before the next hour begun. Today, they did much the same, camping near a blindsided wall, away from the prying eyes of authorities.

“Lots of absences today.” Danny commented, lighting up a fresh Red.

Fyodor grinned, joining in with his own cancer-stick. They joked for about several minutes, hoisting their heavy bags on burden shoulders. Once again, the stuck with their average attire – Victorian post-modernist bullshit comes to mind.

“Hey,” Daniel pointed off in the distance, “it's that... expensive fruit again.”

Fyodor squinted, leering a bit forward. Not far from his line of vision, residing in a power stance somewhere in a nearby cemetery, stood Dr. Albert Klein.

“Oh hell, what would he want?” Danny spat, smoking deep.

“I'll go see.” Fyodor had started forward, Daniel abruptly stealing his arm.

His glare was stern, “Listen, he could be out for some young, man body. Don't let that happen to you.” Daniel warned, loosening his grip.

Fyodor freed himself, eyebrows raised, “I bench 200. He benches doctor's notes. Give me a break.” Fyodor finished, walking toward the mysterious Dr. Albert Klein.

The wind had started in, howling furiously as the Autumn sky brewed. It wasn't long before the trees had commenced in a notorious shaking fashion, like some sort of comedy sketch taking itself far too seriously. Fyodor made his way passed the school parking lot, stretching amongst his brisk walk. Finally, after passing several fences, he met the doctor inside the mouth of a cemetery.

“Can I help you?” Fyodor asked, his hair tossing in the cold air.

The doctor grinned, his tinted sunglasses hiding something mischievous. “I bet you wonder why.”

“Why not? I have some many reasons.”

“Let's count back a bit. Yesterday, I mentioned great concern. Today, half the students call in sick. Connect any dots, young Fyodor?”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Fyodor found suspicion in these words.

“Because I know all. I'll only tell you who I am if you can agree to help me, yourself. No strings attached.” Dr. Albert Klein stated.

“Hit me.”

“Morrison Laws, a pupil you may know, disappeared from your school because of an extreme sickness. It was dubbed mononucleosis. This, in essence, is bullshit.”


“Yes. Mono doesn't spread to half a population as fast as something multiple times dangerous.”

Fyodor realized the doctor may have known what he had been babbling on about, crossing his arms and leering his head backward. This was some sort of young person's sign to, yes, keep talking. Pink Floyd comes to mind.

“What is it?”

“MERCA-B. It's MERCA like you'd know it, but airborne. Luckily, these symptoms of extreme flu are curable, treatable. It's in an incubation stage, threatening the nervous system. That's why half your friends feel like shit. But, you, me, Danny, we can stop it.”

“You're big pimping nuts, man.”

“What have you got to lose? A reputation? You don't have one.” Klein explained.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?” Fyodor pressed.

“If you can track down where it came from, the original strain, I can make a cure that will spread the through school airborne, as well. One injection and everyone is fixed. It spreads through the whole town like any other cold, but it's a cure – a solution,” Dr. Klein lit a cigarette, “so what do you say?”

“Any doctor that smokes after something that insane is, well, a friend of mine.”

Upon that note, the two shook hands, Dr. Albert Klein handing him a black, listless cellphone and some sort of pamphlet, probably a collection of the history behind the disease. Fyodor found this all to sudden, but, hell, it was a good way to escape the morose demeanor of Benton Fields High School.

The Doctor, as before, simple disappeared into the distance. Damn, he's good at that, Fyodor pondered, Danny running close behind.

“What'd he say?” Daniel called, waving his arms.

Fyodor slipped on a pair of sunglasses, “We've work to do.”

  • III: The Medical Guide

Fyodor woke before school, stretching in place and studying his room. It had been purely average, a few posters of David Fincher and Ridley Scott movies here and there. The paint, a clandestine white, chipped off the walls, falling into his water-brew ash tray. He fell asleep in his clothes, homework prepped and done on top of his cheap, plastic desk. He tossed out of bed, once again, yawning. This is when the cellphone had lit up, demanding his attention. Not to his surprise it had been Dr. Klein, commanding some form of attention.

He clicked the 'receive' button, words slurred by lethargy. “Fyodor.”

“Skip school.” Klein's voice echoed.


“It's already been taken care of by the U.S. Government – your taxes at work. Skip school and read over that journal I've given you. I'll call in six hours.” the other hand came to an abrupt click, Klein obviously hanging up... from somewhere.

Fyodor's mother had already left, probably angry she didn't get laid the night before. It was something to be reckoned with, a force. He couldn't imagine being deprived.

With that, Fyodor hunkered over his desk, flipping open the leather journal.

“Log: 42:

This disease has spread from lab to to fluid, and we're positive a blood sample has been mixed. The sample is somewhere within Benton Fields, Missouri. Odds say that it's a High School student, but an accidental fire cannot prove that. On government orders, I am not allowed to infiltrate. Instead, upon renegade mission to prevent mass epidemic and casualty rate, I've decided to embark on something different: the help of two, clueless high school students. (Note: 9 – 12 – 09, you're not clueless Mr. Rosen.) The disease, beyond damaging, will start as a simple flu. These are symptoms produced by the incubation period and the human body's defense system reacting to the strain. Unfortunately, the immune system goes dormant, tricked into think the disease has been vanquished. This is far from the case. Eventually, death of tissue occurs. The lungs fill with puss, the body decomposes and the strains spreads by cough before the host dies. The good and unfortunate news is that, who ever has the original strain has produced an antibiotic. If it can be made airborne by genetic injection, the cure will spread via air, and cure the metropolis... I forgot to get my wife wine tonight... Damn her...” this is when Fyodor stopped reading, ignoring the misleading text.

He sighed, covering his face. The cellphone rang again.


“Dude, Fyodor, like... I woke up and my phones were... wait, you up at this hour? You're supposed to be sick!” Daniel stated.

“You too.”

“Oh... I get it. This something to do with the doctor.” Daniel concluded, attempting to sound intelligent.

“Shut up and listen. I need your help and, for the love of all that is holy, don't eat or touch anything at school. Take plenty of vitamin C.”

“What the hell for?” Daniel demanded.

“Open your ears, it's going to be a bit...” and with that, Fyodor explained the Medical Guide by Dr. Albert Klein to Daniel Thorn. This somehow ended with Danny screaming in terror.

  • IV: There Are Rules

Daniel Thorn and Fyodor Rosen stood before the wake of school. Most students had gone home sick, the rest appearing to be incredibly ill. Fyodor had felt the beginnings of an intense flu, wishing he hadn't known the true terror behind the warning signs. They waited, late for the moment.

“Remind me again why we're standing outside? Mr. Thomas is running around again...” Daniel stated, pointing.

Mr. Thomas, a coach, had just recently watched The Dark Knight on DVD. For the passed several months, he'd been demanding for his students to watch the film if they wanted a passing grade. The staff couldn't fire him because of medical leave and, frankly, they got a twisted kick out of it. Before long, Mr. Thomas would target them.

The black cell phone rang in Fyodor's pocket. “There.” Danny stated, remind Fyodor to extract the phone. “Fyodor.”

“Mr. Rosen. Let's play.”

“Hit me.” Fyodor spoke.

“Your goal is to locate the girlfriend of Morrison Laws. She's a senior. That's all I know. Get to work. Your void of going to class. Keep low and don't get caught. Immediately break the phone upon finding her and meet me in the gymnasium. Understood?”

“Crystal.” Fyodor replied.

“Excellent.” Dr. Albert Klein's voice faded.

With that, Danny and Fyodor pressed into the school, glancing about the empty corridors. An assembly was being held somewhere, Mr. Thomas pre-occupied by telling some sophomore off about the new Batman. Fyodor motioned.

“Daniel, hall 100 – 300, go.”

Daniel ran through several halls, finding most classrooms empty and the ones with people, full of guys. This when he landed on room 252. There were a few students, one female. Daniel licked his lips, bursting through the door. He pulled forth a fake Hall monitor badge and office note.

“I demand the counter-part of Morrison Laws! Office orders!” he shouted.

“Thorn! What are you doing in my class?” Mr. Thomas yelled.

“Oh... well...”

“Don't you know? Morrison Laws' fiancĂ©e is somewhere on the five hundred hall. Go to class!” Thomas yelled.

“Well... gee, thanks...” Daniel paced backward.

“Go!” Thomas yelled.

With that, Daniel was gone. Suddenly, Mr. Thomas grew a brain and realized that, under extreme stress, he probably should have examined the situation somewhat. “Wait one moment...” Mr. Thomas bit his lip, shaking violently, “Danny called in sick! Liar!” he stood, pointing high into the ceiling.

With that, Mr. Thomas was on pursuit.

Daniel had the fortunate luck of accidentally running into Fyodor somewhere in hall 400. They fell, colliding to the ground. “Oh thank God I've found you.” Danny panted. It was more than obvious that Fyodor had been a bit irritated, especially since the smack had been so strong. 'Asshole' should have been written across his face.

“I'm not even done looking.” Fyodor spat, coming to a stand.

“Excellent. I know where she is! What classes are open in the 500 hall?” Danny shouted.


“Damn it man, time is ticking!” Daniel barked.

“Fucking advanced chemistry!”


“Yeah!” Fyodor muttered.

  • V: Forsaken

“Man, and he totally went down on me.” The only female student, Joyce Brown stated. The teacher's jaw dropped, shocked by her story.

Suddenly, two disgruntled students burst through the door. Why, to no damned surprise at all, it was Fyodor and Daniel-fucking-Thorn. The teacher, Mrs. White, stood and pointed, screaming long and indefinitely.

Fyodor wrapped his hand around Joyce, slowly studying the teacher from a vicarious distance. “What's her problem?” Fyodor asked out of curiosity.

“Um... No-Doze.”

“Oh. Get up.” Fyodor ripped Joyce away from her seat, the door yet again bursting open.

It was Mr. Thomas, cursing. He stopped, glaring at Mrs. White.

“What's her problem?” he asked, forgetting to apprehend Joyce, Fyodor and Danny.

“No-Doze.” Joyce said.

“Not enough or too much?” Thomas asked.

“Shit, I don't know!” Joyce sputtered, Fyodor and Daniel yanking her passed the distraught Mr. Thomas. He turned, fuming. “Wait! I have to do my job, you delinquents!” He blared chasing through the halls. Danny noted his distance.

This is when, unfortunately, Fyodor has taken it upon himself to introduce... himself. “Hi, I'm Fyodor.” He told Joyce.

“I don't give a damn, let go!” she fought, Danny giving her a help hand.

“Go forward.” Danny muttered, helping Fyodor guide her to the gymnasium.

“What's going on?” she demanded, Fyodor and Danny dragging her along.

“Crazy doctor... deadly zombie disease... no... sleep...” Fyodor drooled.

Mr. Thomas had nearly been upon, the two finally making their way to the gym, Daniel immediately turned, slamming the doors behind. He held Mr. Thomas at bay. Joyce had been thrown on the gym floor, glaring up at several basketball players.

Fyodor paced, attempting to convince them otherwise. “Hey, get out of here!”

“Why?” the jocks demanded.

“I'm... really gay... and anti-American.” Fyodor replied, the jocks running in pure terror. They dispersed, gone for the moment.

“Excellent. Danny, how much longer can you hold those doors?” Fyodor asked.

“Like... enough.”

“Great. Once again, I'm Fyodor and you're the girlfriend of Morrison Laws, correct?”

Joyce growled, standing straight. “Yes, idiot. And you're a dead man.”

“Wait, I can explain-” that hadn't worked, Fyodor though, meeting with a swift punch to the face.

“How dare you attempt to rape me, take me from my class and bludgeon me with Dawn of the Dead bullshit!” the angry teen spouted.

“No, it's not like that... more like Day of the Dead. I can explain!” Fyodor shouted. With that, another punch landed on his face. This one had hurt somewhat more.

“Fyodor!” Danny warned, the doors started to give.

Fyodor stood, lifting his finger, “Alright... look,” Fyodor threw down the cellphone, the device shattering upon impact, “there.”

“What the hell does that explain to me, Rosen?” Joyce yelled, pushing back to the ground.

Doors cracked open in the distance, a pleased Dr. Albert Klein and some FBI agents pacing inward. Right behind them had been Mr. Thomas, Klein turning to him.

“Get out of here teacher.” Klein commanded.

“No! I just got in here! And who the hell are you, batman?” Thomas demanded.

Klein thought long and hard... “Yes.”

With that, Mr. Thomas fell to his knees, sobbing. “I knew you were real...”

Klein ignored the dolt, hunkering over Joyce. He grinned, lifting up a pocket light and flashing in front of your eyes. “You're getting sleepy...” with that, he injected her with a blue serum from somewhere in his pocket.

“Ow, you dick, no I'm not!” she pounced back, shoving Danny aside and retreating back to her classroom.

Daniel stood, panting. “Is it over?”

Fyodor looked to Klein, hoping to confirm. Dr. Albert Klein simply grinned, walking out of the room. He shouted, “A's for the both of you. Now go to college! Get married!” and with that, the doctor vanished.

“Excellent,” Fyodor stood, “and here comes the principal.” he noted the prodding footsteps in the distance.

Daniel sat next to Fyodor, pretending to be wounded. Fyodor scoffed, rubbing his chin from Joyce's swift punching. He laughed. “Takes Karate.” he muttered.

“Obviously.” Daniel coughed.

The doors burst open, the vice principal shooting an angry finger at the two of them. “And here we go...” Fyodor shook his head, standing up and pacing forward.

  • Epilogue: Echoes II

When Fyodor had gone home hours after, the journal was gone. The business card had bled out of ink for some apparent reason. By now, he'd made his way up the cemetery, wondering what would exactly happen next. Light burned above, the air receding to an even colder depth. A car approached in the distance, Danny rolling upward into the pavement.

“When did you get a car?” Fyodor asked.

“Klein gave it to me. There's something waiting at your house.” Daniel finished.

“Oh.” Fyodor responded, hopping into the vehicle. Daniel shut the doors, reversing and heading back into traffic. He turned, grinning, “Did you hear?”

“What's that?” Fyodor asked.

“There's a new drug going around.”


Daniel turned up the radio. “Yeah.”

Fyodor felt the pit of his stomach turn, knowing they'd have something to do with it. Somewhere, a bird tweets and a dead shit isn't given.