"Yarou. Bakamono." The man growled under his breath. Got it. He found a pen in his trousers -- So that was what was poking him all day? -- and scribbled the amount on the check and tore it off. He looked up at the cell being passed on as an apartment and shook his head. He really wanted to quit.

He really didn't care about college... just passed through it. When his father died, they recruited him. Passed down from generation to generation, they said. So he left the university for what looked like a better deal...yeah deal with the devil. It was a pain to wear long sleeves in the summer.

"Short!"

"Fuck you." Again, under breath. The man sighed heavily and trodded down the four flight of stairs and handed over half his pay check.

The greasy man spat on the floor and noded and retreated back into his den.

Back up the stairs.

*Slam*

He sank into the lofty arm chair and switched on the T.V. Nothing on. Not this late. Nothing but porn and Jerry Springer. Repeat. Seen it.

"Shit!" He nearly bolted from his chair.

Someone had sent in a video tape of the big Disneyland fiasco. Live footage. He couldn't believe his eyes and wished he could press the pause button.

It was her.

But what was that... a fire coming from her hands?!? Impossible. Other women... what they were doing... impossible. Where did that glaive come from?

He switched off the T.V. and set the remote down slowly on the arm of the chair and walked to the kitchen.

The fridge light illuminated the otherwise pitch black room.

Beer. He needed to get wasted. Maybe in the morning, the hangover would bring some reality back. If not he could always hit his head against the wall.

"Shit!" He slammed the fridge shut and sank to the floor with his back to the door. No beer.

TBC..........