Acceptance

I hear noises. They're low, moans, whispers, shuffling. My eyes won't open properly, and my head feels like it's full of wool. My arms feel heavy. No, not heavy, tied down. I feel cold stone under my back.

The noises are louder now. People all around me, in white robes, hoods hiding their faces, chanting and swaying from side to side. The air is thick with smoke, and as I regain conciousness the smell of it fills my mouth and nostrils, making me retch.

Realisation dawns. I'm tied to an altar and I feel my bare back sticking to the stone with my own sweat. A rising terror clenches my stomach. I think I'm going to be sick.

From the circle, one person steps forward at my side, pulling back his hood. Still chanting with the rest, He smiles at me excitedly and I recognise the short blonde hair and hazel eyes. I can't believe this is really happening to me. Oh, God, is this really happening to me?

He pulls aside his robe and draws a large, ornate knife. The tip is dripping fresh blood and I realise with horror that it is my own; my torso is covered in swirls and whorls, symbols of demonic origin. He steps forward again and is now at my side.

Screaming the chant, he raises the dagger and plunges it into my chest. Agony explodes through me and he tears open my body, snapping ribs, carving at arteries and ripping out my heart. He cuts his arm and pours green blood into the cavity in my chest, and is it closes he cuts my restraints and pulls me into a seated position.

As the pain sears through my head he leans forward and whispers into my ear.

"Welcome to the fold. Brother."

Charge

Lightning crackled as the panicked creature fled through the city streets. A charred hole lay in the ground where the beast had burst through the false manhole leaving a window looking upon the bloodied floor of the laboratory. Heavy-duty cables lay scattered around a table bearing the shreds of various restraints. Technicians in specially modified clean suits mop the floor and tidy the debris as a single scientist in a lab coat and thick glasses looks up at the hole in disappointment.

"Really thought we had the containment figured out for that one. I was sure it was all about magnetic fields."

One of the technicians turns to the scientist, and leans on his mop. "You always think it's about magnetic fields. Have you considered just plugging it into a huge capacitor?"

"Yes, and it exploded. Where do you think I got this?", he points to a patch of darkened skin under one eye. "Capacitors..." he mutters.

The technician shrugs, and starts mopping again. The scientist looks at his watch, sighs, and turns to leave the room. Almost as an afterthought, he turns and walks to the table. From his left pocket he pulls a thick, clear plastic pouch, and from his right a pair of long tweezers. With the tweezers he grasps a small fragment of yellow fur. As the tweezers pinch the fur a spark jumps, and the scientist gasps, dropping them. Embarrased, he looks about him quickly, grabs the tweezers and quickly puts the now gently crackling fur into the bag, wincing as he does. He seals the bag, and scuttles out of the room.

On the surface, bystanders watch street lights flicker and gaze in confusion at the patches of charred ground. In the distance a sound like a wolf howling is punctuated by rumbling thunder.

In A Moment

I have about three milliseconds to fix things. Well, in real time, anyway. I managed to extend that by squeezing time out of other moments and into this one. You know that feeling when something seems to be happening faster than you want? It's because your excited mind is compressing the event, and that extra time leaks into other moments, like when you're waiting for something you want. If you're clever, you can learn to redirect it.

Two bullets, one heading for her heart, one for her head. I haven't got a lot of options. The first I'm pushing to the side. It's burning my hands, and takes a lot of strength and spare time. It will miss. Just.

One bullet left. I haven't got enough spare time to move it out of the way. She won't understand how it happened but later, in shock, she will tell the story in fragments, voice filled with awe. The gunman is already making a run for it, dashing between discarded items, apparently frozen; a statue in amidst the flakes of the disturbed snow globe of his victim's life.

Nothing for it now, so I step in front of the bullet in time to rest my forehead upon it's tip as I feel reality flood back into the room, and my skin begin to part. She gasps as my blood and my body hit her, throwing her to the ground. In my last moment I manage to pull a vague smile as she screams.

I'll admit, this isn't how I envisaged the walk to work when I woke up.