The Complete Short Story Collection

New Beginnings As humans, we struggle with this day to day reality we call life. The ebbs and flows of the many millions of variables that determine what happens within our life on a regular basis. Those same variables determine the course of days, weeks, months and even years of our lives. Some factors and variables we have control over, others… we do not. Most humans simply exist and have no desire to actually “live.” They simply move throughout each day, ducking, dodging, and weaving the very thing they were meant to live. Very few people know why… My name is Johnathan Branson. During the 28 years I’ve lived, I have come to realize that I have truly lived perhaps five of those years, and that was before life had a chance Middle Finger Magic My middle finger is the catalyst to something magical. Something unexplained. My dad doesn’t believe in my middle finger powers. My mom just laughs and says the behavior is a phase. But I know it’s magic. One afternoon when I was seven, I got in trouble for peeing on the floor instead of in the toilet. An hour later, still upset with my parents, I saw a driver showing Ball Game “Take me out to the ball game . . .” My eyes shot open and I scanned the room. My head was pounding because of the hangover. It was dark, but a small shade of light shone in the corner from the lamp post outside my apartment window. “Hmm.” I murmured. “Must have been a nightmare.” I rolled over and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was eerily silent. My mind started to Diary of a Vampire 1/10/1984 A swirling torrent of pain wrenched me from slumber. The stench of blood burned in my nostrils, and my vision blurred. My head thudded with the screams of the dying, from last night. Their bodies still surrounded me, the light from the moon filled the cave where we were ambushed. The hilt of a saber poked from my chest. My brother, Ariador, stood looking down upon me, with that grin he always wore. The one I tell him will be smacked from his face one of these days. Seven hundred years I have lived, and I could live 700 more without that grin. For weeks we hunted murderers of my kind — The Collective Science Initiative. Our laws prevented us from killing humans without approval from the council unless we are defending ourselves, but we still used them for food. Things went wrong when one of our kind drained the daughter of a prominent scientist dry. He devoted the The Dark Window You have not known fear until you have walked in the shoes of Sarean Landcaster. He knows fear. Sarean was twenty-three and had spent the last four years of his life painting. He lived in a small apartment downtown, with his fiancée of two years, Liandra. Sarean made money from his paintings, but recently he was saving for their upcoming wedding. His shoulder-length brown hair touched the back of his leather studio chair as he leaned back to stretch, taking a break from his latest painting. His clothes were splattered in paint. Liandra always teased him about how he wore more of the paint than he put on the canvas. He smiled as the memories washed over him. He painted in a studio, which used to be the guest bedroom. He had all his previous unsold paintings hanging on the wall in various places, and a few paintings from other artists to inspire him. He painted with oils, which Liandra enjoyed the smell of, but most company found it too strong. He kept the door closed, and had a custom air conditioning system built to help control the cloying odor. "What are you doing, sweetie?" Liandra asked as she wrapped her arms around Sarean from behind. Her long blonde flowing hair fell onto his shoulder as she leaned in to kiss him. He was taller than most people, and she was considerably shorter, so she didn't have to bend down. Liandra was slender and one year younger than Sarean. "Just finishing up a painting." He rotated in his chair and kissed her. "Hmmm. You don't taste like a painter." "How would you know what a painter tastes like? I'm the only one you've ever tasted." He touched the tip of her nose with a clean paintbrush. He leaned toward her as he wrapped his hands around hers and grabbed the back of her neck. He pulled her toward him, pulling her into his lap, and guided her head toward him. He drew in a breath and slid his tongue into her mouth. They kissed, held in that moment for what seemed like an eternity. *** "SAREAN!" Liandra yelled down the hall as she entered the living room. He came out of his studio covered in paint. "I'm right here. You don't have to yell," He said, smiling. She was bouncing with excitement, which could only mean one thing: she found more antiques to add to her collection. Liandra had been collecting antiques long before they had met. She currently Elise - The Not So Sane Wife Nathan gazed across the park at his bride-to-be. Elise slung her arms over the fence, eyes on the beautiful waterfall in the middle of the large park. This is where they first met. It was fate that they were here now. She glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and beckoned him. "Come and join me," Elise said. She turned back to face the waterfall. Nathan studied Elise's body. Sunlight reflected off her hair, flowing down the contours of her graceful back, down past her curved hips. She always wore her hair down, and it made Nathan's stomach flutter. She kept her hair dyed, his favorite color: platinum blonde. He wrapped his arms around her waist as Liquid Earth When I woke the earth had become liquid. Everything on the surface oscillated gently over the now-fluid ground. Cars drove by, but the roads swayed gently back and forth, like suspension bridges. I dressed and walked outside. The grass, trees, dirt, and leaves all appeared normal. But when I stuck my hand into the ground, it rippled like water. When I removed my hand Paralysis I’ve experienced the darker side of sleep, a place where few have wandered—a place I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. For decades, I have been plagued by a rare condition, sleep paralysis, and hypnogogic hallucinations on a nightly basis. It keeps me teetering on the edge of a dreamscape—stuck between two states of consciousness, with no escaping the impending doom gripping my heart. A place where, neither fully awake nor fully asleep, the nightmares claw at me in a sinister ferocity. The first encounter was peaceful. After putting my nine-year-old daughter to bed and falling into a deep sleep, I awoke in a trance-like state. Something flew above me, giving me a deep sense of peace and tranquility. A male Space Angel The engines rumbled, and I jerked forward as something ripped me from hyperspace. I was a private contractor for the military, responsible for scouting out ships for advanced troop deployment. I missed them so badly. My wife, Annette, and two young daughters, Marissa and Clementine, were always waiting for me at home after every excursion in space. That was before the event. I lost track of time long ago, but it feels like a decade or more has passed. I was trying to slingshot around a planet to gain some speed, but something malfunctioned on my Darlene I come to these woods whenever I need to get the stress of life off my mind. Take in the scenery, take in the beauty. Most importantly, to take in the silence. Just me, Darlene, and Sheera, my plain, white, ordinary beagle with the not-so-ordinary name. She’s been with me for years but is getting up there in age. She used to be excited about these walks, but lately, she trails behind, just hobbling along. She’s still got a few good years The Tongue “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” Or so the biblical saying goes. Little did I realize how true that was. I’ve been surrounded by death my entire life. My Grandmother, Aunt, Dad, Mom, and three girls I planned on marrying. All dead. “I hope you die. Words spoken without thought, out of anger. Even some that were meant to be harmless. “I The Ancient Door The village shaman came across me on the edge of town when I was still an infant, my body unprotected and exposed on the ground. He had always hoped for a son, so he brought me into his home and raised me as though I was his own. Our town rested on the valley’s east end near the foot of the Ayrondale mountain. It consisted primarily of fur-lined tents connected by roads made from carved-out tree trunks. We had an advantage during winter due to the mountain above us decreasing some of the winds. My favorite place growing up was the town square, our most sacred area. It’s where everyone met to talk about our history, folklore, and hunting stories and make all community decisions. Small imprints and scattered pillows littered the area where various Dark Wishes Just past two in the morning, Johnny eased his car in the shadow of an elegant mansion - a blend of modern design and classic charm. Its stucco exterior and terracotta roof shimmered under the moon's caress, whispering of understated wealth and exclusivity. He sighed and got out of the blue Mustang, closing the door harder than he intended. As he approached the front door, loud music drummed in his ear; several people lay sprawled out in the emerald sea of grass in various stages of debauchery. He rolled his eyes and rang the doorbell. Danny opened the large wooden door, leaned against the frame, and smiled. He was a burly guy with broad shoulders; his hair was blond and buzzed short but sparkled with too much grease. “Sup. Finally came to party?” “Nah, just coming to see my girl. Doubt I’ll stay long,” he said as he walked past Danny and stood in the hallway, the massive overhead ceiling and crystal chandelier swinging in the breeze from the open door. “She’s out back with the girls.” Danny pointed to the back Turn The Page “Turn the page,” Stephanie said, stirring me from my daydream stupor. Ironic. Like the pages of a book. I wished it was that easy to turn the page. To close a chapter. To move on. But life isn’t that simple. “Easy for you to say,” I replied, looking off into Aokigahara, or as the locals call it, Death Woods. I flew all the way to Japan so I could try to decide my fate in the woods that were infamous for death and suicide. I had a shitty life. Most of my family had died in a car accident a year ago, and the friends I did have, left. The last one that I had stood beside me. Stephanie had been my best friend for many years and walked with me through many difficult times. She joined me on the trip because of the pact. She disagreed with my decision to kill myself, then again, she wasn’t willing to live without me. She said she wouldn’t stop me, but if I was going, she was going too. “Till death do we part,” she said with a giggle sliding off the hood of the car where we were sitting. “This isn’t funny. You don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t do this. I would rather you live your life. Our pact was so long ago, and we were kids,” I said, looking back at her. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “If you’re all-in, so am I Drive Time Where am I? I sat behind the wheel of my car. I shook away the fuzziness from dozing off. My self-driving car had parked itself on the side of the road. No traffic was passing by, and an eerie silence unnerved me. I looked through the window. Fog obscured most of my view, but I could see where concrete merged into dirt and, a little further, grass. I recalled driving on the interstate, headed from my home in Austell, Georgia, to South Carolina to visit my in-laws. About halfway through the trip, I had left the interstate and taken the state highways to avoid traffic. After hours of driving, my eyes had begun to droop. No longer caring to steer the car myself, I The Hound “Captain,” gasped Adams, “What the hell was that thing?” His breaths were labored. A field medic quickly pulled apart the slashed bulletproof armor and black t-shirt. Tearing open an antiseptic towel package from his kit, he wiped the gaping chest wound and applied a self-adhering bandage. “It was something that wants to die,” Captain Samuel said as he turned his attention to his communications officer. “Comm, gimme an ETA on a medevac.” Comm nodded. Moving off to the side, he changed the frequency on the radio strapped to his back. Then he spoke into the microphone clipped near his mouth. Samuel and his remaining men huddled against the walls for the next fifteen minutes. There were fifteen plus dead and a number of people injured. Samuel carefully peered around a corner of the facility entrance. Blood smeared the walls. Crunching and screaming could still be heard from inside. The ground rumbled as nearly a dozen vehicles finally pulled up a hundred feet from the makeshift camp, not far from the facility wall. “Time to move,” Samuel grunted, signaling his men Self Checkout I grabbed the hamburger buns and went through the self-checkout. I wasn't paying attention, and as I ran them over the scanner, the laser hit my wrist. The machine beeped, and a strange error message popped up on the screen: 01010011 01110101 01100010 01101010 01100101 01100011 01110100 00100000 00110001 00110000 00110010 00110101 00111001 Baffled, I stared at the screen. At the bottom, in small letters, it said: Model 371 - 47,599.99 I looked at my wrist and back to the machine. After a few seconds, the The Grim Reefer It was a cold and stormy night in Braselton, Missouri. Johnathon Sanders was sitting in his living room watching Versatile Jungaloos when his power went out. The room went completely dark, except for brief flashes of headlights as cars zoomed past their house on the main road. His wife, Miranda, was laid out across him, asleep. “Baby, you awake?” he whispered. She moved a little, then stretched and sighed. “I am now.” “Power’s out.” He said grumpily, inhaling a fist full of popcorn. “Yeah,” She stretched one more time. “I’m going to bed. Hopefully, it’ll come back on by morning. You coming?” “I’ll be up in about an hour,” he said, standing up and kissing her. “I’m going to work in my office.” “Without light?” He held up a candle and smiled. “Oh Old Ways None of you will ever realize the horrors that existed during that time. I don’t know how I survived those long, treacherous days at sea. But somehow, I did. It didn’t happen as people thought. There were no massive waves crashing down around us, drowning people in endless water. It was a slow, progressive rainfall that led to their eventual death. That slow impending passing of time where you knew you were going to die, but there was nothing you could do about it. Some starved to death, others made it until the water was Rainbow Rain covers the land, cascading over the ground in a silent pattern. It’s dark, mysterious, dreary… yet somehow strangely beautiful. The tears of God. The tears of the sky. A gentle haze of Old Ways - Origin As I stand before the awe that is the ark, preparing for my next assignment, I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to my past, reflecting on my beginnings. It never ceases to run chills down my spine when I think about how I fell into this lifestyle—how I fell into this… bloody, macabre living. My mother named me Mufaq. She never said why, but I later discovered that it meant assassin. Spoken and written language was different in those days; everyone spoke in one tongue. I was born into a twisted and violent world Impulse Man Life's been weird lately. I used to have self-control and the ability to navigate things without making rash or strange decisions. I used to be able to go to the store, get groceries, talk to my family and friends, and go out to a bar and drink. Before it happened, life was pretty good. I'm not rich, so I don't have tons of money that I can throw around like water, but I don't have a lot to complain about. Things have moved at a good pace. I have a pretty good career. Well, I did have a pretty good career, but not too long ago, things changed in a pretty drastic way. Me and the boys went out to a bar about a week ago. Had fun. Got wasted. The usual. Not long after, we had the bright idea to go for a little joy ride. Eventually, we found ourselves parked outside of a random open field in the middle of nowhere. It was dark, so we stumbled through the grass by the light of my cell phone, shooting the shit. A mutilated cow lay in a clearing, sliced open, blood pooling underneath. Candles were lit in a circle around it, and off in the corner, a girl was sitting on the rocks. She wore a black robe, and her eyes glowed blue. Chants surrounded us, both from her lips and from various directions off in the darkness. She must have noticed us coming; we definitely weren’t being quiet. She stood and walked toward us, asking if we were hungry. Things kind of got chaotic at that point. We were wasted and stumbling around—the cow, the candles, the girl. It freaked us out, so we started running toward the car, piled in, and took off toward the house. I blinked, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up late the next morning for work. The day seemed normal enough. On my way to work, my friends texted the group chat, saying they were all hungover, and no one remembered much from that night. I was over an hour late. My boss was cranky and yelling the entire time as I walked to my office. Normally, I’d have been able to control myself, but something inside me The Loy It all started one afternoon when my middle daughter burst into my room screaming Loy and rubbing her nose on me. She then ran out in fits of laughter. There are six people in my household: an adult couple, Lisa and David, along with their son, William, who shares a room with his parents. I am William's godfather. Additionally, I have two daughters, Elizabeth and Christina, who share a bedroom with a bunk bed. The children are listed from youngest to oldest: William, Elizabeth, and Christina. In time, the word “Loy” became commonplace. Each of the children responded to it in different ways. Elizabeth, fifteen, invented and used the phrase the most. William, six, mostly said it in response to Elizabeth. Christina, twenty, hated it, and the others teased her with the word, sometimes chanting it in ominous tones dozens of times. It all seemed playful at first glance. When Elizabeth started saying The Trunk They say society has a dark side and that humanity ebbs and flows across this timeline called life. We humans wonder if time exists at all or if it’s just an abstract construct that means nothing. Either way, the fact remains that we’re all a bunch of humans trudging along this bullshit construct called life. None of us ever asked for this. Few of us ever wanted this. Before the big event, I was just another one of those hapless humans with nothing to my name except a bowl of soup and an old Nintendo 64 system that I don’t even play anymore. Back then, I was involved in a lot of petty crimes, something you might call a “fake gangster.” I’d go around and break into houses to steal shit, cars, or whatever else I found entertaining at the time. I don’t know whether God exists or not, but somehow… someway, something managed to save me time and time again, and I never once got arrested. Even though I probably deserved it. Eventually, I tired of the life of crime. Boosting cars, running with gangs, and getting into random fights I never won lost their appeal. I always was more like a nerd—a gang nerd. I was like Suicide Storm We didn’t know what hit us. I’d already lost three family members to suicide before I even realized what was happening. A dark storm imposed itself over the Earth a few days ago, several hundred miles away from my home. Ahead of the storm, everyone complained of a dark, foreboding feeling, like something bad was going to happen. The storm slowly moved its way toward By Proxy I’ve lived on this small farm with my dad for almost nineteen years. It’s on the outskirts of the city. Everything about the farm was normal except the name. My dad calls the place “By Proxy,” a name I never understood and, until now, never cared to understand. We operated in a typical fashion. We sold milk and eggs, alongside the occasional livestock sale. We had several acres of crops, all of which we sold to the nearby cities. But our biggest commodity has always been our pigs. My The Tower The alarms blared in my ear—one roar at a time, filling my entire building, vibrating the very walls. The entire top floor of the residential section belonged entirely to me, one of the stipulations of my investing so much funding into the Tower Project. I had my own private elevator, which spanned from the top to the bottom of the tower; no one else had access to it. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what had gotten us into this situation to begin with. We thought of everything. We prepared for everything and spared no expense, yet still… Reaching into the drawer, I pulled out the interactive schematics, the entire blueprint, and technological specs for the tower, as well as real-time analysis reports on the situation with the building itself. Laying it in front of me, I began reviewing the specs to refresh my memory. The Tower was a testament to the future, a vision of survival built to house the last remnants of humanity. Rising 80 kilometers into the sky, it was constructed from graphene-reinforced steel and carbon nanotubes, materials specifically designed to withstand the immense pressures from both the ground and the upper atmosphere. The foundation, buried deep into bedrock, held firm against tectonic shifts, while its outer Devoid “What’s it going to be, Mr. Brenner? Are you in? Or are you out?” I stared at the room for a moment before sighing. “Four hundred thousand? Really?” “Really.” “Twenty-four hours?” I wanted to make sure of what I was getting myself into. “Not a minute more.” I was standing in front of a modified room built into Orfield Laboratories, directly in the heart of Minnesota. The advertisement said whoever could spend an entire day in a room under complete sensory deprivation would win a boatload of cash. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” I shrugged. “Sir, so far, eighty people have tried, and most didn’t last more than ten minutes.” There was a large sign in front of me that listed the specifics of the room. The Ultimate Sensory Deprivation Chamber Room Features: Sound level sits at -20 decibels (DBA). Six layers of concrete and steel. Fiberglass-covered walls, ceiling, and doors. Vibration-dampening springs. Wedge-shaped sound absorbers for wall lining. Interior coated in Vantablack, which absorbs 99.965% of visible light. The room dimensions are 3 meters in height, width, and length. The air filtration system runs silent, counteracting The Line I never thought I’d find a place that was perfect for thieves. I definitely never thought I’d become one. But here I am. My name’s Clarissa, but my friends call me Claire—the few I have left anyway. I used to live in New York, and I was a well-respected teacher at a local community college. Still, I barely made ends meet, and debt was eating me alive. I never liked the kids much either; it was just the only thing I knew how to do. Then, one day, I heard a news article about The Line. Good evening. Today, we witness a groundbreaking moment as Saudi Arabia's ambitious project, The Line, opens its doors to its first residents. This 170-kilometer-long, Eco-friendly city offers a futuristic urban lifestyle with zero cars, zero streets, and zero carbon emissions. Designed to house nine million people, The Line promises a blend of luxury, convenience, and sustainability. While the high-tech amenities and efficient transport systems are highly praised, potential residents should consider the high cost of living and privacy concerns associated with extensive data collection. Join the city of tomorrow and experience a new way of living in The Line. I spent weeks researching the place and fell in love with the beautiful scenery surrounding it, as well as the simplicity of life it promised. And with that, I was eager to give it a try. I quit my job and sold my car Rocky The Racoon “Rocky, ocky, ocky,” I yelled, pumping my fist in front of me. The heat from my Rocky the Raccoon outfit was driving me crazy, and the kids were driving me even crazier. I hated my job, my boss, and, more than anything, these kids. But it was just that, a job… and I needed the money. When my shift was over, I took off the sweaty outfit, drove home, and soaked in the tub. I eventually went to bed and drifted off to sleep not long after. Just to get up in the morning and do the same damn thing every The Decree On a cold, windy night in McCook, Nebraska, John Deleran was playing his PlayStation 4 and drinking Pepsi, his favorite drink. He just finished one Pepsi and grabbed another from the mini-fridge in his room. He’d recently been laid off from work and was back to living with his mom in his hometown. But he didn’t care. No bills, no expenses, no rent. He decided to give his gaming career another chance, as he had made money from streaming on Twitch the last time he did it. His Mother was gone for the weekend, and he heard something hit his roof, roll down, and land somewhere in the front yard. He barely heard it through his headphones, so he slipped them off and paused Elden Ring. Getting up, he went to the window and looked down. He saw the tip of some golden object, but most of it was hidden out of view. He put his black leather jacket on and went outside to get a better look. On the ground was a rolled-up scroll with gold end caps. It looked like one of the scrolls from ancient times he’d read about in history class. He picked it up and took it into his room. Setting it on the bed, he stood back and admired it. Rolled up, it had a string wrapped around it to keep it from unfurling. He grabbed the string and pulled, lifting the scroll and slowly unrolling it. At the top, the scroll read, ‘Write your decree below.’ It was written in a fancy red cursive font, but the text looked animated, almost alive. John smirked and grabbed a pen, then wrote The Duel Act The Big Easy. NOLA. Crescent City. The Birthplace of Jazz. Nawlins. The City That Care Forgot. New Orleans has been called many things and, at times, nothing at all. The name’s James Sawyer. Failed lawyer, small-time criminal, and apartment janitor all rolled into one. I’ve been living here my entire life. Now, at forty-eight, life is just a series of random events that happen to me. With me having no control over my actual life. I used to be a lawyer. A damn good one at that. I passed the bar at a young age and started working in high-profile cases throughout New Orleans in just a matter of months. Then came along Danezki versus the state. A murderer, who I got off scot-free, who then turned around and went on a shooting spree, which, of course, shot holes in my reputation. From there, I went into teaching high school for a few weeks but was laughed out by the students. My reputation preceded me. And now… ha, I do janitorial work at one of the shittiest hotels in the city and run some small-time criminal ventures on the side. Just enough to make ends meet. I hate my life, but at least the criminal stuff helped me feel alive. My experience as a lawyer kept me out of trouble. It was the one thing that kept me wanting to stick around. I won’t lie; despite the majesty of New Orleans, I hate this city. I hate the people here. The ones that laughed and ridiculed me. For all I care, they can all die and go to hell. Now, here we are. I’m sitting here in my attic, gun in my hand… debating on whether or not all this is worth it. My father gave me the gun—an old six-shooter revolver, a perfect Western-style masterpiece. I stared at the finish for half an hour before putting it to my head, closing my eyes, and pulling it away again. I was desperately clinging to something to make me catch my second wind and want to live The Sick and Twisted Mind of Lucious Frostborne Doctor Lucius Frostborne. He is my mentor, my godfather, and my hero. He’s someone I look up to on the level that I can't put into words. Someone who changed not only the world but my life. His name says doctor, but it should say doctor three times. He's got three doctoral degrees. One for general practice, one for general surgeon, and one for plastic surgery. He serves as the primary and general care provider for many, while also acting as a surgeon on call as needed. Then he moonlights as a pro bono plastic surgeon. One of his most notable achievements is the Life Pass Initiative. He developed patented methods to keep patients happy and comfortable when they are nearing death. Often, he covers funerals and expenses out of his own funds. Allowing these people to pass away under supervised care, with their families knowing their final needs have been taken care of. A lot of his techniques are questionable when it comes to legalities, and he’s eccentric in a lot of ways, but the work he does has helped millions, so most of the time, he gets a pass when skirting that thin line between what is and isn’t allowed. The medical bar recognizes that most of his surgical procedures are cutting-edge, having never been done before, and consistently yield successful outcomes. I’ve watched his career unfold, and his surgical prowess and medical knowledge are unmatched worldwide. He’s one of the most sought-after doctors and surgeons internationally. My parents were very close friends of Doctor Frostborne. He became my Godfather at an early age. Growing up, I didn’t get to see him often, except when he would visit occasionally between work. But it's his medical history and his heroics that have forever changed my life. He's the reason why I entered the medical field. He's the reason I went to medical college. He promised me at a young age. If I ever finished up my medical schooling, he would take me under his wing and teach me all he knew. It’s something I’ve looked forward to every second of my life. I truly wish I had known what Diary of a Sniper 1/4/2007 Contract killing is one of the bloodiest professions a human can choose. I've been in the business for over 19 years and never thought about keeping a diary. I'm just getting old. There is no one to confide in. The only place for my secrets are in a diary no one will read. It helps with the nightmares but doesn't get rid of them. My worst nightmare is a single event that will never leave my memory. I was on a contract many years ago and I was hired to kill a business tycoon. His daughter heard the gunshot and saw the flash from the barrel. She jumped in front of him and took the bullet in his stead. Her face, frozen in terror, will always haunt my nightmares. I've had many names. At present, I'm Danny. On my last string of contracts, I was Carlos, in honor of Hatchman, the world famous sniper in Iraq. Last names aren’t safe. I don’t use mine. I received a series of odd contracts. Usually a client contracts me for a single target. I had a client –- let's call him, John -- who set up two targets. Both were easy kills. Easy