Friday, July 29, 2011

BATMAN THE LAST LAUGH: A really amazing fan film. Check it out!

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Al Bruno and THE FONTS OF DOOM

A quick note to my friends and readers,

Over the last week or so I have been having some bizarre formatting issues on the blog. They should be all fixed but if you notice some of the stories have print that is just a little too small let me know.

Thank you for your patience.

The Piglet Of Tybaldt

Legends Of The Pendaroth

The Piglet Of Tybaldt

by

Al Bruno III



From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...the era of machinery and miracles was long over. The sons of men struggled to rebuild from the ashes but the world had been tainted by the night the Monarchs had gone to war...


*


Kahl burst from his burning house barefoot and dressed only in breeches. Red dripped from his battered old sword, there was red on his chest and hands. Kahl no longer knew where the blood of loved ones began and the blood of their murderers ended.


Everywhere there was smoke and screams. A ragged shape charged at Kahl, brandishing a pitchfork and howling. A single swing from the old sword brought Kahl’s attacker down. A second tore a long, deep wound in his chest. More blood stained Kahl, this time it puddled at his bare feet and ran in thick rivulets along the cobblestone road.


Madness had come to the city of Shamblestone, a madness that had farmers and merchants fighting in the streets.


Everything Kahl had ever loved was in flames.


*

From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...wherever the Monarchs had fallen a terrible contagion had spread out from their bones. This was the Barrens, a land of ruin and nightmares. Every year it moved glacier-like across the sea and the land, across the mountains and the valleys. A Protectorate was formed, soldiers and scholars that tried to keep the Barrens from despoiling the world...


*


The old sword bit deep tearing into the stomach of the man that had been clumsily swinging a sickle at anyone that came near. Kahl stabbed forward again. Pain robbed the sickle-wielding man of his strength, his knees buckled and he fell forward until the old sword was buried to the hilt.


Kahl kicked him down and yanked the blade free. It didn’t come easily.


The village of Tybaldt and the city Shamblestone were close enough that they shared ties of trade and clan. Yet despite that all it had taken to set both communities at each other’s throats was a three eyed piglet.


*

From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...legends said that the Pendaroth would be gold-eyed and broadly muscled, that he would pass unscarred from the nightmare landscape of the Barrens, that he would gather the Valiant Ones to his side and set the long-suffering world to right.


But those legends had never specified when the savior would come, charlatans and fanatics began to speak for him, trying to make his Apotheosis their own...


*


Because of a three-eyed piglet a city was in flames, because of a three eyed piglet babies had been stabbed in their cribs and shrieking daughters had been raped within sight of their dying fathers.


Kahl had lost count of how many men he had slain. His arms were quivering from exertion, he had been wounded a dozen times but he couldn’t feel any of it. He was beyond feeling.


The wagon that carried the three eyed piglet was in the city square. The citizens of Tybalt had declared the little animal to be blessed by the Pendaroth and the citizens of Shamblestone had dismissed it as nothing more than tainted livestock. Three nervous looking farmhands guarded the wagon.


Kahl headed their way.


*

From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...true, flesh and blood heroes had been birthed in the thousand empty sunrises since the Monarchs' war. Shardovan the Wise, the Vagabond and the Witch From Another World had lived and died fighting to hold back the Barrens but they could never outshine the dream of what the Pendaroth might be, and what he might bring...


*


Kahl swung the old sword in a short high arc, shearing off a farmhand's jaw. Another farmhand brought his club down on Kahl’s wrist. The old sword clattered to the ground. The third farmhand struck Kahl on the back if the skull.


Staggering Khal lunged for his sword only to have it kicked away. More blows rained down on him. White sparks were dancing before his eyes. The two remaining farmhands brought Kahl down. He cursed and struggled but his cries were no different than any of others echoing through the streets of Shamblestone


*

From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...throughout my life I studied the legends of the Pendaroth. I will go to my execution believing in him but I offer you some words of caution with a touch of blasphemy.


People rarely get the messiah they expect or the salvation they think they deserve...


*


The piglet squealed. The two farmhands shouted with horror. There was a robed man on the wagon, a swath of dirty cloth hid his lower face, a pair of oversized goggles concealed the rest. He had the piglet pinned under one of his booted feet.


Kahl forgotten the two farmhands scrambled up onto the wagon but the robed man was ready for them. There was a blade in his hands, it was slender and gently curved. Even in the smoke it shone.


It flashed twice leaving one attacker headless and the other without an arm. Then the cloaked man used the blade on the three-eyed piglet. The man that had lost his arm was sobbing but he was quickly silenced.


Then robed stranger leapt from the cart and approached Kahl. When he was close enough he pulled the cloth and goggles away to reveal pale features and bright gold eyes.


“Pendaroth...” Kahl breathed, “...forgive us...”


The gold-eyed man’s expression was sardonic, “The Valiant never apologize.”


*

From The Journals Of Brother Thaddeus

...always remember people rarely get the messiah they expect or the salvation they think they deserve...


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

FULLY VESTED (a serial novel) chapter nine

IN THIS TWILIGHT

Fully Vested


Chapter Nine


By AL BRUNO III




Two years in


For the last two years Mike Carter’s schedule had been 9 to 5, Monday through Friday but a few weeks ago that had changed. Now Mike was working four ten hour shifts from Sunday through Wednesday. The good part about that was that it made his every weekend a three day weekend, the bad part was that he had to work on Sundays.


Mike wasn’t much of a religious man but he considered Sunday to be a day of naps and football. He still had football in the evening but his long afternoon naps were over for now.


Leaning back in his chair he wondered why Trinity Advance even bothered to have their billing departments open on a Sunday. If he was lucky there were a dozen calls and he ended up spending most of his shift reading mystery novels or trying to have conversations with his coworkers.


Well if this is what it takes to get me another raise then that’s just fine. My debts are paid off, I’ve got a new car and I’ve got a health club membership to support now.


For about the fourth time today Mike checked his email inbox and wondered about Helen. He hadn’t heard from her in months. He hoped she was all right. Would she be at the Christmas party this year? Would she even be interested in spending time with him? Or would some other employee be the lucky one this year?


Don’t think that way, that’s mean.


A call bleeped in through his phone, “Thank you for calling Trinity Advance Corporation, I am Michael your Sales and Billing Technologist. How may I be of service to you today?”


“I can’t believe I got through to someone.”


“We’re here twenty four hours a day, seven days a week,” Mike said, “Now how can I help you.”


“Yeah, this is Kriely City Hospital and we just found out we need-”


The power flickered and went out, the phones all died. Some of Mike’s coworkers laughed nervously. Emergency lighting came up, washing the call center in red.


Alan Grant called to them, “OK I’ll look into this. Stay on your phones and stay ready for when everything comes back online.”


Alan Grant was tall and good looking, a former actor. Mike remembered glimpsing him once on an episode of the Love Boat. Alan was in charge of the Executive Support team but on Sundays he covered everything. Alan headed out into the hallway, Mike watched after him wondering if they’d blown a fuse or something.


Someone wondered aloud if this meant they could go home early. There was a scattering of laughter and comments.


A shout and a series of loud popping noises cut off all conversation.


Is that gunfire?


Someone screamed and everyone started to flee the building. Mike stood in his cubicle.


Don’t you do it. He warned himself, You’ve spent your whole life being unremarkable, don’t change now.


But someone might need help. Mike took off his headset.


There was a fire extinguisher on the nearby wall, he pulled it free and hefted it, wondering how it would fare as a weapon. Then he headed out into the main hallway. It was empty but he could hear people fleeing the building. The emergency lighting flickered but stayed on. Another series of loud reports filled the air and Mike slumped back against the wall. That was gunfire all right but it didn’t sound like anything from a movie. It almost sounded like fireworks.


Maybe I should get the Hell out of here...


Maybe…


Mike stood there for a moment, considering. What did he have to prove here? Was he trying to get killed?


There was a thick syrupy substance smeared along the open doorway of the stairwell. For a moment Mike thought it was blood but the color wasn’t right, there was an almost orange tint to it.


He heard shouting from upstairs, someone begging.


I know that voice...


The voice quieted suddenly. Mike headed up the stairs. There had to be something he could do, and he couldn’t walk away now, he couldn’t walk away without knowing.


The door to the Executive Support call center hung open. More of the viscous fluid was splattered everywhere. There was a strange odor in the air, a sharp, chemical smell mixed with the odor of sulphur.


The room was quiet.


Crouching, holding the fire extinguisher close like a security blanket Mike moved inside. The Executive Support call center was about half the size of the main call center.


Oh God… Oh God…


At each of the desks there was a person slumped over their keyboard or lolling back in their seat. Most of them had been shot in the chest or head, but Eugene’s throat had been slit wide open.


Blood was everywhere, it streaked the walls and the computer monitors; it pooled on the desks, and stained the books that seemed to be stacked everywhere. Mike risked a moment to glance at them; primers on etiquette, wrinkled pamphlets with blasphemous illustrations, Latin dictionaries and folios of erotica.


What did they do here? He remembered those strange calls he’d gotten every once in a while. Every desk had a scratchpad that was crowded with strange symbols and crooked drawings. What kind of job is this?


“I told them I lost my old code key,” Mike heard Raymond’s voice before he saw him. There was an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder and a hunting knife sheathed in his belt. He was dragging a body out of the supply room, it was Alan Grant, “And they didn’t bother to cancel it. Dumbasses.”


Mike started to back away.


“Oh no.” Raymond said, “You may as well stay here now. Don’t try to run, otherwise…”


There was something wrong with Alan Grant’s body, his chest had been blown wide open but instead of blood and bone all Mike saw was a confused mass of clear tubing and glowing fibers.


The chemical odor was strongest here, it made Mike's eyes water, “Is that some kind of a robot?”


“Not even close,” Raymond said with a derisive snort, “this is a Mark Forty-Eight Dissimulation Interface Unit. The biologic locus got away though. It must have crawled out when I was killing Eugene. I was sure it was dead...”


“What is all this?” Mike asked, “Why did you kill all these people?”


“They promised us to get us in on the ground floor when the changeover came.”


“The company?”


Raymond started looking under and around the desks, in doing so he moved closer to Mike, “No. Trinity Advance is a ruse, a way to hide the transfer of services and personnel. I am talking about the secret masters of the world, the Monarchs themselves.”


Mike would have thought he was crazy if not for the thing at their feet, “So you work for these secret masters?”


“Monarchs… They're called the Monarchs,” Raymond emphasized his words by prodding Mike with the machine gun's barrel.


Mike flinched from the metal, it was still warm, “Please don't...”


“Look you're not a complete idiot,” Raymond peered out the doorway into the stairwell, his gaze followed the slimy trail that led out to the first floor hallway, “You must have noticed the whacko calls, the trucks coming at all hours. Hell, you banged one of them. Wasn't her body a little too perfect?”


“Helen?”


“Yeah,” Raymond shook his head, “Helen. They're moving in and taking over. They're living among us, influencing us. Making everything ready for when they can make their presence truly known. They make empires and destroy lives, they would burn an entire city just to light a match, and we were helping them. You and the nitwits downstairs moved the money around, we helped in other ways. They trusted us with their secrets.”


“You knew what they were and you helped them?”


“If not me then someone else,” Raymond's voice started to rise, “but they tried to screw me, they wouldn't give me what I deserved.”


“What did you deserve?” Mike wondered how much longer he could keep the man talking. As long as he was talking he wasn't shooting.


“To become fully vested. The biologic locus won't last forever, nothing will in the long run, but it would certainly outlast this.” Raymond gave one of the dead bodies a shove.


The sound of approaching sirens was muffled but growing louder. Mike wondered if he dared to make a run for it. Was that better than taking his chances here? He glanced at the dead bodies slumped at their workstations and wondered what had gone through their minds in their final moments.


“They won’t be able to cover this up,” Raymond said, “too many bodies, too many loose ends. We’ve fucked them good Mike.”


“We?”


“What better way to make sure everyone notices than to wrap it all up in a little hostage drama? Just enough to get the news crews here so they can take pictures and start asking questions,” he gave the thing that looked like Alan Grant, the ‘Mark Forty-Eight Dissimulation Interface Unit’ a savage kick, “Wonder what they’ll make of this.”


“If these Monarchs are the secret masters of the world…” Mike began, “…Then why would they let things get this far?”


Raymond gave him a glare, “What are you talking about?”


“I mean think about it, you tell me they’re this secret all powerful… Thing, then how did you get this far?”


“Because they fucked up, they didn’t erase the employee card I said I forgot.”


The sirens were roaring now but the tone and pitch were all wrong, they sounded to Mike like they were coming from within the building, radiating up from below, “You believe that? You really believe all that?”


“You shut up!” Raymond pointed the machine gun at him, “They didn’t play me. Nobody plays me!”


Oh yeah?


Mike heaved the fire extinguisher. It crashed into Raymond, sending him tumbling back over the crumpled shape of the thing that looked like Alan Grant. The machine gun fired in a wild arc, raking a line of bullets from Mike up along the wall from the wall to the ceiling.


The siren cry grew closer, the monitor screens rattled from the intensity. There was an organic quality to it, the keening rage of something that had seeped from between worlds.


What is this? Why can’t I think… Why can’t I breathe? There was an itch in Mike’s chest, he reached to touch it and his hand came back bloody. Shot? I’m shot? Pain overcame shock in a single crippling wave.


Raymond rose to his feet as Mike collapsed, pointing the gun directly at him. Raymond cursed and raged but Mike couldn’t make sense of the words. Were the walls of the building really shuddering around him?


The Mark Forty-Eight Dissimulation Interface Unit sat up, its empty eyes off center, its joints clicking. It grasped hold of Raymond, pulling him back down. The machine gun fired wildly. Bullets ricocheted everywhere.


Blinking back darkness Mike tried not to watch as Raymond was torn limb from limb. The color bled away from the walls, making them transparent as glass. Shapes loomed behind them, spindly and massive, compound eyes reflecting the scene over and over again. The siren became a voice, echoing through Mike’s dwindling consciousness.


“Est deus in nobis. Est deus in nobis.”



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Monday, July 25, 2011

Another DOCTOR WHO teaser? This one is for the GOD COMPLEX...

Thanks to LIFE, DOCTOR WHO & COMBOM for what can only be described as DOCTOR WHO VS THE OVERLOOK HOTEL

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Sunday, July 24, 2011

Also on the subject of DOCTOR WHO

I feel that we should all view this new DOCTOR WHO promotional image rationally and objectively...

BUT THE DOCTOR HAS A NEW COAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

The full DOCTOR WHO season 6 part two trailer!

 

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INSIDIOUS - a pleasant medocrity


 

Just saw this film. It was billed as 'the Scariest Film Since Poltergeist'

 

Sorry folks, I don't think so but the film was fun in a PG-14 way. In fact if I had seen this as a teenager I would have loved it. and it was a plesant enough film to while away the afternoon with.

In case you missed them... THE SCRAPYARD DIARIES


KNIGHTS OF BADASSDOM has horror, humor and Summer Glau!