"DAIHIJI, NP
Something was brewing in the Vincent’s home on Greyghoul Boulevourd, and its residents had no idea of the monster within.
Romanski Vincent, 23, was shot and killed during an arrest Saturday for multiple accounts of rape, assault, arson, treason, battery, homicide of the first and second degree, unlawful and excessive use of torture and force, slander, perjury, sexual assault, felonious sexual assault, child abuse, theft, grand larceny, grand theft auto, vandalism, possession of contraband, propaganda, internal and external possession of controlled substances, resisting arrest, failure to show for court, assaulting an officer of the law, animal cruelty, scientific dishonesty, tax evasion, jury evasion, and possession of nuclear material.
Greyghoul was a peaceful street; each morning saw its residents greet each other with a smile as they collected the morning paper. All the residents knew one another and took pride in being one of the most well-kept neighborhoods in the town of Daihiji, located in a pocket of land just off the coast of Ansibar. The town, otherwise unknown, has gained worldwide recognition as photos of Romanski’s brutal activities were leaked to the internet, bringing forth a tremendous outcry for justice. Residents fear that the exposure will turn their quiet island into a bustling tourist attraction and site for progressive radicals pushing for political change.
According to the Vincents, Romanski lived in the small basement sublet of their split-level home and never spoke to any of them; Romanski’s mother, Margaret, reports last having seen him six months ago when they entered into a violent argument over the amount of noise coming from Romanski’s room. It has been supposed that the source of the noise originated from the industrial machines Romanski used to construct his subterranean fortress found in his name discarded miles away in trash heaps: a stunning 100-yard-long stainless steel, soundproofed laboratory beneath the Vincent’s homely house.
A two-mile-long access tunnel ran between the lab and an abandoned mine shaft in the neighboring precinct of Gharumaja. There, more machines such as backhoes, hydraulic cranes, dumptrucks and bulldozers were found in another dilapitated underground hangar, half-buried by the millions of tons of earth above it. This is presumably how Romanski was able to avoid detection for so many months as he committed a list of crimes worthy of a cult.
Romanski most likely acquired the funding for this project with a fake account under the name of a lone businessman he murdered and presumably tortured, identified as Tao Majisto. Majisto, an accomplished sales broker and well-versed in all areas of finance, appears to have been held in a tank filled with a solution created by Romanski that acts as amniotic fluid, putting the body into a sort of cryogenesis and achieving a calming birth-like state. This fluid also allows the body and mind to be sustained for incredible amounts of time, and the reviving of the body reportedly creates a cathartic, terrifying experience after which the victim is so confused that they will reveal any information, believing they are dead. Estimates place Majisto as having been held there for as many as eight months, during which Romanski likely learned everything he needed to know to keep his “business” running.
Authorities seized Romanski’s account and recovered a staggering $6.2 billion—more money than the republic of Ansibar makes from tax revenue in an average fiscal year. What’s more shocking is Romanski’s list of expenses: between the years of 2009 and 2010, Romanski spent a whopping $13 billion dollars on renovating his lab, purchasing and securing patents and copyrights, and meeting powerful individuals that allowed him to further his experiments.
The photos of Romanski’s lab have been suppressed by authorities and deemed unfit for publicization; Dick Patterson, Director of International Affairs had this to say about them: “I have never in my life seen anything so gruesome and vindictive—the man seems to have had a black jet hatred of all living creatures. It appears from his notes he was trying to create some kind of super-life that would feed upon living organisms by injecting them with a virus that would target the areas of the brain essential to survival needs, and after consuming everything available on the planet, the species would own knot so to speak and wink out like a light. I have never seen anything so frightening..our planet has never been closer to seeing a zombie outbreak become reality.”
Authorities have refused to disclose any information on the remaining material in Romanski’s lab, beyond that there may be multiple levels below the main basement, leading everyone to wonder just how deep Romanski’s horror runs. When pressed on the issue of zombies brought up by Patterson, Press Representative Linda Hayes said only: “Patterson is a fool to have even mentioned that—it is not information that the public should be privy to. The consequences of those words are going to echo around the world for months; I don’t want to even imagine the fallout from the paranoids in this country. But I will say this: if there is even a hint of truth to them, then the world has entered a new era of bioterrorism.”
Dayre Ishigato has been an editor for the Daihiji Gazette for 35 years, contact him at d.ishigato@daihijipress.cne"
“Heh..” said Dayre, surveying the paper he held in his hands. “They actually went ahead and printed this trash.”
“Oh, come on. You knew they would—you’re a wonderful writer, Dayre, when you want to be.”
“Ha! It’s not hard to float to the top of the shitpile that the journalism industry is these days. Cover a juicy story like this—maybe THE story of the year depending on how things work out, and you could throw balls of playdoh dipped in paint at a fucking wall and people would love it as long as it said ‘MASS MURDERING PSYCHO’ at the top.”
“Stop it, you’re a talented writer and you know it! Stop fishing for compliments, it’s infuriating.” The woman standing over Dayre’s shoulder blew her vibrant red hair out of her face and brushed it behind an ear and leaned in closer. “Do you think it’s true? I mean, you covered it—you’ve got to have some more insight.”
“Do I think—do I think this insanity is TRUE!?” Dayre chortled. “This garbage! My god, Emiri! You’re not an idiot, do you take me for one? This is so clearly someone’s desperate ploy for attention that you could see it lit up from the moon on a cloudy day! Even WITH the smog that’s gradually covering our planet, seeping up from the ocean—hell, it probably clarifies it—it’s been scientifically proven that this zombie bullshit can’t happen. I don’t know if they’ve done studies—I’m betting they have, those scientists are a twisted folk—but I’m quite sure they’ve proved it impossible. It doesn’t take a genius to kill somebody and get away with it, much less to make off with their funds. Romanski was an opportunist, and he took the leap when he saw it. Now he’s infamous, and I’m betting it’s exactly what the little fuck wanted. There’s probably just jars and jars of pickled wood down there, if there’s anything at all.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “That’ll teach me to engage you in conversation, good lord. Honestly, I forget how wordy and antagonistic you can get; it wouldn’t hurt you to take a breath and let your blood pressure drop once in a while!”
“Let me bl—listen, woman, I do whatever the damn hell I please, don’t be telling me what to do!” Dayre stood up and pushed her out of the way and stalked toward the kitchen. Before he could, though, she grabbed his shoulder and stole a quick kiss.
“Cheer up, miserable, it’s a sunny day. I’m going to go and tend to the plants. Will you save me if any zombies come out to play?” she said with a smirk, feigning being dragged to the ground by the undead. Dayre groaned and rolled his eyes, disappearing around the corner and shouting “You’re a strong women, you can deal with it on your own—it’s why I can stand living with you!” Emily grinned and made her way to the backdoor to fetch her gardening supplies.
They’d moved in together a few months ago, under a mutual agreement (and the insistent urges of their friends) that since they were already seeing each other every day of the week, they may as well just take some cash off the top and split rent for a place. Ever since things had been going smoothly. Dayre’s job as a well-paid journalist (certainly an oxymoron for their region) kept them with enough money to make rent, and Emily’s part-time job as a waitress let them have just enough extra spending cash to furnish their small one-bedroom flat.
Dayre had recently taken a three-day trip across the province to cover the rapidly expanding Romanski case, and Emily supposed that within a few weeks the calls would begin again. They had hardly recovered from his last big story (a government employee skimming some extra funds off the top of a certain large company’s taxes he owned, ringing in somewhere in the neighborhood of $30 million), and Emily was not thrilled about this coming ordeal. These days it was easy to just disconnect the house phone and switch to their backup cellphones, but still, it was a hassle, and one she did not want to deal with.
She hummed to herself as she made her way to the shed and reached out to open the unlocked door when it exploded outwards in a shower of splinters and petey wood. Recovering quickly, she got to her feet but was knocked to the ground by something large, black and heavy. “FUCK!” she screamed and threw the thing off of her. It made a chilling bark as it crashed into the side of the shed and she grabbed a shovel from the wall, quickly jamming it into the black thing. “What the fuck ARE you!?” The creature yelped, growled, gnashed its teeth and made to get up, so she jabbed it again, this time driving it in with the heel of her left foot. The shovel sank in deeply, half-beheading the creature which immedately flopped to one side as its blood and guts began pouring out. An acrid stench immediately filled the air, and she could see a clear fluid draining out of the thing’s neck, right at the spinal column.
“Honey!” Emily called to Dayre, who was already outside holding an automatic rifle he’d bought to deal with fans that were just a little bit too excited. “I thought you said we didn’t have these things around here anymore!”
“What?” Dayre growled, looking down at the black mass on the grass. “What the hell is this thing? It looks like a jackal and a bear on steroids. It broke through the shed door?” Dayre inquired, observing the shattered remains.
“Yes. Right there, and tackled me. Speaking of which,” Emily inspected an alarming array of large splinters in her arms, “I should probably get these checked on.”
“Let’s go. I’ll call..animal control or something, you go get in the car, I’ll get the keys.” He hugged her close, careful not to get any splinters or saliva on him. “I’m glad you can take care of yourself.”
“Shut up and get the keys, you semantic boor.” Emily laughed, and went around the house to get in their car.
The ensuing scream wasn’t what made Dayre’s blood run cold, not quite. It was the deadpan voice and sickly moist breath by his right ear.
“I told you they were real.” Romanski whispered.
“Jesus, FUCK! What the hell!?” Dayre spun around and stepped back, aiming his rifle carefully at the figure before him. “I saw your dead body! Your bullet-riddled dead body, what the fuck you twisted fuck?”
“That’s not true. I told you to report our little happy conversation. And you didn’t. But I told you to.”
“I thought you were dead, fuck! Dead men can’t enforce their promises.”
“You will find that this bitter philosophy of yours will be your unmaking, Ishigato. It is not good for you to be so nihilistic and angry. I think that you should relax.”
“I’ll relax when you’re dead and in the ground, how the hell are you alive?” Dayre said, aiming his rifle at Romanski’s chest.
“I have my secrets, Ishigato, and you have yours. And mine. But right now, I think it is important that you write another article.”
“Like hell I will! Your words don’t belong in a newspaper.”
“You don’t see it fit to warn people of the apocalypse?” Romanski said, licking his right index finger and drawing with it aimlessly in the air.
“Apocalypse, tch! Nothing in that laboratory was real, it’s not possible.” And for what may have been the first time, Romanski smiled. Dayre’s eyes widened as he realized Romanski’s teeth were all filed down to sharp points.
“As always, humanity’s orthodoxy will be its damning. It is so poetic that you will die by your own hand.” And with that Romanski slapped his thigh and Dayre dropped unconsciously to the ground. “You will write my article, and the world will know. And then you will die. Hearing the truth is scary, Ishigato. I hope your profession does not get in the way.” Romanski then turned his attention to the lifeless black form on the ground near the shed. “A loving tear for a fallen friend.” Romanski said, wiping an eye with sharp nail and dragging it carefully down the creature’s length. He then stood up, draped Dayre’s body over his shoulder and headed for the door that he had exited from.
It was then that Emily came back around the house, covered in blood that was clearly not her own. Seeing an unfamiliar figure carrying her friend inside their modest home, her breath caught. This was no longer a hassle. This was personal.
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Horrible writing, but I don’t care. I needed to get some writing knocked out, bad. I’m tired of this shit floating round my head.
hopeful