"Eh, man this was one hell of a party!" Stan laughed and raised his beer can into the night sky.

"Word, man!"Alex answered. "Just too bad we were not invited. But I think we've given the event a little touch of Sigma Sigma Alpha I'd say! And we're up for more!"

"Yeah!" his friends loudly bawled out their agreement. They didn't even care that it was raining a bit. The alcohol in their blood kept them warm.

"WOHHHHHH..."

The guys knew how they had to react to this chant and joined their leader in shouting:

"SIG MA SIG MA ALPHA WE ARE! SIG MA SIG MA ALPHA HOORAH!!"

Their fraternity had a questionable reputation to defend, and as long as Alex was in charge he wanted to be damned if they wouldn't. The night was young and so were them, the 'party-animals' in full effect. The host of the party they had, well... kind of crushed had bought loads of beer for the party and they chose not to let any of it get expired or something and before finally leaving also filled up Ken's backpack as a little supply till they would reach the next party at Stan's.

Alex didn't feel any guilt about what they had done. Judging of the house the parents of this dude for sure were wealthy enough to compensate the little damages they might have caused to the furniture. And maybe this skinny little freshman-nerd would learn something from it. The college was huge and so they propably wouldn't even see him again. And even if. He wouldn't dare to mess with Sigma Sigma Alpha. They had almost like the whole football team in their ranks, including Alex himself.

Anyway, right now they were walking down a road in those suburbs, drank their beers, sung and had fun scaring out the "decent people" who crossed their way. Many kids were on the streets on their trick or treat tour. The adults around were mostly their parents. Alex only passed few young adults, which propably were also on their way to some party. Due to their drunken, loud behaviour most people tried to look away as their group was heading towardst the parking lot. He was sort of fine with that.

Shortly before they reached their target Alex saw a young woman who sat on the socket of the statue of some Civil War hero in the middle of a crossing. This whole picture seemed most unusual. Quite a good costume she had there. She had dressed up as a witch and reminded him a little of the one in... he had trouble rembering the title of the movie for a sec... Yeah, Wizard of Oz it was.

She might have been something like twenty years old. And under the black shabby dress she wore he could recognize some very nice curves. Under the green make up and the ridiculously long fake nose which she had obviously glued to her face, this actually might be a real beauty.

"Well, let's find it out." he decided silently. So he walked over to her. "Eh! 'evening there! If you lose this ugly 'carrot' there, you might get a chance to party with the studs of Sigma Sigma Alpha!" The young student had always been self-confident, but with alcohol in his blood he got almost presumptuous.

"You mean my nose?"

She would also have a good voice... If it just hadn't been for that almost aggressive undertone.

"Hey hey take it easy, Missy. Come on. You gotta admit: It's an ugly costume and it's fitting you not a bit." he babbled.

She looked him up and down.

All of their group wore halloweencostumes. Stan was dressed up as a cowboy, Mike as Frankenstein, a.s.o. Alex, thinking of himself as the Alpha-male of the group, had dared to dress up as a woman. It was a regular costume just off the rack. Just a poorly made imitation of a dress combined with a pink-colored wig with pig tails, far from looking any real. His ego was way big enough to take some jokes from his friends. And he guessed that the ladies would admire it in a man if he's also willing to make a little fun of himself sometimes.

"Well, look who's talking." The 'witch-girl' answered. "But I guess I will help you out on that."

Along with these words she pulled out some kind of stick from under her cape and pointed it in his direction. Before he could make any reply or react otherwise something like a flash lighted up and blinded his eyes.

"You crazy bitch!"

After a few seconds his eyes got used to the dim light of the night again.

"You're shooting around with a laser or something... AT PEOPLE'S EYES?!

The 'witch' just giggled mean.

"What kind of a nut-job are you, YOU SICK BITCH?!"

Alex really was more than pissed. If it hadn't been for his buddy Stan and the fact she was just a chick, he would have run over there to punch her in the face. He for sure liked playing tricks on people. He just couldn't stand to be the target of one.

"Eh, man. She's just a weird wacko. Let's just go and leave it at that. This cunt's not worth the trouble... " Stan tried to clear up the sitation.

Usually Alex wouldn't have let her gotten away with that. But as mentioned: He had had a couple of beers already and so he finally let it go and slowly calmed down. Of course not without turning around several times, cursing at the weird girl.

She just laughed behind him with her strange voice.

Alex came to the conclusion that he had stuffed that bra of his costume (which he had secretly borrowed from his sister's dresser) with way to many tissues. This thing costantly felt tight and so he grabbed under the dress taking some more of the tissues out, throwing them into the waste basket beneath the sink.

Anyway at least the evening seemed to have turned out good. They all had returned to Stan's place, continuing their party there. And as many of the guys of their fraternity were quite popular at the campus, there were lots of people, chicks and alcohol. Maybe too much alcohol. He was pretty drunk now, but even he realized that he was stumbling a little when he walked over to the toilet and tried to get the front part of his costume-dress up.

Suddenly the door opened and some dude came in. "Oh, uh... I... I'm so sorry."
Alex didn't know him. He was no fraternity brother. Surely some friend of Stan, he guessed.

"Ah, don't mind bro, it's allright. Just gimme a sec to finish here an'..."

"Um... You better sit down..."

The guy must have had some brews, too. Otherwise the deep red color of his face and the shaky hands he layed on Alex's shoulder while he assisted him to sit down would have been hard to explain.

"Yeah, guess you're right, man. Don't wanna make a mess of the place."

"There you go. So take good care of yourself, you hear."

"Never seen a man taking a piss? Never been to a public restroom, you twit?" Alex mumbled after the young man had hastily left the bathroom. Anyway, no time to think too much about this fellow. First and foremost he definitely had to get rid of some liquid now...

Alex closed the bathroom door behind himself. A lot of strange encounters this evening... But what the heck: He was stoned and a little drunk. Things like that could happen in a condition like this. He had spent like the last hour in the company of four girls. They just kind of came to him, introduced themselves and had a really good conversation. Maybe this was his lucky night. Eh, just saying: THEY had come to him. Good sign, veeery good sign!

The four girls were still talking when he came back and rejoined their group. They nodded with a smile without interrupting their talk. They discussed some chick flick, shades of colors for clothes with names he never even had ever heard of.

"Eh, Alex." he felt a hand softly touching his arm. The girl's name was Sue, a very beautiful girl of asian heritage which stood right next to him. "What took you so long? - Red Lola?" she whispered.

"No, I didn't bring any girl 'n stuff."

"Er... Okay then. Do you need some?"

'Now we're talking!' Alex thought while he put on his (as he thought) proven 'charming smile'.

"Well, how could I resist such an offer?"

She opened her handbag, fumbled around in it for some seconds and then kind of discreetly put something into his hand. What would it be? A message, a condom? His heart raced. - But when he finally took a quick look at what he now held in his hand his jaw simply dropped. With a puzzled look on his face he looked up and over to Sue again.

But she just nodded with a friendly smile as if everything was in order. Not knowing what else to do, he nodded back also forcing a smile.

"You don't have to be embarrassed." Sue had leaned over to him again and whispered in his ear. "It's just a natural thing."

Well, if her aim had been to irritate him she had definitely reached her target. Alex was really unsure how to react to this. What was this all about? Was this one of those little tests with which women so often attempt to bring men out of concept. Did she wanna test if he would freak out on a product of feminine hygiene? That must be it. He pulled himself together and put the 'thing' into a pocket of his costume. Okay, if that was 'the price', he would keep the thing for her for a while.

She was one of the most beautiful girls on campus, that was certain. But slowly he seriously started to hope she was worth the effort. If this was her way of 'playing hard to get', she definitely went for the 'hard mode'. Alex quickly emptied the drink he held in his hand.

The other three girls still were at their discussion about fashion. "And that's what I mean." Tessa said. "I say like you gotta find your colors. It's like with Alex. I mean this azure of the costume so matches the magenta of the hair." she pointed loosely in his direction with a kind of patronizing look on her face.

Ahuh, Okay. So he figured she must have caught a glimpse on his sideburns, his real hair under the wig. So magenta was 'chickish' for blonde or what? Whatever, who cared? At least the costume seemed to be a hit. You know how it is. Woman use to talk a lot and if you want to get one of them into the sack you have to smile, fake interest and at least try to listen to what they say.

"Well, *chrrr...*" Alex had to clear his throat. "Th.. thanks." he answered. His voice sounded awkward. Damned tobacco. He just made a mental note to himself not to smoke too much when he planned to hit on chicks.

The girls kept busy with their chit chat. To him it was just boring and so he kept silent most of the time, laughing along with the girls whenever he felt it was expected, when after some time Sue again addressed him.

"I'm so gonna get me some 'fun' tonight." she again whispered, suggestively winking her eye. "How about you, Alex?"

-'YESSS! Here we are, Alex! Back on the track again!'-

"Well, absolutely." he raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Way to go, Alex." Sue giggled into her hand. "Just tell me. What do you think of this one?" He followed her finger which she pointed out at Ken Masterson, a linebacker on his team.

"Ken? He's on the team. A good sport, nice guy."

"Well, too bad that I saw him first. - See ya later, sweetie."
She winked again before she shortly patted his shoulder and walked past him, over to Ken.

'Er... Did I miss something or what?' - Okay. This was enough! Another drink went down in one. That woman had first talked to him for hours, hit on him and then just walked away like he was thin air?! This was definitely too much for Alex. He had always been the first choice of the women when it came to the team and now he seemed to get outranked by Masterson, the linebacker? He felt like he could even hear the pumpkin lanterns at the dark windows laughing at him. Coming to think of it he had to admit the guy actually HAD a very well trained butt. And this bulge in his jeans. Did the guy have ever had such a big... equipment. And why did he notice that for the first time right now?

'Damned Stan and his fucked-up weed. What was in this shit?'

He had had three more drinks since he had taken a seat on that couch. Three drinks too much. Now Alex just sat there, resting his elbows on his knees, the pink 'hair' of the wig hanging loosely into his face.

"Eh, Quarterback! Are you alright, my man?"

Alex slowly looked up and recognized his best friend.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Stan had a surprised look on his face. "I just thought you were somebody else."

"W.. well, who did you except.. err.. expect? Friggin' Santa Claus?"

Stan sat down beside him and laid one hand gently on his shoulder as he talked to Alex with a very unusual calm tone of voice.

"Eh, listen. My name's Stan. I'm the host here. - But you look pretty drunk and I guess it would be better if we got you to bed now. Just trust me."

"I don't wanna go to sleep. I just wanna s.. sit here a little and..."

Alex was starting to complain, when Sue appeared on the scene.

"Stan, wasn't it?" The young man nodded. "Well Stan. I know Alex. Just let me do the talking, alright hon?"

Stan nodded understanding and took a step backwards.

Sue sat down beside Alex. "Eh Alex, be reasonable. It's better if you call it a day for tonight. You should go with him." She gave him a kiss on the forehead and whispered. "Wow, good catch. He's really cute." With this she waved goodbye and walked over to Ken who waited at the entrance door. Together both of them left. - Alex just sat on the couch and slightly shook his head. He had long given it up to get any sense out of that asian bimbo's crazy babbling.

"Well then." Stan stood up offering Alex a hand. "Let's get you upstairs. You need some rest."

"You're a really good friend, Stan. You know that?"

"Um... Have we met before?"

"You ask if you know me, man?" It's ME. - Alex, for christ's sake!"

"Alex...? - I'm sorry but..."

Still there was no recognition visible in the eyes of his friend. So at least he seemed not tobe the only one who got fucked up by that weed. Maybe if he reminded him of something he simply MUST remember. But what could that be. Oh, yeah. Their big game in Chicago last year.

"What is it with you? Don't you remember us playing? Our best game we everhad together?"
I mean, how you ran with those balls against this bear again and again. Don't you remember? That was your best day ever! It went back and forth, but you made yard after yard. And in the the end you so scored, oh man you so scored and God be my whitness. It was your big thing, your most glorious day ever!"

"Course, course. Now that you say it..."

To be honest Stan had to admit to himself that he had simply no idea what this person was talking about. Pink hair... That should have left a memory. But he none whatsoever. - But hey: He was a member of Sigma Sigma Alpha. One of the fraternities known mostly for having THE best parties of them all. And there of course had been some rough nights of heavy drinking. So therefore and according to the description it might have been quite possible that they had 'met' before.

"But it's really time to bring you to bed now, Alex."

"Yeah, well okay. I f... feel kind of tired anyway."

Stan knelt down right next to the couch, grabbing him fromunder his back and knees with both arms. Did the dude actually plan on carrying him?

"Well good luck with that, pal." he laughed. "I weigh like..."

Alex couldn't have been more astonished as his ol' friend lifted him up like a feather. It didn't even seem to strain him. He must have been doing extra training session or something. He never had realized how well built Stan was. These huge pecs, and even with his at the moment quite blurry sight he could easily tell that the guy's arms were probably twice as thick as his own. He just hoped the dude hadn't started taking steroids or something.

"Better lay your arms around my neck. I wouldn't want you to fall down."

Alex didn't object and did as he was told. He was dead tired and knew he had to get into a bed.

So his friend carried him up the stairs to the upper floor, when Alex suddenly felt something hard pressing against his thigh.

"Eh man, I hope that's a gun down there." Alex giggled, knowing that things like that can happen to a man when he's drunk. He knew Stan was as straight as it gets and hey, they had been best buds for years. But somehow suddenly began to feel a strange, but not unpleasant feeling between his own legs which irritated him.

"Do you mind?"

"Ey, man. You know I'm not gay."

"Hoped so." Stan winked one eye and smiled.

Stan had brought him into a sleeping room. Judging by the size of the bed it obviously was the one of his parents.

"I so have to get out of this stupid costume." he pulled the dress over his head and threw it over some chair nearby. Then he got rid of his boxers. He didn't mind that Alex was around, also taking off his own costume. Hey, they had seen each other naked in the showers after practice countless times.

Alex was releaved that he was finally about to get some sleep. But first he would get rid of this wig and bra. He grabbed one of the pigtails and ripped at it. "OUCH! HELL!"

"What is it?"

Alex still fumbled around with the hair. But no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to get the wig off. It seemed to be stuck somehow. Even if he had no idea how that might have been possible.

"Could you please gimme a hand with this, Stan? I can't get these off."

"Sure, just kneel down on the couch and lean forward. Might be a good position."

Alex figured that his buddy maybe planned to pull on the thing or something to get it of. But why in Stan's oppinion this would be a better position for that, was beyond him. Anyway, he was too drunk to be in the mood for asking to many questions.

Stan meanwhile grabbed into the hair from behind. - But the pull that he had expected now didn't come. Instead the pink hair fell into Alex's sight. Stan handed him the two scrunchies who had held the pigtails.

"There you go."

"Huh?" Carelessly Alex threw the things in a corner of the room.

"Now go on, Stan. You have to grab the hair if you wanna do this."

"Well, O.k. If that's the way you like it."

-'Hm, maybe the rain out there had been the cause...'-
"I guess it must have gotten a little wet and thereby sticky. It seems to have gotten a little tight." Alex said, impatiently wishing that his friend would finally go ahead and rip that friggin' stuck wig off his head.

"Yes, I can tell from here."

"Hey, I can take a little pain. - Just rip it!"

"Don't you worry. I'll be gentle. Promise."

"For Pete's sake, just do it Stan."

"Your wish is my command, milady."

"Who are you calli... UH! - Uhhhh! Oh my god! What's happening?!"

"Ban det tu Viet Cong?!" The Seargent held the end of his riffle directly into the face of the young vietnamese women. The smell of burning flesh was filling the place. They had set the whole village on fire, as the Searge had commanded. That's just how the military works. If you get an order, you carry it out without questioning. No matter what...

'Rabbit' didn't like this whole philosophy at all, but here he were. In the hell of friggin' vietnam. He knew he didn't belong here. He didn't even really get what they were here for. In his eyes war was only an considerable option if ones country was in danger. And this was definitely not the case here. These were just some misguided red "chinks" with kalashnikovs messing up their dumphole of a country. How could they ever threaten the U.S.? No way, that was how.

But obviously president Nixon thought this was one hell of a good idea. - Of course... Well 'Rabbit' couldn't see HIM crawling around through all the bushes and mud over here. Politicians: To him they were which came closest to a war-equivalent of an armchair quarterback.

"Ban det tu Viet Cong?!" That meant 'Are you a Viet Cong?' in vietnamese. The Searge seemed never to get tired shouting that into the face of the young women who knelt in the mud in front of him. 'Rabbit' was not sure if his commanding officer really believed that this small maybe around twenty years or something old girl could really be an agent of the enemy forces. And he kind of meant to feel that it wasn't even much important to him.

He seemed to be more yelling out his hatred and anger against these people. He kind of could understand that. Even he had whitnessed a good friend and comrade of his fall under the merciless fire of these stubborn asians. They for sure had not much weaponry. But believe me it doesn't really matter to you if you are a soldier. Bullet is bullet. It doesn't matter to those fighting how much the weapon had costed that they fire on you. You just have to respect it. A bullet for a few cents in the wrong hands in the wrong time and your ass is toast. - Always respect your enemy... or die. That's the lesson.

He didn't even want to think about of how many of theirs the Seargent must have seen fall as he had been here since the beginning of this cursed war. The first time he had met the man had been here... - Here at the front and the young soldier wondered if this man might have always been that heartless and bitter. War changes a man. Even HE had already had to learn that.

The "chink" who had killed Hank, his old friend since basic training, would never kill anyone again. The bullet of *rabbit's pistol had spritzed the sucker's brain all over the leafs. But that had been a combat-situation. It was he or him. - Believe it or not, when it comes to your own life, you do things without hesitating which you couldn't even imagine before.

But what the Searge did (and made them do as well) in this war was several nodges up. He literally hated these people. In total. He didn't make any difference between soldiers, old people, women... Even children he killed without a blink of his eye. To him they were just scum which had to be brought to extinction. He had even brievly told us that on one night in the army-casino back in Pyeong Yeu.

But this here was simply outrageous. He had commanded the soldiers of their unit to kill all of the poor villagers and setting their straw huts on fire. And the angry soldiers were more than willing to do it.

He didn't take part. As usual he just stayed in the back, ready to give 'em back up fire if needed... - Of course it wasn't. As most of the time.

That's why they had nicknamed him 'rabbit': "You're to jumpy, to much thinking, man." - Well, might be. But a couple of the guys who had joked on him in that fashion were now already rotting in the woods of this godforsaken jungle of a country.

He'd often felt the urge to stand up to the Searge. To say something like "You can't do that, sir!" But this was like an impossable and pointless thing to do, as most of the men around were simple minded brutes who just followed their leader without any questioning.

"Bạn lá  'Việt Cá»™ng, mai dá¢m!" - 'You are a Viet Cong, whore!'

That's what the Searge shouted when he suddenly pulled the trigger of his Storm-MG. He must have hiten an arthery or something. The Blood just sprayed out of the neck of the poor young girl, into his face and all over the Searge. He immediately wiped it of. Everyone of 'em knew that vietnamese were known to have all kinds of diseases. But if the fucker was really unlucky enough to catch one of those infected with one of these, the wiping of his several wounds, which the jungle plant's throns had caused, surely woulnd't protect him from that.

Even the most ruthless ones of their unit seemed to be shocked for a sec from this completely unnecessary gruesome kill of it's commander.

"What are you looking at?!" He yelled in anger when he noticed that like all of us looked at him, most freaked out.

"She was just a fuckin' chink!"

They had not much time to think or comment his words, 'cause at that very moment, planes appeared roaring over their heads. They seemed to be spraying something out. After a few moments they simply KNEW as some colorless liquid rained down on all of 'em like a fog.

"Agent Orange...."

The Searge immediately seemed to know was this all was about. "They're spraying this shit on us?! I can't believe it!" He was obviously pissed.

"Wilkins!" He yelled over to the groups radio-operator. "Call these fuckers to withdraw!" The soldier did abruptely as comanded, but ist was much to late. The whole bunch of the group already stood just in a cloud of the liquid they had let out up there.

"Down to the river! This is agent orange. There's a rumor which says it's poisonous somehow. Wash it of your skin as fast as you can!"

If there was one thing they had learned in this war, then it was that the Searge mostly knew what he talked about. So they all ran to the little river and washed themselves, including their uniforms and everything, only leaving their guns behind. The water around the Searge went red due to his several wounds.

They were still busy washing ourselves, when the rattling started:

-Bahaaaaaram!-

Hawkins and Briel broke down were they stood, hit by uncounted bullets. Their bodies just fell and floated down the river...

"Retreat!"

The Searge just dove into the water and Rabbit instictively guessed it might be propably a good choice to follow his lead. So he did the same. He stayed under the muddy water as long as he could. Instinctively he took a look back when he emerged from the floods again:

The Viet Congs were there on the opposite shore. As it seemed they so far had killed all the rest of their group. Just the young soldier and the Searge, whom appeared out of the water right in front of him just now, were left.

"To the woods, rabbit!" he yelled.

"Move your ass, boy!" The bullets of the Viet Cong's Ak-47s were simply plowing through the earth of the shore around 'em. But they somehow miraculously made it savely into the woods.

They ran and ran, it must have been nearly 15 minutes, till their powers and breath went out and they finally took a hide between the leafs of some bushes and trees.

...

When 'Rabbit' awakened hours later, he needed a moment to remember what had happended. But it soon came back to him. - They were dead... Hawkins, Briel... All of them...

But he heard the Searge breathing besides him. So, thanks to god, he was not completely left alone in this hopeless situation, this green hell.

"Searge?" the young soldier whispered. "Searge." He shook the man's shoulder.

His commanding officer reacted with a suprising level speed when he all of the sudden awoke and like instictively grabed his throat. Completely surprised he felt to the floor. The Searge was now sitting on him pressing his thumbs merciless in his neck, making him unable to take breath. Rabbit gasped, fought... but lost.

The Searges blue eyes were empty, filled with hatred. This was no more a man. This was a merciless machine, built by the military and years of gruesome combat. The spit ran down the Officer's chin as he flashed his teeth, heavily breathing.

"So this is how I die?" Rabbit thought. "Chocked by one of my own comrades?" His mind rejected that thought, but the body had no air anymore and thatfor no more power to resist anymore. His arms, with which he had tried to get the attacker away from him before now fell, hung useless besides him.

Everything went blur...

"R... Rabbit......?" Life suddenly came back to the eyes of the Seargent, when he came back to think and realized whom he was attacking there.

"AFFFFFF!" Instictively Rabbit took a long deep breath, when the merciless hands of his opponent finally let go of him. He rolled around the floor, while the Searge without any noticable sign of emotional display got up and just growled.

"Never sneak up on me like this again, boy."

Rabbit was just grabing his aching throat, trying to get some breath again. His lungs were burning like hell. But it slowly got better and better. - Oh thank god, he was still alive.

The Searge didn't pay him to much attention anymore. Instead he checked his handgun. They had gone for the wash in the river so hasty before that even the older veteran had simply forgotten to unstrap his sidearm. He carefully disassembled the weapon analyzing each and every part individually. Everything looked good so far. Might work, as long as the ammunition was still working. It had still dried, but had been exposed to water and so it was to be doubted if it would be still good.

The Searge reassembled the gun and aimed into the darkness of the night.

-Rachack- The sled was still fine, but to check if the ting was actually still working would require a test. He decided not to practize one for the moment. These 'chinks' were sly and could be damned silent.

"I don't trust this one anymore. Got wet." he resumed without even looking at Rabbit. "What you got?" The younger soldier tapped his sidearm and his knife with his left hand. With the right one he still massaged his hurting throat.

"Two knifes, two potentially useless guns, one handgrenade. No good." he resumed. "Gotta get our hands on some weapons, greenhorn. Won't be able to get out of this without some."

------------

The boobytrap was simply built. Some wire out of the hollow handle of the combatknife, one handgrenade, but when the two Charlies walked into it, it turned out to be quite effective. Rabbit even hesitated for a second when the searge and him stepped nearer.

The bodies of the two men were gruesomly mutilated. The young soldier was unsure if they were Viet Cong's or just simple farmers at least they had worn baskets with goods on their backs. One of the poor bastards had been unlucky enough to not die immediately. He screamed his heart out in pain with his own blood slowly forming an ongrowing puddle under his body. Not for to long, since the Searge chose this occasion for testing his sidearm. The bullet mercifully ended his pain.

"See, that's german craftsmenship. Mud, water, you name it: Still works!" The officer grinned while holding up his 'Luger'. "Try out yours."

Luckily it didn't matter anymore. So Rabbit did as told and realized that his standard sidearm didn't resist the water as good as the Searge's weapon. It just gave of a clik. It had become useless.

They searched the corpses of the two asians. Both of them had worn weapons. They obtained an AK-47, which the Searge took, and an old hunting rifle for Rabbit. Also a small ammount of ammunition was found.

One of the baskets contained only leather stripes was only full of leather stripes, whuich weren't of any use to the two men. Gladly the other one turned out to contain fruits, so the two hungry GIs sat down and had a meal.

Good thing. Because in Rabbit's oppinion the Searge could quite badly need it. He looked all bad. His skin had become pale and he had dark shadows under his eyes. And he couldn't really remember the man to be that thin. His uniform in some areas seemed lose on him. The young infanterist had memories of the officer as an huge giant of impressive stature, but looking at him closer at him now he seemed to be of quite average size. Well, sometimes the mind seems to fools you, he knew that. Especially in drastic situations like this.

"O.k., soldier. This is our situation." The Searge sat down on a log nearby, taking out his army-knife which had a little Compass attached to it. Our only chance is to get to get to the camp in Nihan Kayu. "The older soldier examined one of his wounds while talking. They were awfully red, but at least seemed to heal astonishingly quickly.

"In a civilized country we would be able to make the distance in a day." He ripped a piece of fabric of his sleeve and knoted it around his neck to prevent the injury there from starting to bleed again.

"But in this cursed hell of a jungle it will take take us propably about three. So get ready, rookie. You gotta become more then you were if we want to get through this shit."

He looked directly into the eye of Rabbit.

"Whenever it comes to the rough road I kinda like to know who I'm walkin' with. So what's your first name, boy?"

"J.. Jake." The younger man was surpised by that move. The Searge haed uswed to treat his men like cattle. Like exchangable work material... Well, maybe one learns to act this way over time when everyone who's around can be dead meat the next day

"'J-Jake'?" The Searge laughed. "So Jake it is." The Searge loaded his AK-47 and made sure that it was ready to shoot. "Get some more self confidence Jake. We two gonna face damned Charlie all on our own. That's gonna take some guts."

Rabbit just nodded, knowing what his commanding officer wanted to state.

"By the way.... My name's Alex." This was the first time Jake could remember he had seen a slight smile on the Searge's face.

"So come on soldier. Let's get going. We ain't got all day."

Carefully, with their rifles ready, the two men got off the small path and vanished between the leafs of the jungle...

------------

"Augh!" It was a clean hit right into the heart. The poor sucker fell were he stood when Rabbit's bullet hit him in the chest. He was propably dead before he reached the ground.

The other "chinks" surprisingly didn't seem to be scared by that and kept on storming forward, shouting out their anger while firing wildly. - Stubborn asian mentality. You just gotta 'love it'."

Luckily they seemed to have absolutely no experience or training whatsoever and therefor their aim was poor and the bullets just hit the ground bneath the two GIs.

"Sir! Hit 'em!" Jake shouted out in panic.

"I'm on it, man. I'm on it!"

The Searge fumbled around with the reloading mechanism of his Kalashnikov.

Was it just Jake or did the man really have become smaller? No, he wasn't halluzinating. The officer seemed now quite small. He himself surely overtowered him now by a head.

"FIRE! ALEX! FIRE!"

Finally the small officer seemed to have managed to reload his weapon. He got his head up and fired a Salvo into the enemies direction. But his arms seemed to be to weak to compensate the recoil of the weapon.

Out of control the barrel went like immediately upwards and most of the bullets just disturbed some of the countless mosquitos up over them in the air.

Usually Rabbit would have treated an commanding officer with much more respect. But this unusualy embarassing performance of the Searge was more than enough to let him forget about his behaviour.

It was also his ass that was on the line and he wanted to be damned if he didn't try everything, to the last breath, to get out of this alive.

So he finally just grabed the machine pistol out of the Searges hands. He was a trained machine gunner. He was meant to do this, trained to and (at that very moment) more than willing to do it. To save his own life. It surprised him actually how easy it turned out to take the gun out of the officers hands. But he had no more time to think about it as he immediately started to aim at their oncoming oppenents.

The AK-47 sung it's deadly song. The cartridge cases danced along with the awfull sound through the air, flashing in the last sunlight of the evening.

The one on the left... -Baharaang!-

Behind the bushes... -Baharrrrat!-

Alongside the tree... -Bahararararatktktktktk-

-Clic- The empty magazine fell out in the mud.

...They were dead. - All of them.

"Searge?"

"G... Good work, Jake. - They just got me in a wrong moment, boy."

No, that wasn't the case. The Searge had just handled his weapon poorly, Rabbit knew that. He had WHITNESSED it... And didn't understand it. This man was one of the most combat-proved soldiers he knew. An AK-47, one of the standard-weapons of this war shouldn't have been a unknown thing to this old dog.

Nevertheless the commander had simply handled it like a rookie. - And this man was known to be a shooting ace!

Well, maybe it was due to his health-status. The man had thinned down in just two days in an enormous rate. Jake could even swear that the Searge had shrunk several inches. But that were not the only changes that were noticable...

His chest and waist seemed to have swolen noticable. Might be Malaria or something. He didn't know much about all the medical stuff. He was just a soldier for christ's sake. Jake decided that it wouldn't make much sense to tell the poor comrad about his questionable condition. But he knew he had to get the man to the medics as soon as possible.

"Don't mind, Searge. - I got 'em..."

His commander to his surprise kept staying passively behind the little earth hill (was the Searge really shivering or was it just his imagination?) while Jake searched the killed enemies for ammunition and supplies...

"Here. Take my hand." The Sarge smiled at him thankfully and took the hand Jake offered him to make the huge step over the rocks. Jake pulled his comrade over; it was surprisingly easy. The man seemed to weigh almost nothing. The only problem the young soldier had to face was getting a good grip on Sarge’s hand because the sleeves of the man's uniform seemed to hang loosely and several inches over his hands.

What could possibly cause changes like these? This Agent Orange shit? Well, there were rumours he’d heard from other soldiers that this stuff was no good... of soldiers puking their own heart out after being exposed to it. It was a chemical originally designed to defoliate the jungle, letting the troops get a better sight of the enemy. - Maybe with some side effects...

Jake found himself agreeing with the rumours. This stuff was no good at all. But could it do something like this? He looked at the Sarge’s thin, slender hand, which he still held in his own. The man, over just two days, had lost literally all of his facial and body hair, and his skin had taken on a significant yellowish tone which definitely wasn't healthy for a Caucasian man.

"Maybe it's jaundice or something." Jake thought while they continued to climb the rocks of the small hill. It was hard work, sure, but it was still better than continuing to cut their way through that goddamned bug-infested thicket of a jungle as they had been doing for the last few days.

But what friggin' disease on god's darn earth changes the hair colour of someone? He was absolutely sure that the Sarge had always had brown hair. Now, as he looked at the back of his head it was undeniably a deep black. No, it definitely must be some reaction to the chemical they got exposed to.

"Eek!" the sergeant’s scream ripped him out of his thoughts.

Thanks to Jake's quick reaction he managed to grab Alex’s arm before he could fall to the ground.

"Tripped again?" Rabbit sighed. This man had to be the one Green Beret with the worst sense of coordination in the whole Airborne. O.k., O.k. maybe speaking a bit too quickly: The dude was really short. But he was also awfully clumsy when it came to climbing.

Jake decided to let the Sarge go in front so he could catch him in case he stumbled again. It turned out to be a good decision. How this fellow had ever gotten through basic training was beyond him. Hell, If you looked at the man from behind one could even think this was a...

"Ah, no... - Don't get irrational. Pull yourself together, man." Jake shook his head. All these months in the jungle obviously didn't have done him any good. Was he perhaps starting to 'see things'?

"Need a hand?" the young soldier asked when he realized that the Sarge seemed to be reluctant to climb up the next step. Without further thinking Alex grabbed the NCO at his waist and lifted him up the rock.

So it wasn't just his imagination. - The man was light as a feather.

It had been a hard day. But Jake was pretty relieved that they had reached their goal and managed to get over that hill before the dawn came. They had had some of the food they obtained from the fallen enemies and then had tried to get some rest, safely hidden under the leaves of a huge old tree. Onlya few minutes later the two exhausted soldiers had fallen asleep.

It felt like heaven. When he woke up the warm morning sun of good ol' New Jersey shone through the glass of the balcony's door and he was just enjoying the moment. His girlfriend Stacy slept at his side cuddling her body against his. She moved her head a little on his hairy chest, smiling in her sleep. He just loved to feel her slender body, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. And the smell of her hair. He wouldn't trade it for gold. He kissed his girl on the head, carefully not to wake her up. She looked just like an angel.

All of the sudden the Sarge appeared up from under the end of the bed, releasing the safety catch of the machine gun he held.

"INCOMING!" he yelled, firing of his weapon into the ceiling, and all of a sudden the room's walls exploded in huge detonations of fire, sending pieces of the furniture and TV-set flying all over the place.

"WHAAAAH!"

Jake started up like a rocket when he awoke. Something had been lying on his chest and just got thrown of due to his abrupt movement upwards. He realised it was someone’s head. When, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the face of the person all thealarm-bells in his mind started ringing. Adrenaline began pumping through his veins when he rolled over through the leaves and dirt and in a matter of just seconds grabbed his rifle and got up on one knee, quickly taking an aim on his target.

The person in front of him also got up on its knees, seeming irritated.

"BAN DET TU VIET CONG?!!!!"

"BAN DET TU VIET CONG?!"

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind, Rabbit? What are you, nuts or something? For christ's sake don't you aim that weapon on me!"

The young soldier knew this way of intonation and the southern slang. This was the way the Sarge used to talk. Just the image Jake saw in front of him didn't match with that anymore. But this was flawless english... And the name tag on the camouflage-uniform said "Petrovic". The name of the Sarge. But it just couldn't be... This person was...

"Sarge? - A...Alex? I... is that you?"

"Well, whom did you expect Rabbit?! - Now get that weapon of yours down or I'll have you ass handed to the military-court!"

"I..." Jake lowered his rifle. Not only because he had been told to, but mostly out of sheer surprise. "Er..." he just didn't know what to say anymore. This whole situation was way to much for his mind to understand. If this was some kind of psychological warfare trick of the Viet Cong, he surely had undererstimated those fuckers big time before. But what he was much more worried about was that he actually didn't think that it was one.

"Hell, boy! You really scared the shit out of me. I really thought you'd lost it." Alex cleared his throat. "Damnit! What is it with my voice. Some sideffect from this darn chemicals?"

If it only would have been just that. - Jake emotionlessly stared into the far while he enabled the security lock of his russian machinegun and slowly sat down on the ground.

"You better... *cough, cough* You better pull yourself together, Rabbit.

Just gimme a second. Gotta take a leak. But hen we're off to go. If we keep hiking the whole day we even might make it to the camp till evening."

Jake just sat there reasoning, waiting... - He had considered to say something, like "You better sit down" or anything similar. But he couldn't get himself to do it.

So it came as no big surprise to him when Alex returned to the clearing some moments later. The fly of the pants was opened and the fabric between the legs totally soaked with piss. The wide eyes and the trembling lips implied the condition of a serious shock.
"I... - I can't find... Where's my cock?!"

"What happened to me?" Alex in disbelieve kneaded her breasts, staring at her crotch. The woman which once had been the Sarge had pulled down her now much to large army pants down to the boots, so her... well, primary sex organ was now visible not only to her eyes, but also to his.

Jake had turned around on the log he was sitting on, giving the S... Alex some privacy. He could imagine that it would take her some time to get up on her feet again, realizing the impossible. He himself wondered how something like this could even be possible. The Searge had changed completely into a women. But not just that. He looked in fact exactly like the vietnamese girl which he had killed back there in this damned little village.

Yeah, sure. Jake had heard of chemicals that were poisonous. Rumors had it that some vietnamese women already gave birth to mishappened children due to agent orange or however all the other shitfuck the spread over the woods these days might have been named. - But the change the Sarge had obviously undergone was so drastic and total that it seemed simply unthinkable.

"Christ Rabbit, I have a... a...!" she couldn't finish the sentance and just broke down again whining.

Jake stood up and came over trying to not look at the young women's private areas. Not an easy thing to do, as she in her cofusement had unbuttoned her shirt to get a sight on her chest. He got her up to stand and from behind grabbed her pants and pulled them up.

"There, there..."

He buttoned Alex's pants, trying to calm her down through speaking in a soft tone.

"You gotta cover yourself up, man. - We've been here way to long anyway."

Of course the term didn't seem to fit anymore, but Jake used it on his former comrad so he wouldn't think that he'd be treating him any different now. This actually would turn out to be a little difficult, but what the hell. In this very moment, the message was wwhat seemed to count.

"You think I care about that chinks?! Look at me for fuck's sake! I'm a WOMAN! A WOMAN you hear!"

Alex had turned around, grabbing Jake's collar while she screamed out here dispair and anger.

Jake just stood there, a face on white as the wall and suprisingly silent. Alex followed his eyes down to her bare chest, which she realized was pressed now against his as she had pulled him in to look him directly into the face.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she all of the sudden felt something hard pressing against her crotch.

Alex immediately turned herself away from him blushing.

"You.. you damned pervert!"

With shaky fingers he started to button up her shirt. Before Jake could react she broke down on her knees, bending over, crying out unrestrained.

"Hey Alex, listen."

Rabbit got down on his knee besides her and tried to comfort her by laying his hand gently on her shoulder.

"They use this chemicals all over the place. - You can't be the only one which this effect happened to. The military only uses things they have tested intensively. So I bet they have files on this and also a medicine to cure it."

The young GI knew he was telling a lie. And he felt Alex seemed aware of that to. But sometimes lies are better than truth. He guessed it must be due to some self defense mechanism that evolution created over those uncounted thousands of years. It might be irrational, but it helps you to go on.

"Yes... - You... you're right. - They do, don't they?"

Jake just nodded.

"Let's get to that camp to get you some proper treatment."

He took as stand stretching out his hand to help Alex up. "Let's do this."

With a determined look Alex took it and he pulled her up.

> Don't shoot!<

Chinh had a bad feeling about this. He layed down and got his M 60 ready to shoot. There was something seriously wrong with that scenario.

What woman on her sane mind would step out of the forest all naked in front of a bunch of armed soldiers? - On the other hand he had seen way more strange things over the last month. War is no rational thing. It makes people go wild, some of them even crazy. He had seen children burning in the phosphor fire of the capitalist american's bombs, the corpses of women who had been raped with bajonets. If you ever have faced things like this in your life your spectrum of 'what is possible' whidenes significantly.

The belt was set, the gun all ready he aimed out on the girl. She might have been somewhat around twenty years old. A vietnamese. They propably wouldn't have much trouble with her. The woman was obviously desperate, her face was redened from the tears.

His comrad Dak Kien now stepped closer to the girl, his sub-machinegun ready to fire.

">Where are you from, girl? How did you get here?<"

Good thing. In these day and age it was always better to be save than...

>"Viet Cong good!"<

The accent and grammar of the the girl were far from natural for a vietnamese. There was something definitely wrong here. This must be a...

>"ARGH!"<

The merciless hit shook his whole body. The Vietnamese soldier trembled in shock while he felt the cold steel beeing stabbed into his lung from behind. - Air! He had to get get some air!

Everything went black to Chinh when the knife got twisted, ripping his flesh to scraps.

Five of the Congs. To much for the two of them. They had already gotten suspicious since Alex carelessly had broken some branch. To much noise. The chinks now knew they were there.

They might be tough mercenaries, but they also were men... The idea flashed just into Rabbits mind out of nowhere. - He hadn't have much time. No room for a discussion. He quickly had explained his plan to the former Sarge. Then he just had ripped of her uniform. Then, not waiting for an aggreement, he had simply ripped of the clothes of the young woman.

"Wait for a minute, then step out into their sight."

She just had looked at him, speechless, freaked out...

"Do it if you wanna live."

Before Alex could think of any answer, Jake had vanished between the leafs of the jungle.

Hastly he sneaked around the scenario in a wide arc. He had heavily doubted that Alex would do as told. Try to be silent while your heart beats like an engine. He was quite releaved when he savely got behind the enemies.

How come they didn't come to get him? Well, never underestimate what the sight of a naked woman can do to men which have been in the combat zone for weeks, or even month.

If you would have asked Jake several month ago, he surelay would have said he would never be able to do such a thing. - But now he rammed the knife into the gunners body with immense brutality. - Alex stood out there. And he wanted to be damned if he would be responsible for these fuckers to do her any harm.

The guy still moved. "Stop moving! Just die... For god's sake DIE!" That was all rabbit could think about. Cut down to his basically survival instincts he twisted the knife inside the wound, pulled it out and...

"Damned!"

The loader had yelled out something in vietnamese before the blade entered his eye. Some white liquid floated over the GIs hand, when he swirled the knife around, sending the poor bastard down for good.

The other three asian guys, now standing in the river right before Alex, must have heard their comrad's scream. - Well, 'big surpise'. - The american soldier just acted like trained. Grabbing the machine gun of the killed asian mercenary he layed down...

Ammunition-belt set... Security device of... - Go....

"ALEX! DOWN!"

As soon as the young woman had hit the water, he pulled the trigger. Shoot... Taking aim... Shoot... re-aim... shoot....

The rain of led mowed them down like grass.

The young woman slowly got up, when she realized all the noise above the surface had stopped. The muddy water dropped from her hair. Alex was glad to be able to take some breath again. - Suddenly a shadow fell on her.

"Need a hand?"

Jake smiled when he pulled the girl up.

"Dear lord help me, I beg you!" Chris had felt terrible about not beeing able to resist to his fantasies any longer. He had dreamed about beeing a woman again and in his sleep he had jerked of. He was all ashamed and desperate.
Six months! SIX MONTH he had managed to avoid thinking about sexual things completely! And now that...

He tried eagerly but he seemed unable to get the images of that dream out of his head.
"Oh, Christine! You're so hot!" The voice of the man in her... his dream repeated in his mind.

"GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD, LORD PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON THIS HUMBLE SERVANT OF YOURS!

Chris kept praying and praying over an hour desperately. But there was no relief, no absolution. He suffered and felt ashamed while he repeated the verses over and over again.
That was when suddenly a voice appeared behind him.

"He won't listen. - You know... the old man got actually a little senile and sinister over the last couple of millions of years."

Chris's pupillaries widened as he gasped in surprise. This was his very own flat, it was in midst of the night and there wasn't anybody supposed to be in here with him. His thoughts started to race. He had heard no sound at the door, which would have been definitely the case if somebody had tried to break in. Same for the windows. He had made definitely sure that they were all closed so none of the neighbours could hear his prayers.
He spinned around hastly and looked at a man who was sitting in his armchair across the appartment. How could this be...?

"Oh, don't worry about that. - I'm here, that should be good enough."

Had he said his thoughts out loud? Chris felt quite sure he didn't...

He looked at the man which so abruptely had appeared in his home. He was a slender, propably caucasian guy with pale white skin. He had a relatively long pointed nose which stood out on his face as well as his thin chin.

"Mind if I get me a drink, Chris?" Without waiting for an answer the stranger got up and walked straight over to the mini-bar, making himself a Bloody Mary.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Chris shouted out pulling himself back together again. "You better get your fucking ass outa my place or I'll kill you!" The young man grabbed the paper knife from the living room-table and pointed it in the direction of the intruder.
But the strange man didn't seem to be threatened by all this.

"Eh, calm down Chris. - I'm here to help you."

The weird man sat down in the armchair again, flatened his pinstripe-suit with the free hand and took a sip on his drink.

"To help me?! What could you propably help me with you freak?!"

"Hm. I don't know. - But why don't you just tell me about freaks... Christine?"

This hit Chris like a rock, literally letting him tumbling backwards a little due to surprise. Christine... That was the name with which the man in his dream had addressed him...

He had never ever told anyone. Even in his prayers which this bastard might have overheard he never had mentioned anything like that. Chris was sure about that.

Was this wacko just guessing? The man's lurking and strangely intense eyes looked at him fromunder the brim of his white hat while he absentmindedly stroke the red feather attached to it.

"W... what do you think you know?" Chris still held the knife in direction of the intruder, ready to stab him if necessary.

'Red feather' held up his glas and looked provingly at it's content. "Well, I know a Bloody Mary is one hell of a good drink..."

"That's not what I meant you fuckin'..."

"...AND I know that you would rather like to be a Christine than beeing Chris."
The strange guy placed his drink on the table, stood up and walked towardst Chris 'til his chest touched the tip of the paperknifes blade.

"I CAN help you." He hissed. "But I won't if you keep on pointing this thing at me any longer."

"W... Who are you?" Chris stuttered. The situation started to get way to much for him.

"Well, take a wild guess..."

Chris quite had an idea what the man with the wicked smile on his face was implying, but it seemed impossible, unthinkable. Anyway... Not giving any chances and taking any risks he started reciting a prayer.

"Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven..."

*HISSSSSS* 'Red feather out of the blue literally jumped back like half of the room, guarding his face with his hands. "STOP IT, YOU FOOL!"

Chris didn't know why, but in shock he actually broke his speech for a moment.
Within a second (Chris had no idea how he did it) the man was again right face to face to him.

"You think that your god will save you? - Don't be a fool! He created you! He created you always wanting to be something you aren't in this world. He created you wrong, cursed to suffer the disgust and mockery of the people surrounding you for the whole time of your life! That's what he did!"

"You're... You are the..."

"Bet your ass I am." Chris just couldn't escape the intense look of these flashing eyes.

"And I am the only one that can and will help you out of your misery. Get the life you want, that you desire, that you deserve. - Just forswear this stupid old man."

"You mean... God?"

"Just think about it. THINK, Chris." 'Red Feather' grabbed the collar of the young man's shirt, pulling his face even closer to his own. "What has this old geezer done to you? He had thrown you into a world where you're unfit, not matching, without standing a chance to ever be accepted... from the start on! He fucked you up, gave you the raw deal!"

Tears started to fill Chris's eyes.

"You said out that prayers of yours over and over again over years, begging for relief, for mercy. Tell me, what was his response?"

"I... I..."

"NOTHING! That's what it was! That's 'cause he's a sick old sadistic bastard! For him you're just entertainment. 'Big brother' for gods, that's what you are for him! He's feasting on your struggling!"

"I..." Chris was just listening, unable to act anymore. All of what the stranger said seemed to make sense. He knew he shouldn't think so, tried to fight it, but...

"Me instead..." 'Red feather' grinned maliciously. "I reward those who follow me! Well, maybe I'm even the good guy in this game. - Believe me I'm a man of my word. You can be what you want to be if you serve me. And you will be able to laugh about those who did all of this to you."

"But..."

"God, the arrogant angels... They would no longer be your tormentors... Just mere opponents."
The man in the suit smiled satisfied when he saw how the expression in Chris's face changed from irritation to determination.

"I... - Where do I sign?"

"Sign? Oh, that's just to clichee and not necessary, my dear friend. - I'll take your hand for it..."

When Chris shook in, he felt a strange hot tingle running all over his body.

"Welcome to the pack, Christine."

'Red feather' still held Chris's hand while the young man broke down due to sheer unbearable pain. All his bones all of the sudden seemed to awfully crack and to move...

"IAAARRRGH!"

"Don't you worry. It'll all be good soon..."

'Red Feather's laugh in Chris's ears sounded like it must have been audible over miles.

"You just make the best scrambled eggs in the world, hon." John said between two bites of his meal to his wife.

"Yeah, mom. You're the best!" Their eight years old son Gregory threw in.

"Ewww... I don't like eggs, mommy!" Sarah, Gregory's younger sister pouted.

Christine patted the little girl's head with patience. "I'll make you some toast and bacon, sweety."

John had already left for work. Christine was waving her kids good bye. They were heading of for class with the school bus when suddenly she got aware of a man sitting on the swing on the veranda, right next to her.

"Well, hello again Christine my dear. - I got something I want you to do for me..."

The red eyes glowed like hot coal out from under the white hat.

"So so, also Glasmacher seid Ihr?" - "Ja, Freund. Wei០Gott, es ist ein anstrengender Beruf, aber er erná¤hrt seinen Mann". - Es war ein beschwerlicher Weg auf diesem uralten ausgetretetenen FuáŸpfad á¼ber die Berge. Und der so schwere wie ratternde und klimpernde Karren von Misrah's Weggefá¤hrten machte die Sache nun nicht unbedingt einfacher.

"Gesellenwanderung...". - Er hatte diese althergebrachte Tradition und Weisung seines Meisters von Anfang an fá¼r Unfug und als komplett á¼berflá¼ssig befunden. - Aber gut, man streitet schlecht mit einem Magier und so hatte er sich aufgemacht und zog nunmehr schon seit zwei Monaten durch die Lande. Mal per Anhalter, meist aber doch zu FuáŸ. SchlieáŸlich war es kein Leichtes, Fahrer zum Anhalten zu bewegen wenn man wie er mit schwarzer, lederner Jacke, weiáŸem Haar und Eisenketten um die Schulter gewunden umherzog. Und so hatte ihn sein zielloses Streifen auf Schusters Rappen schlieáŸlich in diese hohen Berge Schlesiens gefá¼hrt.

Nun, es mochte ihn wohl weit schlimmer getroffen haben ká¶nnen, dachte der Magierlehrling bei sich. Denn immerhin war es Sommer und die Sonne beschien wohlwollend die grá¼nenden Pflanzen und beschehrte ihnen und den Vá¶geln, die von den á„sten sangen, angenehme Wá¤rme. Lediglich, so vermerkte er fá¼r sich selbst und die Zukunft: In einer schweren,ledernen Jacke zu wandern erwies sich als eine wahrlich schweiáŸtreibende Angelegenheit und bei der ná¤chsten solchen Gelegenheit wá¼rde wohl selbst er gewi០von seinem gewohnten Stile in der Zukunft abweichen und sich etwas zweckdienlicher kleiden.

Nun, immerhin hatte er auf seinem Weg á¼ber diesen huckligen Pfad diesen wunderlichen jungen Mann getroffen. Ein grobschlá¤chtiger, um nicht zu sagen einfá¤ltiger Typ wohl, aber ein guter ZeitgenoáŸe, dessen Beruf ihn nun wohl nicht wenig erheiterte. "Glasmacher..." - so dachte er abschá¤tzig bei sich. In dieser gottverlassenen Gegend schien die Zeit wahrlich stehen geblieben zu sein. Aber was sollt's und da ihm der gute Vojtech wá¤hrend dieser Wanderschaft so trefflich Gesellschaft leistete und ihr lockeres, freundliches Plaudern die Má¼hsal der Wanderschaft ertrá¤glicher machte, wollte er sich's auch nicht zu schade sein den mit zahllosen Glaswaren beladenen Handkarren seines neuen Freundes auch mitzuziehen.

Ein letzter, beherzter Ruck am Karren (so dass die Eisenketten und Medaillons um Misrah's Schulter mit den Glaswaren um die Wette zu klimpern schienen) und sie hatten den vorerst letzten Huckel auf ihrem Anstieg genommen. Der Weg verbreiterte sich nun zu einer kleinen Lichtung, und die beiden jungen Gesellen stellten den Leiterwagen, erschá¶pft á¤chzend von den vorangegangenen Anstrengungen, inmitten der vom Grá¼n des Sommers umrahmten Ebene ab. "Ein trefflicher Tag fá¼r die Wanderschaft" sagte Vojtech, wá¤hrend die Beiden Wanderer sich zu ihrem Mittagsschmaus auf einem Baumstamme darniedersetzten und er das Bá¼ndel mit seiner Wegzehrung á¶ffnete.

Das Medaillon um Misrah's Hals trug die Rune der Sprachen, ein weiterer Vorteil seines Handwerks, der es ihm ohne weitere Probleme ermá¶glichte, dem stark dialektisch gefá¤rbten Tschechisch seines Weggefá¤hrten nicht nur zu folgen, sondern diesem auch in gleicher Zunge zu antworten. - Auch der Magierlehrling nahm nun seinen Rucksack von den Schultern und kramte etwas zu Essen hervor, dass er sich wohlweislich vor der bevorstehenden Reise zurechtgemacht hatte.

Tief sog er die frische Luft der Berge ein, bevor auch er sich hungrig á¼ber seine Wegzehrung hermachte. Und wie die beiden Weggefá¤hrten so eintrá¤chtig beieinander zum Schmause saáŸen, da trat ein anderer Reisender aus entgegengesetzter Richtung auf die Lichtung. Und selbst wenn er nicht der Einzige gewesen wá¤re, der den Beiden dort in dieser menschenleeren Stá¤tte begegnet wá¤re. Auffá¤llig wá¤re er dennoch gewesen.

Ein gestandener tschechischer Kerl war's, von mittlerem Alter und hohem Wuchs, gewi០zwei Meter lang. Gewandet war er vornehmlich in eine schwarze Robe, die bis knapp á¼ber die Knie reichte. Darunter ragten die haarigen, bloáŸen Beine des Mannes zu Boden. Beine, die davon zeugten, dass der Geselle gewi០in seinem Leben nicht fuáŸfaul gewesen sein konnte. Die Fá¼áŸe schá¼tzten ihm á¼berlange Strá¼mpfe, die er obdessen eingefaltet hatte und in grobschlá¤chtigen, há¶lzernen Schuhen, Pantoffeln gleich, steckten. Ein Já¤germesser in einer roten Há¼lle hing markant von dem Gá¼rtel, welcher seine ganze Kleidung zusammenhielt. Die schwarze Kapuze der Robe gewá¤hrte ihm Schutz vor der Hitze der heiáŸen Augustsonne, gerade soweit herabreichend um nicht den Blick auf seine intensiv, um nicht zu sagen stechend unter den buschigen Brauen hervorblickenden Augen zu nehmen. Das Auffá¤lligste an diesem seltsamen ZeitgenoáŸen aber mochte unbezweifelt wohl der feuerrote Bart gewesen sein, der lang und dicht gleich einem Keil aus seinem groben Gesichte in die Welt ragte.

"Seid gegrá¼áŸt, Kameraden!" hub der GroáŸe in tiefem Basse an, den Beiden zuwinkend. "Welch Glá¼ckes Geschick etwas Gesellschaft zu begegnen an so einsamer Stá¤tte. - "Zum GruáŸe, Landsmann." entgegnete Vojtech, dem Brauche gemá¤áŸ. "So setz' Dich zu uns und raste ein Weilchen." - Der Fremde tat wie ihm geheiáŸen und setzte sich neben den beiden auf den verwitterten Baumstamm.

"Was fá¼r einen schá¶nen Vormittag uns die Natur doch heut' beschehret." rief der Fremde frohgemut aus, wá¤hrend er á¼ber die grá¼ne Lichtung blickte. "So sagt, Freunde. Habt ihr nicht den ein oder anderen BiáŸen fá¼r mich armen Wanderer?" Vojtech zá¶gerte etwas. War sein Vorrat doch nicht so á¼ppig, dass er eigentlich etwas entbehren há¤tte ká¶nnte. Nichtsdestotrotz brach er schlieáŸlich etwas vom Ká¤se, dem Brot und der Rá¤ucherwurst und reichte es dem Neuanká¶mmling.

Misrah derweil sah nicht im Mindesten ein, warum er wohl dem Bá¤rtigen einen Teil seiner Speise abtreten sollte. Wer in diese Berge wanderte, der muáŸte damit rechnen Verpflegung zu brauchen und dafá¼r auch solche mitfá¼hren. Das Gebot schlicht der gesunde Menschenverstand und das bettlerische Gebahren des Há¼hnen war ihm von Grund auf zuwider. - Da mochte Rotbart die Hand noch so bittend ausstrecken. "Wer nicht genug Verstand hat sich etwas mitzunehmen, der hat eben Hunger." So dachte er bei sich, beachtete den Kuttentrá¤ger nicht weiter und beeilte sich mit seinem Mahl fertig zu werden, um endlich von diesem lá¤stigen Bettelmanne fort zu kommen.

Und so beendeten sie Ihr Mahl, gemeinsam wie sie es begonnen hatten. - Als der Fremde plá¶tzlich aufstand und anhub. "Nun, das war ein vortrefflich Mahl, so mu០ich sagen. Vojtech, ich danke Dir fá¼r die Speise. Du bist ein guter Kerl und Du und Dein Glas sollen zu allzeitens sicher sein in diesen Bergen." - "Du aber..." und nun wandte sich der Kapuzentrá¤ger Misrah zu, "bist ein geiziger Gesell, und dafá¼r solltest Du Dich vorsehen, wenn Du Dich bewegst in meinem Reiche."

Der junge Magiergeselle hatte es nun wohl genug, der Bá¤rtige trieb's gar zu weit. "Es wá¼rd' dem GroáŸen gewi០nicht schaden, ihn ein wenig zurecht zu stutzen." Mit einem gedauerten Seufzer erhob sich der junge Mann in der Lederjacke somit, um Freund Rotbart anschlieáŸend mit durchdringendem Blick in's Auge zu nehmen. Dank des Medaillons antwortete er in perfektem Tschechisch somit: "Nun, wer glaubt Ihr dass Ihr seid, hier durch die Berge zu streifen und anderer Leute Proviant zu erbetteln und dann auch noch frech zu werden? - Macht Euch fort, Ihr Bettler! Bevor ich mich vergesse..." - Vojtech derweil erstarrte in Furcht und murmelte etwas wie "Hriob Zagel..." - Der junge Zaubergeselle schenkte dem nicht weiter Beachtung, voll auf sein Gegená¼ber fokussiert.

"Ein forscher Gesell, das seid Ihr fá¼rwahr, junger Freund." grinste der Bá¤rtige. "Doch wiáŸt Ihr noch nicht wann's Zeit ist den Mund zu halten." - "Ihr geht besser Eures Weges." entgegnete Misrah bestimmt, nach einem der Medaillons an seiner Schulter greifend. Der Rotbart wá¼rde schon noch lernen, was es bedeutete...

Das eiserne Schmuckstá¼ck, welches er anzutasten suchte zersprang mitsamt seiner Kette, noch bevor die Hand es greifen konnte. Mit unglá¤ubigem Blick sah der Zauberlehrling auf seine Schulter herab. Doch so schnell wollte er es nicht aufgeben. Mit einem raschen Griff an den Gá¼rtel zog er einen Beutel hervor, dessen Pulver er in Richtung seines Gegená¼bers zerstá¤ubte. - Doch nur eine Bewegung der Hand des Rotbartes spá¤ter trug der Wind das zauberwirkede Pulver zur Seite davon, ohne dass es irgendeinen Schaden anrichten há¤tte ká¶nnen.

All das áœberhebliche und Siegessichere in Misrahs Blick waren nun verflogen, sondern wichen nunmehr atemlosen Erstaunen. Mit verdutztem Blick lenkte er seine Augen zurá¼ck auf den Bá¤rtigen. - "Ich sehe wohl, dass Du die Kunst der Magie studierst, junger Kerl. - Aber Du lernst besser Deine Grenzen zu kennen, bevor Dich Dein áœbermut noch einst den Hals kosten mag."

Der Grobschlá¤chtige grinste á¼ber seinen hervorstechenden Bart hinweg, dass es Misrah kalt den Rá¼cken herunterlief. - "Aber, so will ich sagen." fuhr der Unheimliche fort, "Du gefá¤llst mir irgendwie. Launisch, ungestá¼m und sonderbar wie Du bist. Mit Dir mag noch etwas anzufangen sein und somit will ich's fá¼r diesmal noch gut sein lassen.. . Aber Du hast meinen Zorn geweckt und somit eil' Dich, dass Du zusiehst dass Du Dich fort von meinem Reich machst, bevor ICH es mir anders á¼berlege..."

Misrah zá¶gerte, ungezá¤hlte Flá¼che und Verwá¼nschungen auf den Lippen, die er aber schlicht nicht mehr herauszubringen in der Lage zu sein schien. Er fletschte die Zá¤hne, fauchte, ja wand sich is schier im Versuch. Doch gleich wie sehr er es auch probierte: Es wollte und wollte kein Wort herauskommen. - So drehte er sich schlieáŸlich langsam um und stapfte unverrichteter Dinge von Dannen. Nach einer Weile wurden seine Schritte schneller, er lief. Schneller und immer schneller und nie wieder hat man den, den sie Misrah nennen, wohl wieder so laufen sehen als wie damals, als er unter dem á¼ber alle Gipfel hallenden Gelá¤chter des Bergká¶nigs aus den Wá¤ldern hastete.

"Und es ist und bleibt eben doch wie man es sagt...", zog der listige, uralte Berggeist in sich hineingrinsend Resá¼me, wá¤hrend der Sterbliche hinter ihm eiligst seinen Glaskarren packte und zá¼gigst Fersengeld gab. - "Lehrjahre sind keine Herrenjahre... - Lauf Du nur, Du Zauberlehrling... - Und lerne..."

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”žRá¼bezahl, sollt ihr wissen, ist geartet wie ein Kraftgenie, launisch, ungestá¼m, sonderbar, bengelhaft, roh, unbescheiden, stolz, eitel, wankelmá¼tig, heute der wá¤rmste Freund, morgen fremd und kalt; … schalkhaft und bieder, stá¶rrisch und beugsam …“

— vgl. Musá¤us, 1783-

Der junge Zauberer, der sich mit seinem Rucksack in einer Ecke des Airports abwartend niedergelaáŸen hatte, hob aufmerkend den Kopf als er já¤h aus seinem Nachsinnen geriáŸen wurde als die wohlklingende Stimme einer Frau á¼ber das Lautsprechersystem den nahen Start seines Fluges anká¼ndigte. "Ladies and gentlemen, the passengers of the flight number 235 to Dublin, Ireland, please may come to..."

Irland. - Ja, Irland schien ihm ein gutes Zeil zu sein fá¼r die ná¤chste Etappe seiner Gesellen-Wanderschaft. Ein Land von Mythen und Sagen... - Nun gut, zugegeben: Wá¤re der junge Geselle dem Kodex der Magier-Gilde buchstabengetreu gefolgt, há¤tte er tatsá¤chlich dorthin WANDERN má¼ssen, aber so genau wollte er es seinen Fá¼áŸen zuliebe und ob der immensen Entfernung dann nun doch nicht nehmen. Man muáŸte auch mal mit der Zeit gehen (angemerkt etwas, was er seinem alten Meister bislang stets vergeblich zu vermitteln versucht hatte).

Zudem hatte er schon von dem langen Marsch und seiner einige Wochen zuvor vorangegangen, recht unliebsamen Begegnung mit dem rotbá¤rtigen Magier in den tschechischen Bergen mehr als genug. Da schien es ihm nur recht und billig, dass er sich nun etwas Komfort auf dieser seiner ihm wider seinen Willen aufgebá¼rdeten Wanderschaft gá¶nnte. Und wenn es auch nur der der Touristenklasse einer groáŸen Fluglinie sein mochte.

Nun, unser Zaubergeselle hatte noch einige Herausforderungen zu bestehen, bevor er seine Reise antreten konnte. Sein Aufzug alleine hatte schon gená¼gt, um die Zollbeamten stutzig zu machen. Aber, und so offenbahrte die moderne Zeit doch noch einen ihrer Vorzá¼ge: Es lief dieser Tage schlicht gesagt so viel merkwá¼rdiganmutendes Kroppzeug herum, dass er mit seiner sonderbaren Erscheinung schon fast nicht mehr auffiel.

Richtig 'in Fahrt' geraten allerdings waren die Sicherheitskrá¤fte dann doch noch á¼ber seine zahllosen Pulversá¤ckel, die er am Gá¼rtel und im Rucksack mit sich fá¼hrte. Das hatte ihn ja noch weniger erstaunt. Mit solcherleidings hatte er durchaus zu rechnen gewuáŸt. Als das eigentlich Groteske an der Situation erwies sich aber, dass die Sorge der braven Má¤nner und Frauen weniger dem Gedanken zu gelten schien er fá¼hre da vielleicht etwas Entzá¼ndliches oder sonstwie Gefá¤hrliches mit sich. Nein, wie er Ihrem dauernden Geplapper entnommen haben wollte, schienen sie viel eher besorgt darum, er ká¶nne da eventuell leicht verderbliche Lebensmittel unberechtigt einfá¼hren.

Wie dem auch sei: Nachdem er einen der Beutel wunschgemá¤áŸ entpackt (und dessen Inhalt anschlieáŸend anbei erwá¤hnt zum Einsatz gebracht) hatte, waren ihre Sorgen sagen wir 'erstaunlich abrupt' verflogen. - Nun, genauso wie das Wissen der Beamten á¼ber deren bloáŸe Existenz... - Misrah war jedenfalls gottfroh, als er sich endlich in den Sitzplatz mit der Nummer '13' sinken lassen konnte (Und ja, er hatte diesen bewuáŸt gewá¤hlt: Was sein muáŸte, muáŸte eben sein... Man mag es als Teil der Berufsehre verstehen má¶gen).

So hob der Passagierjet auch alsobald und ohne weitere Zwischenfá¤lle ab und der Zaubergeselle mochte sich nicht bis dato nicht weiter beklagen. GewiáŸ, es war etwas beengt in den moderat bequemen Verhá¤ltnissen der Touristenklasse. Aber er hatte wahrlich schon Schlimmeres erlebt auf seinen bisherigen Reisen. Das Essen wahr akzeptabel genieáŸbar gewesen und nunmehr folgte er entspannt einem Film, der auf einem zentralen Bildschirm in der Frontwand des Abteils abgespielt wurde und dem jeder der Reisenden, der nur eben wollte und nicht eben zu schlechte Augen hatte, dank der Kopfhá¶rer wleche sich an jedem an jedem Sitzplatz fanden auch akkustisch folgen konnte.

So gab sich der junge Magier mit dem eigentá¼mlich weiáŸen Bá¼rstenschnitt dieser so willkommenen wie lange entbehrten Form der Zerstreung hin, bis plá¶tzlich Unruhe in die Szenerie zu kommen schien. Den meisten der etlichen Reisenden um ihn herum fiel wohl nichts weiter auf, aber der wache Blick des Zauberers wurde dem ungewá¶hlichen Muster der Geschehnisse um ihn herum umgehend gewahr: In kurzer Folge erhoben sich einige ZeitgenoáŸen offenkundig arabischer Herkunft, die sich durch ihre langen, á¼ppigen Bá¤rte auffá¤llig á¤hnelten. Ihre Kleidung war bei weitem weniger aufeinander abgestimmt. Einige in westlichen Hemden und Anzughosen, Andere trugen wohl traditionelle Gewá¤nder ihrer Heimat aus grobem Stoffe diverser Coleur, die bis weit hinunter an die Kná¶chel wallten. Man há¤tte sie wohl fá¼r eine Art Reisegruppe halten ká¶nnen, wá¤ren ihre Sitzplá¤tze nicht so offenkundig weit á¼ber den Passagierraum verstreut gewesen. Einer nach dem anderen huschten sie, wenig beachtet von den anderen Reisenden, durch den Vorhang im Vorderteil der Kabine.

Nun, von Zeit zu Zeit, nur manchmal, pflegte Misrah zu 'Gott' zu sprechen (Und der Belzebub mag Euch, die Ihr dies lest, holen wenn Ihr das je einer Seele verraten solltet). Wohlgemerkt tat er Dies stets nicht um Fá¼rbitte zu leisten oder gar zu 'beten'. Nein, er tat es eigentlich immer nur dann, wenn das Schicksal wieder eines seiner seltsamen Rá¤nke zu spinnen begann, von Denen man manchesmal nur schwer sich vorstellen kann, dass sie dem Zufall entspringen. - "Das ist doch nun wohl nicht wirklich Dein Ernst, Alterchen? - Hier passiert gerade NICHT was ich denke, oder?" sagte er somit seufzend gegen die kahle, weiáŸe Kabinendecke. - Doch es sollte passieren...

"ALLAHU AKBAR!" mit groáŸem Radau und Getá¶se stá¼rmten die sechs der Muselmanen mit ihren Feuerwaffen wild herumfuchtelnd zurá¼ck in den Passagierraum, was umgehend groáŸes Entsetzen unter den braven Leuten ringsum aufbranden lieáŸ. - Nur einer, ein junger Kerl mit offenbar wei០gebleichtem Haar, blieb ruhig. Unglá¤ubig den Kopf schá¼ttelnd und ein resigniertes "Nicht doch..." vor sich hinstá¶hnend.

"Unglá¤ubige!" hub einer der Bá¤rtigen in holprigem Englisch an, wenngleich es noch tauglich genug war um seinen Worten problemlos zu folgen "Eure verbrecherischen Regierungen haben das freie Land Afghanistan besetzt und unsere Waffenbrá¼der unrechtmá¤áŸig in Gefangenschaft genommen!"

"Verdammt noch eins! Gab es irgendwo eine Art Fibel fá¼r verblendete Fanatiker, aus der diese bornierten Narren samt und sonders ihre immer gleichen Sprá¼che bezogen? "Bla, bla, Freilassung... bla, bla... Allah..." raunte der Zaubergeselle denkbar verstimmt vor sich hin, wá¤hrend der bá¤rtige Anfá¼hrer der Angreifer laut, der Menge zugewandt, fortfuhr: "Wir werden dieses Flugzeug nicht eher freigeben, bis die Fá¼hrer Eurer há¤retischen Regierungen in die sofortige Freilassung unserer Kampfgefá¤hrten, die in ihren Gefá¤ngissen sitzen, eingewilligt haben! So wahr ich hier stehe und im Namen Allahs des Allmá¤chtigen!"

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"Jetzt ist's aber genug!" Zu Mustaffahs grenzenlosem Erstaunen erhob sich einer der Passagiere unvermittelt mit einem erbosten Ruck aus seinem Sitzplatz, trat vollends unbefangen auf den Gang und stapfte zielstrebig auf Mustaffah zu. "Man wird hier doch noch in Ruhe EINEN verdammten Film sehen ká¶nnen!" - Mustaffah richtete instiktiv die Má¼ndung seiner AK-47 auf den Herannahenden, der erbost schimpfend auf in zuschritt. Er, Mustaffah, ein grobschlá¤chtiger Afghane mittleren Alters, war der Anfá¼hrer dieses Kampfkommandos und konnte schlicht nicht glauben was er da sah. "Du muáŸt verrá¼ckt sein, Unglá¤ubiger! - Bleib stehen!"

Mustaffah sah sich in seiner Auffassung bestá¤tigt. Dieser Mann muáŸte wahrlich irrsinnig sein. Denn nicht nur, dass er fortfuhr unbeirrt auf den bewaffneten Terroristen und seine Gefolsgleute zuzumarschieren. - Nein, nun setzte der 'Geck' auch noch ein Grinsen auf, dass es Mustaffah (warum, dass wuáŸte er selbst nicht so genau, wie er sich eingestehen muáŸte) einen eisigen Schauer á¼ber den Rá¼cken jagte. Doch schnell rief er sich wieder in Erinnerung, WER hier die Waffe in der Hand hatte und schon kurz nach ein paar Sekunden des Erstaunens hatte sich der fanatische Extremist nunmehr wieder voll in der Gewalt. -Ratschak- Das energische Durchladen Mustaffas verursachte ein metallisches Gerá¤usch.

"Ahh! - Was zum Scheitan!" Der WeiáŸhaarige in der schwarzen Jacke hatte derweil einen kleinen, unscheinbaren Lederbeutel gezá¼ckt und dessen Inhalt in seine Richtung geschleudert. Hustend und keuchend mit der freien Hand um sich furchtelnd, kochte in Mustaffah nun die blanke Wut hoch, wá¤hrend sich der Staub des um hin umherwirbelnden Pulvers auf seiner Kleidung und dem Boden um ihn herum allmá¤hlich wieder absetzte. "ERSCHIESSEN WERD' ICH DICH, DU VERRáœCKTER, UNGLá„UBIGER HUND!"

"Tut, was Ihr nicht lassen ká¶nnt...", der augenscheinlich Wahnsinnige hatte etwa einen Meter vor ihm inne gehalten und stand da nun ohne jedwede weitere Regung, nicht im Mindesten ein Anzeichen von Angst oder weiterem Angriffswillen aufzeigend, und grinste ihn hintersinnig an. "Aber bevor Ihr Euren Abzug da drá¼ckt, solltet Ihr wissen: Jeden, den Ihr oder auch nur einer der Euren von jetzt ab tá¶tet, den werdet IHR SELBST uns wiederbringen.- Ich rat Euch Ihr laáŸt's besser und legt...."

-PRRRRRRRRT!-

Mit einem dumpfen Laut, begleitet vom Klimpern und Klackern der diversen, metallenen Medaillons und Ketten schlug Misrah's Ká¶rper rá¼cklings auf dem Teppich des Ganges auf, wá¤hrend sich der Schmauch der vorangegangenen MP-Salve langsam in der Luft verflá¼chtigte. Eine Lache von Blut breitete sich langsam unter dem Kopf des BeschoáŸenen aus. - Mustaffah schnaubte vor Erstaunen und Zorn. Diesen Verlauf der Dinge hatte er wei០'Allah' nicht so geplant gehabt.

Ein Blick auf den jungen Mann in der Lederjacke lie០keinen Platz fá¼r Zweifel á¼ber: Die Kugeln hatten sein Gesicht zur Gá¤nze zerfetzt, es war rot von Blut, nein fahl... Ja, fast weiáŸ.. Nein, es ... - es zerfiel. Unfá¤hig zu begreifen wessen er da Zeuge wurde beobachtete der islamistische Extremist, wie die Haut seines Opfers allmá¤hlich grob und porá¶s zu werden schien wie altes Pergament und erst die oberen Strukturen, dann der ganze Rest vom Ká¶rper des Mannes immer mehr zu grauem Sand zu zerfallen schienen, welcher sich im blaugrauen Teppich des Ganges schieáŸlich in's Nichts zu verflá¼chtigen schien.

"Bei Allah, dem Allmá¤chtigen...!" brachte Mustaffah á¤chzend hervor. Seine Waffengefá¤hrten hinter ihm waren nicht minder verblá¼fft, wie sie mit offenen Má¼ndern auf die Kleidung des Unglá¤ubigen starrten, wie sie da nun lose und gá¤nzlich in sich zusammengesunken am Boden lag.

Plá¶tzlich wurde es Mustaffah sonderbar zumute. Ein unangehmes, anschwellendes, und, noch viel schlimmer, nicht enden wollendes Grollen und Gurgeln schien durch seinen Magen, ja durch seinen ganzen Bauch zu gehen. Vor Schreck und Entsetzen lie០der Afghane seine Waffe fallen, als sein Bauch langsam begann sich aufzublá¤hen. "Bei der Liebe Allahs, helft mir!" schrie er seinen SpieáŸgesellen zu. Doch die verdutzten Schergen wuáŸten schlicht nicht wie sie ein Solches há¤tten anfangen sollen, wá¤hrend sie atemlos der wundersamen Verá¤nderung ihres Anfá¼hrers Zeuge wurden.

Dessen schmales Becken wuchs sichtlich in die Breite, wá¤hrend sich sein Bauch immer groáŸer und runder nach vorne wá¶lbte, bis selbst der Bauchnabel sichtbar herversszustehen begann. Und, erst kaum erahnbar, dann immer grá¶áŸer und massiver bildeten sich zwei groáŸe Brá¼ste vor seinem vormals muskulá¶sen Brustkorb heraus.

"Was, zum Scheitan!" stammelte einer von Mustaffahs Má¤nnern nahezu atemlos hervor, wá¤hrend sein Anfá¼hrer seine stetig wachsenden Brá¼ste verzweifelt mit den Há¤nden umfaáŸte, wá¤hrend ihm das immer lá¤nger werdende Haupthaar á¼ber die Schultern zu wallen begann und das des einst langen Bartes so allmá¤hlich wie zeitgleich zu Boden rieselte. "So helft mir doch! Was geschieht hier?!"

"Oh, nein! Nicht das!" Mustaffah raffte sein traditionelles Gewand nach oben und ri០seine Unterhose nach unten. Was er dort in seinem Schritt erblickte, lie០seine schlimmsten Befá¼rchtungen wahr werden. - Seine Má¤nner, die er in seiner Panik vá¶llig vergessen hatte, blickten ebenfalls drein als há¤tten sie der Teufel persá¶nlich gesehen, als sie á¤chzend realisierten WAS sie da nun zwischen den Beinen ihres Kommandanten erblickten.

Doch Mustaffah blieb nicht genug Zeit dará¼ber nachzudenken, als ihn plá¶tzlich heftige Bauchschmerzen befielen, die ihn unweigerlich in die Knie gehen lieáŸen. Instinktiv die Beine spreizend lag die junge schwangere Araberin, zu der Mustaffah nunmehr geworden war auf dem Boden, sich stá¶hnend und kreischend den groáŸen Bauch haltend. Die Lippen ihrer Vagina, ob des hochgerutschen Gewandes der sich auf dem Rá¼cken Windenden deutlich einsehbar fá¼r die Umstehenden, begannen sich zu langsam zu weiten, bis schlieáŸlich ein kleiner Kopf sichtbar wurde. Sie preáŸte und preáŸte instinktiv verzweifelt, bis schluáŸendlich eine Viertelstunde spá¤ter ein Baby, na០und hilflos wie wir alle auf diese Welt kommen, aus ihrem SchoáŸe auf den Teppich fiel.

Mustaffah, vá¶llig erschá¶pft von den Schmerzen, sah an sich hinab und á¤chzte "Oh Allah, nein! D... das ist unmá¶glich!" Das Kind hingegen, welches er soeben geboren hatte, fing mit einem Male an rapide zu wachsen. Muskeln bildeten sich aus, weiáŸes Haar begann zu sprieáŸen, mit bloáŸen Há¤nden ri០es schlieáŸlich die Nabelschnur entzwei, erhob sich mit Má¼he und nicht lange danach stand der junge Mann mit dem weiáŸen Haar unvermittelt wieder vor ihm, welchen er doch kurz zuvor erschoáŸen hatte. Há¤hmisch vor sich hin grinsend stand Dieser da nackt wie Gott (er wer oder was auch immer) ihn einst erschaffen hatte vor ihm, wá¤hrend er sich wie beilá¤ufig die Schultern abwischte.

"Glaubt mir, dieser Unfug tut nicht nur Euch verdammt weh, so zwecklos wie er ist." Misrah, obgleich merklich verstimmt, geno០seinen Triumph sichtlich und unverhohlen. "Aber wenn Ihr noch nicht genug habt, dann ká¶nnen wir dieses Spielchen noch den ganzen Tag treiben, 'Madame'..." - "B.. Bitte..." flehte Mustaffah á¤chzend, mit der Nachgeburt zwischen den Beinen am Boden liegend, den Magier an. "Verwandelt mich zurá¼ck! - Ich bitt' Euch! Und ich will auch..."

-PRRRT! PRRRRRT!-

So unglá¤ubig wie entsetzt verfolgte Mustaffah mit weit aufgeriáŸenen Augen, wie der Leib Misrah's zur Seite wegkippte, wá¤hrend Blut und Teile der Hirnmasse des jungen Mannes á¼ber seinen Busen und in sein Gesicht spritzten. Sich má¼hsam aufsetzend blickte er hinter sich, hiná¼ber zu seinen Gefá¤hrten.

"HEXEREI! DAS IST HEXEREI!" Einem seiner Waffengefá¤hrten (die der in Englisch gefá¼hrten Konversation der Beiden vorher wohl nur in grobem Ansatz hatten folgen ká¶nnen) waren offensichtlich die Nerven durchgegangen. Die Má¼ndung der Automatikwaffe Omars qualmte, wá¤hrend dieser panisch zitternd neu durchlied. - "Tá¶tet die Unglá¤ubigen! Alle!" schrie ein Anderer mit sich fanatisch á¼berschlagender Stimme auf, wá¤hrend seine Kameraden zu Mustaffahs vá¶lligem Entsetzen Omars Beispiel wie im Affekt folgten und mit ihren SchuáŸwaffen wahllos an 'ihm' selbst vorbei in die Menge der Passagiere feuerten.

"NEEEEIIIN! NICHT!" - Mustaffahs hysterisches Kreischen á¼bertá¶nte fast die Schreie und Schá¼áŸe, die nun unablá¤áŸig durch die Kabine hallten...

Fast...

"...und so hab' ich das Aktienpaket dann eben auch abgestoáŸen, gerade noch rechtzeitig. Stunden spá¤ter wá¤ren die Dinger nicht mal mehr das Papier wert gewesen auf dem sie gedruckt sind." - Das beifá¤llige Gelá¤chter der Anwesenden war Eric das Liebste an der ganzen Sache. Er war ein schlauer Fuchs, dessen war er sich gewiáŸ. Nicht umsonst hatte er es in ká¼rzester Zeit und trotz seiner gerade einmal fá¼nfundzwanzig Jahre zu einem von New Yorks erfolgreichsten Brokern gebracht.

"Tja, manchmal mu០man eben nur schnell genug sein." Geschmeichelt fuhr sich Eric Matterson mit der Hand durch's gegelte, dunkle Haar. Die anerkennenden Schulterklopfer seiner Freunde und Kollegen ringsum bestá¤tigten sein Ego und, wem wollte man etwas vormachen, es gefiel ihm. Er war gern auf der GewinnerstraáŸe.

Nur deshalb hatte er sich all die Jahre bis zum Examen durchgerackert, wá¤hrend all die anderen sich in ihrer jugendlichen Lernfaulheit ergangen hatten. ER hingegen hatte frá¼h begriffen und immer gewuáŸt, dass sich die Má¼he auszahlen wá¼rde. Das, und nur das, hatte ihn zu seinem Eifer angetrieben, wá¤hrend all die Anderen nur gefeiert hatten.

Sicher, zugegeben: Er war gewi០auch kein Kind von Traurigkeit gewesen. Im Gegenteil. Aber er hatte es lediglich immer verstanden den Punkt zu erkennen an dem es wieder Zeit war, der spá¤teren Karriere zuzuarbeiten. Und nun war die Zeit da, da er die Frá¼chte seiner Arbeit erntete. Sicher, von selbst war das Alles nicht gekommen. So funktioniert die Welt nicht.

Er hatte seine Kontakte in den vergangenen paar Jahren weitlá¤ufig und zahlreich gekná¼pft. Das war schlicht notwendig in seinem Geschá¤ft: Dinge wissen, bevor sie andere wissen. Schneller handeln als Andere.

Opfer blieben dabei freilich nicht aus. So mancher, der ihm vertraut hatte oder nach dem einen Drink zu viel seinem aufgesetzten, freundlichen Lá¤cheln geglaubt hatte, mochte sich schon mal in wichtigen geschá¤ftlichen Dingen verplappert und es am Tage darauf bitterlich bereut haben. Aber was sollte es ihn ká¼mmern? "Wer unbedacht handelt, den bestraft das Leben eben." Kollateralschá¤den mochten bei seiner Art des Business-handlings durchaus vorkommen. Aber solange es ihm zum Vorteil gereichte, sah Eric das locker. - Mit einer lá¤áŸigen Handbewegung staubte er seine Schulter ab, als há¤tten die Há¤nde seiner Kollegen einen Makel auf dem feinen, schwarzen Stoff des Anzuges hinterlassen. Ja, er war besser als diese 'Wá¼rmer'. Dessen war er sich sicher...

"Nun werden sie mir mal nur nicht á¼bermá¼tig, Matterson." Eric's selbstgefá¤lliges Grinsen wich abrupt aus seinem Gesicht, als die rauhe Bassstimme Michael Ravehursts hinter ihm erklang. "Schon richtig.", die Hand seines Chefs legte sich breit und fleischig auf seine Schulter. "In der Carmold-Angelegenheit hatten sie gestern ein Ná¤schen... - Oder sollte ich besser sagen 'Glá¼ck'?"

Eric konnte 'den Alten' nicht ab und es viel ihm auffallend schwer, sein gut eingeá¼btes, weltmá¤nnisches Lá¤cheln angesichts der heraushá¤ngenden Jovialitá¤t dieses unwillkomenen Stá¶renfrieds beizubehalten.

Gut, gut. SO alt war Michael Ravehurst nicht wirklich. Dreiundvierzig Lenze hatte er auf dem Buckel, zumindest insofern man Wikipedia glauben mochte. Aber unter den Brokern der Firma hie០er eben nur 'Der Alte'. Und genau das war auch seine persá¶nliche Betrachtungsweise dieses Typen. Der hatte seine groáŸen Zeiten in den Achtzigern und Neunzigern gehabt und ja, er hatte Einiges geriáŸen im Aktiengeschá¤ft dieser lang vergangenen Tage. Nicht umsonst war der Mann der Mitbegrá¼nder und oberster C.E.O. (leitende Fá¼hrungskraft) der Firma.

Aber in Eric's Augen war die Zeit dieses grau melierten 'Dinosauriers', wie er ihn gern in Gedanken bezeichnete, lange vorbei. Beiseite treten sollte er. Platz machen fá¼r junge, hungrige Broker wie ihn und nicht lá¤nger an der Spitze herumsitzen und all die Erfolge die er und die Kollegen erwirtschafteten auf seine Kappe einstreichen. "Was tut dieser faltige Sack eigentlich den ganzen Tag, wá¤hrend wir die Arbeit machen?"

"Ich will nur sagen", so fuhr Ravehurst mit hintersinnigem Grinsen und in gespielter Kumpanei fort, "vor zwei Wochen hat uns Ihre Fehlspekulation mit dem Compound-stock ja im Gegenzug auch ein ganz schá¶nes Sá¼mmchen gekostet." - Das Gelá¤chter der Kollegen war Eric nun weit weniger angenehm, als er sich vom 'Alten' bloáŸgestellt und von den Umstehenden pflichtschuldigst verlacht wiederfand.

"Was fá¼r ein Schei០Morgen!" zischte Eric, als er aus seinem Lexus stieg und den Wagen abschloáŸ. - Er hatte den Empfang gestern relativ frá¼h verlassen, nachdem sein Boss ihn so unverblá¼mt vor all den Anderen angegangen hatte. Auch die Avancen einer leichten Blondine im Abendkleid hatten ihn da nicht mehr aufheitern ká¶nnen und er hatte sie, ungewá¶hnlich fá¼r ihn, harsch abgewiesen. Was sollte es schon. Er hatte Geld, war ein aufstrebender Geschá¤ftsmann. Er konnte sie oder jede Andere haben, wann immer er wollte. Die Weiber kapierten seinen Wert, seine áœberlegenheit. - Nur der Alte, der ging ihm immer wieder auf den Senkel.

Und so kochte das Blut des jungen Brokers, als er miáŸmutig in die Mall (Einkaufszentrum) stapfte um sich mit etwas Haarspray und einem Imbiss, der ihn bis zum Lunch und á¼ber seinen profunden Kater hiná¼berretten wá¼rde, einzudecken. Er há¤tte trotz seines Frustes die Flasche Rotwein gestern daheim doch nicht mehr aufmachen sollen, resá¼mierte er zerknirscht. Doch nun war's wie auch immer zu spá¤t und ein paar Aktienpakete warteten nur darauf, durch ihn zu seinem Reichtum und Anderer Ruin hin, verschoben zu werden.

Er lag gut in der Zeit. Das Haarspray hatte er in die Papiertá¼te zu seinem Essen gegeben und so langsam kam er wieder etwas zu sich. Mochte am Donut und dem starken Kaffee liegen, den er sich erstmal genehmigt hatte um wieder etwas Energie zu tanken. Er wá¼rde dem Alten schon noch zeigen, was er konnte. Und eines Tages... Ja, eines Tages da wá¼rde er...

Ein merkwá¼rdiger Anblick nahm Erics Aufmerksamkeit plá¶tzlich in Beschlag und unterbrach den dá¼steren Gedankengang. Um ehrlich zu sein fast belustigte den jungen Broker der unerwartete Anblick. - Denn mitten in diesem hochmodernen Einkaufszentrum fiel sein Blick nun auf einen seltsam altmodischen, um nicht zu sagen antik aussehenden Laden zu seiner Linken. Zwischen all den aus Metall und Glas bestehenden Schaufenstern der umliegenden Shops mutete die grá¶áŸtenteils há¶lzerne Fasade des Geschá¤fts mit ihre barock verschná¶rkelten, von der Zeit verkratzten Verzierungen auf absurde Weise deplaziert an. Auch das Glas der Schaufenster schien mehr klassisch schná¶des Fensterglas zu sein, kein zentimeterdickes Sicherheitsglas wie bei den umliegenden Anmietern.

Doch damit nicht genug. Auch das Sortiment des Ladens wá¤re mit der Bezeichnung 'eigentá¼mlich' noch gut bedient gewesen. Ein wirres Sammelsurium aus Kostá¼men, Kleidungsstá¼cken und okkult wirkenden Gegenstá¤nden wie groáŸen Kristallkugeln, Amuletten die in einer groáŸen Traube von der Laterne neben der Tá¼r hingen sowie merkwá¼rdigen kleinen Puppen. Sogar ein kleines Terrarium machte Eric im Inneren des Schaufensters aus, indem sich allerlei reptilisches Kleingetier zu tummeln schien. áœber der Tá¼r prangte ein verwittertes Schild, auf dem in altertá¼mlichen Lettern 'Spells 'R us' zu lesen war.

Die Neugier des jungen Geschá¤ftsmannes war nun definitiv geweckt. Die Scharniere der Tá¼r gaben einen grausig quietschenden Laut von sich, als Eric den Laden betrat. Wenn dies wirklich eine Replik war, ein auf alt gemachtes Geschá¤ft ergo, dann war es definitiv die beste die er je gesehen hatte: All das há¶lzerne Interieur, diese stickige, ja modrige Athmosphá¤re...

"Guten Morgen, Eric." Der junge Mann war derart von der ungewá¶hnlichen Erscheinung des Ladens selbst gewesen, dass er erst jetzt des Verká¤ufers gewahr wurde, welcher sich nun aus seinem knarzenden alten Drehstuhl erhob und entspannt á¼ber den schweren, eichenen Verkaufstresen zu ihm hiná¼berblickte, eine Verbeugung andeutend.

"W... Woher wissen Sie...?" - "Woher ich Deinen Namen kenne? Nun, wisse ich bin ein Hexer." - Wá¤hrend Eric das Statement seines Gegená¼bers erst einmal sacken laáŸen muáŸte, betrachtete er den Mann. Er war recht jung, mochte wohl an die Zwanzig sein. Die Kleidung hingegen erinnerte ihn etwas an die Rocker oder Punks der Achtzigerjahre. Eine schwarze, ausgebleichte Jeans und á¼ber dem abgetragenen roten T-Shirt eine ebenso tiefschwarze zerschliáŸene Lederjacke. Am auffá¤lligsten an ihm war aber ob seines Alters das wohl gebleichte, kurz geschnittene und gá¤nzlich weiáŸe Haar. Die silbrig-metallenen Ketten und Medaillons, die um die linke Schulter des Fremden gewunden waren klimperten hell, als er seine Há¤nde auf die Verkaufstheke stá¼tzte. "Wie kann ich zu Diensten sein?"

"Natá¼rlich, ein Zauberer..." Abschá¤tziger há¤tten Erics Intonation und Mimik kaum sein ká¶nnen als er diesen offensichtlich Verrá¼ckten milde belá¤chelte. "Was auch immer Du fá¼r Gras rauchst, mein Freund. Du solltest..." - "Wolfy!" - Den Ruf seines Herren vernehmend schnellte unter einem der wahllos umher verteilten Kleiderstá¤nder ein Hund hervor und lie០sich zu Fá¼áŸen seines Meisters sitzend nieder. Ein Vieh von enormer Grá¶áŸe, das Fell dunkel wie die Nacht und die Augen glá¼hten daraus hervor wie heiáŸe Kohlen.

"Gehorch' mir Zauber, tu's geschwind und zeig' dem Zweifler wer wir sind." Einher mit diesen Worten zá¼ckte der merkwá¼rdige Verká¤ufer einen kleinen, ledernen Beutel von seinem Gá¼rtel, entfaltete diesen und blie០den Inhalt, der eine Art Pulver zu sein schien, anschlieáŸend in Richtung der Schnauze des Tieres.

Eric legte sich schon die passenden Spottsprá¼che im Geiste zurecht. Eventuell wá¼rde er die Behá¶rden verstá¤ndigen. Wer wei០WAS dieser Geistesgestá¶rte dem armen Tier da in's Gesicht... - Voller atemlosen Erstaunen erstarrte der junge Broker schier, als er Zeuge wurde wie der groáŸe Wolfshund zu schrumpfen begann, wie sich sein Fell verká¼rzte, sein Schwanz filigraner und lá¤nger wurde.

"Miau!" - Erics Kinnlade war nach unten gesackt. Dort wo noch vor einer Minute der Hund gesessen hatte, war nun eine schwarze Katze mit glá¼henden Augen. Nein, nein der Hund WAR die Katze! Er selbst hatte gesehen, wie sich das Mistvieh vor seinen eigenen Augen verwandelt hatte. "Das... ist unglaublich." á¤chzte der junge Bá¶rsenmakler unglá¤ubig. "Wenn das eine Illusion war, dann sollten Sie..."

"Es war keine", unterbrach ihn 'Lederjacke'. "Also kommen wir nun zum Geschá¤ftlichen. - Bei welchem Problem kann ich Dir behilflich sein, Eric?"

Probleme? Hah! Der Kerl wuáŸte wohl nicht mit wem er sprach. Er war Eric Matterson, Broker, jung, vermá¶gend, stotzend vor Gesundheit und beliebt bei den Frauen. Was ká¶nnte dieser wunderliche, heruntergekommene Zauberká¼nstler schon fá¼r ihn tun? Selbst wenn er wirklich irgendwie magische Krá¤fte haben sollte, was fá¼r ein Problem sollte er schon...

Und genau da scho០ihm der Gedanke an seinen ungeliebten Boss den alten Esel durch den Kopf. Der Mann in der Lederjacke quittierte das Verfinstern von Erics Miene mit einem zufriedenen, listigen Lá¤cheln. "Na, also... Da há¤tten wir doch was. wie's aussieht. - Ravehurst."

"Sie kennen ihn?" so langsam wurde die Sache verdammt unheimlich.- "Nicht im Mindesten." WeiáŸhaar zuckte gleichgá¼ltig mit den Achseln. "Aber Du scheinst mir fá¼r meine speziellen Dienste wert und somit soll's mir auch gleich sein." So langsam begann Eric, so merkwá¼rdig die Situation auch war, Spa០an diesem Spielchen zu finden. Und mittlerweile war er durchaus willig, sich auf ein Spielchen mit diesem Bekloppten einzulassen. Der Freak wollte mit IHM handeln? Nun, da war er gerade am Richtigen und den Spa០war's allemal wert.

"Tja, was wá¼rden diese 'Dienste' denn so beinhalten?" Eric fá¼hlte sich wieder in seinem Element, dem Feilschen, Ausloten, Abschá¤tzen. Das professionelle Grinsen kehrte wie automatisch auf sein Gesicht zurá¼ck. - Sein Gegená¼ber hingegenblieb absolut entspannt, als es Etngegnete: "Was immer Du Dir wá¼nschst um Deine Schwierigkeiten mit diesem Ravehurst auszurá¤umen. Und ich meine WAS AUCH IMMER Du Dir wá¼nschst. - Es sei denn es geht um's Tá¶ten, das ist nicht so mein Ding. Es langweilt und macht keinen SpaáŸ."

"So, so ich wá¼nsche mir also etwas und Du lá¤áŸt es einfach geschehen?" Das Sie lie០Eric nun fallen. Dieses arme, verwirrte Subjekt verdiente die Anrede in seinen Augen schlicht nicht mehr nach all dem Unsinn, den es da versprudelte. "Genau das."

Doch der Geschá¤ftsmann in Eric wollte es dabei noch nicht bewenden lassen und so trieb er den Spa០noch etwas weiter: "Und was verlangen Sie fá¼r Ihre so groáŸzá¼gigen Dienste? Sicher ein Stange Geld wie ich vermute, oder?" Sicher, talentiert war der Scharlatan. Mit dem dramatischen Talent dass dieser weiáŸhaarige Punk mitbrachte, mochte er wohl in der Lage sein, manch schlichten Geist zu tá¤uschen und so um Hab und Gut zu bringen. So allmá¤hlich reifte eine Idee im Kopf des Brokers, welche zwielichtige Geschá¤ftsidee diesem absurden Laden wohl zugrunde lá¤ge. "Beschi០der Leichtglá¤ubigen und Einfá¤ltigen" dachte Eric bei sich. "Wá¤re es nicht so eine kleine und lá¤cherliche Dimension, der Freak da wá¤re fast ein Kollege..." Er muáŸte selbst Lá¤cheln á¼ber seinen, wie er befand, witzigen Vergleich.

"Geld?", entgegnete der seltsame Verká¤ufer in seiner gleichbleibend und scheinbar unerschá¼tterlixch ruhigen Art. "Ach, zum Geld drá¤ngt's mich nicht. Ich ziehe meine Befriedigung aus den Ergebnissen meiner Arbeit."

Verdutzt sah Matterson seine Theorie vom Konzept dieses Ladens wieder á¼ber den Haufen geworfen, doch das spornte seine Neugier nur noch mehr an. "Ich mu០also nur wá¼nschen was immer ich will und Du sagst, Du wirst es erfá¼llen?" fragte er prá¼fend.

"Solang's was ist was Du fá¼r geeignet há¤ltst um Deine Probleme mit diesem Ravehurst zu lá¶sen: Ja." - "Und Du verlangst NICHTS dafá¼r?" - "So sieht's wohl aus." Der 'Punk' schien langsam die Lust an der Sache zu verlieren, was sich in einem gelangweilten Augenrollen á¤uáŸerte. "Doch nun genug. Willst Du nun meine Hilfe oder nicht?"

"Na gut", ging Eric zum Schein auf das verrá¼ckte Angebot ein. "Ich hoffe nur das Ganze geht ohne diese Pulversache von statten." - Bei aller Liebe, fá¼r den Spa០war er zu haben. Aber einen seiner kostspieligen Armani-Anzá¼ge dafá¼r zu opfern, das wá¤re dem jungen Geschá¤ftsmann dann doch zu weit gegangen.

"Hab darum keine Sorge, Eric. - Also haben wir einen Deal?" mit einem listigen Grinsen offerierte der Fremde die Hand. "Haben wir." Und Eric schlug krá¤ftig ein.

"Es ist besiegelt." Das zufriedene, hintersinnige Grinsen des Gegená¼bers há¤tte Eric sicher beunruhigt, wá¤re es ihm nicht augenscheinlich gewesen, dass er sich hier mit einem bedauernswehrten Spinner einen Spa០machte. - Der WeiáŸhaarige pfiff durch die Finger. Die Katze schlich unter ihrem Kleiderstá¤nder hervor und setzte sich zu Fá¼áŸen ihres Herren nieder. "Braaav..." Der Merkwá¼rdige zog daraufhin ein Stá¼ck weiáŸer Kreide hervor und hielt es der Katze hin, die es ableckte. "Was wei០war ist nun schwarz." kommentierte der Hexer raunend.

Mit einer zá¼gigen Handbewegung beschrieb der Zauberer mit der angefeuchteten Kreide ein grau-weiáŸes Pentagramm auf das Holz der Theke zwischen ihnen, dessen Spitze in Erics Richtung wies. - "Deine Hand." Zá¶gerlich streckte Matterson die Hand aus, legte ihre Flá¤che aber dann wie ihm bedeutet mit ausgespreizten Fingern in die Mitte des vor ihm aufgemalten Zeichens.

Lederjacke quittierte sein Tun mit einem wohlgefá¤lligen Nicken: "So sag' nun Deine Wá¼nsche. Ich há¶re."

Ach, was konnt's schon schaden sich all seinen Frust vom Leib zu schimpfen. "Was ich wá¼nschte..?" Eric Mattertson versank einen Augenblick in Nachdenken, dann sprudelte es geradezu haáŸerfá¼llt aus ihm heraus: "Na gut, Du 'Zauberer'. Dann wirke Deine Kraft, wenn Du es kannst!"

"Ich wá¼nschte á¼ber das Vermá¶gen von Michael Ravehurst frei verfá¼gen zu ká¶nnen." - Der WeiáŸhaarige nickte nur interessiert lá¤chelnd. - "Und ich wá¼nschte, dass ich á¼ber ihn gebieten ká¶nnte und er jedem meiner Worte und jeder meiner Ideen Beachtung schenken má¼áŸte!"
Es befreite ungemein, sich all den Frust so von der Seele zu brá¼llen, und so fuhr Eric fort: "Ja, verzehren soll sich dieser Bastard danach, dass ich auch nur so gná¤dig sein mag ihm meine Aufmerksamkeit zu zollen! DAS wá¼nschte ich!"

"Das Zeichen gezeichnet, die Wá¼nsche gesprochen
So nun Pentagrammen
Zerbrich was nun ist
und fá¼g' neu zusammen."

Als Eric erwachte war er zuná¤chst gá¤nzlich orientierungslos. Wá¤hrend er seine Glieder wohlig streckte versuchte er sich má¼hsam in Erinnerung zu rufen was passiert war. - Das Letzte woran er sich erinnern konnte war nach seinem Besten Wissen und Gewissen dass er in dem Laden des weiáŸgebleichten Sonderlings gewesen war. An Alles was danach passiert war, hatte er keinerlei Erinnerung. Und, so schluáŸfolgerte sein nun mehr und mehr wiedererwachender Geist, es MUSSTE etwas passiert sein in der Zwischenzeit.

Denn er befand sich nun an einem ihm fremden Ort. In einem Schlafzimmer offenbar, welches definitiv nicht das seine war. Die Gerá¼che waren fremd, dass sich seidig anfá¼hlende Betttuch definitiv nicht das Seine. Die Morgensonne spitzte zaghaft á¼ber nahe Há¼gel und tauchte das Zimmer durch die glá¤sernen Verandatá¼ren in karges Licht.

Immer noch bemá¼ht seine Situation zu erfassen, schweiften die Blicke des jungen Maklers durch den Raum als er sich langsam und schlaftrunken aufsetzte. Ja, es handelte sich definitiv um ein groáŸrá¤umiges Schlafzimmer. Die Wá¤nde waren verkleidet mit beigen Tapeten, in denen in leichtem Ocker barocke, schná¶rkelige Verzierungen gegen das fahle Licht zu erkennen waren. Die dem Bett gegená¼berliegende Seite des Raumes wurde nahezu komplett von einer (sicher recht kostspieligen) eichenen Kleiderschrankwand eingenommen. Im Weiteren fiel sein Blick auf eine kunstvoll verschná¶rkelte Schminkkommode zu seiner Linken, auf der zahllose Kosmetikerzeugnisse in formschá¶nen Flakons und á¤hnlichen Behá¤ltnissen aufgereiht waren.

Hatte er im Rausch eine Frau aufgeriáŸen und war mit ihr im Bett gelandet? - Erics Blick wanderte zur Seite. Und tatsá¤chlich! Neben ihm lag in dem breiten Doppelbett eine Gestalt, bis zum Hals in eine Decke gehá¼llt, den Kopf im groáŸen Kissen vergraben und wohlig im Schlafe vor sich hin atmend. - Matterson konnte sich beim besten Willen nicht erinnern, dass ihm der verrá¼ckte Illusionist irgendetwas verabreicht há¤tte. Aber der sich abzeichnenden Sillhouette nach muáŸte es sich um ein zu gro០geratenes, breitschultriges Monster von einem Weib handeln, das er in ná¼chternem Zustand nicht einmal mit der Kneifzange angefaáŸt há¤tte.
"Gibt es Substanzen die á¼ber die Haut aufgenommen werden?" Vielleicht war das ja der Schlá¼ssel: Die Kreide! - Immer noch sinnierend schlug Eric die gesteppte Bettdecke zur Seite und setzte sich vollends auf, schwang die Beine á¼ber á¼ber den Bettrand.

Irgendetwas war anders, falsch. Sein Ká¶rper fá¼hlte sich sonderbar und ungewohnt an und es fiel Eric fá¼r einen Augenblick schwer, Balance zu finden. Waren seine Há¼ften immer schon derart breit gewesen? Unglá¤ubig knetete er die seltsam ausladenden Rundungen seines Beckens durch den seidenen Stoff.

"Moment, Seide? Was zur Há¶lle?! Ich trage ein Nachthemd!" Sowie ihm das schockierend gewahr wurde, faáŸte er den umgehend den festen EntschluáŸ, dass er sich dieses weiáŸhaarigen Punks annehmen wá¼rde. Mit was und wie hatte ihn der Fremde derart ausgeknockt, dass er so etwas anziehen wá¼rde? Oder war es ihm etwa gar angezogen worden?

Wie dem auch sein mochte: Verklagen wá¼rde er diesen dreist grinsenden Giftmischer! Und wenn's der Rechtsapparat nicht hergeben wá¼rde, dann wá¼rde er eben andere Wege finden. Das wá¼rde kein Problem darstellen. Da drauáŸen tummelten sich schlieáŸlich mehr als genug Mexikaner und anderes Zeug, dass fá¼r weniger als einen durchschnittlichen Monatslohn mehr als willig war, jeden x-beliebigen mit einer Kugel zu entsorgen. Ja, so wá¼rde er es machen. Kein langes Federlesen. - Der Wichser wá¼rde noch bereuen das er sich mit ihm...

Wá¤hrend er so auf Rache sann, veranlaáŸte ein juckendes Gefá¼hl in der Mitte seiner Brust Eric dazu sich dort zu kratzen. Seine Hand faáŸte zu seinem grenzenlosen Erstaunen unerwartet eine seltsame, weit ausladende und weiche Rundung. Die zweite Hand kam schnell hinzu und er muáŸte erkennen, dass das Jucken vom Schwitzen zwischen den beiden groáŸen, runden Extremitá¤ten herrá¼hrte die sich da an ihm durch den dá¼nnen Stoff des Nachthemdes abzeichneten.
"W... Was zum...!" In Panik rannte er in das angrenzende, fensterlose Bad, im Dunkeln mit zittrigen Fingern nach dem Lichtschalter tastend.

Mit einem leisen 'Klick' ging die Beleuchtung an. Eric fand sich just genau vor dem Spiegel oberhalb des Waschbeckens wieder. Doch das Bild, das dieser zurá¼ckwarf, konnte nicht Realitá¤t sein. Es konnte einfach kein Spiegel sein. Ein Fenster, ein Gemá¤lde vielleicht. Denn das was er sah war nicht er selbst. Es war, es war...

"Huargh!" Das laute á„chzen und Wá¼rgen weckte Michael Ravehurst aus tiefem Schlaf. Der Bá¶rsenmagnat schaltete den Wecker auf 'Off', wohl wissend dass er ihn heute wohl nicht mehr brauchen wá¼rde. Mit einem unterdrá¼ckten Gá¤hnen setzte er sich auf. "Ist Dir wieder schlecht, Schatz?"

"R... Ravehurst?" Das Keuchen seiner Frau aus dem Bad lie០nichts Gutes ahnen. "Mach Dir keine Sorgen, Schatz.", gá¤hnte Michael. "Du weiáŸt ja, dass war bei Dir schon bei unseren beiden anderen Kindern so. - Ich hol' Dir Deine Tabletten und Du wirst Dich gleich besser fá¼hlen, Liebes."

"WAS?!"

"Dieser vá¶llig grundlos entsetzte Blick... - Schwangere Frauen sind schon wirklich eine Sache fá¼r sich." dachte Michael, als er sich zu seiner jungen Frau, die keuchend an der Toilettenschá¼ssel kniete, herabbeugte und ihr mit einem aufmunternden Lá¤cheln ihre bewá¤hrten Tabletten gegen die morgendliche áœbelkeit reichte.

Seine Angetraute hingegen sah ihn nur vá¶llig unglá¤ubig an, dann stie០sie urplá¶tzlich erneut auf und erbrach sich wiederum in's Porzellan...

"ICH VERLANGE, DASS SIE MIR SOFORT IHRE LIZENZ ZEIGEN! HABEN SIE MICH GEHá–RT?!" Das aufgedunsene Gesicht von Larry Ramirez war zornesrot, wá¤hrend er den jungen Mann auf der anderen Seite der eichenen Verkaufstheke anbrá¼llte.

Der lie០sich jedoch nicht weiter aus der Fassung bringen sondern erhob sich fast betont langsam aus seinem abgewrackten, knarzenden Drehstuhl.

"Ich habe Ihnen doch bereits gesagt dass wir in einer Woche wieder weg sind und derweil..."
"In einer Woche?! - Ich sag' Ihnen was. Wenn Sie mir nicht SOFORT Ihre Papiere zeigen damit ich wei០wem ich fá¼r die Genehmigung dieses Drecklochs (er macht eine ausladende Geste quer durch den kleinen Laden) den Arsch aufreiáŸen muáŸ, dann gehe ich frei davon aus dass Sie schlicht keine haben. Und dann, und das verspreche ich Ihnen junger Freund, reiáŸe ich IHREN ARSCH auf!"

Misrah seufzte resigniert wá¤hrend er sich kopfschá¼ttelnd durch das weiáŸe Haar fuhr. Choleriker waren so etwas Unerquickliches. "Há¶ren Sie, ich..."

"Was ist das fá¼r ein Radau? - Die beiden Diskutierenden drehten sich instinktiv nach der Stimme um, die da aus den hinteren Rá¤umlichkeiten des Geschá¤ftes ertá¶nte.
Ein alter Mann in einem langen Gewand, einer Art besserem Bademantel gleich schob den vielfach geflickten, schwarzen Vorhang zur Seite der Besuchern den Blick in den hinteren Raum des kleinen Ladens verwehrte und trat hinaus in den Verkaufsraum.

Ramirez musterte den merkwá¼rdigen Alten miáŸtrauisch. Neben seiner eigentá¼mlichen Robe trug einen langen schlohweiáŸen Bart und eine Art lang und spitz zulaufenden Hut. Zwischen den tiefen Falten im Gesicht des alten Mannes blickten unter buschigen, weiáŸen Brauen listige, aufmerksame Augen hervor. Die Há¤nde hielt er auf Gá¼rtelhá¶he ineinander gefaltet.

"Sind sie der Besitzer dieser Unmá¶glichkeit?" Na, dann wá¤ren Sie mal bitte so freundlich mir Ihre Lizenz zu zeigen, die Sie berechtigt hier in unserer Mall mit ihrem verdammten Flohzirkus zu logieren!"

"Ich bin sicher wir ká¶nnen..." setzte der Alte an. Doch Larry war nicht im Mindesten gewillt und zu sehr in Rage, um sich auf eine Diskussion mit diesem Tattergreis einzulassen.

"Einen Schei០werden Sie! Denn diese Lizenz gibt es nicht! Und wissen Sie woher ich das weiáŸ?" Ramirez beugte sich bedrohlich zu dem Alten vor, bis sie sich Gesicht an Gesicht gegená¼berstanden. "Weil ICH ná¤mlich der Leiter dieser Mall bin und WENN irgendeiner meiner Leute so geisteskrank wá¤re auch nur zu erwá¤hnen, diesem Schandfleck von einem Geschá¤ft eine Lizenzvergabe in Aussicht zu stellen, dann WáœáŸTE ich das!"

"Há¶ren Sie, junger Freund. Wir sind nur eine Woche hier. - Geben Sie uns einfach diese Zeit um unsere Sachen zu packen. Ká¶nnen wir uns darauf einigen?" Beschwichtigend legte der alte Mann die Hand auf die Schulter seines Gegená¼bers.

Doch der kam nun erst recht in Fahrt und stie០den Alten derbe von sich. "Bei Ihnen zieht's wohl?! Wenn Sie noch einmal Ihre Schmutzgriffel auf meinem Jackett parken, dann wird Ralf hier", Larry deutete vielsagend mit dem Daumen á¼ber seine Schulter auf den stá¤mmigen Sicherheitsbeamten des Centers hinter sich, "sie Ihnen dezent verbiegen!"

Der Blick des Alten verfinsterte sich. Die Augen nahmen einen stechenden Ausdruck an und ein hinterlistiges Grinsen breitete sich auf seinem Gesicht aus. "Ich versuch's noch einmal im Guten", raunte der Magier. "Wir werden..."

"Verschwinden, DAS werden Sie!" fá¼r einen kurzen Moment zuckte das rechte Auge des alten Meisters. Fá¼r jemanden wie seinen Lehrling, der ihn kannte, ein Zeichen dass der Spa០nun auch fá¼r den alten Zauberer vorbei war.

"Sie bestehen also darauf?" - "Verwetten Sie ihren Allerwehrtesten drauf, Opa!" - "Sofort?" - "Mann, am besten gestern, versteh'n Sie mich?!"

Plá¶tzlich schien der Alte wieder die Ruhe selbst. "Nun denn... Der Magier deutete mit sarkastischem Unterton eine Verbeugung an. "So sei es... - Misrah?"

Larry Ramirez Blick richtete sich nun auf den Angesprochenen, der circa drei Meter von ihnen entfernt Stellung bezogen hatte. Er nestelte an den Gliedern einer Kette herum die er durch die Finger wand, wá¤hrend er irgendeine Art unverstá¤ndlichen Nonsense intonierte.

Mit einem Male war der Laden in gleiáŸendes Licht getaucht. Erschrocken riáŸen Ramirez und sein Sicherheitsmann die Arme á¼ber den Ká¶pfen zusammen. Nach einem Moment gewá¶hnten sich die Augen der Má¤nner an die neuen Verhá¤ltnisse und sie blinzelten durch die Schaufenster in helles Tageslicht. Wá¤rme, wie von intensiver Mittagssonne, drang spá¼rbar durch den Stoff von Larry's Kleidung. Seltsame Gerá¤usche einer geschá¤ftigen Menschenmenge schienen von drauáŸen hereinzudringen, unverstá¤ndliche Rufe, fremdartige Musik, sogar das Blá¶ken irgendwelcher Tiere. "Was zum Teufel?!"

"Mister Ramirez. Wir haben Ihr Hausrecht respektiert und sind ihrem Wunsch nachgekommen. Sie werden es mir somit sicher nachsehen, wenn ich nun auch von dem meinem Gebrauch mache. - VerlaáŸen Sie mein Geschá¤ft."

"Was haben Sie mit meinem Einkaufszentrum gemacht, Sie verrá¼ckter alter..." Immer noch gegen das grelle Licht anblinzelnd versuchte der hitzká¶pfige Mall-Chef, die Situation zu erfassen.

"Wolfy..." Der junge, weiáŸhaarige Assistent des alten Zausels pfiff durch die Finger und zu seinem Entsetzen wurde Ramirez erst jetzt eines groáŸen schwarzen, wolfsartigen Hundes gewahr, der sich nun von seiner Decke unter einem der diversen Kleiderstá¤nder erhob und die Fá¤nge fletschte. "Die Herren má¶chten gehen."

Kaum hatte das bedrohliche Vieh zwei Schritte auf die beiden Eindringlinge zu gemacht, schon waren diese so panisch wie eilig zur Tá¼r hinausgeflohen.

Das unstete, klappernde Surren des altersschwachen Ventilators bestimmte die Gerá¤uschkulisse des Raumes, als Mahmud Mozhgaan den alten há¶lzernen Stuhl zurá¼ck zog und sich auf der abgewetzten Polsterung niederlieáŸ. Nachdem er seine schlecht sitzende, ockerfarbene Uniformjacke wieder in Form gezurrt hatte, stá¼tzte er seine Ellenbogen und faltete die Finger vor dem Gesicht ineinander. Die zwei Armeesoldaten, die hinter seinen beiden 'Gesprá¤chspartnern' in dem spá¤rlich beleuchteten, feuchten Verhá¶rraum ihren Stand bezogen hatten verharrten ungerá¼hrt.

"Ihr seid Amerikchaner." stellte er in stark dialektgefá¤rbten, schlechten Englisch fest, wá¤hrend er die Ausweise der beiden Má¤nner wie achtlos auf den Tisch schleuderte. "Was Ihr wolltet in Bazar? Was Ihr chabt zu tun in glorreichen Republik von Iran?"

"S... Sir, wir haben wirklich keine Ahnung wie wir hierher gekommen sind. Wir... wir waren in diesem kleinen Laden und..." Ramirez, der ebenso wie auch Ralf mit groben Stricken an seinen eisernen Hocker gefesselt war, unternahm den Versuch einer Antwort, wá¤hrend er durch den SchweiáŸ, der ihm von der Stirn rann, zu blinzeln suchte.

"Schweigen, Du unglá¤ubige Chund! DIESES GESCHá„FT GIBT ES NICHT! Wir chaben á¼berprá¼ft!" Mit finsterer Miene erhob sich der Kommissar. "Ihr wá¤rdet schon noch lernen, wie in Iran wir umgehen mit... wie ist Wort... SPIONE!"

Die Wanderschaft auf war schon eine beschwerliche Sache, dachte Misrah bei sich. Aber so wollt's die Satzung eben. "Auf Schusters Rappen" hatt' es da geheiáŸen und so hielt er's eben Wohl oder áœbel auch damit. Es galt die Tradition und Sitten ihres Handwerks hochzuhalten, ganz abgesehen davon das wohl nur der Deibel wissen mochte ob nicht sein Meister aus der Ferne ab und an auch ein Auge auf sein Tun haben mochte.

Nun, der schá¶ne Frá¼hlingstag und der lebendige Duft der weiten Felder und Wiesen hatten gewi០fá¼r Manches entschá¤digt. Aber das nimmer endende Fu០vor FuáŸ, und Schritt nach Schritt laugte irgendwann auch den enthusiastischsten Wandersmann aus. Und zu Denen wollte er sich nicht mal zá¤hlen. Das stá¤ndige Auf und ab der irischen Há¼gel hatte indess sein áœbriges dazu getan, dass ihm die Fá¼áŸe nun brannten wie die Há¶lle, er jeden Muskel schmerzhaft spá¼rte und der Rucksack ihm wie Blei auf den Schultern zu lasten schien.

So war er denn auch froh als er als er á¼ber einen Há¼gelkamm mehr hiná¼berstieg, nur wenige Meilen entfernt am Ende der schmalen LandstraáŸe, in den letzten Strahlen der sinkenden Sonne ein kleines Dorf erspá¤hte.

Das hiesige Landvolk, soweit zumindest seine bisherigen Erfahrungen, war ein recht freundlicher Menschenschlag und so war er denn auch zuversichtlich, dass er hier eine Herberge fá¼r die Nacht finden wá¼rde. Und wenn sich denn vielleicht auch kein Gasthaus finden mochte. Fá¼r etwas Handgeld wá¼rde ihn schon jemand in Stube oder Scheune fá¼r eine Nacht unterkommen lassen. Er war da nicht von groáŸem Anspruch und wenn sich dann hier villeicht auch noch etwas Besseres als sein karger Proviant finden lassen mochte, dann wollt er's mehr als zufrieden sein.

Das Schicksal schein dem jungen Wanderer gewogen, denn wie er so durch die gepflasterte, menschenleere Hauptgasse zwischen den alten Fachwerkhá¤usern schritt. Denn was er da durch das Halbdunkel des Dorfes, nur spá¤rlich erhellt durch ein paar wenige intakte StraáŸenlaternen, ausmachte, schienen ihm grad die Lichter eines Wirtshauses zu sein.

Warmes Licht schien durch die aus buntem Glas zusammengesetzten Fenster hinaus in die beginnende Nacht. Der gedá¤mpfte Klang von Lachen, Reden und Geigenspiel drang á¼ber die verwitterten, há¶lzernen Fensterbá¤nke hinaus auf den Platz.

"Na, das ká¶nnte doch wohl ein heit'rer Abend werden!" dachte sich der Zaubergeselle, als er in die Schá¤nke trat. Gut besucht war sie augenscheinlich, was ihn nicht wunderte da wohl die Einz'ge weit und breit und ein gar frá¶hliches Volk hatte sich Im heimeligen Ambiente dieses alten Gemá¤uers zu Umtrunk und Musik zusammengefunden.

Im einen Eck versuchten sich ein paar im Billard, an den althá¶lzernen Tischen wurde fleiáŸig gezecht und Karten gespielt und zwei junge Burschen wirbelten ihre Má¤dchen zum Lied eines stá¤mmigen Geigers á¼ber die Tanzflá¤che. Ja, selbst der Tabakrauch schien einher zu tanzen im gelben Licht der Lampen unter den schweren Balken der niedrigen Decke.

Bei diesem Treiben wollt er gern dabei sein, beschlo០er. Doch erst galt sich um ein Nachtlager zu bemá¼hen. So durchma០Misrah zielstrebig den Raum und dem Wirt hinter dem Tresen zu.

"Guten Abend, guter Mann!" er muáŸte die Stimme merklich heben, um sich dem grobschlá¤chtigen mit dem Schnauzbart gegen die umgebende Gerá¤uschkulisse verstá¤ndlich zu machen. "Sagt, habt Ihr noch ein Zimmer zu vergeben?" Der Wirt musterte ihn belustigt. Ein junger Mann mit weiáŸem Haar, das war freilich Nichts was man hier drauáŸen alle Tage sah. Aber was sollt's. Nun wart's ja nicht gerade so als ob die Welt hier ein und aus ginge und wenn der Bursche das passende Geld mitbrachte, so sollt's ihm grad' Recht sein.

"Auch Euch einen guten Abend, junger Freund. AuáŸer Euch habe ich derzeit nur einen Gast." Er nickte mit dem Kinn in Richtung eines Rotbá¤rtigen, der mit einem Glas in der Hand der frá¶hlichen Runde an seinem Tische gerade irgendeine Geschichte zum Besten zu geben schien. "Und somit ja, wenn's Euch nicht stá¶rt im Voraus zu zahlen, so seid mir gern willkommen."

Der Rucksack war verstaut, die Kleidung gewechselt und die Dusche um hatte ihm nicht nur den trock'nen Schwei០des harten Tages abgewaschen, sondern auch die Lebensgeister wieder geweckt. Ein unschá¤tzbares Vorrecht der Jugend: Von vá¶lliger Erschá¶pfung bald wenn angebracht sogleich zu neuer Kraft zu finden. Und so mischte sich der junge Zaubergeselle frohgemut unter die feiernde Menge. Man scherzte und lachte aller Seitens miteinander und nachdem er nach einer launigen Runde Billard seinen zweiten Krug von dem feisten Schankwirt holte, fiel sein Blick wieder hiná¼ber auf den Bá¤rtigen.

Der hochgewachsene Rothaarige, er mochte wohl etwa Mitte Zwanzig sein, hatte sich auf der Lehne einer Eckbank gesetzt und ergá¶tzte mit Kartenzaubertricks und sichtlichem Spa០die kleine Zuschauermenge, die sich um ihn gesammelt hatte. Seine Fertigkeit dabei war recht beeindruckend. Da lie០er den Kartenstapel weit von einer in die andere Hand knattern, dort warf er sie in breitem Fá¤chern in Luft und fing sie im Ganzen wieder auf, wá¤hrend er seine Darbietung mit lautstarken, humorigen Sprá¼chen unterstrich. Das Alles war recht erheiternd und auch der Zaubergeselle lehnte sich im Hintergrund an einen Holzbalken, wá¤hrend er der Darbietung des Há¼nen interessiertn folgte und ab und an an seinem Bier nippte.

Komisch wurde ihm die Sache allerdings, als der angeheiterte Rotbart schlieáŸlich begann, mit den Karten zu jonglieren. Nun wá¤re dies allein ja vielleicht noch menschenmá¶glich gewesen. Doch nach einer Weile begann er sie in Mustern und Linien, abseits jedweder Gesetze der Physik, in der Luft umhertanzen zu lassen. Die betrunkene, johlende Menge stá¶rte das freilich wenig. Was konnte es in ihren Augen auch schon Anderes sein als ein zwar unerklá¤rlicher, aber lediglich gut gemachter Zaubertrick.

Nachdem er seine Vorfá¼hrung beendet hatte, lie០Rotbart den Kartenstapel wieder in der Gesá¤áŸtasche verschwinden und verbeugte sich zweimal á¼bertrieben tief, die Hand auf der Brust, vor seinem euphorisch applaudierenden Publikum.

"Danke, danke, Freunde! Und wenn es Euch gefallen hat, dann denkt auch an des armen Ká¼nstlers trock'ne Kehle." Er reichte seinen schwarzen, weitkrá¤mpigen Filzhut dem Volke dar und so manch einer gab den ein oder anderen Euro. Danach verteilte sie die Meute schnell wieder á¼ber den Raum und vergná¼gte sich anderweitig.

Rotbart hatte sich gerade wieder auf der Bank niedergelassen und nahm einen tiefen Zug aus seinem Kruge, als Misrah an seinen Tisch trat und ihn unverhohlen ansah. Irgendetwas war im Blick, hinter dem merkwá¼rdigen Lá¤cheln dieses Já¼nglings, dass ihm nicht behagte.

"Ein paar nette Tricksereien, die Ihr da beherrscht, Kamerad." Der Bá¤rtige stellte sein Bier auf dem Tische ab und musterte ihn, halb geschmeichelt, halb miáŸtrauisch. "Dank' Euch recht fá¼r das Lob."

"Und erst das was dará¼ber hinausging. - Wahrlich kein schlechtes Handwerk..." - Der Rotbart seufzte und baute sich vor Misrah zu voller Grá¶áŸe auf. Ihn um gut eineinhalb Ká¶pfe á¼berragend, blickte er seinem Gegená¼ber forschend direkt in die Augen.

Der hielt dem Blick má¼helos stand und lá¤chelte spitzbá¼bisch als er entgegnete:

"Diese Nacht ist tiefes Schwarz, nicht war Freund?

"Und nun, da unser Zwei sind, so schwarz wie keine sonst."

Wá¤hrend er in diesem fest einstudierten Erkennungsverse ihrer Zunft antwortete, schwand das MiáŸtrauische aus dem Blick des Bá¤rtigen und wich einem erfreuten, breiten Grinsen. Mit lautem Klatschen schlugen die beiden Má¤nner die Há¤nde ineinander und klopften sich gegenseitig herzlich auf den Rá¼cken.

"Ja, verdamm' mich! Welche Freude! Da treffe ich hier inmitten von Fremde doch einen Bruder." polterte der Ire lachend in seinem starken Dialekt. "Cormac! Cormac ist mein Name!"

"Mich freut's nicht minder, Kamerad Cormac." versicherte der andere Zaubergeselle. "Misrah nennt man mich. Es ist mir gleichfalls eine Freude Euch kennen zu lernen."

"So seid auch Ihr auf der Waltz? Ich hab' sie grad zu Ende und bin nun auf dem Wege zurá¼ck zu meines Meisters Haus." - "Bei mir ist noch eine Weile bis dahin, aber wenn's weiter zu solchen glá¼cklichen Begegnungen fá¼hren mag, dann sei's drum." Beide Má¤nner lachten lauthals. "so seid auch Ihr Ire, oder?" - "Nein, aus den Staaten komme ich."

Cormac blickte fá¼r einen Moment verdutzt drein, dann brach er erneut in schallendes Gelá¤chter aus, als sein Blick auf das Medaillon um Misrahs Hals fiel. - "Seid versichert, mein Freund. Wá¼rde ich Dies nicht tragen, so verstá¼nd' ich hier wei០Gott kein einz'ges Wort. - Wer immer je behauptet hat Ihr Iren sprá¤chet Englisch, der kann Euch nie getroffen haben." Cormac wischte sich eine Lachtrá¤ne aus dem Augenwinkel. "Misrah, teurer Freund. Ihr seid mir ein Kamerad nach meinem Herzen. - So kommt, auf! LaáŸt uns den Abend feiern! Wer mag schon wissen ob wir den Ná¤chsten noch sehen."

Es wurde ein recht heiteres Beisammensein. Die beiden Gesellen tranken reichlich von den ká¶stlich bitt'ren Biere, tauschten sich á¼ber ihre Reisen und Abenteuer aus und zoteten, wie's ebenso der Brauch war, auch á¼ber ihre Meister und deren Eigenheiten nicht zu knapp.

SchlieáŸlich setzten sich zwei grobe Burschen zu Ihnen und schlugen ein Pokerspiel um Geld vor. Und die beiden gut angetrunkenen Gesellen wollten sich's darum nicht zu schade sein. Und so tat man wie gesagt. Schon bald geriet man in Spiellaune und im Nu lagen nicht schlechte Summen auf dem Tisch. Hin und her ging's und wechselte dann doch abermals.

Nun ist's mit einem Hexer oder Magier normalerweise freilich nicht gut Kartenspielen und há¤tte es einer der Beiden nur gewollt, er há¤tte wohl haushoch gewonnen. Aber sie spielten nicht des Geldes wegen. Was Alchemisten á¼ber Jahrhunderte versucht hatten, war Ihnen bloáŸe Fingerá¼bung. Was sie antrieb war der Spa០am Spiel. Zu beobachten wie das Geschick jedes Spielers und des Glá¼ckes Launen es wohl fá¼gen mochten. Ganz abgesehen davon dass keinem der Beiden je auch nur im Traume eingefallen wá¤re in einem Spiel zu betrá¼gen, an dem ein Handwerksbruder teilnahm.

"Vermalledeites Glá¼ck!" der grá¶áŸere der Burschen, sie mochten wohl in Misrahs Alter sein, schlug wá¼tend auf das Holz der Tischplatte, als Cormac eine weitere Runde gewann und zufrieden lá¤chelnd den Gewinn einstrich." - "Grá¤m' Dich nicht, Freund. Fortuna ist ein bá¶ses Weib." versuchte der Rotbá¤rtige in scherzhaftem Tone zu beruhigen. "So seid Ihr fá¼r noch eine Runde gut?" - "Zum Teufel, nein! Ihr habt mich schon genug geschrá¶pft. Ich hoff' Ihr seid's zufrieden und erstickt an diesem Geld."

Der breit gebaute Irenbursche und sein nicht minder stá¤mmiger Kumpan erhoben sich wá¼tend und verzogen sich in Richtung des Tresens. "Wer spielt, der sollt' auch verlieren ká¶nnen." raunte Misrah in verstimmten Tone. "Doch Manche ká¶nnen's eben nicht", lachte Cormac, "und uns soll's Recht sein. Wenn auch schon der Mensch Nichts taugen mag: Sein Geld soll mir gerade gut genug sein fá¼r einen weit'ren Humpen!" Die immer noch heit're Art seines Kameraden besá¤nftigte Misrahs Zorn und bald waren die beiden Strolche wieder vergessen, wá¤hrend man wieder bei angeregtem Gesprá¤che und gutem Bier zusammensaáŸ.

"Ich wei០nicht, wie's Euch geht, Freund Misrah." Der rotbá¤rtige Zaubergeselle hustete, "Aber mich wá¼rd's nach etwas frischer Luft verlangen. Wei០Gott wir sind daran nicht ganz unschuldig an all dem Tabakqualm, aber die Luft in diesem Raume ist nunmehr schier zum Schneiden dick." - "Mir geht's nicht recht viel anders, Bruder Cormac. So laáŸt uns denn etwas frischen Atem an der ká¼hlen Nachtluft schá¶pfen."

"Das ist ein Wort, so wird's gemacht." Cormac griff sich seinen Wanderstock und seinen Krug und so traten die beiden Handwerksgesellen hinaus in die sternenklare Nacht.

"Ahhh, so ist's gleich besser. - Ihr má¶gt mir nicht glauben, Kamerad. Aber Ihr werdet Euch einst noch an meine Worte erinnern, wenn ich Euch nun sage dass die paar Jahre die zwischen uns liegen wirklich etwas ausmachen, wenn's an die Kondition geht."

So recht konnte der Já¼ngere das zwar nicht glauben. Aber wie dem auch sein mochte: Sein breitschultriger Kamerad hatte sich ja zugegebenermaáŸen auch schon zwei oder drei Pints mehr in die Figur geschá¼ttet als er selbst.

"Was fá¼r ein Abend!" fuhr Cormac fort. "Eine Schande nur, dass es in diesem Kaff keine rechten Weiber geben will. Da drin sind's ihrer nur zweie und verzeiht mir wenn ich's laut sag'. Aber wenn's hier nur um diese Beiden geht, dann má¶gen die Dorfburschen sie auch gerne haben." - Misrah nickte, grinsend zustimmend. Die beiden 'Dorfschá¶nheiten' waren auch ihm wohl aufgefallen. Welcher Karren mochte sie wohl einst gestreift haben?

"HE, IHR DORT!" Genug Reflexe waren offenbar noch da, denn die beiden Hexer schnellten, trotz ihrer angetrunkenen Verfassung, erstaunlich schnell herum.

Es stellte sich heraus, dass es sich bei den beiden Má¤nnern, die da durch die schwere Gasthaustá¼re zu Ihnen in's Freie getreten waren, um ihre vormaligen Pokermitspieler handelte.

"Betrogen habt Ihr!" unterstellte der Grá¶áŸere von Ihnen. "Glaubt Ihr wir haben nicht gesehen was Du Zauselbart vorher fá¼r Kartentricks vollfá¼hrt hast?! - Du gibst uns sofort unser Geld zurá¼ck, Du Trickser! Langfinger! Sonst sollst Du mich kennenlernen!"

"Ich hatt' die á„rmel oben.", gab Cormac ungerá¼hrt zurá¼ck. "So, wie glaubt Ihr há¤tt' ich's anstellen soll'n, dass..." - Noch bevor die beiden Gesellen reagieren konnten, war der Kumpan des GroáŸen mit einem erstaunlich hurtigen Satz nach vorne gestá¼rmt und versetzte dem verdutzten Misrah nun einen wuchtigen Schwinger mit seiner massigen Faust, direkt in das Gesicht hinein. Sich auf seinen Ellenbogen má¼hsam aufrappelnd spuckte der junge Hexer schnaubend vor Verblá¼ffung und Wut zwei seiner Zá¤hne und eine Menge Blut in die Hand. Oh, das wá¼rde er diesen beiden Neanderthalern heimzahlen... Entschlossen rappelte er sich wieder auf die Beine.

Sein Freund und Zunftbruder schien derweil hingegen aber schon im Begriff, sich der beiden Aggressoren wá¼rdig anzunehmen. Misrah hatte schon Einiges gesehen in seinem Leben, aber wie der Kamerad da dreinsprang auf diese Angreifer, das war schon schwer zu faáŸen. Der gedrechselte Wanderstab sauste hin und her links und rechts. Mit solcher Kraft traf er die Burschen, dass es nur so klatschte gegen Schenkel, Bauch und Kopf. Er war sich nicht sicher ob der Mann den Stab oder der Stab den Mann fá¼hrte. Magie gewiáŸ, ein Veitstanz frei von jeder Fessel, ein diabolisches Xylophonspiel auf den Knochen der glá¼cklosen Angreifer.

Mit dumpfem Laut schlugen die Ká¶rper der beiden Tagediebe auf dem Pflaster auf. "Seid Ihr in Ordnung, werter Freund?" - Misrah preáŸte die beiden Zá¤hne zurá¼ck an ihren angestammten Platz, beschrieb mit dem linken Daumen ein Zeichen vor dem Mund und die Kauwerkzeuge saáŸen wieder fest als wá¤re Nichts geschehen. "Sorgt Euch nicht."

"Na, was sagt Ihr, Misrah? - Das war meine Kunst. Ein feines Stá¼ck unseres Handwerks, oder nicht?" - "Fá¼rwahr. Ihr habt Euch schadlos an Ihnen gehalten." Das listige Grinsen des Zaubergesellen verhie០wenig Gutes, als er langsam auf die sich am Boden krá¼mmenden Schlá¤ger zuschritt.

"Nun ist's fá¼r mich an der Reihe..." Er zá¼ckte einen der Lederbeutel von seinem Gá¼rtel und entleerte dessen Inhalt in die linke Handflá¤che. "Was habt Ihr vor?"

"Nun, werter Freund, zeig' ich Euch meine Profession.
Sie ist recht seltsam, aber ná¼tzlich manchmal schon."

Wá¤hrend er diese Worte sprach lie០er das Pulver langsam durch die Finger auf die beiden Niedergeschlagenen rinnen, wá¤hrend er mit seiner Hand eine elypsenfá¶rmige Bewegung á¼ber ihnen beschrieb.

Der feiste Wirt staunte nicht schlecht. "Ja, da brat' mir doch einer einen Storch!"

Das waren wohl Má¤nner von denen man lernen mochte! Da gingen diese beiden Taugenichtse fá¼r fá¼nf Minuten vor die Tá¼r und nun kehrten sie wieder mit zwei der schá¶nsten Frauen, die ihr Geschlecht wohl je hervorgebracht haben mochte.

Sie hingen schier an ihnen, preáŸten ihre vollen Rundungen an sie, ká¼áŸten sie und kicherten anzá¼glich. Wá¤hrend die beiden jungen Burschen mit ihren feinen Schá¶nheiten den Weg die Treppen hinauf zu den Zimmern nahmen, konnte der Wirt eingedenk seiner eigenen Ehefrau nicht umhin, einen Seufzer voll des Neides von sich zu geben.

"Hupp!" Misrah rejustierte den Gurt seines Rucksackes und wuchtete das Gewicht des schweren Behá¤ltnisses wieder in eine angenehmere Position. Es war nun fá¼nf Uhr Morgends. Sie hatten sich, so wie er es auch seinem Mitgesellen empfohlen hatte, schon zu frá¼her Stunde aufgemacht.

"Was fá¼r eine Nacht!" sinnierte Cormac, der neben ihm einherschritt. "Ihr glaubt nicht wozu sie so Allem aufgelegt war..." - "Was soll ich glauben, wo ich's mit der Meinen doch selbst am eig'nen Leib erfahren hab'?" grinste Misrah.

"Wahrlich unglaublich ist Eure Art der Magie. - Wunderlich zwar, aber unglaublich..."

"Ihr redet wie im Traume, Freund Cormac. Hat Euch Eure Maid denn gar so sehr zugeritten?" feixte Misrah lachend.

"Oh, Ihr wá¼rdet nicht glauben, was sie..." etwas beschá¤mt wirkend unterbrach er sich selbst und rá¤usperte sich. - "Aber, so sagt an mein Freund: Was soll denn nun wohl aus diesen beiden armen Seelen werden?"

"Ach, da sorgt Euch nicht weiter. Die Kraft des Pulvers hat nicht allzulang Bestand. Schon wá¤hrend wir hier sprechen sind sie vermutlich bereits wieder in alter Gestalt befindlich. - Nur die Erinnerung an diese Nacht, dafá¼r habe ich Sorge getragen, die werden sie Ihr Lebtag behalten..."

"Ein rechter Teufel seid Ihr, Misrah! Aber, das sei gesagt: Einer nach meinem Sinne..."

Das Gelá¤chter der beiden Hexer hallte weit á¼ber die Há¼gel, wá¤hrend sie Sei' an Seit' weiter ihres Weges zogen.

Der Hunger schien sich durch seinen Bauch zu fressen. - Fressen... Ja, fressen wollte er, muáŸte er. Egal was. Er fá¼hlte bereits wie seine Krá¤fte allmá¤hlich schwanden und der ihm von der Natur mitgegebene Instinkt sagte ihm, dass das keineswegs etwas Gutes war. Nicht dass er wirklich verstanden oder gewuáŸt há¤tte warum, aber es fá¼hlte sich nicht gut an. Hunger fá¼hlte sich schlecht an mahnte ihn, trieb ihn und verlangte behoben zu werden.

All die Gerá¼che waberten zwischen den Beinen der Menschen umher, zwischen denen er entlangtrabte, sich im Slalom durch ihren wogenden Wald schlá¤ngelnd. Ja, Vorsicht war geboten. Denn er wuáŸte, dass sie dazu neigten ihn zu treten und zu bespucken, wenn sie sich durch ihn gestá¶rt fá¼hlten. Und Schmerz war ihm genauso unangenehm wie Hunger, nur das dass Erstere immer irgendwann von selbst vorbeiging.

Also hie០es schá¶n aufpassen, dass man all den Sandalen, Stiefeln und langen Gewá¤ndern so fern wie nur irgend má¶glich blieb. Kein leichtes Unterfangen in diesen engen Gassen des Bazars, wo die Menschen umherwuselten, geschá¤ftig und zahlreich wie die Ameisen. Aber Ameisen durfte man fressen wenn es sein muáŸte (auch wenn sie sauer und miserabel schmeckten), Menschen nicht. Er konnte die Ameisen zertreten, die Menschen hingegen konnten ihn treten. 'Man kann nur reiáŸen, was zumindest gleich gro០oder kleiner ist als man selbst.' Das wuáŸte er, das akzeptierte er. Er fragte sich nie warum das so war. Es reichte schlicht es zu wissen.

Doch was war das? Er hob die Schnauze gegen den sachten, heiáŸen Windhauch der durch die Gasse wehte. Das war ein guter Geruch. Ein Geruch der versprach, das dieses quá¤lende Gefá¼hl in seinem Bauch aufhá¶ren wá¼rde.

Langsam, gaaanz langsam. Er machte sich so klein wie er konnte. Er konnte den Menschen riechen, die da an dem Stand etwa drei Meter vor ihm saáŸ. Ká¶rper und Kopf waren in dieses Zeug gehá¼llt, das alle Menschen wie eine Art Fell am Leib trugen. Er wuáŸte, dass es leicht abzureiáŸen und noch leichter zu durchbeiáŸen war. Das wuáŸte er, seit er einmal einen von ihnen in den Arm gebiáŸen hatte .

Seine Geruchssensoren berichteten ihm, dass es sich bei dem Menschen um ein Weibchen seiner Art handelte. Sie rochen anders als die Má¤nnchen, dass war leicht zu unterscheiden. Das war gut. Denn die Weibchen ihrer Gattung neigten seiner Erfahrung nach eher dazu, Angst vor ihm zu haben sofort anstatt sofort auf ihn einzutreten. Und die Fleischbá¤llchen die er da in den Weidenká¶rben an ihrem Stand erschnupperte, rochen gar zu verlockend und lieáŸen ihm das Wasser im Maul zusammenlaufen.

Langsam,Pfote vor Pfote ná¤herte er sich sich der begehrten Beute. Zuná¤chst schien alles gut. Das Menschenweibchen bellte immer wieder irgend etwas in die Menge ihrer ArtgenoáŸen hinaus, schien deren Aufmerksamkeit erregen zu wollen. Ihm sollt's recht sein, denn noch war er von ihr nicht entdeckt worden. Ein letztes beherztes Voranschleichen und er war am á¤uáŸersten Korb angelangt. Noch schnell die Schnauze á¼ber den Rand gesteckt und...

Hei០fuhr der ihm der Schmerz in's Fleisch, als ihn der unbarmherzige Tritt hart am Hinterlauf traf und ihn abrupt von den Pfoten riáŸ. "Jaulend rappelte er sich instinktiv und umgehend wieder auf, doch das Martyrium war noch nicht vorbei. Das Menschenweibchen griff sich, offensichtlich aufgebracht, einen dieser Stá¶cke. Einen von den langen an die die Menschen lange Bá¼ndel von Reisig zu binden pflegten um es dann so prá¤pariert wieder und wieder á¼ber den Boden zu ziehen (was fá¼r ná¤rrische Kreaturen es doch waren) und noch bevor er há¤tte groáŸartig reagieren ká¶nnen, stie០der unangenehm kreischende Mensch mit seinem Werkzeug zu.

Sein Hinterlauf hatte keinen Halt mehr. Wann immer er ihn aufsetzte, fuhr sengender Schmerz durch jeden Muskel dort und er knickte mit der Hinterseite ein. Das hatte er noch nie erlebt und so wuáŸte er Nichts mit dieser Erfahrung anzufangen. Und so schleppte er sich weiter bis hinein in eine Seitengasse. Hier war weniger Trubel, weniger Gefahr, Schatten. Zeit um zu ruhen. Jaulend vor Schmerz lie០er sich schlieáŸlich erschá¶pft nieder. Er wuáŸte, dass er weiter nicht kommen wá¼rde, ja nicht mehr konnte.

Eine Stimme neben ihm lie០ihn die Ohren aufstellen. Er ri០den Kopf herum und visierte má¼de den Menschen an, der da neben ihm in der Gasse saáŸ. Zwischen einigen Kisten hatte sich dieser, offenbar zum Schlafen, niedergelassen. Er hatte eines dieser Behá¤ltnisse hinter sich und die grob verputzte Ziegelwand geklemmt, in denen die weiáŸen Menschen oft ihren Proviant verstauten. Das wuáŸte er, weil diese Dinger immer so gut rochen.

áœberhaupt waren ihm die hellen Menschen lieber als die dunkelgrauen. Sie schienen keine besonders erfolgreiche Rasse zu sein, denn in seinem Revier bekam er sie eher selten zu Gesicht. Sie trugen ihr Ersatzfell (das in aller Regel anbei bemerkt weit mehr verschiedene Grauschattierungen aufwies als das der Dunkelgrauen) meist weitaus spá¤rlicher und ká¼rzer als der Rest ihrer Rasse, oft bedeckte es nicht mal ihre Hinterlá¤ufe. Und sie trugen eben allzumeist diese wuchtigen, wohlig nach Fressen riechenden Behá¤ltnisse mit sich.

Der helle Mensch, sogar seine Haare waren hell, um nicht zu sagen weiáŸ, beugte sich zu ihm herá¼ber. Normalerwiese wá¤re er wahlweise sofort geflohen oder há¤tte sich wahlweise massiv gewehrt. Doch in seiner augenblicklichen Situatiuon, leidend und der Ohnmacht nahe, lie០er es einfach geschehen als der helle Mensch vorsichtig seinen Hinterlauf faáŸte und begutachtete, wá¤hrend er etwas von sich gab daas fá¼r seinen Verstand ohne Sinn blieb, aber immerhin nicht aggressiv, sondern beruhigend, vielleicht gar besorgt klang. So genau kannte er sich mit dem Gebell der Menschen dann auch wieder nicht aus.

Der Mensch griff in Há¼fthá¶he an sein geruchloses Ersatzfell, etwas hervorziehend. Ihm hingegen war's egal, auf der Seite liegend ergab er sich der Pein, die seinen Geist á¼berforderte und mehr und mehr á¼berkam ihn eine einlullende Gleichgá¼ltigkeit, die auch dadurch nicht mehr gestá¶rt werden konnte dass der Mensch nun irgendetwas in seine Wunde zu reiben schien und etwas vor sich hin zu knurren schien. Der Helle fuhr fort, indem er ihm etwas aus seinem Rucksack kramte es aufschlug und wieder etwas von sich gab, wá¤hrend er wieder etwas von sich gab:

" Homunculus." - Er wá¼rde das Gebrabbel der Menschen wohl nie begreifen.

Doch mit einem Male war ihm anders, besser... Seine Sicht klarte wieder auf, die Schnauze hob sich vom Boden. Die Muskeln all seiner Lá¤ufe arbeiteten wieder ohne Schmerz und Protest. Schon war er wieder auf den Beinen. Instiktiv neigte er den Kopf an die eigene Flanke, um seine Wunde zu lecken, nur um erstaunt zu erkennen, dass sie nicht mehr da war. Er hatte kein Ahnung, wie das sein konnte aber er erkannte, dass dieser Mensch ihm wohl Gutes getan hatte. Und nun, wá¤hrend er weiter unverstá¤ndliche, aber freundliche Laute von sich gab, kramte er auch noch etwas aus seinem Behá¤ltnis hervor.

Es roch nach gutem, frischen Fleisch, verpackt zwischen zwei Scheiben von krá¼melig gelb-weiáŸem Etwas. Wie auch immer. Ihm war's grad egal und recht. Gierig schlang er das ihm Dargebotene mit nur zwei BiáŸen hinunter. Nun nahm auch der quá¤lende Hunger ab und dankbar schleckte er das Gesicht seines Helfers zum Dank ab. Das schien dem Menschen offenbar zu behagen, denn er streichelte ihm den Rá¼cken und kraulte ihn hinter dem Ohr. - Ein gutes Gefá¼hl. Viel besser als Tritte...

Sie waren nun schon diverse Tage unterwegs gewesen. Die besten seines Lebens. Und hatte den weiáŸen Menschen als Rudelfá¼hrer akzeptiert. Er schien immer zu wissen, wo es Fressen zu organiseren gab bei seinen ArtgenoáŸen und dachte auch immer daran, auch fá¼r ihn etwas mit aufzutreiben. Der sonst so allzeit prá¤sente, quá¤lende Hunger war ihm nun Vergangenheit. Er verstand nicht viel vom Geplapper der Menschen.

AuáŸerdem behandelte er ihn mit Wertschá¤tzung, klopfte ihm immer wieder mal den Rá¼cken und kraulte ihn und solange er sich nur bei der Seite des Herrn hielt, trat ihn auch keiner mehr. Der eine dunkelgraue Mensch, der es einmal versucht hatte, den hatte der Rudelfá¼hrer umgehend energisch beim Fell gepackt und bá¶se angebellt. Daraufhin hatte der mit eingezogenem Schwanz (auch wenn die Menschen keinen hatten) das Weite gesucht.

Die Ná¤chte verbrachten sie mal so mal so. Mal ein einer abgelegen Gase, mal in einer der steinernen Menschenhá¤user. Wann immer sie auf der StraáŸe ná¤chtigten, da hie០es wachsam sein. Das hatte er gelernt. Denn immer wieder tauchten dunkle Menschen auf, die mit prá¼fendem, gierigen Blick sie heranschlichen und es auf das Behá¤ltnis des Rudelfá¼hrers mit all ihrem Fressen abgesehen zu haben schienen.

Er hatte bereits erkannt, dass sein Herr offenbar wesentlich schlechter há¶ren und riechen konnte als er und durch die Anná¤herungen der potentiellen Fleischdiebe oft nicht einmal da aus dem Schlaf geweckt wurde, wenn Ihr Gestank und Radau ihn selbst schon lá¤ngst und umgehend auf die Beine riáŸ. - Insofern hatte er es sich selbst zur Aufgabe erklá¤rt, diese Eindringlinge, wann immer von Ná¶ten, angemeáŸen von ihrem Lager zu verknurren.

Auch heute waren sie beide wieder den ganzen Tag auf den Beinen gewesen auf den staubigen StraáŸen der Steppe, ohne auf eine der Menschensiedlungen zu treffen. Nur etwas war heute anders. Im áœberwiegenden war das Wetter hier durchgehend schá¶n. Aber wenn es denn dann doch einmal regnete, dann in Bá¤chen.

Er haáŸte dieses kalte Nass das vom Himmel kam. Es verwandelte die Welt vor seinen Augen in der anbrechenden Nacht in ein schwer zu durchblickendes Grauschwarz, durchzogen von nimmer endenden weiáŸen Schná¼ren und Punkten. Gut dass er den Herrn noch riechen konnte, auch wenn ihn die dicken Wssertropfen, die ihm bestetig auf die empfindliche Nase prasselten á¤uáŸerst unangenehm waren und ihn in regelmá¤áŸigen Abstá¤nden immer wieder Niesen lieáŸen.

Als er noch in den Gassen der groáŸen Menschenstadt gehaust hatte, hatte er sich bei Regen stets irgendwo verkrochen. Doch hier drauáŸen gab es Nichts um sich zu verstecken. AuáŸerdem wollte er seinem Rudelfá¼hrer nicht im Stich lassen. Und so trottete er weiter geduldig neben seinem Herren her.

"Na, Wolfy. Da hat es uns ja fein erwischt." Misrah klappte den Kragen seiner schwarzen Lederjacke, den ein Windsto០auf einer Seite nach unten gebogen hatte, schnell wieder hoch und hielt den Kragen mit der einen Hand zusammen, wá¤hrend er mit der anderen den Gurt des schweren Rucksackes hielt und ihn so daran hinderte Einschneiden noch schmerzhafter in seine Schulter Einzuschneiden. Das kurze weiáŸe Haar klebte ihm am Kopf und bis fast á¼ber die Brauen und er hatte seine libe Má¼he durch die Wassertropfen zu blinzeln, die ihm stetig in die Augen tropfen wollten.

Er war nun schon zwei Wochen in Pakistan unterwegs. Eigentlich ein sehr schá¶nes Land mit nicht zu leugnen wunderschá¶ner Landschaft und Eindrá¼cken. Hoffnungslos unterentwickelt zwar, aber immerhin sehenswert. Zumindest wenn man auf sich aufzupaáŸen wuáŸte. Jede á¶ffentliche Stelle war hier von obersten Offizier bis zum kleinsten Beamten im besten Falle korrupt, im schlimmsten gar hochkriminell und há¤tte er sich auf seinen Reisen nicht wiederholt einiger Zauber bedient, so wá¤re er bereits gewi០schon um den Gegenwert des ein oder anderen Jahreslohnes eines hiesigen Arbeiters allein an Bestechungsgeldern erleichtert worden.

In den Augen der meisten ihrer groben Gesichtern sah man die Verschlagenheit herausblitzen, die ihnen Generationen im ká¤rglichen Mangel dieses Landes angezá¼chtet hatten. Sie handelten fá¼r Ihr Leben gerne, und stahlen noch viel lieber wenn sich die Gelegenheit bot. - Angesichts dieser so femdartigen wie mehr als gewá¶hnungsbedá¼rftigen Reiseumgebung war der Zaubergeselle gottfroh, dass er nunmehr zumindest etwas Gesellschaft hatte.

"Sieh's positiv, mein Freund. Wir Zwei hatten eh 'ne Dusche ná¶tig." Lachend sah kurz hinunter zu seinem treuen Begleiter, der neben ihm hertrottete. Vor knapp einer Woche war der Hund ihm zugelaufen. Oder besser "zugekrochen", korrigierte er sich in Gedanken.

Es gab in diesem Land schier ungezá¤hlt viele StraáŸenhunde. Und die Menschen hier behandelten sie, wie er es schon wiederholt gesehen hatte, mit ausgesucht rohem Ha០und Brutalitá¤t. Da wurde getreten, mit allen geschlagen was greifbar war und im Einzelfalle gar geschoáŸen (Fá¼r die Pakistani der lá¤ndlichen Regionen war das Tragen von SchuáŸwaffen Alles andere als uná¼blich).

Eine derartige Begegnung muáŸte wohl auch die schwarze Promenadenmischung mit den treuen gelben Augen durchlitten haben, als sie sich in die Gasse geschleppt hatte in der er sich nach den harten Anstrengungen eines durchwanderten Tages fá¼r einen Moment zur Rast niedergelassen hatte. Der gebrochende Knochen stand dem armen Vieh aus dem linken Hinterlauf, wá¤hrend es sich verweifelt und unfá¤hig seine Verletzung zu begreifen mit den Vorderlá¤ufen weiter und vor Schmerzen jaulend voranschleppte.

In diesem Moment hatte Misrah fá¼r das arme Tier etwas empfunden, dass bei ihm gegená¼ber Menschen eher selten vorkam: Ehrliches Mitleid. - Zum Glá¼ck hatte er Wochen zuvor bei seinen tá¤glichen Studien seines Zauberbuches einen gewiáŸen Zauber á¼berflogen, der ihm fá¼r diese Gelegenheit passend erschien und nicht groáŸartig weiterer Ingredienzien bedurfte.

Rá¼ckblickend wahrhaft ein Glá¼cksfall, dachte sich der Wandergeselle, als er seinem Begleiter der brav neben ihm hertrottete und wuschelte ihm mit der Hand durch's kurze, seidige Kopffell, was der Hund mit einem wohligen Laut kommentierte. Alleine wá¤re dieser Abschnitt seiner Reise und speziell diese Nacht ihm bestimmt noch beschwerlicher vorgekommen.

Ein Blitz erhellte unverhofft fá¼r einen Moment die Finsternis. Mit zusammengekniffenen Augen erkannte der Magier in nicht allzuweiter ferne ein Gebá¤ude. "Na also, wer sagt's denn!", schrie der Hexer an seinen Hund gerichtet gegen den nachfolgenden Donner an. "Da vorne wollen wir's mal versuchen!"

Gut, um ganz ehrlich zu sein stellte sich die Frage nach dem "Wollen" nicht wirklich, wie sich der junge Magier eingestehen muáŸte als sie mit ein paar letzten platschenden Schritten endlich an dem Anwesen anlangten.

Sie waren zuletzt etliche Meilen gelaufen ohne auch nur ein einziges anderes Haus gesehen zu haben. Zudem forderten die Anstrengungen des Tages langsam ihren Tribut. Seine Fá¼áŸe brachten in schier um und langsam aber sicher beschlich ihn eine bleierne Má¼digkeit. Und er war sicher dass es seinem vierbeinigen Freund, der hechelnd zu ihm aufsah, nicht viel Anders gehen mochte.

Und ein á¼bernachten im Freien inmitten dieser Sintflut war vá¶llig ausgeschlossen. Der nicht enden wollende Dauergu០hatte die sandige Steppe sowie die staubige StraáŸe in einen einzigen Morast aus Matsch verwandelt. Kleine Rinnsale bildeten sich bereits in den Erdvertiefungen und Petrus hielt die Himmelsschleusen weiter unbarmherzig auf Durchlauf.

De fakto MUSSTEN sie also hier unterkommen, koste es was es wolle. Misrah hoffte nur, dass er es hier mit verstá¤ndigen Leuten zu tun hatte die ihnen gegen ein angemeáŸenes Bakschisch Quartier gewá¤hren wá¼rden.

Erstaunt stellte er fest, dass sich neben dem zweiflá¼gligen groáŸen Eingangstores des Anwesens sogar ein Klingelknopf fand. Das war keineswegs die Norm in diesen Breitengraden, schon gar nicht in so lá¤ndlichen Gefilden. Eine kleine Metallá¼berdachung schá¼tze den alten Schalter vor der herben Witterung. Er drá¼ckte den Knopf, konnte aber nichts vernehmen und begann zu zweifeln, ob die Elektronik á¼berhaupt noch eine Funktion aufweisen mochte. Nun, ein zwei Minuten wollte er erst einmal abwarten, dachte er, wá¤hrend er das Medaillon der Sprachen aus dem Bá¼ndel um seine Schulter heaussuchte und die Kette um seinen Hals legte.

Tatsá¤chlich ging plá¶tzlich die Beleuchtung im Bereich des Innenhofes des ummauerten Grundstá¼cks an. Auch eine rote Neonrá¶hre á¼ber dem Tor erwachte zappend und surrend zum Leben und tauchte die beiden Anká¶mmlinge in ihr merkwá¼rdiges Licht. Einer der Torflá¼gel á¶ffnete sich einen Spalt breit.

"Ja, was wollt Ihr?" Durch das fahle rá¶tliche Licht konnte Misrah das Gesicht einer Frau reiferen Alters erkennen. Sie schein, um es gewá¤hlt auszudrá¼cken, dass ein oder andere Pfund zu viel auf den Rippen zu haben. Rot gefá¤rbtes Haar spitze unter den Rá¤ndern der gelben Kapuze hervor und umrahmte ein molliges, patent á¼berschminktes Gesicht, das durch die zahlreichen Lachfá¤ltchen trotz ihrer miáŸtrauischen Miene einen freundlichen Eindruck vermittelte. Dort wo der zu klein geratene Regenmantel Ihren á¼ppigen Busen nicht ganz zu verdecken vermochte, konnte man Ansá¤tze ihres Kleides erkennen. Es war aus einem seidig anmutenden roten Stoff, versehen mit verschná¶rkelten, schwarzen Verzierungen und gleichfarbiger Spitze am Rand.

Es kostete Misrah viel áœberwindung, nicht zu lachen, als ihm langsam dá¤mmerte WO er hier einzukehren suchte. Doch er nahm sich zusammen, deutete eine leichte Verbeugung an und bemá¼hte sich um ein freundliches Lá¤cheln. "Guten Abend, gná¤dige Frau. Verzeiht die spá¤te Stá¶rung. Misrah ist mein Name. Ich bin Handwerksgeselle auf der Wanderschaft in Eurem schá¶nen Land und wurde vom Gewitter á¼berrascht. Deshalb wollte ich anfragen ob Ihr mich und meinen Freund hier, er wies auf seinen Hund, nicht fá¼r diese Nacht aufnehmen ká¶nntet. Selbstverstá¤ndlich wá¼rde ich mich finanziell angemessen erkenntlich zeigen..."

MiáŸtrauisch fiel der Blick der Frau durch den Tá¼rspalt zuerst auf das angesprochene Tier, dann musterte sie den jungen Hexer miáŸtrauisch von oben bis unten. Doch mit einem Mal hellte sich ihre Miene auf. "Na gut, so kommt denn herein in Allahs Namen, bevor Ihr mir noch mehr durchweicht als Ihr es ohnehin schon seid."

"Dank Euch recht, Mrs. ... á¤h..." - "Zelda." Seltsam, nun wirkte die Dicke fast schon freundlich und á¶ffnete den Tá¶rflá¼gel weiter, bevor sie sich umwandte und zurá¼ck in Richtung des Hauses eilte. "SchlieáŸt den Riegel hinter Euch. Es treibt sich zu viel Gesindel hier in der Gegend herum."

Misrah tat wie ihm geheiáŸen und so folgten sie ihrer Gastgeberin á¼ber den matschigen Boden des gerá¤umigen Innenhofes hin zum Hauptgebá¤ude. Es handelte sich um einen zweigeschoáŸigen schmucklosen Flachbau mit zahlreichen Fenstern, in der landesá¼blichen Art verputzt in triáŸtem Beige. Auf der Treppe vor dem Eingang, im Schutze des kleinen Vordaches, legte der Zauberlehrling Rucksatz und Jacke ab und wischte das Grá¶bste an Wasser von ihnen. Auch Wolfy tat's seinem Herren gleich und schá¼ttelte sich krá¤ftig.

Innen neben dem Eingang an der Wand befand sich eine groáŸe Garderobe mit etlichen Hakenreihen, unter denen auf dem Boden Decken aus dickem Stoff ausgebreitet lagen. Der Geselle hing seine Jacke auf und platzierte sein Reisegepá¤ck auf einer der Decken, um nicht das gut gepflegte Parkett zu ruinieren. "Ihr wiáŸt schon, wo Ihr hier einkehrt." lachte die mollige Dame schelmisch. " - "Ach, seht mich an, Madam. Sehe ich aus wie einer der gro០etwas auf Konventionen gibt? Mir ist ein Dach á¼ber dem Kopf so gut wie das Andere in einer Nacht wie dieser."

Er war sich schon bewuáŸt, wo sie sich hier befanden. Um es kurz zu faáŸen, es war der Hauptraum eines Bordells. Eine Bar aus feinem Holz nahm den grá¶áŸten Teil der linken Raumwand ein. In der Mitte verteilt befanden sich mehrere runde, mit rotem und lilanem Kunstleder á¼berzogene Polstersitzgruppen, in deren Mitte wei០lackierte Tische standen. Die rechte Raumseite nahm eine kleine Bá¼hne ein, vor derem roten Brokatvorhang im Randbereich zwei verchromte Stangen bis hin zur Decke reichten. Die pastelgelben Wá¤nde zierten diverse Aktgemá¤lde von schá¶nen Frauen aller Coleur und Herkunft. Ein paar Stufen fá¼hrten auf der Seite gegená¼ber des Eingangs in den hinteren Teil des Gebá¤udes und wohl auch zur Treppe in's ObergeschoáŸ, wo sich die 'Arbeitsrá¤ume' der angestellten Damen fá¼hren mochten. Das ganze Szenario wurde von schummrigen Licht zweier kitschiger Glaskronleuchter erhellt.

"Ich bin ja ehrlich gesagt ohnehin fast á¼berrascht, dass Ihr uns á¼berhaupt aufgenommen habt." Misrah war Zelda in die Ká¼che im hinteren Teil des Hauses gefolgt und trocknete sich nun mit dem Handtuch das sie ihm gereicht hatte das zerzauste Haar.

"Ach, man sieht hier drauáŸen so selten mal ein neues Gesicht. - Und auáŸerdem..." Sie trat betont nah an den jungen Mann heran und hob mit einem Finger die Kette des Medaillons um seinen Hals an, "wá¤re es doch reichlich tá¶richt von mir, es mir mit einem Magier zu verscherzen, oder?" - Der Hexer grinste á¼berrascht. "Ach so. Ihr seid eine Zauberin?"

Die mollige Puffmutter lachte abwinkend. "Wo denkt Ihr hin, Schá¤tzchen. - Ich bin nur eine Wahrsagerin. Kartenlegen, im Kaffeesatz und der Kristallkugel lesen, das sind meine bescheidenen Gaben. Und doch wei០ich eben dadurch mehr als so manch Andere." - "Ich verstehe." Die Frau hatte ein einnehmdes Wesen und das sie auch noch ein biáŸchen von 'der Kunst' verstand machte sie ihm nur noch sympathischer.

"Ihr sagtet Ihr seid auf Wanderschaft?", fuhr Zelda fort wá¤hrend sie einen Tee (das Nationalgetrá¤nk) fá¼r sie Beide aufsetzte. "Ich komme nicht viel herum. Vielleicht ká¶nnt Ihr ja so freundlich sein und mir von Euren Reisen ein wenig erzá¤hlen." - "Nur zu gerne, Zelda."
Die freundliche Gastgeberin brachte zum Tee noch etwas Brot und Ká¤se und so saáŸen sie noch eine gute Stunde beisammen, wá¤hrend sie sich á¼ber die Kunst und Wahrsagerei austauschten und Misrah den ein oder anderen Schwank aus seinen bisherigen Erlebnissen zum Besten gab.

Es war ein wirklich lustiger Abend gewesen, doch nun, da es auf Elf Uhr zuging, war er froh sich auf einem Bett ausstrecken zu ká¶nnen. Die gute Zelda hatte ihm ein freies Zimmer gezeigt und ihm eingeschá¤rft leise zu sein, um die Má¤dchen nicht zu wecken. Gut, die Einrichtung war freilich etwas gewá¶hnungsbedá¼rftig, aber was sollt's ihn ká¼mmern. Und so war er nur Minuten spá¤ter auch schon eingeschlafen, wá¤hrend Wolfy sich am FuáŸe des Bettes ebenfalls zur Ruhe legte.

"W... Was zum..." má¼hsam blinzelnd setzte sich Misrah schlaftrunken auf und tá¤tschelte den Kopf seines treuen Begleiters, der neben ihm auf das Doppelbett gesprungen war und ihn mit seinem Gebell geweckt hatte. "Was ist den los? Kannst Du nicht schlafen, alter Freund?"
Doch noch wá¤hrend er sich die Augen rieb, drangen á¼ber den Gang von unten her Geschrei und Lá¤rm herauf. Soweit er wuáŸte lebten in dem Haus nur Frauen, insofern war die Má¤nnerstimme, die von dort an sein Ohr drang schon mal eher ein Grund zur Beunruhigung.

Langsam wieder voll zu BewuáŸtsein kommend, realisierte er dass der dort unten jemand Dinge zerschlug. Der Mann wohl, dessen Stimme er da há¶rte. Und er schien heftig mit Madame Zelda zu streiten. Der junge Hexer sah sich suchend um. - Na, wunderbar. Die Jacke mit den Medaillons hing unten am Kleiderhaken und sein Zauberbuch sowie die Pulverbeutel hatte er zum Schutz vor dem Regen in der Plastiktá¼te in seinem Rucksack untergebracht. In seiner Má¼digkeit hatte er vorhin schlicht vergessen gehabt, all das mit herauf zu nehmen. -

Nichtsdestotrotz, getan werden muáŸte etwas. Er zermarterte sich das Hirn, wá¤hrend er seine Stiefel schná¼rte (aus gegebenem Anla០ausnahmsweise einmal fest), doch ihm wollte nicht wirklich ein Zauber einfallen, den er in dieser Situation und ohne sein Handwerkszeug há¤tte einsetzen ká¶nnen.

Als die mit Wolfy im Schlepptau auf den Gang hinaustrat, bemerkte er das er nicht der Einzige war, der durch den Radau aufgeschreckt worden war. Diverse der Freudenmá¤dchen standen ebenfalls vor ihren Zimmern und lauschten á¤ngstlich nach dem, was unten vor sich ging. Das á¼berraschende Erscheinen es finster dreinblickenden weiáŸhaarigen Fremden war freilich kaum geeignet um sie zu beruhigen und einige flohen eilig in ihre Rá¤ume zurá¼ck und knallten die Tá¼ren, wá¤hrend der Hexer an ihnen vorbei zur Treppe stá¼rmte.

"Nun há¶rt doch endlich auf, Kommandant! Seid doch verná¼nftig!" Madame Zelda hatte vor ihrem Angreifer hinter der Bar Schutz gesucht. Doch der Angetrunkene lie០sich dadurch nicht im Mindesten beirren. - "Erst, wenn Du mir eins Deiner Má¤dchen herbringst!"

Es war Kommandant Iwan Dannarzai, ein hochrangiger Beamter des Militá¤rs und Truppenleiter der Provinz. Er galt in der Umgebung hinter vorgehaltener Hand als skrupellos und gefá¤hrlich. Korrupt natá¼rlich sowieso, aber das war Nichts weiter Besonderes. Es war ein Berg von einem Kerl, wohl in seinen MittdreiáŸigern, dem man seine teils russischen Gene deutlich an der Statur ansehen konnte.

Er war schon á¶fter Gast in ihrem Etablissement gewesen, doch bisher war es ihr und den Má¤dchen immer mit Charme und ihren Reizen gelungen, den herschsá¼chtig-explosiven Charackter dieses Unmenschen im Zaum zu halten und zu beruhigen. - Doch heute war es anders gekommen. Denn als er heute mit seinem Wagen vorfuhr, hatte er vor verschlossenen Tá¼ren gestanden. Unwissend wer da kam, hatte sie die Tá¼r einen Spalt geá¶ffnet. Und nun war er hier eingedrunge und tobte wie von Sinnen. Ihre Erklá¤rung das am heutigen Tage geschlossen wá¤re, hatte den Soldaten nur noch mehr in Rage versetzt.

"Ich kann Euch heute nicht bedienen! Ihr seid Kommandant! Ihr wiáŸt, dass das Gesetz uns gebietet an Feiertagen wie diesem das Geschá¤ft geschlossen zu halten!" - Iwan trat in seiner Wut demonstrativ eines der há¶lzernen Panele in der Front der Bar ein, stá¼tzte dann seine Pranken auf des Tresens und beugte sich bedrohlich vor, bis sein kantiges Gesicht direkt vor dem von Zelda war und sie den Schnapsgestank seines Atems riechen konnte.

"Meinst Du das mich das ká¼mmert, Du abgetakelte Schabracke?! Ich bin der Distriktkommandant! Ich BIN das Gesetz, há¶rst Du Weib?!" Er wischte zur Unterstreichung die Reihe von Glá¤sern, die oberhalb der Bar aufgereiht hingen mit einer wuchtigen Armbewegung beiseite. Ein Glasregen ging auf Zelda nieder, als sie schá¼tzend ihre Arme vor's Gesicht riss. "Also erzá¤hl' mir Nichts, Du Hure! Und á¼berhaupt: Mit dem Schutzgeld bist Du auch im Rá¼ckstand. Also untersteh' Dich, Dir's weiter mit mir zu verscherzen." - Herr, habt doch ein Einsehen?" - "Schon morgen wird unser Geschá¤ft wieder..."

"Gut, Du willst es nicht anders!" Iwan fuhr herum, nach einem weiteren Ziel fá¼r seine Zerstá¶rungswut suchend. Viel war nun eben nicht mehr á¼brig. Die meisten Bilder lagen bereits zerhauen und zeriáŸen auf dem Boden, inmitten der unzá¤hligen glá¤sernen Glieder eines der Kronleuchter und das weiáŸe Futtermaterial quoll aus den langen RiáŸen, die sein Messer zwei der Sitzgarnituren zugefá¼gt hatte. Doch wie sich so umdrehte, viel sein nebeliger Blick auf eine á¼ber há¼fthohe Keramikvase, die direkt gegená¼ber der Bar im Rá¼cken einer der Sitzgarnituren auf einem Sockel stand. Der trainierte Nahká¤mpfer ging in Stellung und visierte an.

"Nein nicht!", kreischte Zelda voller Entsetzen. "Die Vase ist antik! Sie..."
Von einem ohrenbetá¤ubenden Klirren begleitet zerschmetterte der wuchtige Sidekick des Kommandanten das Gefá¤áŸ. "Da siehst Du, was Du davon hast, Du alte Hexe!" Ivan drehte sich wieder zur Bar um und grinste die Frau schnaubend an.

"Ihr seid ein Idiot! Die Vase war weit mehr wert als all das, was ich Euch an Schutzgeld schulde!"

"Dummes Weib!" Iwan packte sie á¼ber den Tresen hinweg am Kragen und zog sie zu sich. "Ich brauche Dein 'Geschirr' nicht! Ich will Geld und Dein Weiber!" Dann schien er es sich anders zu á¼berlegen und lie០von der erschrockenden Dame ab. "Ach, was scher' ich mich á¼berhaupt mit Dir herum?" Er beachtete Zelda nicht mehr weiter und ging in Richtung des Zugangs zu den Zimmern. "Ich werde einfach 'raufgehen und mir nehmen, was ich..."

"UFF!" Iwan wurde abrupt zurá¼ckgeworfen, als ihm irgendetwas schwarzes, schweres unvermittelt in's Gesicht fur und ihn rá¼ckwá¤rts von den Beinen riáŸ. Er fand sich rá¼cklings auf dem Boden wieder, á¼ber ihm ein dá¼rres Gestell von StraáŸenhund, dass ihm mit Pfoten und Krallen in's Gesicht fuhr und ihn mit schá¤umendem Maul zu beiáŸen versuchte. Reaktionsschnell wehrte der Offizier mit dem einem Arm schá¼tzend ab, griff das Tier dann mit der anderen am Hals und schleuderte das jaulende Vieh gegen die nahe Wand.

Wá¤hrend Iwan sich das Blut, dass aus den Kratzern in seinem Gesicht floáŸ, mit dem Arm abwischte und sich wieder auf die Beine rappelte, erschein eine weitere Gestalt in der Tá¼r: Ein Junge vielleicht grade mal an die zwanzig Jahre alt. Schmá¤chtig war er nun nicht, der Bursche. Aber auch nicht gerade á¼bermá¤áŸig muskulá¶s und in seinen Augen definitiv kein Gegner fá¼r ihn.

"Na, wer sind wir denn?" grinste der Kommandant angriffslustig. - "Meint Ihr nicht Ihr habt fá¼r heute genug Schaden hier angerichtet?" antwortete der weiáŸhaarige Jungspund raunend. - "Wer bist Du schon, dass es Dich was anginge, Junge?!" - Das tut Nichts zur Sache. Was Ihr há¶ren solltet ist, dass ich noch ein letztes Mal im Guten versuche. Wenn Ihr versprecht Madame Zelda den Schaden zu begleichen, den Ihr angerichtet habt und verschwindet, dann wollen wir's dabei bewenden laáŸen. Wenn nicht, dann geht auf Eure Kappe was Euch daraus erwachsen mag."

"Du muáŸt verrá¼ckt sein, Kleiner. Einen Schei០werde ich, há¶rst Du?!" - Mit einem Mal wurde Iwan wieder des Hundes gewahr, der nun gerade wieder auf die Beine kam und ihn zornig anknurrte. Ohne weiteres Zá¶gern zá¼ckte der Offizier wortlos seine Dienstwaffe und schoáŸ. Mit einem erstickten Jaulen sackte das getroffene Tier wieder in sich zusammen.
Der junge Mann hingegen nutzte geistesgegenwá¤rtig den Moment, um in Richtung der Garderobe zu hechten. Er wollte wohl zum Ausgang fliehen, wie der Kommandant mutmaáŸte. Doch er war nicht schnell genug fá¼r Iwan. Der bekam das T-Shirt und den Arm Misrah's zu faáŸen und schleuderte ihn einmal um die eigene Achse, so das er schmerzhaft gegen eben die Wand krachte, von der er gekommen war.

Die Gedanken des Hexers rasten als der Soldat mit der Pistole im Anschlag langsam auf ihn zuschritt. Sollte es wirklich so enden? ErschoáŸen von einer simplen Feuerwaffe. Sein Geist irrlichterte durch sá¤mtliche Sprá¼che, Zeichen, Formeln die er in all den Monaten studiert hatte. Es konnte doch nicht sein, dass er nicht einen einzigen... - DOCH, NATáœRLICH!

"HOMUNCULUS!" - Der Bursche war offensichtlich verrá¼ckt. "Was brá¼llst Du da, Du SchmeiáŸfliege?! Du hast verloren, also nimm's wenigstens wie ein Mann." Mit diesen Worten spannte Iwan erneut den Hahn seiner Waffe durch...

"Homunculus!" - Er há¶rte den Ruf aus dem endlosen Schwarz. Er verstand es nicht, aber er wuáŸte das es sein Herr war, der ihn da rief. Aus tiefer BewuáŸtlosigkeit tauchte er mit Allem Willen wieder auf. Er sah wieder, há¶rte wieder, roch wieder! Der Feind schritt da gerade an ihm vorá¼ber. Der Schmerz in seiner Brust lie០nach, verschwand. Von neuer Kraft beseelt rappelte er sich wieder auf die Lá¤ufe und fuhr herum.

Der Herr lag an der Wand an der kleinen Treppe. Der Angreifer hatte offenbar auch ihm Schmerz bereitet. Nun ging der Mensch auf den Rudelfá¼hrer zu. Er hatte den 'blitzenden Stock' in der Hand. Dieses Ding hatte ihm weh getan, wie auch immer. Dass er nun wieder stand, war dem Herren zu danken, das wuáŸte er. Er hatte selbst erlebt, dass nur der Herr so etwas konnte.

Nur warum konnte er es nun nicht fá¼r sich selbst tun? Es war nicht wichtig. Wichtig war nur, dass wenn der Herr weg sein wá¼rde, all das Elend wiederkommen wá¼rde. Die Ká¤lte, die Tritte, der quá¤lende Hunger. Sein Rudel war in Gefahr! Dieser stinkende Mensch wá¼rde es ihm nicht wegnehmen! Kalter, animalischer, unverfá¤lschter, ja instinktiver Ha០lie០das Blut wie rasend durch seine Adern schieáŸen. Der hechelnde Atem ging wie eine Dampflok und die Leffzen hoben sich. Plá¶tzlich fá¼hlte er Kraft in sich aufkeimen, Kraft wie er sie noch nie verspá¼rt hatte. Alles herum um ihn schien kleiner zu werden. Auch der Feind. - Klein wirkte er... Und schwá¤cher...

"Sag' der Welt auf Wiedersehen, mein Junge..." Iwan richtete die Waffe auf den Kopf des 'Jungen' aus. "Ihr solltet Euch besser umdrehen." - Warum grinste dieser kleine Punk plá¶tzlich so? "Na sicher, Du Wichser." feixte Iwan. " Als ob ich auf diesen alten Trick..." Ein Grollen wie Donnerhall erschallte mit einem Mal hinter ihm. Der Soldat unterbrach sich abrupt und wirbelte schuáŸbereit herum. Das was er sah war unfaáŸbar. Eine riesenhafte wolfsgleiche Bestie mit langem schwarzen, zerzausten Fell stand ihm da gegená¼ber. Die hochgezogenen Lefzen entblá¶áŸeten fingerlange, weiáŸe ReiáŸzá¤hne, an denen der Geifer in Bá¤chen zu Boden troff. Die Augen der Kreatur glommen in hellem WeiáŸ, als wá¼rde man in einen SchweiáŸbogen blicken, unertrá¤glich schmerzhaft. Das pure Entsetzen lá¤hmte Iwan fá¼r eine Sekunde, da machte das Há¶llenmonster einen Satz nach vorne.

"Was... - NEIN!" Iwan machte in Panik einen hastigen weiten Schritt zurá¼ck, rutsche auf den Glasteilen des Kronleuchters aus und fiel rá¼cklings á¼ber, wobei er mit dem Hinterkopf schwer an der Kante des Tresens anschlug. BewuáŸtlos sackte der Há¼ne in sich zusammen und kam, halb sitzend, an der Theke zum liegen.

"Braver Hund. Ja, braver Hund." Er verfá¼tterte einige Fleischbrá¶ckchen aus den Bestá¤nden seines Rucksackes an den treuen Gefá¤hrten. Gott sei Dank war der Hund zumindest wieder soweit zusammengeschrumpft, dass er ihm nurmehr wieder nur noch bis zur Há¼fte ging. Das wolfsgleiche Aussehen allerdings blieb dem Tier. Und sei's drum. Ihm selbst gefiel's ohnehin irgendwie, wie es war. Der Effekt des Zaubers war wirklich erstaunlich gewesen.

"Ich kann Euch gar nicht genug danken, Misrah. - Dieser Unmensch há¤tte uns am Ende womá¶glich noch Alle umgebracht. Wir sollten ihn fesseln, bevor er wieder aufwacht."
"Oh, das wird nicht ná¶tig sein." Nach einigem Kramen in seinem Reisebehá¤ltnis zog der Zauberlehrling ein Medaillon aus purem Gold und ein scharfes Werkzeug prá¼fend vor seine Augen. - "Ah ja, genau das habe ich gesucht..." - "I... Ist das echtes Gold?" staunte seine mollige Freundin. - "Ja." anwortete der Magier, geschá¤ftig hantierend und kurz angebunden.

Dann wurde sich Zelda wieder des Chaos in ihren Rá¤umen gewahr, und schlug entsetzt eine Hand vor den Mund. "Oh, bei Allah dem Allmá¤chtigen! Das Alles zu reparieren wird mich mindestens die Há¤lfte meiner Ersparnisse kosten!"

"Oh, seid unbesorgt, Zelda. Er WIRD es Euch zurá¼ckzahlen." erwiderte Misrah lá¤chelnd, wá¤hrend er begann, mit dem scharfen Werkzeug Strukturen und Zeichen in das Metall zu gravieren.

"Aber dazu werdet Ihr ihn nie bringen. Er wird mir meine Konzession entziehen, uns das Militá¤r auf den Hals hetzen. Er wird..."

"Nichts Dergleichen wird er." unterbrach Misrah entschlossen, wá¤hrend er weiter konzentriert und mit fachmá¤nnischen Blick seine Handwerksarbeit zu vollenden suchte.
"A... Aber wie wollt Ihr das anstellen?"

Der geá¼bte Graveur und Hexer hatte sein Werk so gut als mit den vorhandenen Mitteln machbar vollendet und ging nun noch an ein paar Feinarbeiten. Es wá¤re technisch gewi០nicht ná¶tig gewesen. Aber seine persá¶nliche Berufsehre verlangte es nun mal und das weiche Material machte es ihm die Arbeit ohnehin denkbar leicht.

"Nun, in meiner Heimat Amerika haben wir einen guten alten Brauch, wiáŸt Ihr?" Mit dem neugefertigten Medaillon in der Hand und einem hintersinnigen Grinsen schritt er betont langsam auf den bewuáŸtlosen Iwan zu. "Wenn bei uns einer seine Zeche nicht zahlen kann oder will, dann mu០er sie stattdessen..."

"AH! Uh! Uh! Nicht! AHHHHHH!" - Madame Zelda wartete geduldig vor dem Zimmer, bis das Stá¶hnen verstummte und der Gast schlieáŸlich vor die Tá¼r trat und Ihr den vereinbahrten Betrag á¼berreichte. Sie verabschiedete den beleibten Industriellen feundlich und á¼bergab ihn einer der Bardamen, die ihn zurá¼ck zur Bar geleitete um ihm noch einen 'Absacker' anzubieten. - Drei Wochen waren mittlerweile vergangen, seit sie sich von dem reisenden Hexer verabschiedet hatte.

Kaum war der Mann auáŸer Sicht gekommen, á¶ffnete Zelda ohne gro០zu klopfen die Zimmertá¼r und trat ein. "Gut gemacht, Schá¤tzchen. Der Kunde war sehr zufrieden." Sorgfá¤ltig zá¤hlte sie die diversen Scheine in ihren Há¤nden.

Die junge Frau die sie ansprach lag schwer atmend auf dem Bett. Ihr langes schwarzes Haar klebte ihr teilweise im verschwitzten Gesicht und an und aus ihrem Schritt lief die Hinterlassenschaft ihres letzten Kunden langsam und zá¤hflá¼ssig hinunter. - "Madame, habt Gnade! I... Ich kann das nicht mehr tun! Ich bitte Euch flehentlich! Verwandelt mich zurá¼ck!"

"Ach Iwanka, Schá¤tzchen." seufzte die á¤ltere Dame nachsichtig. "Du hast doch gehá¶rt was der Hexer gesagt hat. Du muáŸt nur erst genug verdienen, bis Du Deine Schulden vollends abgearbeitet hast, erst dann wird sich der Zauber von selbst wieder lá¶sen." - Trá¤nen liefen der jungen Frau á¼ber die Wangen, wá¤hrend sie sich zitternd aufsetzte und voller Scham begann ihre Intimzone mit ein paar der griffbereiten Kleenex-Tá¼cher abzuwischen.

"W... Wie lange wird das denn noch dauern?" fragte sie verzweifelt. "Tja Herzchen, ich wei០es nicht genau." Sie tá¤tschelte 'ihrem Má¤dchen' trá¶stend den Kopf. "Aber vielleicht há¤ttest Du besser die kostbare antike Vase nicht zertrá¼mmern sollen."

"Ich kann das nicht mehr tun..." heulte Iwanka enthemmt, "Ich will es nicht! Das kann alles nicht sein!"

"Ach, grá¤m' Dich nicht Kindchen. - Immerhin: Dein ná¤chster Kunde ist ein schmucker junger Offizier." Zelda blinzelte mit schnippischer Anzá¼glichkeit. "Sein Name ist Tarek Eljamin." - Das Schluchzen der Já¼ngeren verstummte, als sie das verweinte Gesicht aus ihren Há¤nden nahm und mit einem Ausdruck von vá¶lliger Fassungslosigkeit zu Zelda aufblickte. "D... das ist der Name meines Adjutanten!"

"Wirklich? - Wie klein doch die Welt ist." Gab die Bordell-Chefin amá¼siert zurá¼ck. "Na, dann solltest Du Dir bei ihm doch ganz besondere Má¼he geben. Du bist wirklich perfekt fá¼r ihn, Kleines. Er sagte er mag es, wenn sie sich ein biáŸchen zieren. - Also husch husch, in's Bad! Du willst ihn doch gewi០nicht so beschmutzt empfangen und frische Dessous solltest Du Dir auch anziehen. Sonst ist er am Ende noch unzufrieden und zahlt nicht voll. - Du wirst schon noch etwas tun má¼ssen fá¼r Dein groáŸes Ziel, mein Liebes..."

"CCXC. Von der Erschaffung eynes Homunculus:

LaáŸet mich Euch beschreyben, dass der Homunculus ein widernatuerlich, kuenstlich und von Menschenhand geschaffen Wesen ist, welches ihm der er geuebet genug ist in der Kunst um es entstehn zu lassen, fuerderhin in ewger Dankbarkeyt fá¼r seyne Erstehung allzeit loyal sich zu Diensten stellen wird.
Die Kunst eyn solch Wesen zu kreieren, sie ist den Hexern vorbehalten fuer all Zeyt. Die ahnungslosen Alchemisten habens freylich wohl eyntausend und eyn Mal versucht, doch nie ist es ihnen geraten. So will ich Euch, die Ihr unsere Kunst in neue Zeyten tragen moeget, nun von der Formel sprechen:
Fuerdererst benoetigt man eyn totes oder sterbend Wesen, denn Blut mu០dabey seyn zu dem Prozesse. So dann mische man eyn zauberwirkend Pulver an. Hierzu nimm er zur Hand das Folgende..."

-Auszug aus der Schrift 'Der Weg zur linken Hand - Eyne Sammlung von sechshundertsechsundsechzig Formeln und Zaubern', Magicus Hubertus von der Heyden, 1597-

I walk down the hallway. My boots give of muffled noises on the this carpet with it's ridiculoussly old fashioned golden braids. I wear the black boots of a russian commander. No immitation. The real thing. Just to mention. Let's just say he won't need them no more anyway. As well as the rest of his uniform. The great grandparents on my mothers side of the family had been ukrainians, so thanks to them, even my looks match the role I'm playing right know.

The whole building is kept very clean, but somehow everything seemes a little old fashioned and worn out. One just has to look at the details to realize it. And to do that is part of my job. Just look at these outlets at the wall. They're old and worn out. Easily from the seventies, if not even older. It shows you how this nation's mind really thinks, how it works.

'Don't spend money on something if it's not necessary'. It's understandable. They have known poverty for centuries. 'Mother russia' could be a rich country for it's people. It's got plenty of worthy ressources under it's surface. If it wouldn't be for the frozen thick icy earth of siberia.

Well, to sum it up the ruskies are used to know life the hard way... and how to drown it in vodka.

Like as to prove what I just thought, the two guards hastly hide two glasses and a bottle in their desks when I enter the room. Hurriedly they stand up and salute to my rank.

When you just go a little of the tracks russia's real nature appears, you know. The computer there on the tbale must be from the early nineties. Yap. 'Windows 95' the screensaver says. And for the rest of the equipment and furniture... I'd bet my ass Stalin himself could have had seen this scenery once as it still is right now. I mean, for christ's sake. They even still got that old Lenin-frame on the wall. At least I guess it's him. Hard to tell through the thick crust of dust.

"Good day, comrade commander!"

I just nod autoritarian. I don't greet. I know russian officers don't do that.

"I have orders from the government. Let me access the safe."

I'm kind of proud of my accentless russian pronounciation. There are only few people in service who are able to speak that language the way I do. I know every word, every phrase. I'm perfect on it.

Without any further words I hand over my faked papers. Excellent work made by experts of the CIA. I know they have several former russians there which worked for the Kremlin. Poor people are easy to recruit. As long as the russians keep on paying their people with pennies, I guess we never will have too much of a problem with learning what they're doing.

I had studied the forms and knew they would tell them that I only had to access a file containing only relatively harmless content compared to the standards of this 'high security'-sector.

The guard in front of me has a good long look at the forms while his comrade still keeps a close eye on me. I know he wouldn't hesitate to draw his weapon if necessary. If there's one thing I've had learned over the years it's that russians never get to drunk to be suspicious... and violent. Only the years of practice of my job give me the ability to look like everything is ok and normal. I don't even sweat. But inside my mind I say the lord's prayer again and again. Like I always do. It has become a ritual to me. In the Pentagon they say most of us agents are in some way superstitious. And I guess it's true.

"Thank you, comrade commander." The russian soldier looks up from the forms. closing the file and handing it back to me. He nods at his companion and they walk to the thick metall door of the old safe.

Actually it's more like the passage to a large room were they keep countless classified files and materials. I've seen the blueprints. Walls from made of two metres of concrete, steel and led. As the large metall door opens I know I enter a room that might even survive a nuclear strike. Most of the giant shelves are made of metall, the older ones of solid wood. They must have seen ages. I can tell that. Not just because of the old fashioned style and the rust. They obviously haven't been in the mood to let somebody dust this place for at least a decade.

They two soldiers are walking now behind me in a respectful distance. They follow me to the shelf where the files are which I pretend to be needing. I pull the overlarge drawer out and try to not caugh in the cloud of dust which appears along with it.

"Excellent. This is it." I fake as if the file slips of my hands. Papers fly through the air. The two russians instictively get to the ground, trying to collect them together again for me, the high ranked officer in front of them. - Some seconds later the papers on the floor get soaked with their blood. I somehow feel sorry for them, just a little. They were just doing their duty. But at least I made a quick, painless job. I put my sidearm back into it's holster. Thanks to the walls here noone outside could have even possibly heard a thing.

With quick steps I walk to the shelve which I am actually looking for. It's one of the newer ones and I exactly know were it is. Our informant was very precise. May god bless him for that. It makes my job a lot easier right now.

'423, 424... 425. There we go.'

The filefolder says "Venera" in cyrillic letters. - I grin in satisfaction. It's the one I'm looking for, they one they sent me to get.

Carefully I seal the safe's door again. Our informant said the alarm would go off if it stays opened over more then fifteen minutes. Noone will know that I was here. Unleast till they find those two unlucky bastards in there. And their shift ends in four hours according to the knowledge the agency has given me.

It's really a glorious day. Weatherwise. The bright sun shine's through a crystal clear, cloudless sky spending it's warmth. When you think of russia, you might have the usual stereotypes in mind: Cold and constantly covered in snow. But I can tell you in summer Moscow is one nice place to be at. It's not expensive and if you stay at the crowded areas, you ain't got a problem. The russians are very eager to make their capital look like a nice place. Yeah, of course it isn't in fact. There's, theft, murder and drug's are used and sold all over the place. But all of that just takes place in the alleys, the dark side of the city. Noone cares and if you have enough guts to walk into that dark areas, you can be sure you'll sooner or later will stumble over a dead body. All that worst of mankind's behaviour goes on in this very city. And nobody seems to give a crap about it. Moscow is no less then a madgone slaughterhouse, where only the strong and ruthless survive.

The ground rule seems to be "Don't do it were any foreigners could see it". If you do that you got the police all over your ass within a second, beating or even shooting (if necessary... or not) the crap out of you. Vladimir doesn't like bad press. Everyone knows that around here. And those who didn't helped the others to learn it... and are not amongst them anymore.

"Your coffee latte, sir." the waiter says in russian. Nice place in the middle of moscow. Great ambiente, fabulous sight. All the old buildings around, the cobblestone-street which the endless stream of 1980ie's cars rumble over by. And of course the russian people. You couldn't imitate the look of their faces. That serious look which is telling of their hard life. Yes, they can be cruel like noone else. But if you earn their trust they are the best friends one could have in the world.

Like with Yuri here. I've met him first when I just had arrived at the city five weeks ago. Really nice fellow, same age as me. I told him I was an ukranian businessman which was here 'cause of the job. I have a couple of false identities I have taught myself. Every information is there. Family, job, social behavior. I've perfected my acting over the years. It doesn't even take much effort to me anymore to slip into them.

"Spassiva, Yuri." Discretly I hand him a lavish tip along with a friendly handshake.

I take a sip of my cup. Very good coffee. Did you know that the russians make exceptionally good coffee? Yes, their machines are old usually. But maybe that's just what it is all about. Or they just know how to do it. I don't really care actually. But they do make good coffee. Just believe me that.

My eyes widen when I hear that clic behind me. I know it well, have heard it like a thousand times before. A gun's tap being tightened. I jump like a spring, spinning around a hundretandeighty degrees. With my arm I hit Yuri's, wiping the gun out of his hand. It hits the floor, slides under another table in front of the restaurant. Before the russian knows what's happening my left arm's reaching around him, dragging him closely towardst myself.

-Pfhew! Pfhew!-

Slowly I let the dead body slide down into the chair, resting it's head on it's crossed arms on the table like Yuri would be just taking a nap. Did anybody realize what just happened? It all has just taken seconds... Well, at least everybody acts normal. So who cares? Only one young guy shortly turnes around, taking a quick look at me. Then he just turns back to his girl which is with him on the table and simply goes on talking. - You gotta love the russian mentality.

But anyway. It's 'bout time for me to get outta here.
I've got blood on my shirt, on my jacket. I hastly put my gun back into the holster which I wear under my armpit.

Time to vanish into the alleys. - Where nobody cares...

This is it! This is the ultimate, the FINAL challenge. The one I have to solve to prove myself that I can overcome myself. That I beat myself through beating others. They have taught me all my live that this is the ultimate way that men behave like, through which they success. I want to be respected. And that's what I am right now.

My body is heavily trained now. The adrenaline is pumping blood through the well shaped muscles. I can physically feel it. I had like half an hour of pre-contest sparring to get my body warmed up and ready for the contest. Now the machine's running in full perfection.

And a machine I have become. I have made one out of myself. All these strange sexual phantasies I had about men and TG-stuff: It's all just blanked out, banned now.

'I'm a machine!'

All the rumors my collegues whispered about me: Gone. - They just faded away, got forgotten through these endless, countless hours of training. And I feel kind of free.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! - Did you now this sound can become like a mantra for one? Well, it can.

I look up when the referee pronounces my name. "And in the left corner..." - I hear him say my name... But I don't really hear it. My blood's pumping so fast through my veins that I've got a whistling sound in my ears. It feels like cement.

"And in the right corner..." - I don't even care about the name of the dude. All I know, all I have to know is that he is my first opponent in this tournament. That I've trained for like hell over the last month. Day after day, week after week. Tirelesly. And that to prove to myself and all my comrades from the gym.

I gotta get him down!

I recall all the bad words, the rumors they had said and told about me over the years out there. I mobilize every bit of the firy hatred and longing for revenge that so often seems to burn up my guts.

"Gentlemen, FIGHT!"

He's like half a head smaller than me. His moves are pathetic. But I won't hold back, cut him no slack. I have to prove to myself that I can be, no... that I AM a real man. I HAVE to. And in this moment beating him down seems to be THE way to accomplish that mission, that dream to finally fit in.

So my fists nail him, rain down on him. Compared to my standards he's quite poorly trained... Obviously... I don't care... - I just do what I was trained to do. Over and over again my knuckles hit his face, his stomach, his ribs. Accurate and powerful...
Pressing the air out of his lungs... I can hear it, feel it in my face...

"If you are to slow they'll gonna knock you out, boy!" the coach used to yell at me. "Look at your punches! What are you, a sissy?!" That word. The word I fear so much...

NO! That's not what I am! It can't be. That's -WHAM!- not -WHAM!- what -WHAM!- I -WHAM!- am!

So I listened, followed, learned... Ran with the pack.

If you look into an abyss long enough, the abyss also looks right into your soul...

He gets up again. For a second a look of surprise shows on my face I guess. I can't believe it. How could he stand punches like these for the second time and come up once more. But human stamina is an amazing thing to watch, just believe me.

But I don't care... I just start to punch even harder... Like a lokomotive... an automaton...

To finally get this 'fucker' down for good...

And to preserve my own illusion...

It has been a long time since then... - Such a long time... - And I was cheating myself...

I thought that I am unfit, not matching, wrong. I thought that. From the beginning of my life. I thought I was a peaceful nature. But they taught me that I'm not, 'cause I am a man. In the past I thought they were wrong. But everyone around agreed with them. All those hundrets of people I stood with on the market-place to watch minister of state Goebbels driving through town... They all had hailed him. If everyone thinks it's right: Can it be wrong? And so I joined them. I didn't want to be different. Because being different kills you in this world I live in.

I've seen them carrying away jews. Nobody knows were they take them to. And we don't wanna know. In a system where speaking up can get you to the gallows... you just stop thinking. Speaking up isn't good. It only affects the efficiency of the community of the Reich.

I am not different. Those who are different are taken away. And as far as I know they never return. I am not different. I LIKE women. I really do. That's what a man is supposed to do, isn't it? I just got to find the right one. I haven't just met her yet. That's it. That MUST be it. That's the reason I've never been attracted to any of the girls around. I just had not found the right one.

I've seen my neighbours as they were carried away. When they forced them to climb that SS-truck. Those sad, desperate faces... But was their own fault. They were jews. And all jews are a threat to the german people and the Reich. I mean: It's true. You can hear it on every radio, read it in every newspaper... Every day. So it's gotta be true. How else could it be? I haven't seen my former best friend in a long time. His name was... IS Israel. I guess his family just moved. Coming to think of it, how could I ever have been friends with someone of that kind. They're evil! That's common knowledge. All the good times and moments we had... It all must have been jewish trickery. Well I mean... He's an Itzik... He deserves to be taken away... - I guess... It must be so. It must be so...

I guess I was lucky that I was chosen to serve under the command of Sturmbannfuehrer Ernst Kupertz. He's a strong leader. A man with a constant determintely look on his face. He always knows wht there is to do, what tactic to use. I'd follow him till I die.

Because I'm a soldier. Isn't that my duty? He's a great leader. He's my role-model... I guess. He's so well built and trained. Those broad shoulders, all those muscles. Back when we stood side by side in the the shower of the barracks I almost got... - No, that was just a coincidence. 'Morning wood' as the guys call it. Things like that happen to any guy. There's nothing wrong with me. I am not different. I am an honorably, accepted member of the Wehrmacht, a german soldier.

I never would have thought I could kill a human being. It's not my nature. But... wrong... I'm a man, I'm a soldier... My nature has to be to kill. That's what the drill seargent said. That's what I do. I killed men... But they deserved it, were asking for it. What would YOU do if somebody jumps in your foxhole with a rifle, ready to kill you? I just realized that I had that spade on my belt. Everyone of us has one. Standard equipment, sharpened. I don't know what happended in that moment. I just knew I wanted to live. So I grabbed that spade and... Well... - Do you know what the eyes of a dead look like? A man you've killed? They make you shiver, burn themselves into your memory forever... And you'll never forget them.

I remember him. He was a frenchman. He lived on for some seconds and I knelt beneath him, unable to handle mentally what I just had done. He held the bleeding wound on his neck, and he spoke german. He regurgitated and managed to get out a "W... Warum tun wir das?", "Why do we do this?". Then he passed away. Dead glassy eyes... Those accusing eyes looking at me... I never learned were he learned to speak german. And I guess I never will. Maybe he had been a teacher or something like that before the war... I try not to think to much about it... - And I wished he never would have spoken german to me...

But it gets easier. Way to easy for my taste. Even for me... But I'm still alive, in this damned concrete-bunker with the finger on the trigger of my MG-42 machine gun. I named mine 'Ursel', after my sister, who always had been my dearest friend through all my life. Of course I told my comrades that it would be the name of my girlfriend. That's what they all do. And I don't want to be different. I AM not. I just haven't found the right girl till now.

Ursula... She is at home now. 'Hope she's O.k. ... alive. I heard the damned allies have bombed Dresden. Via the radios frequencies the brits and french constantly send propaganda. According to those, Dresden was bombed... burned down for good. Our commanders tell us that it was just an uncoordinated futile attack, only leaving minor damage. - Whom to believe? The only blessing is that I mostly just don't have the time to think to much about it.

I don't know if you will, if you can understand this. You somehow stop thinking when bullets keep flying all around you through the air, when friends and comrades are dying one by one, more and more of them. Day after day. People arrive, appear. Next day they might be dead. I still wear the dog tag of my best pal Hans tied into my bootstraps.

He had been my loader, a good one. You learn fast if your life depends on it. It had been our advantage that our weapon is superior to those of our enemies. Beltfed against magazinefed. German engineering. And unjust competition. And they know it. I can feel it, see it right now, as I look down on that beach in front of mine. They're coming. Thousands of them. Even tanks are swimming towards the shore. Christ! They're swimming I tell you... But they're easy to sink... Just hit the air-packs...

The trigger finger of my right hand is already raw. It even bleeds a little as I aim for another landing boat of theirs.

-clic-

My loader Klaus just nods. The overheated barrel is changed, the weapon reloaded and ready to fire. - We have barely spoken a word for hours. There is no time for the usual talk, the commands and advisories. We just try to function. For they are here to kill us. And I don't want to die. I'm young. I want to live. So I shoot again. Automatically... accurately... without any mercy...

In the Wehrmacht they call my weapon "Hitlersaege", "Hitler's buzzsaw". Shooting down on the beach I know why that is. But it's nothing special to me. The bullets just rain down as usual, cutting a line through the enemy. 1600 rounds per minute. Ripping flesh, breaking bones, erasing lifes. I don't know the meaning of the word mercy anymore. Those men are here to kill me... and Ursula, and my mother.

I'm driven no more by my rational thinking. I just try to survive. Even if I would try to surrender now, either my own comrades or them would without any doubt kill me. The Fuehrer has given order to kill every deserter. And for those 'Amis' down there: I must have already killed hundrets of them. And I still do. They'll be pissed. They would show no mercy to me either. I know that. If I was in their shoes I wouldn't. So I just keep shooting.

In my right canthus the cartridge cases do their deadly dance. Guy with the glasses: Down. Big guy's helmet got's blown away by my bullets, his face just... it's not there anymore. My mind is not able to handle the situation I guess. It's all to much for me. I'm blank, not feeling a thing. I'm just functioning as I had learned to over the last four years.

The blast is so loud that it impacts my ears. I can't hear a thing anymore. Except of this loud screaming ringing. I instinctively turn around, firing off my weapon towards the entrance. That'll keep them away. At least for some seconds. And even seconds right now seem more worthy to me than pure gold. - 'Just stay away! I want to live!'

A metallic clang at my feet makes me looking down. 'A grenade!'

"Deckung!", "Fire in the hole!" I shout. I hastly kneel down, grabbing that thing, knowing I have to throw it out of the bunker before...

I can't see....

It's all black to me...

And I can't move...

God, I can't even breathe...

Gotta... I've got to...

Ursel...

Mother...

I have to... get up...

I...

I...

...

..

.

-August 30, 2008-

Good old Washington. Nice place, even mostly nice weather. At least in summer and if you catch the right day. Well, obviously the master this time did when he moved the store here. So the wizard's apprentice enjoyed the warm sun which filled the shopping lane shining through the dusty windows of the Spells 'r Us-shop, working on the final finish of some magic medaillon. He was all concentrated on his work, when suddenly huge noise was appearing from outside and caught his attention.

"We want change! We want change!"

A large crowd of people paraded by, constantly shouting out this slogan.

Misrah raised one brow in amusement. The white haired young wizard got the heavy boots of the counter, stood up and stretched.

"Now this is new..." he grinned, adressing his dog Wolfy, which rested under a rack full of old costumes.

"I'm not really used to work on demand, but what the heck..."

The large dog grunted, obviously not paying to much attention.

Misrah checked his gear. Medaillons... -check-. All of the little leather bags which contained the necessary powders were attached on his belt... -check-.

"O.k., ol' pal. I'll be back soon. You watch the store for me, will ya?""

Wolfy only slightly opened one eye and made a growling sound to signal his master he had understood.

The young sorcerer walked out and soon disappeared in the huge crowd which just passed by outside...

Mario J. Donovan had never been much of a daredevil or risktaker. He was just a seventeen years old guy of average stature, average marks at school, had finished high school and that kind of was it. Coming to think of it he was the typical 'John Doe', so to say. - So how did he manage to get himself into this situation anyway? That's what he kept questioning himself over and over now, while the boat's engine steadily roared and the water of the rough sea kept sloshing on an on and spraid in waves over the sides of the armored landingboat and had already and totally soaked his uniform. In the distance, he shudderingly heard the sound of grenades striking as well as the awfull sound of german machine-guns, constantly firing. Far cries of pain filed the air along with that. Despite he was wet already, he undeniably felt that he sweated. His heart was beating, even if not in a frequency fast enough to be able to compare with the merciless machine-guns rattling over there, which he in sheer shock now finally realized, was soon about to face.

------------

"Soooldiers!" A senior officer authoritariantly yelled from behind, addressing all of us G.I.'s as we were gathered shoulder to shoulder in the small boat. "E.T.A. (Expected time of arrival) is five minutes! Get yourself and your gear all ready, men! We're up to kick some Kraut asses now!" - Right besides us, another boat of our invasion-force took a direct hit by a german grenade, simply blowing up like a torch. The flames of the explosion shot up high in the air, lighting the cloudy sky of that fatefull stormy day. Mercifully, the high sides of that boat of ours didn't give us a direct sight of it. But every single one of us knew what had just happened. Maybe it was just me, but I thought I could actually feel the heat of the flames while the fiery debris rained down on the water nearby.

This wasn't right. "I shouldn't be here. I gotta get out of this..." I thought, starting to panic. I obviously had fallen for some illusion, for mere propaganda. "Uncle Sam wants YOU!" the poster's which where on like every wall of the town had said. "The german's already are afraid of you, marines!", the drill seargent constantly used to tell us through the three months of our basic training. He told us the german soldiers would refer to us as "Teufelhunden", the 'Devil's hounds'. "They're already pissing their pants!" I remembered him shouting. "And you fine young soldiers are going to have the honor to finish them off!" - Well, judging of the smell in this boat, which was still heading toward the beach, they were obviously not alone with that. To be honest with myself I wasn't really much of a fighter. Christ, why the heck had I gotten myself into this whole thing?

-PRRRRRT! PRRRT! PRRRRRRT!- This always present sound of these damned MG-42 machine guns of our enemies which they fired off merciless and constantly, simply drove me mad. They must have had endless loads of ammunition up there in their concrete bunkers. - "I'm gonna die here... There's no chance whatsoever to survive this!" That thought hit me like a truck. I was young, not even in my twenties. I didn't WANT to die here! It was not my time! I was not ready! - The guy on my left started to mumble a prayer.

At least I stood far in the back of the boat, so leastways I wouldn't be one of the first to die if one of these machine-gunners would choose our boat as a target. But to be frank, I told myself: It wouldn't make any difference. If one of those Kraut-dickweeds up there would choose to take an aim on us we all would be toast anyway. Hey, I had been shown the training-films. Those guns of them had a unbelievable rate of fire which would have been easily capable to just sift through the wohle unit in this small vessel whatsoever. - Realizing that, I in sheer disbelieve pressed my teeth together till they nearly cracked. "Get me out of this. Someone get me out of this. I'd pay any prize!" I hissed out desperately.

Suddenly, everything seemed to become more silent around me. As if all the noise around was just dimmed down somehow. The soldier to my right all of the sudden turned his face to me. Taking sight of his appearance I simply gasped in surprise. He was an old guy with a long white beard. Hell and, yes: He even wore our uniform and a full equipment. But he was not even close to an age which any sane in his mind recruiting-officer in the world would have considered ever to be 'fit for service'. I mean: Hey?! The guy seemed to be easily like seventy years old or something! And where the f... had the marine with the scar under his eye gone which stood there nearby me just seconds ago? And why didn't anyone else around seem to take notice of 'Grandpa's' presence? - "Any prize, you say?" The old one yelled over in my face with a sly grin on his face, as loud as it was necessary to beat the (although now appearing somehow dimmed down) noise of the breakers which were still constandtly smashing on the sides of the boat.

"I'd recommend to hurry up, my young, friend." he shouted. "We're almost at the beach! So make up your mind! Still willing to pay ANY prize to get out of here?!" "Sure, gramps, like you would be able to..." I laughed along with these words in sheer disbelieve of the whole situation. "You better stop this kind of talking, before I lose my patience and just leave..." "But why would you want to save me?" "'Cause you have a bright mind and are capable even to become of some use for mankind, maybe even an 'inventor'." I wondered what I could ever invent whatsoever. Supposably the guy was anyway just a weird fantasy, created by my mind and I was about to be blown to bits anyway as it seemed. - "Well, then: YES! - HELL YES, I WOULD be willing to pay any prize to get out of this whole madness, you hear me you old dudderer?!" I just yelled and shouted the whole stress and anger that I felt in my bowl right into the face of the strange old geezer. - "Well then, Mario. That's all I wanted to hear. So, it's a deal." With a weird smile on his face, the 'old wacko' stretched out his bony hand and I shook it. - "Whatever." I thought. "It won't make a difference anyway..."

------------

The mechanisms gave of a loud buzzing sound, as the ramp of the LCVP opened up and lowered onto the sand of 'Omaha beach'. Along with the shouted commands of the captain, all of the marines immediately stormed out of the boat, yelling their guts out in a collective battlecry. The captain gave several man who seemed to hesitate some spurring rough pushes on the shoulders, constantly yelling encouraging phrases, when he suddenly got aware of a silhouette, which cowered all curled up in the back of the landing boat. He simply couldn't believe his eyes and, while the rest of his other men meanwhile stormed towards the ramp, stomped over to the person, mercilessly grabing the collar of the uniform and pulling the 'bastard' up to near his face while he yelled: "And YOU will go too, soldier!" His face was as red as a tomatoe. "The enemy's not gonna wait for us! You call yourself a marine, you...?!" he suddenly stopped inmidst of his sentence, a stunned look occuring on his face.

Mario looked up, tears of desperation and shame running down his cheeks. "Sorry Sir, I... I can't... I don't wanna die! Please, I..." he stammered. "You gotta be one hell of a crazy bitch to smuggle yourself into something like this voluntarily..." The senior officer interrupted him with a nearly toneless voice, a freakish look of total surprise mixed with contempt on his face. Suddenly and abruptly releasing Mario's collar out of his grip, thereby throwing him careless back on the ground, he without any further words just turned around and ran down the ramp to catch up to his men.

The ramp of the boat was fastly closing now, as one of the two crewmen of the boat jumped down on the main platform, landing near to the remaining person sitting there. The helmsmean meanwhile as fast as possible turned the boat around to get them away from the dangers of that bloodsoaked beach. - "You're hit, man?" the crewman yelled asking. When Mario raised his head to look him in the eye, the whole attitude of the young man seemed to change. "Oh, my... God, you're O.k.?" Mario nodded, still in shock. "So, how did you even get here?" the young Navy-soldier with a very friendly, if not to say 'caring', voice now asked, as he knelt down besides Mario.

"Are you one of the nurses from the base?" Still shacking 'cause of the adrenaline, Mario stammered. "N.. No. I'm a marine..." - The young ensign in front of him paused for a second with a surprised look on his face, then all of the sudden he laughed out loud and heartfully. He, obviously amused, wiped his eyes with one sleeve and said "Well. You might be possibly crazy, but obviously you gotta have SOME guts if you still are able to pull of jokes on one hell of a day like this one."

Being softly pated on his helmet by this stranger, Mario just was speechless for a moment, not knowing how to respond to all this. He didn't even have a clue what the reaction of this guy was all about. "So, what's your name?" the guy, still kneeling in front of him, asked with a smile. "M... Mario." "Well, Marion. You don't worry, precious. We're gonna get you out of this savely. - I promise." he once more smiled and blinked kind of encouraging with one eye. The young ensign then got up and climbed up a ladder nearby, getting back to the helm of the boat. "I... - Th... thank you." Mario was still quite confused but anyway relieved, as the boat fastly headed back towards the battleship. - But he still was afraid. Had he been shot? At least he felt this strange ongoing pressure on his chest, somehow feeling like a weight or something and...

If it wouldn't have been for all the infernal noise around, the loud hysterical scream surely would have been audible over some miles...

"We now enter the 'Hall of warriors' which includes several items from the early sevententh to the nineties of the 20th century. Dozens of camera-flashlights went of. The american tourist group seemed to be eager to catch every moment of the tour on film. Or they just had nothing better to do, who knows.

Hiroshi, a slim japanese guy whom's pseudo-uniform was at least one number to tall, went on with his text. The recognizable lack of enthusiasm might have it's roots in the fact that he had to do this a dozen times every day. And it didn't make it better that he mostly had to tell he history of his country to a bunch of fat foreigners, who seemed to prefer to photograph every single second of the tour instead of listening to what he had to say.

"This is the traditional uniform of a japanese Samurai of the late 18th century. Look at the mask. It's not only made to protect the face of the bearer, but to remind the enemy of legendary demons through it's gruesome looks. A calculated psychological effect."

Accompanied by the ongoing flashes, Hiroshi went over to the next showcase.

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is a dagger called 'Tanto'. It originates from the 15th century. The japanese people perfectioned the art of blacksmithing and crafting blades through folding the metall of the blades several times, using various kinds of metall in combination. This gave the weapons an extraordinary stability and sharpness.

This specific exemplar is known to once have belonged to a woman named Yumiko. It is believed that she was a female assassin, in japanese called 'Kunoichi'. The engravement on the blade says 'I am Yumiko. Born to the shadows.'"

It was a well crafted masterpiece of early blacksmith craftsmanship. Beautiful. Hiroshi liked it the most of all the exponates. It's handle was bound in rough leather which had a redish tone of color. All the centuries had decomposed it's structure, but the red color was still there. He had an idea were it might have came from once. He thought about it and sighed as the tourists gawked unaware and soulless at the exponate as usual.

They didn't seem to be very impressed. To them it was only a long knife. Which had to be photographed by each of them at least a dozend times of course...

---------------

It was a bright summer day and the sun shone warm on the wideness of the wide rice fields at the foot of the castle.

Yumi and Aiko were enjoying themselves, laughing and chatting on their way to the river. They had been sent to get water from the stream for lunch for the cook. They hadn't counted how many times they had already gone down there. It was what they were what they were supposed to do as servants and maids of the honored lord.

But when Yuki plunged her jug into the waters, she unexpectadly hit something with it. Astonished she pulled the bambooleafs aside. What the two women saw was a small basket, swimming in the streams water. And inside it was... a child.

---------------

"Mother, Yumi! I beg you to look down on me and watch over me."

Yumiko made sure that all her equipment was there, attached and where it was supposed to be. She was without any doubt the one with the most strength in the group. So her job had become to be at first front. She didn't doubt that decision of the mistress. It was only logicall, rational.

"Sister, are you ready?"
Kiko asked from behind, taking her bow at hand.

"I am. May the spirit of the honored Tenno and the love of our mother guide us."

Yumiko started her run. Her feet seemed to barely touch the ground as she got closer and closer towards the careless guards. She was a hundret percent focussed. Her breathing was fast, but controlled. She pulled out her Tanto, jumped...

'No sound. You're not supposed to make any noise.'

In the last moment one of the guards was getting aware of her behind him, turned around. The stunned, scared look on his face didn't affect her at all. She had seen that countless times. The mother had trained them, letting them practice on slaves and war-prisoners.

No noticable expression occured on Yumiko's face as the blade hit the hot flesh. His eyes widen. Good. That meant she'd hit him deadly. He wasn't able to scream, to alarm anyone. Now he's dead. No threat anymore.

The other guard had reached for his Katana meanwhile. Yumiko had been busy with her opponent. She had to rely on her team. And not in vain.

Kiko's arrow hit him right in the head, out of the blue. The assassin could see the life vanish from his eyes as he fell to the ground.

She didn't care to turn around to thank her comrade. I would have been inefficient. She would know anyway. There was no time for sentiments. The mission was sacred to them. It had to be carried out.

Yumiko reached the main building of the fortress, pressing her body against the wood. She had to be careful...

-----------------

"You're a whimp!" Katsuho laughed at his slender opponent, who lay beaten down on the floor. He waved his wooden sword and walked away to take a seat between the other students.

Sensei Nataka shaked his head in disbelieve. "You are kidding me, young one. You've lost every single battle for over a month."

"But I tried. I..." The boy started to complain.

"SILENCE! - You're useless. You have not the strength to handle a Katana! You are weak. You'll only bring shame on this Dojo and your fellow students."

"But Sensei, I...."

"Leave... - immediately..."

He was sitting down at the stream. All his life this had been one of the places he had most liked. So calm. So lovely. It reminded him of his mother. Yumi. He often came along with her when she had to fetch water for the courts cook. She had been a maid. A kind woman. A good mother. Pneumonia took her away from him and now he was all alone. - And now the Sensei had told him that he wasn't fit for the Dojo.

What should... what would he do now?

"Konichiwa, little one. - What makes you so sad?"

He quickly tried to wpie away his tears, being embarassed of them.

"Nothing." he mumbled. "I'm just thinking."

"You don't look like you're just thinking. - Why is it that made you so sad?"

He was angry that she had recognized that. Of course, it was obvious. But he had been taught by people all his life that it was not suitable to show any weakness and therefore, it made him angry.

"Mind your own business, woman." he gruntled.

"I'm just trying to help you, young man. - Why would this make you mad on me?" she calmly replied.

She was absolutely right. He shouldn't have answered in such a harsh manner. Seh didn't deserve it. She had been all nice to him and...

"The Sensei says I have not enough strength to weild a Katana." He couldn't believe he did this, but anyway he found himself crying his heart out on this strange woman's shoulder.

"Well maybe strength is just not you talent, dear." Carresing she slowly drove her hand throw his thick black hair.

"Watch out!"

Just out of instinct his hand went up, catching the little metal ball that she had thrown at him.

"See... - You have got one talent." she smiled.

-----------------

Yumiko stabbed through the thin white fabric of the wall. 'No mercy!' She could feel her blade enter the foes flesh... and turned it around. The short scream of her enemy to her seemed as it halled all over the place. She broke right through the wall. Making them of paper and wood might protect one from earthquakes, but not from her and her unit.

'Be fast, be fast!'

Entering next room. Rumiko slayed the first one with her Katana. Kiko chokes another one with a cord. All the girls are working in full effect. There is no mercy, no hesitating, and no sound. Except for those few of their enemies. But they silence quickly.

The door to the next room opens. Yumiko reacts immediately. The shuriken hits his eye, leaving him tumbling, bleeding... Not for long... - A knife hits a spine. An awful cracking sound.

-----------------

"Agility." the mother had told her. "Not strength is your power, but slyness and agility."

"I understand, mother."

"You'll ever lose to men in combat if you face them openly."

"M...Mother, you embarass me..."

"I don't. - Be sly. Use your talents. Be faster then them. Outsmart them. Hit them, if necessary, when they least expect it."

"But how?"

"I'll teach you. - Know and realize now that you are not one of them. You belong on our side."

"Side?"

"The female side. - Tell me: What are your origins. What was your mother's name?"

"What? I... My mother's name? It was Yumi..."

"Well then Yumiko, 'Yumi's child'. Be welcome to the sisterhood of the Kunoichi..."

---------------

"Get off me woman!!!"

She knew who he was. Over years he had flagellated his subjects with unregularly high taxes. He had slaughtered hundrets for not pacing them leaving children as orphans, women as widows.

And then he made the final mistake. He opposed the Tenno, trying to stand up to him. Finally he even tried to take his position. The rank of the Tenno is only granted by the gods. She knew that. She had been teached it her whole life through. This man was a heretic to her.

"Y... you ain't no woman! What are you?!"

"I am Yumiko. Born to the shadows."

Along with those words she drew her Tanto.

A gruesomely beautiful shimmer in the dim candlelight...

Missy was heavily breathing while she ran through the barely lighted corridors of the metro station as fast as she could. She stumbled around the corner, nearly tripped.

"Over there! Just got around the corner over there!"

The voice she heard was filled with hatred. They were hunting her. But why, lord why?
She sprinted down the stairs to the area where the trains used to arrive. It was late in the night. In like an hour the station would be closed. There was noone around she could have called for help. It was spring break-time and many people had left the town to go on a holiday with their families.

She herself had no loved ones. She had done the late shift tonight and got out late. She had been tired to death, but now all her senses had awoken again due to the adrenaline.

"They're coming to get us. You're not strong enough to do this. Leave them to me!"

"No, you always get us into trouble." Craig could hear the sheer fear out of Missy's voice.

"You can't beat them! There are to many of them!"

With the term 'them' she was refering to the three brutal looking guys that were following them. They had met them when they where changing trains on their way home.

"I can!" Craig shortly stopped to catch some breath. "But for Pete's sake you gotta let me do it while I still got some air in my lungs, girl!"

"No, no! We have to get away! Just away! They're dangerous!"

Right in that very moment their persecutors came running around the corner. The hateful, angry look on their leaders face who sprinted towardst her creeped the shit out of Missy. She instantly started to run from him again.

"We're not supposed to run from them. We'll just run out of breath finally and they'll beat the shit out of both of us. Goddamnit, be reasonable just for once Missy!"

"But they'll hurt us! They're like animals!"

"And animals are dumb and easy to trick."

Missy took a look back behind them and caught a sight at the three attackers. If she would have any air left she would have screamed in panic. But just an unaudible gasp came out.
They came nearer and nearer, they were faster then them.

"FUCKIN' SHIT, MISSY! LET ME DO THIS! I C A N DO IT! JUST TRUST ME!"

In that moment Missy stumbled and fell on her hands, down to the floor.
Their persecutors came nearer. Their leader went in front, coming closer. "So, you're done running, you bitch? Ready for some pain?" He sinisterly grinned.

Missy got up, sobbing desperately not knowing what to to anymore.

The aggressor in front came nearer, getting up his fists. "Well, here goes you pile of shit!"

Missy trembled in dispair. She couldn't take it anymore, gave up...

"CRAIG!" she screamed.

Craig's big hairy arm just lightninged in her sight from the right side beneath. The gruesome, merciless punch threw the head of his opponent backwards. Blood sprayed from his nose all over the floor when the bully tumbled back and fell to the ground.

Craig looked at his blood covered knuckles and grinned.

"Now we're talking... - So just bring it on, you fuckers."

"Ouch! Bad one..." Matterson grimaced when the man grabbed the hair of one of his opponents, then jumped up and rammed his knee into the face of the aggressor which had hunted him before.

Inspector Wallace rewinded the video and let it run again, this time in slow motion. All the years in investigation had sharpened his senses, making him a most efficient observer and profiler.

The 'victim' seemed to be a quite tall caucasian man. He wore a boilersuit. The kind like it's known to be worn by mechanics or factory workers of the auto-industry. Besides that he wore a white T-Shirt and a leather jacket.

"Look at that. Seems like he's talking to someone."

He rewinded the tape again to show the younger officer what he meant.
The surveillance tape of the Metro-company again returned to the beginning of the sequence, showing the young man again.

"Yes, you're right sir. He's saying something..."

Wallace observantly looked at the screen as the tape continued.

"You see this? This abrupt change in facial expression? One moment he seems to look totally afraid, but the next..."

He paused the tape after the face of the man just had changed from being awfully scared to tears to uncontrolled wrath.

"Right out of the blue..." The inspector thoughtfully stroked his beard.

Prologue:
My greetings! And welcome to this shop of ours, dear stranger. Or would you prever if I'd address you by name? Ah, never mind. You seem to be slightly irritated by my looks and the smile. I hear that a lot. But believe me when I tell you it only sais that I mean well for you, my friend. I assure you whatever you desire, my assortment is able to offer. - The short white hair? Well, I appreciate your curiosity, that's what our whole business kinda lives of. Well, let's just say I like it that way, even if one might not expext it from a guy in his early twenties. - No, no. I'm not actually the owner of this shop. But so to say I'm the apprentice here and my "supervisor" is on a "business-journey" out of town and left me in charge. So feel, free to take a look around and... Oh, I see you seem to have an eye for those medaillons there don't you. I'm honored you like them. As I'm the one who made them. - Not possible, you say? Well it is, trust me. The antique look just comes from a special ingredient in the metall they're made of. Actually it's just it gives them this special medieval kind of look that I like to consider my "business card". - But where are my manners. How rude of me not to introduce myself: Misrah is the name, pleased to meet you. - So let's see, which one of those might fit for you best. - You have my promise you'll be surprised how much it will suit you... - How someone like me with this worn out black biker leather-jacket and the black jeans fits into a store like this? - You really want me to tell you my story? - Well than, good. And just 'cause I kinda like your face, I'll do even better. I'm gonna SHOW it to you. Yes the chain and the medaillon seem heavy at first to most, but you will see soon. Yes, you will see... Tell me, what you see...

--------------

*WHAM* - The punch was hard and hit Alwin right into the face, sending him down right in the corner of the mall's toilet. "So, you think you're smart, Dickweed?!" - Darell, who had just yelled this, was really the kind of guy you don't wanna have any trouble with. A huge dude with an army-like kind of haircut, which had thanks to his constant practice as one of the stars of the school's football team, a renoticable muscular stature. "I... I didn't mean to..." Alwin tried to throw in, but his opponent didn't seem to show any interest in his words. Alwin was a 17 year old, more skinny type of a guy. Not to popular around school, as most are if they constantly wear a rocker-like outfit including a worn out leather jacket with a white painted pentagram on it, washed out black jeans and old army boots. His appearance adding up with the facts that he was more into metall music then sports meant that he didn't have much friends and was so to say it the opposite of a "man's man" and had made him an outsider and perfect target for the school's bullies over the last couple of years.

And the worst of those bullies had to be definitely Darell, the big blonde colossus that was attacking him at the very moment, surrounded as usual by his standard escort of four of his dumb-like-a-brick football-player friends, which were laughing their guts out over Alwin's desparate situation, as he lay there in the corner with blood running down his lower lip. Slowly Alwin got up trying to keep some dignity and accidently smearing the blood on his hands into his short brown hair while holding his head. "Ey, man. Believe me. I really didn't mean to offe..." He couldn't finish the sentence as Darell pushed him roughly against the wall off the bathroom. "Well, but you DID, you worthless scum!" The cause of Darell's anger was as Alwin knew, an answer he had given to Mrs. Wallace, the history teacher, instead of Darell who was originally asked the question. But it was only 'cause this dumb fucker had no idea about the answer whatsoever anyways and kept the class waiting for like three minutes just stammering around and still having no clue what to say. Right now, Alwin regreted this intervention he made like an hour ago, but now he just was thinking about how to get out of this situation. Darell was obviously mad (and undoubted dumb) enough to thoughtless of the consequences beat his face to a bloody pulp.

"So all on one card it is..." Alwin told himself, while Darell was blubbering something about looks he had given the quarterbacks girlfriend also. But, eh. This chick had one hell of a rack and so who could blame any man worth his salt risking one or two eyes on her from time to time. He didn't even inted to, but... "The little magot looks thirsty, doesn't he, dudes?!" This immediately brought Alwin abrupt back to reality, cause he knew those fucker's were about to stick his head once again into the toilet. Darell's arm stretched out to grab his neck, but this simply happened one time to often and the adrenaline rush shooting now through Alwin's body made him react abruptly and without any further rational thinking. - So he just rammed up his right shoulder against the attacker's chest throwing in his whole body weight, which made even the tall brute stumble back gasping. Also his friends turned out to be just stunned for a sec, and Alwin took the moment of surprise to storm through them and out of the toilet.

As Alwin had to realize, the effect didn't last long 'cause as soon as he was running for his life through the corridors of the shopping mall, he could already hear his hunter's following him, cursing and yelling their anger out. He wouldn't be able to keep up this kind of tempo for long he knew, and so he had to get a hideout as soon as possible. The advantage of his army-boots turned out to be that they had a pretty good grip on the plain floor of the mall whenn he, with only minimum sliding ran around the next corner and took his last chance for an escape with nearly throwing himself through the door of the next best shop there was, hiding under a rack with clothes. There he remained and to his surprise, the trick seemed to work as he could clearly hear how his follower's, still cursing at him, ran past the store without a halt.

"That was close, wasn't it" The voice emerging from the salescounter across the rack made Alwin look up. "Quick, my young friend, hide here. They will come back." The one who spoke was a kind of freaky old man with a long white Gandalf-like beard and some kind of blackish bathrobe on. But who was Alwin in this present situation of his to judge. So when the old geezer opened a dark purple curtain to a door which obviously led to the back of the store, he just instinctively followed the command. - This turned out to come of as a good choice for the time beeing, 'cause only moments after the old man had closed the curtain again, Darell and his 'henchman' came back and entered the shop.

"Ey there, gramps!" Darell spat out, heavily breathing "Have you seen some freaky looking Wannabe-rocker around here lately?" - Hiding around the corner behind the curtain, through a small split Alwin was able to take a glimpse at the situation outside in the shop. - "No, I hadn't had any customer's the last two hours. But if you are interrested in my assortment, feel free to take a look around." the old one calmly answered to the bully. But Darell wasn't about to retreat that easily. "You better not lie to me old fart, or I'm gonna get you fucked up." he growled. "Oh, you will?" If Alwin wouldn't have been in the backside view, he could have seen a blood freazing glow which appeared at that moment in the old man's eyes, while he put on an almost devilish grin. "We'll see, who's..." - "Oh christ, just fuck you, you old nutcase." Darell interrupted him, trying to seem self-confident but somehow the wierd impression on the old dude's face seemed to send a shiver upon his spine. "Dudes, he's not her!. We'll catch this fucker Alwin at school tomorrow anyway. 'ts get outa here!" - After this last statement Alwin and his 'henchmen' left the shop and soon where out of sight.

"You can come out now, Alwin. They won't come back for now, I assure." the old man giggled as if what he just said was merely a simple fact. "Y... you know my name?" Alwin asked irritated, while standing up and coming around back into the store. That was when he just realized what a freaky pandemonium the shop of his strange rescuer was: A sheer countless amount of items seemed to be a completely conceptless collection of freaky things, such as several dolls in one corner, some bizarre looking costumes in another. A bunch of indian dreamcatchers, necklaces and other similary stuff hanging in clusters from the ceiling. And that to just name a few of the weird shit around there. But, at all, it kind of went around with the all worn out, wodden, antique style equipment of the shop itself. It, with all the dut and everything, actually looked like it had been there for at least a hundred years but, coming to think of it, Alwin couldn't remember to ever have noticed it in the mall before. - "If I'd get a dime for everytime I hear that..." the old man sighed amused in answer. "But you seem to be a fine young man and, judging of the symbol you wear on your jacket, as well interested in the fine art of magic."

O.k. Al had once painted a white pentagram on the backside of his leather-jacket, but mostly 'cause of his individual spirit of 'youth-rebellion', absolutely not to make a statement for any magic-stuff or something. "Well, sir. I'm very thankfull that you helped me to escape my 'schoolmates'. But with all due respect. Do you really expect me to believe me in magic?" He definitely didn't intend to offend the man, as he had saved his ass just before. But his statements where just a little to ridiculous. "You don't have to believe, just observe." He started to wave around his hands in midst air in circles and shortly after that, several objects of his assortment startet to wiggle, finally lifting of inthe air and startet to float around in the room along with the movements of his hands. Alwin grabed one of the items out of the circle to make sure, but: No strings or anything attached whatsoever.

The old one, amused about the stunned look on his face, went on: "Well, know Alwin: I am a wizard. And yes, a real one. Not the kind of phony 'magician' Wannabes as this David Copperfield-guy that no one has heard of anymore in the last few years. - Take a wild guess why that is, my young friend. You seem to be a gifted you fellow." - Coming to think of it the young man actually started thinking about WHY we don't hear anything about Copperfield anymore, but the still floating around items where kind of enough proof to make him at least consider that the man was telling the truth and distract him from the thought before. "Would you like to become my apprentice?" he went on. "I wouldn't be to your disadvantage if you agreed, that I assure you." His grin was kind of creapy, but anyway it didn't seem to be a good move to mess around with this man. So Alwin just kept listening. "And if you are in, I will teach you anything to be capable of punishing these twits who bullied you... and much more..." - Now he had awoken Al's interest. And even if the guy still possibly just might've been only a nut: A try it seemed definitely worth it to him... What had he to loose anyway? - "Well, you have my attention, sir. Please, tell me more about the details..." - "I will, my young fellow. I will..." he replyed, leading Alwin to the back of the store again...

Alwin sat on the side of the road with a box of beer in front of him. It was a mild summer's evening and the dawn just came in. Drinking beer in public was not allowed officialy in the U.S., especially not to people like him under the age of 21. But, thanks to a lesson of his new 'teacher', he simply knew there was no police nearby n'or even coming around. So he just sat there, a beer in his hand and waiting for what both of 'em had planned and therefore was ment to be. - Alwin had to laugh a little in fascination as he could clearly sense them as they where just about to come around the corner, even if he till now had actually no sight of 'em. - "Excellent." he grinned. "Most excellent that is."

Darell and his friends had just finished their late afternoon training session. There was a important game set in a few days and their coach was eager to get them as ready as possible for it. But now they were willing to call it a day and up to party, as they usually did. "And then, when Kimberley came over I just..." Derill stopped his sentence inmidst as, coming around the corner, he sighted Al sitting aside of the street with his beer. "Well, look at that." he grinned malicously, "The fuckin' asshole at least got us some booze in excuse for his behaviour earlier." He fastly headed towardst his target, waited till his friends had gathered behind him and then growled out a "Well, if that isn't our old friend Alwin..." - "If you want so..." - He didn't mind the words, and kept going on with his teasing. "It's so generous and caring of you to get us some beer after we trained so hard for the progress of the school's team." He once again grinned meanly. "Be sure we appreciate your support." Alwin immediately held his beer closer to his body, but Darell ripped it outa his hands anyway and locked down on him, confident of his victory. "To our 'selfless' spender!" he gave out a sarcastic toast and took a deep, long mouthful of Al's bottle. His buddies just went along with the joke laughing and each one without any permition was serving themselves outa Alwin's beer box.

Darell took a swing to start a severe punch right in Alwin's face, but when he tried, his fist just hited the air. In sheer unbelieving, he looked at his hand. It had became much shorter, thinner. But not just that. His fingers also seemd to shorten. Hid hand more and more became looking more like a paw to him than anything else. The behated nerd Alwin seemed to grow, overtowering him more and more. "What the fuck's happening!" The continuing changes in his voice to a high pitch increased the level of panic Darell was feeling.
After a matter of seconds, Alwin seemed to have become a giant. But not just him, the whole world has seemed grewn to gigantic dimensions to him. He tried to spit out a "What the fuck did you do, you freak?!", but all that came out was a kind of a loud "Meow!" He awared he was on his all fours now, just mentaly unable to realize what had just happened to him.

"Kitty, kitty kitty..." The colossal Alwin looked down at him grinning madly, peting his head with his hand. Still unable to grab on the whole situation Darell watched as Alwin's hair seemed within seconds grrowing from it's dark brown to a pure white, the process best to compare with rust taking over iron in a short cut. - "Why don't you go play with your friends..." Darell followed Alwin's eyes backwardsd, where he could saw four tomcats. All four of 'em were desirably looking at him and meowed. - That was when he realized he himseld had become a cat. A look at his paws and between his legs confirmed his worst theories, and he ran of with the four tomcats following him with loud meowing all the way. "Bet you'll have many most lovely kittens!" Alwin's laughter went gruesomely along with Darell's hastely escape.

"So you did get your revenge, did ya?" - The old man seemed to have just appeared behind Alwin. "Yes I did, my master" - "Then you actually are willing in to be my apprentice?" - "Affirmative." "Then it might be time to think of a new name for you. No offence, my young friend, but 'Alwin' is not some fitting name for the business." - Alwin, still grinning and remembering an old tale replied "Misrah, my master. Call me Misrah." - "So, well. Misrah it is." - Both laughed and after a waving of the old man's hand disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke, as in the same moment the store in the mall of New Jersey did...

-----------

Come back to yourself. - 'You with me again? Experienced all of my story? - Good thing. Kinda' felt good about to be able to share with someone about all these restricted happenings. But I have to tell you, that the icon you wear is called my "Medaillon of oblivion". Anyway be thanked, for 'listening' to my story. 'Till there's still time, I'd like to shake your hand... - What all the handshaking is all about, you ask? - Well, let's say I'm just a friendly person, dear customer. Anyway, did you find anything you're interrested in?

(c) 2011 by Misrah
You may feel free to use that story and make also use of it and/or it's charakters, as long as you mention the original source (bigclosetr.us) and the author (Misrah) along with it.

Synopsis: When two enters the SRU Magic Shop, they meet the Wizard's new Apprentice who has a bit of fun at their expense.

Brian was still talking about one of his endless plans of attracting some chick he had a crush on at the moment at school. He was always planning and talking about how, and also how many chicks he "was about to lay".
"And then I'm gonna present her the necklace and as a reward, you bet your ass on it, I'll have myself some gooood sex."

He drove his hand through his short blonde hair while he described the details of one more of his 'plans'. I already had gotten used to this kind of talking.

I just nodded, we were walking down the corridors of the new town mall, which had opened it's gates some weeks ago. That was why we two seventeen year old friends had decided to check the place out as we didn't have anything better to do.

As I just said before, I kinda got used to that, despite the fact that I actually hadn't seen him EVER with one of these plans of his gotten through.

As we entered, we saw a huge banner hanging from the ceiling which said "The Forum - Mall of Houston, Texas WELCOMES YOU!"
According to what you hear he only had got one chick ever which went with him all the way, and that was after a private party and the girl, according to rumors, was drunk as hell and even regretted it afterwards.

Well, anyway: This must have been the point in his life when he got the wild idea that he was an unresistable 'lady killer', and was supposedly from that point on he focused on the mission of hitting on the chicks.

Well, he didn't look to bad at all, as far as I could judge as a man. I mean he was kind of average in size, wide shoulders, a little more than usual to be mentionable, and even had gained some moderate muscle mass through some exercising with weights.

He also had some kind of single-minded, sheer unbreakable self-confidence, which I sometimes envied. It had to make life easier, definitively when one, as he was, and no matter how often one fails, always nevertheless keeps thinking of himself as the undeniable 'king of the world'.

Dan is my name, short for Daniel. I am the classic sideshow, if you want. Quite intelligent, at least if you believe what my well-meaning teachers always told my parents, but my marks anyway were just about average. When it came to the ladies, I was quite unlucky. I never really had a girl cause I always get to shy around these angel-like creatures and if I ever got a word out in front of them, you could bet on that I was just about to totally embarrass myself.

So I envied my best pal Brian for his supposed one time 'score'. He was kind of my only real friend and we kinda constantly used to hang around together.

"So", I replied. "where did you buy this necklace for Bethany anyway? I figure these things are quite costly.

As usually, not easily to be irritated, he answered immediately, "I didn't already, man. But one just has to take his chances in life and have a feeling where to get what he needs for a reasonable price."

I sighed silently when he once again did this over-self-confidence-thing of his, which I by myself mostly considered to be just a load of 'hot air'.

"You see, man. That's what I'm talking about: Take your chances when they open up on ya."

"OK."

He pointed to a store, which was kind of weird looking, "You see, man. In a store like this, I surely will find something for a reasonable prize which doesn't look to cheap but will be show able enough to convince the chick."

Who might have given the holders of that shop a license to open up in this top-modern mall. Even in the best concepts, faults always happen. I thought as I just followed Brian who was heading right towards the described location.

I got a chance to take a closer look at the shop: It's kinda like ancient facade entirely was made out of fine wood (oak perhaps), whose baroque florid ornamentation seemed well-crafted once by an advanced master of his art. It's shop windows were all dusty and dirty as no one had for decades cared to clean them. What was visible of the assortment from the outside was a summary of a variety clothes and strange costumes on some racks which were placed right in front of the store.

A bunch made of iron or something chains with tags on 'em and other cheap-fashioned ornaments hung in a cluster from an flickering, old lantern-like fashioned lamp which barely lit a sign which said "Spells R Us".

Well, there it was: Brian sharing his 'wisdom' once again. Sometimes it seemed quite amusing to me. But when it came to this store, he actually might have been right. They had loads and loads of stuff which more seemed like it had been collected and gathered over decades. Antique looking dolls, costumes, rusty rapiers, clothes, ancient style jewelry kinda items... Well, to sum it up: 'If it's weird and useless: You name it, they got it.' seemed to be a good slogan for the whole thing.

The shopkeeper's appearance didn't surprise me much after this. He kind of seemed to fit in where nothing else fit to each other. Actually I would have expected an older fellow to run a shop of this kind, so to say. But despite that his looks were as weird as the whole store itself.

He actually was a quite young dude, wearing a worn out old black leather-jacket and black jeans with several holes in 'em. The massive boots he rested on the counter had obviously once been army material I suppose. Around his left shoulder there were several iron chains attached with carved items on them, some made of the same material.

Brian meanwhile gave the strange dude barely a look while he searched for a necklace suitable for a girl in this whole mess. Well, he actually might have the luck of the dumb, as the shop also had several clusters of chains, jewelry and similar stuff hanging down from the ceiling.

Brian, after carefully examining one of the clusters picked out one item which well, looked like a necklace and victoriously held it up in front of my face, "See, that's what I'm talking about! This thing so rocks and will definitely do the job. Bethany will be stunned, man!"

Well, so far I agreed, as well as I heavily doubted that she would be in the way he intended, "Yeah, might be."

"I'm so gonna get me some sex tonight." my best friend triumphed.

I heavily doubted it, as long at the golden-colored thing had thorn-shaped spikes attached to it all around.

"If you are interested, I might be able to help you with that," 'Sales-Punk' all of the sudden spoke up from behind his counter. He obviously must have overheard our conversation.

"No thanks, man. We're neither gay and if you wanna offer us some hooker's: We are a little short on money at the moment so to say," Brian replied without hesitating.

The weird dude slowly stood up and came across the room, "I assure you that I have no intention to offer you anything like that."

'White hair is about twenty, but what twenty year-old guy dyes his hair plain white voluntarily'

"Then, if that is not the case: What would be your idea of helping us along to get laid."

"Getting laid, huh? Well, to use my Master's kind of talk: "I'm a wizard."

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." Brian sarcastically replied.

I raised a brow as Leather-jacket seemed to be thinking about something for a few seconds.

"Nah...", 'Whitey' finally stated, "That might be not any fun whatsoever." He seemed to say that last thing more to himself than to Brian, but then returned talking to my friend. "Well, believe me or not. As a present, let me offer you this medallion. He took out a medallion with a metal chain on it and handed it to my pal.

Brian was no one to reject something given of free. So without further examining he just said "Well, we appreciate that, dude. But what I'd really like to buy is this here."

He showed Leather-jacket the necklace kind of thing, "O.K. the sign says it's fifteen dollars."

"There you go," He handed over the money.

Leather-jacket took it without a word,putting it in the pocket of his jeans. "Fine choice. Hope you come back soon, my young friends."

"Thanks, Man," I said.

As we were heading for the door, Leather-jacket said, "But one last word, lads."

We turned instinctively around and looked at him,"Yes?'

"If you don't have any luck with the ladies and still want some action, just place the medallion I gave you in a table in the middle of the room, wish for the sexual fantasy you desire to get and you will get it."

"Yes, er... Thx man. We will remember it," I replied

"And thanks anyway. Cya around, man." Brian once again took the word.

"Well, whatever this guy's smoking, it must be one hell of a drug," Brian simply laughed his heart out about the strange dude after we had left the store, and this one time I had to totally agree with him.

"He's a wizard, he said." I actually had tears in my eyes from all the laughter.

"Yeah, that's rich!" my best friend replied.

"Wonder why a guy like this is still running around free. But anyway, I got what I wanted and as an extra, we additionally got this piece of junk for free."

He pulled out the medallion, with some kind of a laughing demon face carved into it. Some fine work it seemed to be. But for sure as well ugly as hell, I judged.

Soon we separated, as Brian had to get ready for his so called date with Bethany, but, as I had expected, it seemed to have not worked out well for him as I found my old friend only two hours after we split up. He was tapping on the glass door which lead from my room in my parents house to the terrace.

Recognizing him out there in the dark I opened up and let him him, "Ey man."

"Yo."

I sat down in my leather armchair again, continuing to watching my movie.

"Well, she didn't seem to really like my present." Brian reported. "And the whole thing somehow didn't work out. Anyway: The chick just sucks."

Well, as I said, I had heard this plenty of times before. Of course it couldn't have been him behaving like a total jerk or about him presenting her this cheap piece of junk he got at Freako's shop. But, as there wouldn't have been any point in trying to explain it to him anyway, I decided to let it be and instead make the most out of the evening we could.

"Well, it's not like someone died: C' est la vies... That's live,"

With these words I handed over to him a bottle of beer. I had gotten one box of those out of my father's reserve in the cellar earlier.

So, at last we made kind of a fun buddy-evening out of it. Drinking some beer, watching movies and playing some video-games. But, as it was around midnight, I was busy killing off some alien-boss of the game 'Super Contra' while Brian took out the medallion of his pocket, curiously examining it.

As the alien-boss just broke down under my bullets into a puddle of his green blood, Brian stated, "You know dude, it's weird. It really looks like if it was ancient..."

I wasn't much impressed, "Well, as far as I know they got chemicals to fake effects like those nowadays."

"Call me mad, man. But I'd say: Let's just try this thing out..."

Now he had my attention. I put my game to pause, put the joy pad down and looked at him with an obviously sarcastic look, "You gotta be kidding me, dude..."

He lifted the weird medallion's chain up against the light of the room's ceiling light, causing some sparkling effects on it's simple metal.

"Well, I know it kinda sounds stupid, but what's the harm with at least giving it a chance."

I began to think that I might have overestimated my pal's IQ before. But just out of curiosity, I went on asking, "And what might be your idea of doing that?"

"Well, just as the dude said, you know." he continued.

"Well, guess we should get naked, place ourselves in a proper position, maybe me on the bed, you on the couch, then make our individual wishes and, if it works out, keep fucking some hot chicks the whole damn night long."

To my excuse at this point. It was friggin' late and I was all intoxicated thanks to the several beers we both have had over the evening, "You know, man: If I'm going for some pointless crap like that, you'll gonna owe me 50 bucks, you hear me."

"Eh, Dan be a sport. But whatever. You got yourself a deal, pal."

'I never will drink again' I swore this to myself when I found myself all naked kneeling down on the couch of my room, . (Well, once again that would be) Brian meanwhile took the same position on my bed. He had moved the little table in the very middle of my room before and, placed the strange medallion on it.

"O.K., now let's make our wishes. You go first."

Once again I sighed, but after all this was about to gonna get me 50 bucks and so I just went along with the whole farce. I didn't plan on getting naked for nothing, so I followed the command, "O.K., here goes: I hereby wish to fuck a busty blonde girl doggy style."

I sarcastically looked over to Brian as nothing happened. He seemed to take this whole thing definitely more serious as he said out loud, "I wish to have the best sex a human can get!"

An intense flashing light, all of the sudden and to our both surprise, emerged from the medallion and went through all of the room.

"Unbelievable!"

Suddenly, I was highly aroused and erected and had a most massive boner. My hands grabbed the round juicy thighs of the short haired blonde, busty women which now was on her all fours right in front of me. I could feel the muscles of her moist pussy massaging my thing, as I went in and out penetrating her.

She was moaning along with it and seemed to enjoy my effort, which more and more spurred me on and made me fuck her even harder and harder, faster and faster.

"Uh! Uh! - Oh, my god!" she yelled out. The sound of my pelvis hitting her juicy round ass made me even more horny.

I was sweating all over and put my whole energy in pleasing her, getting satisfaction out of each of her moans and stammered comments.

"Oh god, It's so big! It's... it's inside me! Oh lord!"

"Ey, pal?! My girl here's just a volcano, man! How 'bout yours?"

Grinning and still fucking the blonde beauty in front of me, I just for a second took a short look back to my bed, where Brian had been, but to my surprise there was no one in sight there whatsoever...

"Brian?!" I asked out loud into the room, wondering. The blonde goddess I still kept penetrating looked at me over her shoulder and with glassy eyes between two lusty moans of her's, while I filled her pussy up and up again, said to me: "I -UH- I am here, Dan..."

Misrah's laughter filled the small store, "Well, that has been definitely some fun!"

"Woof!" Said a large canine.

"Well, I kept my promise, didn't I Wolfy?" He gently pat the head of the black dog which had laid down besides his chair. The malicious laughter of the wizard's apprentice still echoed of the walls in the darkness of the nightly mall, as the strange store vanished from it as if it had never been there before...

"...and then guys, and I'm telling you the truth I swear to god, I bended her of that table and so fucked the shit out of her." The whole crowd of his friends was laughing their hearts out, as Ryan was mimikring the act he just described, while waving his bottle of beer like a lasso above his head.

They had come out here as they so often used to after one of their intense party-sessions Of course only those of them who haven't had luck with the ladies. 'Cause at nights, this parking lot of the mall, beeing a little out of the town, was a completely deserted area, where noone cared about that bunch of young, usually drunken dudes making a lot of noise and turning the stereos of their cars up to max level.

"Yeah!" Ryan definitely enjoyed the attention and applause he got from his freinds for the story he just had told. O.k., to be honest he had just been making in up, posing a little in front of the dudes. But one doesn't get the "leader of the gang" with beeing a quiet person. And, whatever: Noone's going to find out the truth anyway...

"Mike, my man! Be a sport and hand me another beer." - Mike, one of Ryan's best friends since childhood days did so, and the school's quarterback opened the bottle with his lighter. "YOU ROCK, DUDE!" Ryan took a stand right in front of his friend and yelled that words right into his face. "NO, Y O U ROCK, MAAAAN!" Mike repeated in the same overloud manner as it had become one of their habbits on occasions like this.

"Eh, look at that." Ed, another young man of the group, pointed out at something. Ryan turned arround and, in the flickering light of one of the street lamps, he could see a dog who troted towards the group. It was a wolflike creature with all black fur and yellow eyes. Usually a beast one would be afraid of, but this dotg judging of his hesitant movements, seemed more to be of of a peacefull nature. And the alcohol which all of the group had already in thier veins, had lowered their senses for danger anyway nearly down to like zero.

The dog held his snout up in the air sniffing as he slowly and carefull came nearer. Ryan followed the yellow eyes and understood that the black dog must have smelled the hot dogs and sandwiches, which lay on the hood of his Dodge. - "Now look who's visiting!" Nasty laughing along with his friends, he grabed one of the hot dogs and light-hearted went towards the dog. Then he knelt down right in front of it, waving the sandwich around in front of it's snout. The dog kept a distance of maybe a meter and was looking up to him, examining him.

Still kneeling in front of the animal and watched by his friends over at the cars, Ryan said: "Here, dogy dogy. - So, wha's up little fellow? If you want this..." he waved the hot dog around some more, "then you'll have to come a little closer. - The dog first seemed to be a little suspicious, then carefully and slowly came nearer, opened it's mouth to grab the meat the young man offered it and...

-WHAM!- Ryan was really proud of that punch. Not only that the young Quarterback had used his whole availbale strength in that punch of his, he had been also fast enough to give the dog no chance to jump away from it. A clear, rough hit on the head that had been."You better get your dirty ass away from our cars!" Ryan's friends laughed out and cheered over from the cars, celebrating this brutal action of their leader.

The dog meanwhile had gotten back on it's legs, immediately turned around and stormed of into the dark of the night, howling in pain. Ryan got back to his crew, getting a high five from his 'bro' Mike. "Clean hit, man!" This was, when suddenly something else seemed to attract the attention of the others.

Turning around and following their direction of view he caught sight of a stunning women, which out of the nights darkness had stepped into the light of one of the street lamps. - And well, and if he wouldn't have been a guy with good self-control, his jaw surely would have dropped right down to the floor.

She undoubted was a real beauty. Her slender figure, all the curves were they are meant to be. As she came nearer on her high black heels, here hips were shaking seductively. O.k, she might have had some let's say "unusual" style, but the black leather-dress she wore suited her well and accentuated her large breasts quite well. Her lips were as black as the night itself and her long, white hair floated in the warm summerwind like silk. Around her shoulder this 'goddess' wore slender chains of metall, with some Medaillons or something on them. One of those strange items she wore around her neck. Ryan was absolutely stunned.

"Why are you guys picking on that poor creature in such a beautiful night." The young woman asked while she was still walking over, directly addressing Mike. - "He, babe. Don't take it too serious. We were just kidding around a little." with a grin on his face, Ryan did an overdone bow before the whitehaired beauty and said. "O.k. ... I'm sorry, man."
She looked all over him, like she was prooving, analyzing him somehow... "You don't care to much about the sorrow of others, do you?" - Well, this had been totally out of the blue and even Ryan, who usually was definitely not a guy whom it did take long to make up a fresh reply, was simply speechless for the moment.

But he didn't have much time to think about it, 'cause suddenly the chick seemed to have changed her whole attitude, as she layed one hand on his shoulder, nestling herself against his body. - Ryan couldn't believe it as his eyes wandered down to her large cleavage and then back to her beautiful, feminine face. Her looks, her beauty, her smell. She must have been aware of the massive boner he had right now, but she didn't seemed to be irritated by that. In fact she was pressing herself against him, which even aroused him more.

"So what's your name?" the beauty cooed. " I... It's Ryan, mylady." He fought hard to keep as cool as possible in front of his friends, which in a situation like this (and you bet your ass on it) wasn't really an easy thing to do. "And what would yours be, babe?" "Call me Rah." She answered in a most seductive voice and licked his ear.

Ryan's friends meanwhile were totally stunned, seeing this godlike chick which had appeared of like nowhere, now obviously taking a hit on their leader and friend. - "The dude's just won the lottery...", Ed mumbled, while Mike speechless nodded along.

"Do you want to get laid tonight?" the beauty whispered in Ryan's ear, unaudible for the others around. "Well, wouldn't be a bad bad thing to have some quality time, eh?" He suggestively smiled, as he layed one arm around the slender hips of the young woman.

"Well, guys. It' s been one hell of an evening. But I'm gonna call it a day now." he addressed his friends. "Gotta have to discuss something with Miss Rah here." Ryan blinked with one eye. - When all of the guys said good bye to them they left taking a walk under the pale light of the full moon.

"I wanna give you a present, Ryan." 'Rah' took one of the Medaillon chains off her shoulder and handed it to the young man. "Will you wear it?" He found it sheer unbelievable how much her smooth voice and the seductive tone were turning him on. "For you? Anything, my precious." he whispered, while quickly fixing the chain around his neck, the beautifull young women close at his side.

"Would you like to do it dogy-style?" 'Rah' asked the young man now. "Whoah! Now here's some girl which knows what she wants, eh?" he thought as hies eyes widened in surprise. This definitely caught him by surprise, but he kinda liked the direct way of the chick. "Well, I'd love to do it that way, babe." He did the best he could to at least pretend still keeping his 'coolnes'.

Ryan leaned over to kiss her, but her mouth suddenly seemed to be to high for him to reach it with his lips. No it seemed to be in fact not only her, the whole world around him seemed to grow to like gigantic now. Sensing a strange feeling he grabed his face. "Just wait a second! I didn't have a beard before." he thought, with a gasp of total panic realizing that the golden-colored hair grew out also on his arm. Not only there, like everywhere on his body. He could feel the hair rubbing against the insides of his jeans, his whole clothing actually.

"What's going on?!" The young Quarterback stammered out in shock, while the young woman with the white hair besides him kept overtowering him more and more, and now maliciously was laughing down on him. - "What's happening to me?" Ryan all of the sudden lost his balance and got down on his all fours.

That was when he noticed two yellow glowing eyes, eagerly watching him throughout the dark woods...

(Author's notice: This story might still have some flaws, talking about grammar, choice of words a.s.o. - I'm still working on it, but anyway: The storyline itself is complete and I just felt like getting this one out know. - All of you are welcome to proofread. Just send me a PM.)

"The boys are back in town! ..." The stereo was set on max-level, as our car roared down the road. Free path. That would be cause it was saturday and most far out of town, so we had the street nearly to ourselves. And my buddy Mike welcomed tjis as a chance to drive his new car up to full throttle. "Yeah, dudes! This is the shit!" he yelled over to us against the loud music.

"YOU GO, BRO!" we shouted back euphoricly, as it always had been tradition in our clique.

Rick, who sat in the back seat took a sip of his beer-can and then again started to headbang wildly, singing along with the popular song of the band 'Thin Lizzy' again. The other two of us immediately joined him.

I always had kind of a bad feeling when Mike drove that fast. But of course I would never talk about stuff like this to my two best friends. Thanks to I was the one with the most thinking and a more quiet kind of nature they already used to tease me a little from time to time. One of their regular jokes was calling me 'chicken' 'cause I was the only one who always fastened the savety belt when getting in a car. I knew they weren't all to serious about it, as said they were my friends. But I didn't like it whatsoever and so I pretended to enjoy the speed as much as the two of them obviously did.

I even joined the unisono "Waaaaahooo!"-yelling of the guys, when Mike raced the car over a little hill and the car got like a second of airtime actually.

Maybe it was just 'cause the adrenaline that I figured must already circling through my veins, but even I started to get into this slowly, as the beats of my heart started to go way faster than those of the drums in the song. - The central reservations now literally flew by and by asides.

"The guys are right", I told myself. "I really need to lighten up a little I guess."

"Eh, hand me my beer, man." I gave Mike his beer-can as requested and took a deep sip of mine myself. As did Mike...

That, when he took one hand of the wheel to grap the beer and drink, was the very moment when he somehow must have slipped a little with his steering hand. The car began to slinger dangerously. Pure horror appeared in all of our faces as Rick and I each instictively tried to get a hold somewhere, while Mike desperately tried to get back the control over the car. Sadely for us he didn't succeed.

Driving now only on it's two wheels on the right at the time, the car unstoppable shot into a curve and right of the street. I took a quick deep breath when we flew of the the street, watching the dark earth of the acre we know flew towardst coming nearer and nearer.

The last thing I saw was the hood of the car as it was crunched together like mere paper right in front of my face with a nasty, awful sound. Then something brutaly and powerful hit the back of my head and everything went black...

When I regained my conciousness, I at first couldn't remember what had happened. But then it hit me like a truck. The accident! My vision was all blury and I only realized I looked right into an intensive light. What was this...? The afterlife? Was I... dead?

But my sight relatively quick cleared up gaian and I recognized that I was staring at a white ceiling with a huge neon-lamp installed within. I smelled a strange but somehow familiar aroma in the air. Then I remembered! It was the same smell I knew from like three years back, when I had been at the hospital 'cause I had broken my leg while skateboarding. I was in a hospital. I tried to sit up, but couldn't move a bit.

What the fuck? Was I tied to the bed or something? That was when in shock I realized that I couldn't even FEEL my arms. Not only my arms, my fucking whole body seemed like it was completely gone. I tried to look at it, but gasped when I had to realize I wasn't even able to get my head up! I screamed out as loud as I could in sheer desperation and panic.

"The patient's awoken! - Get the doctor!" I heard the nervous commands of some woman's voice somewhere around. I commanded myself to to look there, but my body just wouldn't react. Not a single muscle seemed to move...

I was lying in my bed, still. Numb, exhausted I stared directly into this damned hated neon-lamp above. I eagerly hoped that it's light somehow miraculously would become able to burn it's way through my eyes right into my brain, granting me the sweet mercy of death.

It had been two and a half months now since I had awoken. The doctor had slowly, bit after bit had let me known what my situation was now and what had happened.

My friend Mike was dead. He died in the car. His head got all ramed into the windshield and his body clamped between the crushed metall parts of the wreck that remained.

"What a lucky bastard." I thought. 'Cause my situation was one much more worse. Yes, the worst thinkable in fact, I would say. - I was a 'tetraplegic' now, which is a medical term for people who can't control their limbs an torso, so in short: Nearly their whole body! Yes I was one of those people now, despite I wasn't even sure if I still should call myself people or a human anymore. This condition was the most inhuman thing imaginable to me!

I had begged the Doctor, the nurses, actually everybody who showed up to be so mercifull to kill me, but they all had refused. They were telling me that I should be 'lucky that I was still alive and and that I would learn to live with my new situations and find new values'. Well if someone would have asked me, in my eyes that was just a load of bullshit! And I DID tell them! But those stubborn bastards, whom I cursed every day and night in hate as I layed there, still refused to help me out of this unbearable situation.

Same thing with Rick. - You wouldn't believe it, but I'm gonna tell you anyway: This dog got out of this Armaggedon of an accident with barely any significant injury. O.k., he had this big scar on the back on his head now, which he got when he had been catapulted all the way through and finally out of the front of the car. On it's way his forward rocketing body broke my neck and the skin of his head's back got sliced up by remaing glas-parts of the windshield, which Mike's skulls like must have knocked down like half a second before Rick went through it.

But what I couldn't get over, which haunted me was that I couldn't even blame the whole thing only on the others. I had been drinking, too. I COULD have told them to drive slower instead of cheering along with them. It was at least partly my own fault that I now was lying here like this. Helpless, useless like a fucking sandbag.

Rick used to visit me frequently. - He was the only one, as my mother died through my birth and my father when I had been fourteen. - He felt terribly guilty for all this happening 'cause it had been his body which had actually broken my neck, which maybe wouldn't have happened if he had worn a seatbelt. I tried to calm him down, to get some of that pressure of his mind. I wasn't even lying to him. I mean, I had seen pictures of the wreck. If he HAD actually worn a belt, he propably would be as dead as Mike and myself. - Yes, I considered myself dead. It was just a very slow, cruel way of dying to be like this.

Rick had been my best friend since our kindergarden-days. So I kind of counted on him to help me out of this situation. I even told him how to. "Just pull out the hose of the respirator... It will be quick... mercifull... Have mercy on me!" I tried to talk him into it.

But he just wasn't able to. "Man, I... I... just can't..." he had stammered in despair and then started crying a lot. - Well who knows if I would have had the guts for something like that if I were in his shoes. - So I kind of forgave him for that.

But anyway. I simply had to find a way out of this, to die. How ironic that it seemed to become the last competition of my life. To find a way to kill myself.

"Morning, Mr. Roper." All sunken into my dark thoughts, I haven't even heard when nurse Weinstein had entered the room. She was an adorable young beauty with a very cheerfull nature, but bitter as I had become, even she wasn't able to console me in any way.

"Let's see what we got here for you." She sat down on the side of my bed, while she opened up todays meal for me. "Ah, it's broth with stewed vegetables. Hope you like that, Brandon." The only thing I replied was a sarcastic snort.

But the young nurse didn't let herself get irritated by that and started to feed me with a spoon. "Say something if I go to fast." She said all friendly as always.

"You know what, Alison. If you really wanna do me a favor than please, and I mean it, PLEASE go fast enough to stuff enough of that shit in my mouth to make me choke!"

She looked at me with a expression of sadness and pity on her face. Then she quickly took on her smile again, as if nothing had happened. "Don't you be that way, Brandon. You know what the doctor said. If you refuse to eat, they'll gonna apply you to the gavage. So just calm down and enjoy some soup..."

I was cursed! CURSED! - And there seemed to be no escape...

The next day:

"Mr. Roper!" I recognized it was the Dr. Soerenson's voice which occured there, after the door had been like thrown open literally. My first impression didn't prove me wrong, when the red face of the all upset Doc, which had taken 'care' of me since the accident, showed up within' my sight.

"What is it, Doc?" I asked sightly irritated.

"Hear me, I gotta tell you.. No, more like 'ask' you something."

"Well, I'll take a look at my appointment book..." I replied sarcasticly.

"I... I work for the military."

Huh? - O.k. NOW he had my attention.

"I've worked for them on new neurological practices and technologies for years and we have recently made some so to say quantuum-leaps in that areas."

Yap. The dude had obviously totally lost it. - I just hoped that he had gone insane enough to choke me or something.

"Listen to me, Brandon!" He looked me right in the eyes with a most intensive look. "We're now in the experimental stadium of even becoming able to do complicated neurologicall surgery. And I mean REALLY complicated processes! Something that we thought we could never even dream of only a few years ago!"

For the first time since the accident had happened, I had quite a hard time to not laugh out loud. It was all to grotesque. But I somehow managed to keep a neutral and interreseted expression on my face.

"And when I checked the 'A51-Network-System' this morning, guess what? You fit exactly!"

"Fit for what?"

"Genetically! To the donator! I mean... I just fed your DNA into the thing out of a wild idea. But it fits just so perfectly it's amazing!" he grabed my numb shoulders and even shook me a little in his outraging excitement." We might now be able to transfer... to implant a brain successfully into another body!"

Yap. Totally wacko! But if I played my cards right, I would be able to make my use out of wannabe 'Frankenstein junior' here. He might be the long searched chance for me to finally end this unworthy life of mine.

"O.k. Gotcha. And Doc: I'm all in." I replied.

"Really?" His face seemed as he coulnd't be any happier. - But then he hesitated, before he said. "But... the host-body... There something I... have to tell you about it. - It is a women's." He looked at me nearly scared, as if this statement could shatter his insane plan right on the goal-line.

Well, I didn't friggin' care. I was very well aware of the situation. This totally insane psychopath would propably drag me into some kind of cellar of his, swirl his scalpel through my brain a little and then I would finally be able to fade away. Compared to a lifetime of staring on this cursed ceiling up there, it seemed like a more than good deal to me. So go on, knock yourself out, 'Dr. Mengele'.

"As I said: No matter what. Count me in, Doc." I looked him intensely in the eye with what I hoped passed for a most serious look.

I could see his twisted mind was working now, he was 'all action', if not to say in a euphoric mood. "O.k., but keep that to yourself.- I'll make all the necessary arrangements. After these words Soerenson hastly left the room.

'Keep it to yourself'? Who would ever have believed me some crap like this anyway...?

After two days had passed since the strange encounter with the doctor and having not meet with him after that any further, I already was afraid that he already might have ended up in a straight jacket.

At least until on the third day all of the sudden unusual loud discussing voices of several men seemed to get nearer to my room. The door got opened and you could not imagine my surprise when I saw two soldiers of the U.S.-Army coming in with a transportable sickbed with rolls.

The men started to prepare the device right at the side of his bed, while the head-chief of the hospital entered with another man, angrily discussing with him. "Don't you hear me, Sir. You can't just simply take a patient out of my clinic. Noone informed me. The Army-officer which he yelled at looked down on the little man. He looked like the prototype of a military cliche. The blond short flat top-hairstyle, the muscular shape, and no recognizable facial expression whatsoever besides totally focussed determination.

"Mr. Fuller, I have handed you my orders." He pointed with his chin on the paper which the little bold man held in his hand. "So if you have anything to complain about them you call the hhite house and everything will be taken care of."

"The white house?" This whole situation more and more seemed to become way to much for Fuller's mind.

Without paying the bubbling of the old Professor any more credit, the officer went on.

"Captain Roper here is a highly decorated officer of the United States Army, and my orders are to transfer him to a military hospital were he'll get proper treatment. - Captain." With the last word and nodding in his direction, the obviously seemed to adress him. So Brandom just played along and improvised a "Sir, good day, sir."

"But if you try to transport him without the supporting machines, he would die instandly!" Prof. Fuller pulled his last card.

"That's why we will take them with us."

"Y.. you... - WHAT?!" Fuller's jaw simply dropped. "You have no right to do that!" This is our patient! And those machines are proberty of MY hospital! You will immediately stop to..."

"Seargent..." - Another soldier, a black men, grabed Fuller harsh and wordless from behind. "Take Mr. Fuller to his bureau until we are done here." - The raging old man was dragged out of the room.

One of the soldiers who stood beneath Brandon pulled an injection out and shot it into the arm of the paralyzed man. The young patient, unable to see that n'or feel the sting, was still listening to the conversation of fuller and the strange offizer, when he suddenly blanked out.

When I awoke, my vision was all blur again. "This light up there...", I thought. "Oh no..." I knew this thing. I had helplessly stared at it for like countless weeks. This was the goddarn neon of the hospital ceiling! I started to panic. Had it really all been a dream? Was I slowly becoming insane? All groggy I grabed my aching forehead with one hand.

"Wait... What?!" Rapidly I sat up in the bed. Yes, I actually sat up! All by myself. My vision slowly cleared and I saw Doc. Soerenson and nurse Weinstein gathered around my bed. - Had it all maybe been a dream? The paralyzation? Everything? Had I eventually gotten out O.k. of the accident?

"Seems everything worked out perfectly." said the Doc with a proud, satisfied smile.

"You're able to move again!" Said Alison cheerfully in my direction and clapped her hands, being happy for him. I euphoricly enjoyed the regained control of my body's movements and stretched out my arms.

"Yay!" Alison squeaked all happy to the Doctor. "Look at her go!"

Yeah, I really felt so good and alive and... - Just a second, WHAT had Alison just said?

I abruptly looked down. What I saw I was for the moment unable to accept being real. Two quite large bulges stuck out of my chest under my... nightgown. Trough the silken fabric I grabed these two fleshy mounds that seemed to be part of my body. They were real! I could actually... feel them. Large sensible nipples pointed out between my fingers all to visible through the thin fabric to deny they were there.

"Jesus Christ..." I gasped. Then something else came to my mind. - With a quick movement I reached under the blanket and grabed into my crotch. "With a totally puzzled look I fumbled around there over and over again... But the facts didn't change whatsoever. Finally I slowly raised my head and looked with wide open eyes at the doctor and his nurse. "I have a pussy..."

"Oh gosh! Quick hold her head It's still sensible to..." that was the last thing I heard before I became unconcious again.

When I woke up again I still clamped onto the hope that this all might have had been a bad dream... which I had had in a bad dream... Whatever... But when I sat up and grabed my chest, this hope faded. - But I wanted the final prove. Not that if that would have been necessary, speaking in terms of logical thinking as I actually could fell those big tits jiggling around while I moved, not to mention the unusual 'emptyness' between my legs. But I simply needed to SEE what they had done.

With a buzzing sound the long lamp in the small bathroom nearby my room came to life. I took of the nightgown and then with a qick step placed myself right in front of the mirror, opening up my eyes again.

It was unbelievable. What stared back there at me was the image of a young women, supposably around my own age, twenty or something. Her head was covered in a bandage. What remained visible of her hair was brunette and very short. I figured the doctor's must have shaved it of for the surgery.

She wasn't quite the model kind of type, not exceptionaly thin. Curiously I touched the wide round hips which were now my own, then took a closer look on the two large breasts with the big sized nipples. I felt their weight on my chest.

Then I bent a little to take a better sight of the area between my legs. There was no doubt about it. Those pinkish 'lips', this fleshy opening down there... Goddammit! I had a women's vagina.

I immediately forced myself to not lose the track.

"Think it through, man. - Yes, they saved you in some way. You can move again. - But where would that lead to? What do you think you are gonna do? Reading Cosmo and buying Diddle-mouses? Hell, you even can't have sex with a women anymore!" And of the the alternatives I wouldn't even think of. "The only chance which all this brings to you is: You finally can bring this misery to an end with some dignity. So get a hold on yourself, 'soldier'! Let's do this." - The face of the young woman in the mirror now showed total resolution.

I had put on a bathing robe and now took the last steps up to the rooftop-exit of the staircase. Of course the rusty metall door there was locked. But hey: For what if for anything would growing up in an Orphanage be good if not for learning from your pals how to open a lock with a simple piece of wire.

The unfamiliar feeling of these big breasts hanging there between my arms unnerved me, while I fumbled around with that wire, but made me even more confident of my former decission.

I would end this nightmare now. It should have ended with the darn accident from the beginning on. Hell, if I only would have told Mike to drive slower! - Tears of regret ran down the smooth cheeks of my now womanly shaped face.

*Click* - "There you go, Brandon." The lock was open. With a push I opened up the skreaking door. The cold night's breeze blew in my face, under my nightgown, sending a strange shiver up my... "Don't think about it. That's not you anymore, Brandon. That's a ridiculous farce that has to be ended...

Barefoot I walked over the gravel of the flat roof, heading towards the edge.

So there I stood, at the edge of the roof. Down there, six floors under me in front of the hospital, there were some people walking around in the light of the clinic and various street lamps.

"I never would have expected death to come for me that early in my life. - And especially not in this kind of way, that's for sure." I silently laughed to myself. So many goals unachieved, so many things not done yet... - Well, I guessed it was not ment to be...

"Get a hold on yourself, man." I muttered. I touched my throat with my hand. Even the sound of my very own voice now freaked me out, girlish as it was now.

"This was no way for a man to life. - "Let's get it over with, Brandon." - I took a deep breath...

"What's it with all the noise?" Dr. Soerenson came out of his office, a tired look on his face. Knightshift really was a bitch. Two male nurses carried some woman down the stairs into the corridor of the second floor. Her brown hair hung into her face and she was crying her heart out.

"Some passerby sighted this women on the edge of the rooftop and informed us. When we got up there, we found her all curled up on the floor weeping."

The distraught woman raised her head and looked at him her eyes and cheeks were all red and covered in tears. "I... I was supposed to do it..." she whined in despair "I wanted to... but I couldn't." Crying and sobbing she stared into the ground as spit ran out of her in shock wide opened mouth and dropped onto the floor.

"Bran... er... 'Brandine'?" - Soerenson caressed the head of his poor patient to calm her down a little if possible. But she didn't seem to react.

"You know this lady, Sir?" the male nurse asked.

"Yes, I'll lead you to her room. Follow me."

-End of chapter one-

To be continued...

I sat on my bed, while I was thinking through my whole weird situation. Finally all the tranquilizers they'd pumped up my veins last night finally slowly wore off, but still remained active enough to not let me completely freak out again.

I was kind of calm... settled... while I allowed my mind and thoughts to freely wander around. They roamed about, trying to get a grip of all what had happened, to rationalize, realize what was now, what had become not to be denied facts.

I was a woman now, that I knew. Well, at least I had the body of one. The weight of my bosom which I felt heavy on my chest made it obvious. It was a strange, unkown feeling to have these unfamiliar extras on my body. But I figured I had to learn to deal with them.
I had miserably failed in my attempt to kill myself and therefore now knew that I simply wasn't able to do it. At least for the moment...

In the morning they had even handed me plastic cutlery to have my breakfast, just in case that I would try again to commit suicide. A quite useless attempt, as I could have thought of countless things and ways to end my live only using the stuff and things being around in that very room. I could have had myself hung on stripes of the bedsheet or some other fabric around. I could have crushed the ceilings neon throwing something at it and then cut my Aorta open to bleed to death and so on and so forth...

But I realized I seemed not be able to do something like that. And I guess I wasn't even willing to. Last night had become the best proof for that. Maybe it was 'cause I grew up in that orphanage. The idea of religious believes and seriously even CONSIDERING that there was a god above just passively watching the whole load of shit going on and on on this world of our's was all absurd in my oppinion. - We ARE. Here and now... - And after that there comes nothing but blackness... blankness... To put it short: Non-existence.

I tried to fight the urge, the basic instinct to live... but finally over and over always had to surrender. I just couldn't make my mind go for it. I told myself that I had to die to at least get out of this horrible scenario with some dignity instead of staying in this humiliating state.

I was a MAN, for christ's sake! And now I was sitting here, touching and probing one of my big breasts from time to time again, still in diesbelieve feeling the strange stiffening of these large nipples of mine.

I had managed to kind of blank out any thoughts to the area between my legs totally and succesfully. I just didn't want to think of it. Something like a defensive mechanism of my mind I suppose. I didn't look at it, I didn't touch it, I didn't even think about it. At this point it seemed like my overwhelmed mind had decided on to forget about that this part of my body even existed.

But against all my suicidal tendencies which I had at that time there was this animal, this beast inside me standing up against it. Something which must have become a part of the nature of our race over those uncounted centuries of evolution through the ages. A creature which modern mankind always tries to hide, to bury under tons of logical thinking, rationalizing and countenance.

It manicly whispered, growled into my ears, through my very brain: "We HAVE to SURVIVE!" it said. "We ARE healthy now! We CAN go on! - We HAVE to go on!" I actually sometimes thought I could even actually hear it's voice in my head. It repeated it's point over and over, not as to start a discussion about it but more as to confront me with a simple fact.

"We ARE alive! We have to STAY alive! NO MATTER at what cost! 'Cause after this life, there'll only be EMPTYNESS!"

The beast resolutely fought my thoughts about ending my live. It battled my dark intentions with all it could come up with, mental and emotional working 'fangs and claws'. It was spitting, scratching, winding inside me all howling and screaming in anger, salivating out it's unrestrained rage.

It was myself... - I became aware that this image of this beast in my head was my very own beeing, my conciousness, which fought and wouldn't let go of it. - I realized I didn't want to, yes was unable to die voluntarely.

"We CAN breath! We ARE able to move our feet! We ARE NOT hurt! We CAN go on! - AND WE WILL GO ON!"

This thing really had to be my own beeing, myself talking inside my head. Was it in fact my instincts for survival, which seemed to materialize like a voice in my head? I actually wasn't sure anymore, when I was sitting there on the bed looking down on that woman's body which now was mine and ironically laughed out my desperate uncertainty.

"I will go on..." I muttered.

"So, let's be frank to each other." The doc said while he turned the chair around took a seat and rested his arms on it's back. "Let me tell you that I understand well that a situation like yours could overwhelm one and maybe I should have forseen that this could end up in a reaction like the one you chose last night." I looked in his eyes kind of ashamed, not really knowing what to answer.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not mad at you for what you did. Who knows who I might have reacted in a situation like yours? - So let's just call it a 'short circuit-decision' and go on as if it never happened. But I have to know what you are up to, what I have to deal with. - So please tell me and be honest: Do you really want to kill yourself?"

I stared at the floor. It wasn't easy to answer as I was still figuring this whole thing out for myself. "I... I don't think so. I simply... can't. ... Somehow... As it turns out my urge to survive seems to be to strong." I breathed out heavily as I made my statement, my commitment to both the doctor and myself.

"I will go on." I nodded. "At least I will give my best to try, that's all I promise."
The doctor also nodded along, satisfied and even, if I interpreted his facial expressions right, kind of releaved. "Good. Believe me, life's always worth the effort. You made the right decission here, young la... friend."

I was well aware what word he intented to use, and sighed. I figured I had to get used to be adressed with phrases like this anyway. "Doc? - May I ask you something?"

"Feel free to."

"I don't want to be unthankful or something like that. But I... I just wonder..."
I hesitated a little, but Soerenson made a encouraging move with his hand, which seemed to mean "Go on".

"You know if your skills have been capable of implanting my brain to another body... Then... Well, why were you not able to simply fix my spine?"

The doctor seemed to be quiet uncomfortable with the question. He drove his hand through his blonde hair, supposably thinking about how to best formulate his answer.

"Well look, sweety. I... - Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... It's just the looks and..."
As difficult as my situation was, but the startled look on his face was priceless and I couldn't help to giggle a little. But then pulled myself together again and eased him, saying
"No offence taken. Go on..."

"You know that I work for the military." - I nodded. - "And they invest a lot of money to make me able to work on my research of new techniques and practices in the art of surgery.
The price I have to pay in that deal besides my work itself, is that I have to work on the projects they're interested in. The thing is: Brain surgery and those of the spines are quite different fields. If we WOULD have focussed on spine surgery over the last decade, then yes: Then I possibly might have been able to help you in the way you implied.

But as I consider you to be an intelligent young person I guess it will not come as a big surprise to you when I tell you that the army isn't much interesed in repairing the spine of some paralyzed individual soldiers. Soldiers can be replaced."

"Brain surgery on the other hand..." his eyes wandered into the distance "Brain surgery like I do it holds an unimaginable potential of possibilities. - Imagine how many lives could have been saved if the Allies would have been able to replace Hitler's brain with one of their agent's. Just think of an Ahmadinejad declaring peace and democracy..."

He was obviously passionate about this and, when he realized he got a little to euphoric, pulled himself together again and cleared his throat while he readjusted the knot of his tie.
"I get your point." I replied understanding, swalling down some comments on what a 'double-edged sword' his vision might become some day. But that was not my problem. God knows I had enough of my own at the time.

"But enough of of all that scientific topics. I don't want to bore you. - We have to get a new life for you, young friend" he grabed his clipboard and a pen from the little table nearby. "So, I guess we have to think of a new name for you. Have you thought of anything yet?"

So here I was, picking out a chick's name for myself. Deffinitely hadn't seen that day coming. But what the hell, I thought. It had to be done. I wouldn't pass as a Brandon anymore.

"Actually no... - But I think the female version of my name would do."

"Brandine? - Yes, It does have a nice sound. So Brandine it is?"

I nodded, god revealed. "Yap. Let's got for it, whatever..."

"Then would it be O.k. for you if I call you by that name from now on."

"Well, I guess it'll be more fitting now." I sighed, pointing with my fingers at my chest.
"So, next thing: What's your profession, Bradine?"

"I am..." I looked at my now all small, filigree arms. "...well, WAS a mechanic." The term seemed more to hit the point now. I heavily doubted I ever again would be to go back on my old job, doing the hard physical work with muscles like these. And women are kind of deplaced in the rough, testosterone filled athmosphere of a service station anyway. - Great, another problem. That's what I really needed right now.

The doctor seemed to have similar thoughts as he looked me up and down. I guess he was just trying to not put more pressure on me when he just "o.k."ed it and wrote it down in the form.
The whole questioning went on for about twenty minutes and the doc explained to me that it was necessary to get me proper papers for my new life.

"O.k. Brandine. Thanks for your patience. There's only one thing left to do." He held up a camera. "I have to take a photograph of you for your passport." - He stood up and walked over to me, starting to fumble with the bandage on my head. "But we better get this off before."

"Oh god, thank you. This thing was driving me nuts anyway." I was releaved when I felt fresh air around my head's skin and hair for the first time since the accident. "It was really quite itchy."

*Clik* - Soerenson had a look at the display of the camera and seemed to be satisfied with his work. "That will do." He held the display into my direction so I could get a look on the image. It was a picture of the woman that I knew I was now. The doc had combed my short a little before taking the shot to hide the scar from the surgery that was visible around my skull. And I had to admit he had done a pretty god job there. On that picture it was barely noticable, if one didn't know what to look for. I noticed that she... I had two different colored eyes. One was blue like mine had been, one was green.
"Brandine..." I muttered. - "Doc, what did she die of?"

"Do you really want do know? - She was a soldier in Afghanistan, U.S. Army. - You have got a small metall plate implanted to the right backside of your skull and..."

I scanned the described area with my fingers and learned he was telling the truth.
"I understand."

"Well, Brandine. We're done here so far. - And if you are allright with it, Nurse Weinstein will come in now to give you a little tutorial of how to deal with your new life.

As much as I liked Alison I actually wasn't really looking forward to this.

Once more I sighed when I waved my hand saying "Ah, whatever. Bring her on."

-End of chapter 2-

To be continued...

Hank picked up the rusty saber. "This comes right in time." They had to act quickly and skilled if they wanted to get this ugly big harem guard down for good. "Try to get behind him." he yelled over to his friend Jules, while he had a hard time fighting of the first massive strike of the ogre's huge war hammer.

"Right on it, man!" He saw Jules vanishing into a barely visible silhouette as he took the potion they had decided to save for the next big encounter. Seemed to turn out as a wise choice, as he had quite a hard time to dodge the brutal strikes of the raging enemy more and more. His stamina was going down rapidly. He knew it, saw it. He performed his special move and with a quick twist he caught the enemy off guard, when he took a swing with his weapon. The rusty metal sunk deeply into the flesh off his opponent, right under his ribs. The guard tumbled back and roared in pain.

"Do it now, Jules! Do it now!"

The rogue meanwhile had managed to sneak unseen behind the ogre. Jules left his shadow form. His speed increased as he crossed the castle's hall with only a few quick steps. He pulled out his daggers out, jumping, climbing up the gigantic back of their foe.

"Yes! Way to go, dude!" Hank cheered, as the detached head of the harem guard fell to the floor right in front of his feet. The huge body of vanquished monster followed, sending a tremble through the ground.

---------------

"High five, my man! We SO fragged this fucker!" Hank triumphed.

"You betcha!" Jules laughed. "Seen that special move? Awesome, eh?"

They had been playing this game for like two days now, nearly without a pause (Yeah, well. If you don't count sleeping and eating of course). He wouldn't have thought of this one to turn out being that much entertaining. "The secret of the lamp". The title sounded quite cheesy and Hank hadn't expected too much of it when he first shoved the golden disc into the slot of the console. - But actually it had turned out as the best of the games they had bought.

The both of them had known each other since their kindergarden-days and soon became best friends. Nowadays they were best to be described as classical 'nerds'. They both were much into computers, gaming consoles and super hero-comics. And as they both had problems to hook up with 'the ladies', that was pretty much all they spent their time on.

Hey also had taken their vacation at the same time. It was just the usual procedure: Buying some boxes of beer, some fast food and then meeting at Hank's to discuss, play games... Well, too sum it up: Just hang around. Admitted: Not the way two usual guys at the age of thirty would spend their time. But they enjoyed it and had nothing better to do anyway, so they ended up killing some time with playing some of the games out of the card box full of them which Hank had casually had discovered when he was strolling through a flea market.

Hank's flat kind was pretty much a nerd's heaven. He still lived in the house of his parents, on the upper floor. It had it's own lockable door, there was several rooms including a bathroom and a kitchen of it's own. Plenty of space for them, with noone bothering if they turned up the volume of the TV or stereo. Except for his parents, which didn't seem to bother anymore. They seemed to have kind of given up on their nerdy son. And comong to think of it: He was actually sort of fine with that.

"Was that the endboss?" Hank asked and took a sip of his beer.

On the screen they saw the large, golden gate at the end of the hall opening and their game-characters as they walked through it. They entered the harem. Golden decorations, white alabaster and silky curtains. Even a fountain was there in the middle of the room.

"So what? Didn't we... you know... save any princess or something with this?"

"Well, let's see." Hank steered his character towards the fountain.

Now Jules also saw what his old friend was heading for. Right in front of the it, down on a small socket, their was a small antiquy looking oil lamp. Just the kind known from the stories known from 'arabian nights'. - Hank pressed the "action button" and his warrior picked up the lamp, starting to rub it against his sleeve.

Immediately a cloud of smoke started to stream out of the opening of the little bronzen lamp concentraing in front of them and finally gaining a shape.

"A genie... How original." Jules grunted.

"Eh, give it a chance. Just wanna say it's named "Secret of the lamp". Be patient dude. Maybe we'll get some extra-items or something."

The genie meanwhile manifested in midst air, crossing his arms. A big muscular persian kind of dude with smoke beyond his waistline instead of legs. A balloon soon popped up above him, spelling a message:

"Welcome heroes. [Player 1] and [Player 2] (they hadn't had bothered in the beginning of the game to type in any names for their characters), our kingdom is in your debt. For your great and loyal services to the Sultan you shall be granted one wish. - Please make you wish, my masters."

Hank and Jules waited for a minute, but nothing more happened.

"Huh?" Jules said.

"Oh, man. I gotta admit the game was awesome. But this is like the shitiest ending of a video game EVER!"

It was undeniable. This must have been it. Without any signifact movement the genie kept floating in the air, still the same stupid bubble above him: "Please make your wish, my masters." There was no possibility to type something in or anything else similar.

"Duh?" Slightly disappointed Jules threw his Joypad on the carpet. "Well, I'd wish you guys would have bothered to insert some special weapons or something."

Suddenly a new text spelled in the geenies bubble.
"Your wish shall be granted. - You obtain special weapons: Chainsaw, Bazooka."

"There we go! Like I told you. We just had to wait a little."

"Yeah! This sounds like fun. - Ready for another round, dude?"

"'Course. Let's go for it."

---------------

It had been fun playing the game again with the new weapons and way easier than the first time. The enemies got cut down like gras and in only somewhat like three hours they nearly had played through the whole game again.

-WRRRRRR-

This time Hank simply slaughtered the ogre-guard with his chainsaw. They had a great laugh about it. Jules finally took a stand behind his friend, finishing the boss off with his bazooka.
In the end the genie appeared once again with the same text bubble as shown before.

"Please make your wish, my masters"

"Well, let's see what we get this time." Hank said.

But this time, they waited in vain. - The geenie kept floating in the air. Seemed there were no further extras to win. Well, it had become late in the night meanwhile and they both till then had had several beers, so they decided to call it a day and went to sleep.

---------------

Hank awoke when the sun shone right into his face. "Gnaaar." he growled as he slowly got up, out of his armchair which he had fallen asleep in yesterday. He tied to clear his sight and took a look around. Jules was resting on the couch, still asleep.

Hank closed the thin curtains on the windows to block out the intensive sunshine which hurted his eyes. He decided to let his friend get some more sleep and so he went to the kitchen to make some coffee. When he returned, Jules was still sleeping, so he decided to go online and check his mailbox.

"Spam... spam... Commercial mail for cheap viagra... TV-sets... blablablabla...."
He deleted one after one, and already thought it was all crap-mail, when he discovered one of his brother. He hadn't heard of him too much lately over the last few month after Andrew had moved to Texas. Well, of course. His bro had a wife and two kids which surely kept him busy. One could tell from the content of his letter. He was all about how the new house, the garden and little Lisa growing her first teeth and stuff like that.

Somehow it really made him think. His brother was so different to himself. He had a evry lucrative job, a family. Would he himself make a good father? He took a look around. All the posters, computers, consoles... Would he himself ever become a father? And if... Would he be a good one? - He wondered...

"Sometimes I wish I'd know how it's like to be a familyman." he mumbled.

He turned around when he heard Jules grunting on the sofa.

"Hey dude. Back amonst the living?" Hank grinned.

"Mornin'." His old friend slowly sat up and coughed.

"You look like shit, man."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm not feeling to good, man. Gotta take a piss."

"Help yourself. You know: Everything which doesn't pay rent's gotta get out."

He heard his pal mumbling something while he got up and shambled to the bathroom.
He obviously must have had one or two beers too much judging of all the pucking Hank could hear shortly afterwards.

Hank turned around in his revolving chair when he finally heard that his friend returned.

"Eh, you're allright ag..."

Hank stopped in the middle of the sentence when he caught sight of Jules. It was a somehow weird, disturbing picture. Had his hips always been that wide? Well, if they had been, why would it be that his pants seemed way to tight? And what was it with that big ass? - It must have been his immagination.

"I'll be allright. Just gimme a couple of minutes."

Hank wasn't all to worried about him. Is was just natural. They had stayed up late, had had some brews. He was sure his buddy would be fine again after one or two hours.

"You'd like some coffee, pal?"

"Could need some, I guess."

---------------

It had been a good idea to get playing some video-games again. For a change they had decided to go for a little online gaming. Counter Strike. Jules seemed to be pretty much O.k. again. At least judging from what he acould hear from him from the other side of the room, where he sat at his PC.

Hank jumped over the wall. This was his favourite game and he was a real pro in it. He took a quick look around wtaching for enemies. The terrain seemed to be clear. He would just hide behind the wall and... -BLAM-

"Took you out cold! Ha ha ha!" Jules seemed to be that exited that his victory cry sounded almost high pitched.

He laughed heartly and turned around his revolving cahir to make a proper reply. "Yeah. But but that like no..." His jaw simply dropped as he was seeing his friend, who also had turned around, celebarting his rare victory in this game.

"You don't stand a chance against this one! Is it hot in here, or is it just me?! Bazinga!"

"I... I... I..."

"Left you breathless, huh? Well, it was one hell of a shot..."

"N... No."

Jules got a little worried. His friend stared at him like he'd seen a ghost. Plus he got whiter than the wall when he pointed at him. Jules eyes followed his hint down to his own chest.
He gasped in shock as he realized the huge bulges which were stretching out through his T-shirt.

"Oh my god! W.. What is this, man?!"

"Well... er... Maybe you have an... er... allergic reaction of some sort or something." Hank tried to console his buddy. But even while he said it he knew something like an allergy never could cause a swelling like this. Those things on Jules' chest much more looked like a B-Cup, like...

"TITS, HOLY CHRIST I'VE GROWN TITS!"

Jules had run over to the mirror at the dresser. He held his shirt pulled up and looked in disbelieve on his new grown features. From behind him, still motionless sitting in his chair, Hank could see the reflection of his poor friend in the mirror. And there was absolutely no doubt about it. He had tits. It was not only the size of those things. Also the nipples were way too large for being a man's and they were even, well... stiffened. And as if all of that wouldn't have been bad enough, there were other significant changes visible as well.

"No, no no! There's gotta be some explanation for this..."

In desperation Jules crossed his arms before his breasts. His wide hips and his round ass swayed as he strated to restless walking in circles through the room. Coming to think of it Hank had to say that seen from behind the shape of his freinds body more looked like a woman's than thus of a man. - Hadn't the guy also had brouder shoulders before?

"Well... er... I can hardly think of one..." Hank stuttered, unable to take his eyes away from Jules' chest and his face redened in shame when he realized that his pants seemed to get way to tight all of the sudden. He just had no control of it. - When his poor friend realized the awkward look on Hank's face he also blushed and turned away from him, pulling his shirt down.

"Y... you pig. You're really getting a boner on me?"

"Hey, I'm so sorry, man. I just...", In midst of the sentence he came to the conclusion that excuses would make the whole situation only more awkward. It was better thinking of something to do about it. "Dude, this ain't normal. You're definitely sick in some way. We better should get you to the hospital immediately."

"To tell them WHAT?! - No, no, no! I'm just gonna take an aspirine and a could bath to get those swellings away, and then..."

"No man." Hank's face was as white as the wall. "This won't do. This is just too serious. I.. I mean, look at yourself. We gotta get you to a doctor and..."

A significant growl coming from Jules's stomach interrupted his sentence. Simultaniously his friend started to get hiccups. "Oh my -hick- god. Heartburn. Argh. My throat -hick- is burning like -hick- fire. I've - hick- got to eat -hick- something."

"There's no time for that now." Hank insisted. "We gotta get you to the hospital first."

"No, I can't take this pain."

Without waiting for Hank's answer Jules rushed into the kitchen. In disbelieve Hank whitnessed how his friend over the next twenty minutes randomly cosumed an amount of food which he would had labeled as enough for a week. Restless, without any pause. In between he groaned 'cause of the pain the heartburn caused. He was so busy he didn't even seem to realize that his changes we're going on. His belly more and more buldged out significantly (O.k. no wonder as the guy was stuffing it with more and more food).

Hank just stood in the kitchen-door, watching this surreal scenario. Maybe he was in shock and he didn't know who to deal with all of this anyway. So he just stood there, whitnessing the unthinkable. He was actually kind of releaved when his pal finally seemed to have ended his meal and seemed to feel better.

"O.k." he breathed heavily holding his swollen belly. "I so needed that. Finally the pain is gone.

"Arrrrgh. - Out of my way, dude!"

Hank felt unable to act. He even barely realized the hit when Jules ran acroos him and acccidently rammed him with his shoulder. The guy just stormed into the bathroom and locked the door.

This was all way too much for Hank. He just couldn't get it, realize it. His mouth still opened he wavered over into the living room and just fell into his arm chair. He sat there for quite a while, hearing his buddy taking the shit of his life. Hell, it had been somwhat like fifteen minutes since the dude had left the kitchen. And he still was going...

There had to be an explanation for this. What possibly could cause something like this?
Hank asked himself this question over and over again. Finally he looked up and on the TV-screen...

---------------

Jules didn't know what was happening to him. He just knew that his stomach cramped and that he had to take a shit. More and more was coming and whenever he thought he was finally done, the cramps came back again and he had to go on. He felt so horrible that he barely could think of anything. He just wanted to be relieved of that pain.

After a to him endless seeming period of time he finally started to feel better again. He got up and turned around, to shake of the last drops of his...

---------------

"WAAAAH! - Oh my god! My thing is gone! I have a pussy! D... dude, I... I have grown a fuckin' vagina!" Jules shrieked when he entered the living room, shrieking in panic.

Cold sweat stood on Hank's face, when he got up. He looked at his friend. At least he thought he knew it must have been him. Same hair color, even if it now was long enough to touch the shoulders and also a facial features remembrance was quite recognizable to his friend. But this wasn't tghe Jules he had known for so many years. What he saw in front of him was a woman. Her bellybutton and stomach were swollen, sticking out.It was no big deal to tell that she was in an earlier state of pregnancy. She held her exceptionally long T-Shirt up to show him her crotch,her... Well, you know. She was a hundret percent female without any doubt.

Hank didn't really know what to say, he just pointed at the TV-Screen. - Jules followed his hint and had a look on the monitor. It was still displaying the ending sequence of the game they had played the whole day before. The geenie still was floating there in the harem-scenery, their player-characters standing in front of them. And once again he had one of those speech-bubbles above his head. This time it said:

"Your wish shall be granted. - You obtain family."

It took a few seconds before Jules realized what that might mean for them.
"Oh god. You don't wanna say that..."

"We've got to hurry, Jules."

Hank's friend followed his eyes down to his own belly, understanding what he was implying.

---------------

"You gotta get him from behind, man. You're the rogue. Hurry up and do it!"

As the game had continued, Hank more and mre started to panic. Jules's changes had progressed constantly and right now a fully grown mother to be sat on the couch beneath him, holding her joypad. But not only his body had changed. As he looked over to his buddy from time to time through the game, Hank had whitnesses as also his clothes had been changing. First his T-Shirt had become longer and longer, then the color changed from white to some baby-blue. Now he... or better she wore a modern maternity dress and he thought that he could even see through the relatively thin fabric that she also wore a bra underneath it. Her womb had also grown constantly and her bellybutton stuck out now significantly. He didn't know too much about pregnant women, but even he could tell they had to get moving.

-Pause-

"What are you doing, man?! For Pete's sake, we gotta hurry up!" Hank hissed, biting his teeth.

"I'm sorry. But I gotta take a piss."

"Again?!"

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. I... -Ungh- Could you..." he blushed. "Could you please help me up, dude?"

Hank snorted unnerved. He did know that it wasn't his friends fault. It had been HIS own wish which had brought them into this whole situation in the beginning. But how should he have forseen something like this. And with Jules going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes... Well, it didn't increase their chances to get out of this whole mess again.

When he came back Jules had a kind of glowing, calm smile on it. "Oh man. It's so weird. I can feel the baby inside me. And it just kicked. There, it is doing it again. 'You wanna feel it?"

"Don't you let get you washed away by all those hormones n' stuff. Get your chick ass over here and take you fuckin' pad if you don't want to give birth, mommy!" He tried to get his Jules back on track through talking to him in the usual, rough guy-talk.

"You're right, man."

"I just feel so... weird." She caressed her big womb with one hand, then she go aware of something else. "Oh god, look at this."

Hank sighed but did as demanded and took a look at Jules. She was examining her breasts with her hands. In the nipular area there were two wet stains visible. "This is... unbelievable... - I guess I'm... giving milk."

Hank was shocked. They were running out of time. "Stop that! We have to hurry up! Hurry, youhear me!" Seemed to have worked. Jules slowly sat down having trouble to deal with his huge belly, and grabbed his joypad again. - Thank god! There was not much time left and still three more levels, three mini-bosses, two endbosses to be beaten left he thought.

---------------

The last miniboss. He estimasted that it would take them a quarter of an hour to get to the geenie again. Hank got one of the persian guards down with his saber. He flipped over the dead body and took care of the next two, simply slaughtering them. Meanwhile after nearly three days of constant playing they had become experts on that game. Another room cleared. He moved the steering cross, taking a look around with his character.

That was when he realized that he was fighting alone. Jules's rogue just stood there behind him without any movement whatsoever.

"What're ya doing man? We gotta..." He took his eyes of the screen angrily looking over to Jules...

"I'm sorry." Jules answered. He was holding his huge belly. "I guess I've got to take a -Ungh- piss again."

In horror Hank looked at his friend's crotch. Between Jules' legs the whole dress was completely wetened, and also on the floor there was a huge puddle of some clear liquid seeping into the carpet.

"What's happening?" Know Jules also was touching the wet spot on his dress, examining it in disbelieve.

"OH Lord! We have to go on! Do it! Grab your pad, man!"

"You're right I... ARRRRRGH!" He just screamed out in pain, holding his womb. His controller fell into the wet spot on the ground.

"Please man, PLEASE!" Hank had tears in his eyes. Only another twenty minutes. "PLEASE!"

Hank not even heard the key turning in the lock of his flats door and so he was quite suprised as his mother suddenly appeared in the living room.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" he stuttered.

But she didn't even seem to bother to talk to him. She just shortly patted his arm and walked right over to Jules, who sat on the couch, still crumbling in pain. "Oh sweety. Your water broke. Calm down and remember to breath like you've learned in the course: One, two... HFFFFFF! One, two, HFFFFFF!" She grabbed Jules's shoulders from behind as she advised him. And he did as told, willing to do anything to soften the severe pain he was in.

"Harold, quick. Get the car. We've got to get Julia to the hospital immediately."

Hank hadn't even notize that his father also had been there, waiting in the room's door. Hank didn't know why, but instinctively he walked over to his father. He had always known what to do, how to handle things. "Dad, I... I don't know what to do..."

"I've been there, son. - You just get over there and take care of your wife. I'll gte the car."
Before he had any chance to reply, his father had already turned around and gotten down the stairs. Knowing no better alternative Hank like automatically followed his Dad's command and got back over to the two women again. His mother was trying to get screaming 'Julia' up. "Dear, could you give me a hand here?" He did as told. This was impossible. It just HAD to be a nightmare. 'Wake up, wake up, Hank!' he told himself while he was helping his mother to lift up Jules. But he couldn't wake up.

-HFFFF!- ARRRGH! It hurts so much! I don't wanna have a baby! -HFFFFF- I wanna be a man!"

Melissa, Hank's mother, laughed out loud. "Oh, sweety believe me: All of us say things like this when we go through this. But you'll find it's a thousand times worth it. You'll see!"

"I got the car in front of the door." Unnotized by Hank his father had returned.

"We can't go!" Hank screamed in panic. "We have to finish this game."

"Son. Get a hold on yourself and help your wife. She needs you now."

---------------

Hank felt like he was floating in midst air. Like he was watching this whole scenery from a distant angle. He was standing at the head of the bed in the delivery room, looking down on the naked body of the woman his best friend had become. He held her hand. He didn't know why. Maybe he just hoped it'd help to make it easier for her. To soften the pain she felt.

"She's dilated ten centimeters." the doctor said. She had shortly introduced herself to them both. He hadn't really listened to her. A Susan 'something jewish', whatever...

"It's all you fault! You did this to me!"
Jules screamed out his pain in pure anger.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. Women always say things like that when they are in labor." The nurse standing nearby tried to console him.

"S... sure." Hank stuttered.

"Breathe... breathe... Now push!"

"I don't want to! I can't... GNYAAAAAH!"

Hank didn't feel a thing. In sheer disbelieve he saw the small head appearing between Jules's legs.

"Good, Mrs. Gordon. We're almost done here. Just give me one last, big push."

"GNAAAAH!" Jules obeyed the command and within a second a real, life baby was lid into the waiting arms of the doctor.

"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. It's a girl."

"My stomach..." Jules caughed, addressing Hank at his side. "It... It's flat again. - I... I had a baby."

"I..." This was the last thing Hank could stutter before everything went black.

---------------

"Oh christ, my head." When he woke he blinked into some bright light. He reminded himself to buy lightbulbs which were less intensive. But the more his vision cleared he realized he wasn't at home. A ceiling light as you might find it in... hospitals!

But why would he be in a hospital? Then all of the sudden it all cam back to him. The weird game, The geenie. He carefully sat up checking his body for injuries. Nothing whatsoever.

'That must be the explanation!' He must simply have past out due to alcohol on some party or club or something. He sat up. Nothing hurted, nothing happened. All good. This had really been THE horror vision. No matter what his treatment on this wouldcost, he would pay it luckily. It was nothing compared to...

"Mr. Gordon, Hank. You're awake. Great!"

Cecilia, a nurse of the hospital had just entered the room. But how come that she knew his first name? Oh, yeah. He remembered. She had asked himabout it while she had stood nearby him in the deli...

'Oh no...'
To him it sounded like spoken through thick fog as he heard her say: "Your wife's so waiting for you." He didn't resist when she her arm under his and more or less draged him euphorically out of the room and through the corridor.
"Your daughter's such a beautiful girl. You'll be the proudest father there is. Believe me."

'Air! Air!' He had to keep breathing, to stay on his feet. He felt like all of his blood was sinking down into his feet while this sweet, poorless woman simply shattered his illusions with just a few words. Before he knew it they stood before the door of a room with Cecilia, watching her knock on it.

"Come in." a female voice answered.

"Hey, Melissa cutie pie!" If it wouldn't have been for the situation Cecilia's cheerful voice surely would have been infectious. "Your daddy's here!"

Jules... or better to say Julia... was lieing in her bed. And she actually held a baby in her arms.
Hank couldn't believe it. "I... I... Well, hi..."

"I'll leave the three of you alone, huh?" With those words the young nurse waved good bye and left the room.

"Morning, 'dear'." Jules hissed. "May I introduce you to your daughter I gave birth to last night?"

He looked at the little child in her arms in disbelieve.

"Believe me, I didn't do this on purpose." he stammered. "I never knew that this thing was capable of granting wishes and I'm terribly sorry about everything you had to go through. But I'm gonna make up for it. I... I'll pay you any sum I can afford and...

"Whaaaaah!"

Obviously he had spoken to loud. The baby, Melissa, had woken up and started wailing.

"We'll just go to my place and play that stupid game again and then everything will be as..."
He stopped when he realized that Jules didn't seem to listen to him anymore. She was just busy with the baby. "There, there, sweety. What is it. You need a new nappy?" She tested the diaper of the infant for wetness like she never had done anything else.
"Or are you just hungry?" she said in the most cutesy voice which kind of confused Hank. But what followed simply let his jaw drop. Like there was nothing more natural, Jules opened a button on her nightgown an revealed her left breast. Then she gently led the mouth of her daughter to her nipple and the child started instinctively to suckle.

"There, there..."

"Y... You're breastfeeding? "

"'Cilia showed me how to do it earlier this day. - Remember: It was your wish which made a mother out of me, and now I am." She said resolutely.

"But just tell me: What have you wished for exactly, Hank?"

He tried to remember and then said "I just wished I knew how it was to be a family man."

"Well, it seemed to have worked." Julia replied. "You have a child now. And a wife. - And I gotta admit: A wife who thinks you're very handsome." She looked him up and down and giggled. "I guess I've become a hetero woman by now."

"Oh god, I'm so so terribly sorry. As soon as we can go back to my flat we'll get to that stupid endboss again and reverse everything with the next wish and we..."

"No, we won't. I'll let noone and nothing harm our daughter."
She was serious about it, Hank could tell.

"I am now Mrs. Gordon. The mother of your child and a housewife. I'm fine with it now. I actually wanna do this." She looked down on her daughter. "So do you want to stay at my side as my husband till death parts us, Hank?"

She was beautiful. She was the mother of his child. And she seemed to be in love with him. And he with her. He could feel it when they kissed...

The yellow truck arrived on the garbage dump. It's hydraulics gave of a loud mechanical sound when it emptied it's content on the large hill of waste. A few broken pieces shimmered golden in the sun's light on top of it. - Until the next truck arrived...

Ayad had never been someone who really fitted in. He had not been not as muscular or manly as most of the guys in school. It actually had been a relieve to him when the gouvernment some years ago had cancelled sports-lessons because of the costs.

"Because of the costs." - Ayad silently had to laugh about it in his mind. This country supposably had made already uncounted billions with it's oil resources. But none of these earnings seemed to be given to the people. All what they worked for, all what they earned all got taken by the 'leader', his family and his henchmen. That he was sure about. But who was he to speak up? People who had tried had always just vanished. You just never hear again of them. And then, weeks or even months after they disapeared without a trace, there might be a letter from the officials that he had died in some tragic accident... - But that happens only in some of the cases... Rarely...

He himself had to stay calm and silent. He knew that he owed that to his family. - Yes, his family. His wife Kadia had always been kind and understanding. Coming to think of it: What much of another choice would she have had? - Their parents had arranged the wedding when they were just kids. And so it was done.

But he was pretty sure that even before the wedding, after they first had met (them both beeing 16 of age at the time) she must have known that he never would have been able to work out his 'marital duties' to her ever.

Because he himself didn't feel much like a man. But to think about that further or even tell anyone? In this country, day and age it would have been a seeking for death penalty. So he simply tried to get along.

He had have quite a hard time having sex with her in the night of their wedding. The two viagra-pills helped to get the job done, but it still had been a hard thing and a burden two him, well to both of them, as he guessed. 'Cause he was well aware that also Kadia sensed he was only attracted by men. But none of them could do a thing about it, so they just kind of in a silent aggrement tried to get along with the situation.

That for Ayad didn't even get angry when he realized his wife finally got an affaire, a boyfriend. He actually more felt relieved that this man, whom's name was Farag, stepped in for the things and needs of his wife he wasn't any good for. And therefore he kept silent.

Now, in the year 2011, his wife had three kids. He wasn't really sure if even the first of them was one of his own. But he didn't care to much. At least people didn't seem to be suspect anything. For the people out there he was just an odinary familyman. And he was just glad that they thought that.

So he tried to bury his sexual desires in his head as deep as he could, focussing on his job (he was a market vendor for a profession) and tried just not to think about his 'inadequateness' as much as possible.

---------------

Ayad reloaded the weapon he had be trained as a gunmen for. He didn't even know the exact name of it. It just was his weapon and he had learned how to handle it in a very short time. Through using it. - Well, all he really knew was that it was some kind of heavy artillery, improvisively welded on the back of a worn out pick up-truck which was also mounted with two other comrades of his rebell-battailon.

He wasn't much carrying anymore if he would live or die. Finally... right here... he had found something, some place were he was an equal to others... had a worth... - Nobody thought little of him. They just fought together for the same target: To get Ghaddafi, the 'leader' down for good. And nobody cared about what or whom he was, as long as his aiming was good. And so it was.

Ayad merciless once more pulled the trigger and the heavy, exploding bullets nailed the truck way in front of them. He could even see the faces of the scared out african mercenaries. They knew death was coming to them. Only half a second after that, their truck lighted up in a huge explosion, leaving none of them alive.

---------------

Ahmed had always been a low life. He had made made a living through selling drugs to the countless desperate beings in the "Republic of Libya". And there had been many of them. A never ending stream of customoers. As long as they could afford it, he always had delivered. The gouvernment and authority had been a mere joke and if there ever had been a problem, a few ruppies had always been enough to silence them.

Now he was in the middle of the revolution, in the city of Tripoli. He never had made any savings of his huge earnings. In this country, and especially in his business, one never knows if the next day might be his last. So he had constantly spent all of his money. On entertainment, luxury, whores... Whatever. - "The future? Fuck that sh...!"

Now he was all broke. One more time that was. Due to the revolution and the recension coming along with it, he had lost his last savings. But now he saw a new chance. Of course he hadn't fought with the revolutionary forces. He didn't want to get a bullet into his brain. "Let that nut jobs do the work. I'm gonna keep myself outta it."

It turned out that the rebels might have won. 'The leader' Ghadaffi had fled, the rebells were now roaming the streets of Tripoli, yelling their victory cries out in the fog and dust of the battle. - And he was with them, now...

"Are you okay, brother?" - He said it out loud so anyone who might be propably around could hear his words. Along with that he knelt down besides a corpse and searched it hastly for money or valuable goods. He just found some ammunition for an AK-47 storm-rifle. And an piece of paper.

He unfolded it and read the words which were written on it...

-----------------

"To you whoever might find this note:

My name is Ayad Rasheeda and I have been a sellsman in the town of Syene. - If you find this letter, I've died in the fight for freedom against the tyrant Muammar al Ghaddafi. Please send this letter to my family, the address is ... and my wifes name is ...
Thank you, comrade. And may the future of Libya be as bright as the sun itself.

May Allah be with you,

Ayad Rasheeda al Syene"

---------------

Dissapointed Ahmed threw the note careless down on the floor. No valuable items, no money whatsoever. But over there, only like fifteen metres away, there was another dead. Maybe he would be luckier with this one...

Slowly the blood and mud soaked through the little piece of paper, erasing it's lines more and more. It was almost unreadable, when some man running over it smashed it totally with his rough boots, not even noticing it had been there.

The grave of Ayad was covered with concrete. They had to bury so many. There are no names... - Just numbers...

46

"Drink, drink, drink!" I tried my best but after some seconds I had to push the tube away from my mouth. I coughed and wiped my mouth with my arm. Some beer was spilling on the floor while I joined the laughter of the others.

"Eh, Marc. Your planing on making my birthday my death-day, aren't you?!" I gasped with a grin.

"Eh, dude! It's your twentieth, man! That's gotta be celebrated!"

I agreed with a cool smile signaling him a 'thumbs up' while the next one of my friends layed down on the wooden bank and the cheering crowd got ready to empty the next couple of beer bottles through the hose into the poor bastard's mouth.

It had been Brian's turn. He got up and stretched his arms out in a victorious gesture.

"You've seen THAT, man?! - THAT'S how it's done!" he yelled over to me.

"Oh, come on you old poser! Don't make such a fuzz about it. I swear I've seen half of this beer going into the sand!"

"Yeah, you'd wish that, dude! - Yieeeehaaaa!"

"You need prove? Watch out, I'll embarass you, pal!"

Of course I knew I wouldn't. I was already pretty much drunk as well as all of the other guys and girls of our crowd. But what would you expect? Eh, we where young, it was summer, it was the goddarn californian beach and we had some girls and loads of beer-cans.

"It's time for the present, guys!" Marc held up something which had intentional loose and careless being wrapped into a piece of wrapping paper. They stormed over to me, yelling and laughing. "Here you go, man. Happy twentieth birthday, you old scumbag!"

I grinned at them, going along with the joke and unpacking my so "carefully" packed present. It turned out to be somewhat like a little jug ot something. But when I held it nearer to my blury eyes I got a better view on it.

"You gotta be kidding me." This thing they had presented me with turned out to be some old oriental oil lamp. You know the kind and might have seen some alike it in old movies.

"So, give me a hint here. What sense might THIS thing make, guys?"

"We'll let you know, dude.", Brian said with a fake conspiratorial impression on his face, while he came close to me. "Now listen carefully, grasshopper..." he whispered imitating a japanese accent with this sentence.

"THERE IS NO SENSE!"

I got the message. They had planned this. All the crowd laughed out so hard I thought the whole beach was shaking.

"But it might not be not completely useless. You hear me out, man... - The old crow who sold it to us told us that it would grant it's owner one wish..." he blinked ironically.

"Unfortunately..." he continued, yelling over the noise of the gang, "...even though we finally bought this thing, we couldn't get the lady to tell us where to get the pot she's obviously smokin'!"

I simply had to laugh along with 'em. This present was so senseless that even to me being it's target the joke seemed obviously so funny that I couldn't resist to.

"You know you fucker's are nuts, don't ya?!"

"HELL YEAH!"

It had been a fun week. A little to much alcohol maybe, but ey: You're only young once!

But even my trained young body had it limits and so I was glad to now be able to take a seat on the stool in front of the bar next to my ol' pal Marc, while the others kept on dancing behind us.

"Fun party, ain't it?!" Marc said. Quite loud to make it audible over the music in the background.

"Yeah." I babbled, twisting the bottle of beer through my fingers. I really didn't feel to good. It seemed I'd pretty much reached my limit. "I'd just wish there would be something that would make me stop drinking."

But all of the sudden, I kind of refreshed and started to feel WAY better.

"But on the other hand: Screw it! Cheers!"

"No!" Marc grabed my hand with the bottle and pulled it back to the counter with an impressing strength. "Sweety, what's up with you?"

"'Sweety' up your ass, dude!" I laughed. It came out in a strange voice, maybe I had smoked to much cigarettes this evening. "Don't you get all sissy on me you old jester!"

I laughed out but Marc somehow this time wouldn't join me. He seemed to be all serious and... sober. As well as I did feel no more intoxicated...

"I know in your condition people sometimes can get a bit moody, but hon you gotta be reasonable when it comes to..."

"Eh, now it's enough man, you hear me?!"

Hey, I was really not the kind of man who takes comments to serious. Especially not if they come from drunk friends of mine. But even with me, there was a line which one better shouldn't cross.

"You can't just drink, dear. Think of our baby..."

When he layed his arm gently around my hips I realized how huge and round my belly suddenly was.

"What...?" In disbelieve I ran one of my hands over my stomach, while I had the other one probing one of these strange large bulges, which on my chest stretched the pink fabric of the... bathing suit? And why could I feel my bellybutton being pressed against his gut?

Brian meanwhile took a stand on a table, raising his glas.

"Here's to the happy couple and parents to be! - Another comrade fallen to the old ball and chain!"

Marc took the joke on him well and just smiled.

I did not...