Chapter I, Book I

Life has her eccentricities, if you can call homicidal tendencies an eccentricity, then sure – life has her eccentricities.

I never understood why they always told you to shoot for the stars. I mean, I don’t think they sell any bullets meant for interplanetary travel, but heck, if they did, the first thing I’d do would be to shoot that great whale of a guy that never seems to have his pants pulled up all the way and thus inviting us to a close up and personal simultaneous viewing of both sides of the moon and all her great craters. Actually, all I would need is a good harpoon – having one around could solve a lot of problems. But anyway, my own two hemispheres were getting acquainted with the divan pleasures of my sofa as I settled in for another viewing of my regularly scheduled programming.

Their outrageous intrusion of my rigorous schedule was like a triple session with a proctologic intern who happened to be the former fiancé you cheated on. I moaned. I howled. I beat the floors (until the big guy from downstairs gave voice to his displeasure by some serious rumblings on my door that sounded like they might have come from an earthquake with a Richter magnitude of 6.283185307 coupled with some pretty scenarios where he got to play doctor – a strange mix of a surgeon and a proctologist, that was when I laid low awhile). When I was sure the coast was clear of the HMS (Highly Moronic Simian) Dreadnaught, I kicked open the door of my wardrobe and extricated my delicate remains from the midget-sized coffin.

With the volume turned down, men and women in bad hair styles and even worse dresses – coupled with that ubiquitous red carpet, it seemed to me like they were showing a re-enactment of the emperor’s, or rather the empress’, new clothes - mouthed things at me, which for all I know could have been profanities and obscenities as vulgar as their vestments. Here I managed to find entry #4264 in my comprehensive to-do list with a harpoon. Each inane face that trundled by added one more serration to my harpoon, but then after my 26th, the cheesy fade-in spiralled up a name that roughed up a little wind chime in my head. Martholomew Braxton. The little tinkling set some wheels in motion, cognitive processes if you will, that brought my car into the parking lot of Martholomew Braxton High School, the cesspool that is the site of the daily congregation of the town’s kegs and dregs.

I don’t believe the doors have ever been locked in the 40 years that the building has been standing (for the most part – a demolition company had knocked down half the school once on account of a false contract – best grade prank ever). A landfill doesn’t change much over the course of its lifetime, except for a greater volume of trash – such was the case with my old school.

I prowled around the school, lurking in the shadows. I was a ninja. The ninja. Ninja with a capital J. The blade poised in the darkness. The snake under the covers of night.

I rolled across the lateral length of the hallway and straightened up behind a cabinet. Using my ninja senses, honed after thirty five years of strict training under the tutelage of the famous monastic ninja, I sensed that the coast was clear – backed up with visual cues from my honed ninja vision. I did a back flip over the cabinet, landing silently – like a ninja - and opened the doors in ninja silence. I scaled the walls of the stairwell, as ninjas are wont to do and strode boldly in a furtive fashion onto the second floor as only a ninja can.

My target? The magisterial lounge.

Location? 50 meters south three degrees east from current position.

Obstacles? Ninjas have no obstacles.

I crouched low and leapt forward and up onto the lockers, sure-footed, fleet of foot with no sound as they touched the cheap metal coverings. Arriving at my destination, I leapt down, spun, unlocked the door and entered before touching the ground. There I sought my quarry. Tonight they shall be set free.

?!

What’s this?

A dark shape towered before me, holding something out before it in what was unmistakably the stance of one preparing to do battle. I recognized it immediately. It was a Flail of Cleansing, and thus I realized that I faced one of the legendary Troijan Warriors, for they were the only ones that have ever wielded and mastered this deadly but complex weapon.

With my ninja senses, I dodged a powerful and probably deadly blow to my midriff and rolled behind my adversary. He spun with a deadly and beautiful grace, bringing his weapon down with a ground-shuddering impact upon the very spot where my cranial apparatus had been. I rolled again, this time unsheathing my legendary ninja sword, The Fate of the Phoenix. Made of 100% real Damascan steel – the little old Syrian man who sold it to me even expertly showed me the “Made in Damascus” printed on the tang, he even gave me a certificate of authentication – it could cut bananas like they weren’t even there. The next time the flail came around; I performed a level four Ninja Sword Strike, and knocked it to the floor. I followed up with a level five Ninja Palm Strike to his head, chained with a series of stunning blows that rendered him unconscious.

Troijan Warrior Defeated.

Acquired: Flail of Cleansing

Acquired: Key Ring, Keys [27]

New Level Unlocked.

Hopping over the prone form of my fallen enemy, I stood before my prize.

Acquired: Heavenly Thrones [2]

The hunt was over. But this was not the end of my mission. At the back of the lounge was a door, now unlocked upon the defeat of the resident guardian. Within its vaulted archway, my eyes were nigh blinded as I beheld an artefact of great power.

Acquired: The Tome of Knowledge

Between its covers were entries for every being that was ever kept within these walls. Oh yes. Omniscience in three hundred and forty two pages.

With my prize safely concealed with my ninja arts, I left the premises with the thrones at hand with speeds that only ninjas and angry, psychotic girlfriends can achieve. The wind whistled as the lockers sped by. I whistled back.

Mission Accomplished...

Stealth Mode/wake up

What would you do if you woke up to a world completely different to the one you fell asleep in?

The day began much the same as the previous day ended