The Black Editors and The Holy Biznatch - Ficcie!

[Shurikane]

The Black Editors and The Holy Biznatch
Intro



I am Talbot. I am tall, I am bald, and I am scary. I have a slight Acadian accent. I was born a fisherman. That's all you need to know about me.



There is my friend, Rap Atipetang. He is the world's worst rastafari rapper but somehow remains a good friend... If it wasn't for his nearly endless supply of cigarettes.



Accompanying us is our pet skull (with a number-eight ball for a left eye) named Ballz. He's a bit on the crazy side but provides real good entertainment value. And best of all, a skull doesn't need to be fed.



Sounds nuts? Then tell me what's sicker: the fact that we inexplicably ended up in a strange urban world, or the fact that we actually need to destroy it to get back home?



We are billions of people in a giant city. Some of us are homesick. Some of us want to find the Chamber, blow up this universe and end this madness. In the meantime, all we can do is explore, and survive...



...Especially survive.



Did I say survive...?

[Shurikane]

Sweet Black Melodies



"You got fire?"



Talbot raised his head and gave him the Big lighter. It was Rap's third smoke this morning, a sure sign of boredom and anxiety.



The two had been standing outside a hotel since nine o' clock. Talbot needed some time to think his strategy over. His idea of making a map had been useless. They went across Ashley Street four times since last week. The fourth time, he lost it, he wondered, aloud, why no one had thought of giving numbers to streets in the first place. People had looked up and hadn't cared much. They had other things to do and snapping was a common form of anger management.



Rap envied Talbot. At least this tall jack knew how to let out his anger. The smoker remembered only one important thing from Earth, and it was that line said by Jack Nicholson to Adam Sandler in Anger Management.



"There's the explosive type; he's the one who yells at the cashier because there was a mistake in the price. And then, there's the implosive type. That's the cashier who silently takes it all in, and then one day shoots everyone in the shop."



He was like Adam Sandler. He was the cashier.



Though... That movie had been funny as hell.



"I'm through!" Talbot declared, interrupting Rap's thoughts. "How about we just quit it and settle down somewhere in this city?"



Rap took a look around to consider the idea. So far as they had gone, the buildings were black, dirty and twisted. Sometimes made of old brick, sometimes made of rotted wood, sometimes made of metal sheets, sometimes a combo of them all. Past, present and future mixed and matched in the urban culture. One slept in an old grandma's bed while the other next to him slept in a modern king size with integrated alarm clock. Computers combined the speed of the Pentium with the nostalgia of 286s. Elevators were both modern and rudimentary. Everything was upside-down, rightside-left, turning and whirling everywhere. There were so many people, yet everything felt dead.



The rasta shook his head.



"I'm not quittin'." He said. "This city sucks, y'know it as much as I do."



"Hey, what about me?!" Ballz spoke up. "Don't I get to voice my opinion here?"



"Skulls have no rights." Talbot replied with a small grin. "Let's walk."



Everytime, they had stayed at a different hotel. Sometimes, when the air was warm, they simply slept outside next to the hobos. Sunshine and snow followed each other at an El Niño-like pace, sometimes even faster. The world they were into was chaos, random, stripped of laws, if there were any.



"Some of them can be bent, and some of them can be broken."



How many times had Talbot come across an impossible psychic or an animal that couldn't exist in the real world? How many times had he seen a small cat suddenly split like a single-celler? How many times had he seen morphers turn into beautiful women just to take advantage of the populace? How many times had he seen a normal-looking guy suddenly reveal himself to be some kind of alien?



And the worst thing in all this was that whenever Rap thought of some movie quote, he heard it too. Talbot didn't care much for that odd selective telepathy at first but things turned sour whenever Rap dreamed he was in a movie. Maybe it was crazy to admit but Talbot was sick of the (in)famous lobby shooting scene from The Matrix.



"Hey, a temple!" Ballz screamed.



The two men turned their head to the right and saw what seemed to be an old Buddhist temple encased within a piece of destroyed skyscraper. If there was one thing Ballz was obsessed with, it was temples. Talbot and Rap usually followed the skull's suggestions, since religious monuments and places were always home to some nice phenomenon of sorts. Sometimes, gurus would concentrate and look into a crystal ball, and then tell them which way to go. Sometimes, priests would tell them a little about the history of the city. Sometimes, masters invited them to lunch and to discuss the matters of the world. Sometimes, witches accepted to remote view a potentially interesting location within the city.



Anything to find the Chamber.



Rap opened the door and walked in as if he was in his own house.



"Ding-dong!"



There was no answer. Talbot took a quick glance at the rotten benches to conclude that this place was obviously out of order.



In the meantime, Rap walked over to the altar and began examining a box set on top of it. He ran his hands over the wood, over the golden corners, over the patterns carved into it. The box was the only thing that looked brand new. It could've been placed there only yesterday, for all he knew.



Anxious to know more, he put Ballz on top of the altar and looked for a handle or a little door.



"Slide the panel up." Talbot said, suddenly popping behind Rap (the silence of his boots was absolutely annoying!) "Like a bread box."



Rap complied and found the panel. Inside was small nicely designed cup full of clear liquid.



"Looks like we found holy booze!" He declared with a laugh. "Wanna get baptized, Talbot?"



"I think I'll stick to my atheism, thank you. And isn't the temple Buddhic-looking?"



"Whatever, man. God or Buddha bless me. Cheers!"



But before he could raise the cup to his mouth, the liquid suddenly turned to vapor and vanished.



"It's a ghost!!" Ballz yelled.



The door slammed itself shut. The room suddenly went dark. A rush of wind passed by the two startled men. Some small pots and pieces of wood went up in the air.



There was a gasp and Ballz suddenly found himself taken by the worst shakes he had ever experienced.



"Hey! Ow-ow!! Stop possessing me! Hey! Quit it you biznatch! Quit it quit it quit it quit!!!"



The wind died down, and Talbot heard the sound of the skull falling back onto the altar.



The three could hear a breath, loud and clear. Wind went to and fro, pushed forward and back, swing and swang, as if they were in someone's windpipe.



"Jesus, calm down!!" Ballz ordered. Gradually, the breaths went silent. The wind stopped moving.



"You've... You've got guns. You want to hurt me!" A female voice suddenly said.



"God dammit, d'you think a skull and a pair of morons can hurt a piece of wind?!" Ballz replied (and then followed by a sarcastic Rap going "Thanks...") "Get a hold of yourself! And you, Rap, you shut up! You're the one who got that thing outta the cup in the first place?"



"Oh!" The female voice seemed enlightened all of a sudden. "So, you are my saviors?"



"Kinda, whatever." Ballz said.



There was an awkward silence. Talbot was the first to move, going to the front door and opening it slightly to let in a bit of light.



"You're not afraid of light, right?"



"No..." The voice replied.



"Great. Then how about you sit down somewhere here so that we can have a chat and know who you are?"



"He is the One."



That was Rap's code language to say "Can she lead us to the Chamber?" without alerting the populace. Talbot smirked in response and went to pick up Ballz. Running his hand over each bench, he stopped when he felt a pocket of colder air over one of them; naturally, the bench that was the most intact.



He sat down on the stone floor.



"We're listenin'."