fiction
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Chad was pretty drunk already as he stumbled up the jetway. The girl at the counter had tried to say something to him, she was a solid 6 but he couldn’t be bothered to stop for anything less than an 8 so he pretended to take a call and kept on going. Whoa Was it
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Steve was tired. Dead tired. Being the only sewn-from-spare-parts-brought-to-life-via-lightning type monster on the block meant that every single time someone needed a grave dug or a body moved, who did they call? STEVE. Like Jaki Wolfensohn in 42A couldn’t wield a shovel. Steve sighed from his uneven lungs and rolled out of bed. Another day,
Leigh Fisher 