Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

shiny, human eye peered back at him, widening with dawning confusion,
darting as his own darted.
“What the fuck,” someone breathed from the other side. “139, that
better be you.”
“Nope,” Agent 139 grinned. “You’re breaking into a hall of mirrors.”
A chuckle drifted through the glass, darkly, and he was ordered to
stand back. The glass wobbled as it was cranked out of its frame on suction
cups and lowered to the ground. “There. Didn’t want you to get cut
up if that didn’t work.”
Agent 139 giggled. “Wouldn’t that be the least of your worries?”
The shadow began to smear a thick, vitriolic paste on the metal grid
between them. “Nope. This part scares me a bit, though.” It withdrew a
squirt bulb from its vest and began dripping it onto the mass, which bubbled
and spat and smelled like a portal to Elemental Pigshit. A bubble
popped and hit Agent 139 on the bare arm. He bit through his lip choking
the scream.
“Imagine my joy,” the figure said, lowering the grating to the ground
next to the glass, “when I did this hanging from the roof.” It extended a
hand through the window and boosted Agent 139 to freedom.
His first free breaths since the explosion were laced with boiling acid,
the crickets were silent, and it was cold and overcast. And god damn was
it good.
Until Agent 506 handed him the rope.
“Um.”
“What? I can’t get him out of there alone. He’s too god damned big.
Oh, and he’s a fucking vegetable. What the fuck is he doing in a coma?”
139 heard the faint constriction of tears building in his voice. “Was it the
drugs? Did they—”
“It wasn’t them.” He placed his bleeding arm on his friend’s thin
shoulder. Agent 506 shook with grief and rage.
“They fucking fried him. They killed him.”
“He escaped. He can be Meredith all the time now. Our freeing him
here might cage him forever.”
“What?”
“Can we talk while we run?”
“Well,” Jesus giggled, “It means what you think it means! I’m trying
to model an entirely impossible situation in my poor upturned wreck of a
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