Monster War

Chapter 1

"Get out, kid."

I latch onto the Bouncer's arms as he tries to hurl me from the nightclub where one of the dancers caught me in their dressing room. "Whoa! You could hurt someone like this, you know."

"That's the point, you dumbass kid." He shook me loose and dropped me onto the pavement.

I moan in pain as I feel the rocks of the cement ground sharply dig into me. Groaning, I turn toward the Bouncer just in time to see his foot shooting for my gut. I got caught in my stomach and rolled away across the asphalt from the force of the kick. Letting out a prolonged groan of pain, I push myself onto my knees then my feet.

"Now if you know what's good for you, you had better stay the hell away from here, you hear?"

I glance at him with a cocky grin and hold up a wallet. His eyes widen as he starts patting his pockets.

"I don't think I need to worry about anything, Mr...." I open the wallet and look at the return tag. "Samuel Johnson."

He stares at me menacingly, like he wanted nothing more than to beat me senseless. "Put that down kid."

"Or what? The way I see it I'm in command now," I say as I shake the wallet. A piece of paper slips out. I snatch it out of the air before it hits the ground. "Oh, what do we have here?" I look at the paper and the first thing I notice is it's actually a photo of the man, an attractive middle-aged woman, and a kid. I shrug off this detail and look at the back. It had names and an address.

I look back at the wallet and notice photos of every one of the dancers in sexy monster costumes, from Bengal tiger-style costumes to jaguar and panther. "So, Mr. Johnson, here's what's about to happen. You are going to give me every piece of cash you have on your body or I will send this wallet directly to your wife. I'm sure she'll love to see these photos of pole dancers in feline monster cosplay."

His glare had only increased in hatred as I stated my demands. "Anything else?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Um, yeah. I want your jacket."

There is no response, just a shuffling as he stuffs wads of cash from his back pocket into the pockets of his jacket and takes it off. He throws the expensive leather black jacket to the ground, and I toss the wallet to him. I snatch the jacket from the concrete as he catches the wallet. I slip my arms into the sleeves, and he checks the retrieved wallet.

"Thanks. I was getting cold."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here."

"Alright." I salute/wave goodbye to him, flicking my hand across my forehead as I walk down the alleyway to the city road. He grabs the door handles and slams the club shut. Smirking, I finger my cash as I slip the incriminating photo of a dancer into my pocket. "2004 Sibley Lane," I mutter to myself as my walk takes on a strut.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Orphen, but my real name...I'm not going to tell you that. Let me explain; I don't trust people. Not even my nurse, and she's taken care of me since I was a kid dumped on the orphanage stairs. In fact, the only person who knows my name is my nurse by necessity. But enough about my name, let me introduce you to the city I grew up in. New Orleans is a city full of history that I don't know and people I don't care about, just as they don't care about me. Makes it easy when I snuff some cash from the rich assholes that run our society. Not that I know who they are.

No one knows who runs the world, simply that they've been around since the beginning of written history and even before then. As such, we've given them the loving moniker The High. The High created all the laws, all the roads, all the cities, some religious fanatics even think they created the world. Stupid, I tell them. If they constructed the world, then who made them, I ask. To which they stare blankly till I walk away. We aren't taught to be individuals. We're taught how to fight monsters.