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Animal masks begin to transform their owners, but only if they obey the strange messages. |
50 Blessings Thank you for subscribing to our newsletter! We appreciate your interest in our cause. America is a tune. It must be sung together. Your first meeting should be scheduled within the next week by phone, so be sure to check your messages! Our associates are expected to be punctual when dealing with our clients. Dress the part when meeting with clients! It is not required to wear formal attire, after all, our clients tend to feel more comfortable when our associated dress casually. But remember, presenting yourself in an orderly fashion and keeping your meetings discreet is very much appreciated by our clients. On that note, keep your meetings quick and clean; in our experience, clients appreciate when our associates do not take up much of their time. If there happens to be a disagreement between you and our clients, remember common courtesy and leave no hard feelings behind! We cannot stress this enough! And do not worry about any mess you might have left on our client's esteem towards our organization's good name, we'll be sure to clean up after you. Everyone stays happy! And of course, don't forget to call your city hotline once you have finished with your meeting to confirm the completion of your assignment. We will be notified and your next meeting will be scheduled within a week. We thank you once again for joining our cause to spread the word of peace! --50 Blessings ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A click is heard as the payphone is lifted from its cradle and the dial tone buzzes incessantly before a button is pressed, followed by ten more digits being tapped out. It rings once, twice, and then the other end picks up. "Hello," a woman's voice answers, deep and seductive. "Press one if your client has been . . . treated," she paused, the last word dripping with allure as if excited by idea of the caller's success. "Press two if they have not." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The phone rang once and the other end picked up immediately. "911, what's your emergency?" answered a female voice. A man's voice replied, breathing heavily, in a panic. "There's a man in my apartment building and he has a hammer." "What's your address?" the emergency operator asked calmly. "Are you in any immediate danger?" Over the line she could hear a shout cut short by a dull percussive noise. The man cried out in fear, "Holy shit he's a fucking animal!" His footsteps could be heard and it was apparent that he was running. "Sir, I need you to calm down and tell me your address." His voice came back heavy, but he struggled to keep calm as he replied, "Two-eight-three-seven 21st Street, third floor . . . apart--apartment three-oh-seven." In the background, a few screams reached the phone and gunshots rang out. He replied in a panic again. "Oh my god, you have to fucking come down here. He won't stop! He's killing everyone!" "The police are on their way. Can I have your name?" "Steven Jones--what the fuck does that matter!?" Steven replied angrily. "Sir, I need you to find somewhere safe." The man gulped before answering, "I locked myself inside a bathroom," he breathed heavily into the receiver, "I don't think he knows. . . " Suddenly he became quiet. Over the phone, the world on the other side seemed eerily dead. "Oh no, I think he's right outside my door!" the man whimpered. The operator had to remain calm. "Uh. . .are there any windows in there?" "No!" the man cried quietly into his phone, "we're on the third fucking floor, I couldn't make--oh my, god!" Loud banging noises could be heard. "What's happening sir?" the operator's voice filled with worry. "He's breaking down the door!" The sound of splintering wood followed shortly after as the assailant continued to break his way into the room. "Calm down. Is there any way out? Are there any windows?" she repeated. "There's no fucking windows!" the man wailed just as a crash could be heard as the door's bolt burst through the wooden frame. All the operator could hear now were frantic cries of fear. "Stay calm, stay calm, sir." she urged to the man who was no longer listening. "Oh god, what--wh-who are you!? What do you--AAAAH! OW! No! Please don't kill me! No! No! No! Nrrrrghh!" His voice descended into wet gurgling noises as the operator still tried to speak to the man. "Sir? . . . Steven? . . . Steven?. . . . . . . . . . " ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A black fur covered hand, or paw, matted in blood presses the number one on the dialing pad. A short pause follows. "Your response has been submitted. Thank you again for using Hotline--" *click* The caller hangs up, having heard that voice many times before, giving him thanks for using the city's "hotline". |
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