You've got mail.

Nakamura Nguyen was a ninja with a culturally mismatched Asian name. Did anyone notice that his name was culturally mismatched? Maybe. Did anyone call him on it? No, 'cause ninjas flip out and kill people.

-Ninjas don't flip out and kill people.

Yes they do.

-No they don't. They're silent assassins; they use poisons and stealth and drek.

To kill people.

-Yeah

Just let me tell the story.

Anyway, Nakukura Nguyen is this ninja-

-I though you said that his name was Nakamura Nguyen

His name doesn't matter. Just let me tell the story.

Anyway, he's this ninja but his ninja job is boring because there aren't very many people to kill so he spends most of his time chatting to girls on the matrix and impressing them with his ninja skills.

-That is wrong for so many reasons. Ninjas don't show off and they don't have "ninja jobs" and-

Okay, he might have been a wageslave computer programer but he said that he was a ninja.

Anyway, he spend most of his time talking to girls on the matrix and trying to impress them with his ninja exploits.

-He didn't have any ninja exploits and you said "ninja skills".

Whatever. He was making up drek, okay. He was making up drek to impress girls on the matrix. He was pretending to be an all-frag-that-leet-ninj-er but he was just a drek-full computer programmer who couldn't get his meat laid if he paid for it. He probable wasn't even Chinese. Now let me finish the story.

-Ninjas are from Japan-

Just let me finish the motherfragging story.

Anyway, so he gets this email from his girlfriend.

-You said that he couldn't even pay for it.

His online girlfriend, numbnuts.

He had a lot of girlfriends online. But this one was special. They'd been seeing online each other for a year. They actually celebrated this anniversary the day before. He'd never had an online relationship last that long and he was really into her. I mean he was really into her. He bought a ring and was planning to propose when they met in person.

-You said that this was going to be a scary story.

Just shut up and listen.

Anyway, he was really digging this girl and she sent him an email. So, of course, he read it immediately. But it wasn't a love letter. It was some bizarre drek about how she was the vengeful ghost of a rival ninja clan and had to kill her to avenge her people's honor.

-He wasn't a ninja.

Okay, I don't know exactly what it said but I do know that it said that he was going to die that day. He told a friend that it said that he was going to die. Really. This is what really happened. I heard it from a friend of the friend that he told. He got really upset about it and lock himself in a room behing this mondo ward.

-Yeah, and what happened.

He died. They found him the next day, lock inside the room. His skin and bones were made into a kite with his intestines as the string, I drek you not. The room was locked inside; and the ward was still intact.

-So what killed him?

I don't know, chummer. One of the detectives on the scene was a psychometer and he tried get an impression-

-What did he see?

That just it. No one know. He assensed the mess, then he pulled out his gun and ate a bullet. He brains splattered allover the crime scene and he body fell on the kite. The other cops didn't have time to try to stop him and he was dead before he hit the floor.

-You're full of drek.

I'm serious, this actually happened.

-I've heared this kind of story before. Its just something some guy's mom made up to scare him into going 'outside to enjoy the sunshine' and 'play we real people.' It is complete and total drek and everybody knows it. It's an urban legend.

Every legend on based on fact.

-No they're not. Every legend is based in bulldrek.

What about Bigfoot?

-What about Santa Clause?
I don't have time for this. Sissy just IMed me.

Chummer, your bleeding�

Oh�

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

Bombs Bursting in Air

Shrapnel is like the hand of God or of the devil. It cuts through the air, and through bodies, in unpredictable ways. It may bring low the mightiest of men while leaving the weakest untouched and it may sever the limbs of righteous men while gently kissing the wicked or the other way around. When a bomb or a grenade or a missile explodes you never know what will happen. You never know whom the shrapnel will love and whom it will hate; you never know whom it will gift with destruction and whom it will gift with prosperity.
The shell exploded inches in front of my face. The flash of it blinded me; the heat burned away my eyebrows and left scars that will never fade; but the shrapnel did not touch me. When I could see again, when I could hear again, and when I could smell something other than the gunpowder charge, I was met with the sights and the sounds and the smells of the dead and dying. The rancid odder of excrement mixed with the metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils. The terrible sight of human bodies torn and mangled and pulverized like so much ground beef filled my eyes. Just below the intense ringing, my ears were filled with a cacophony of screams and cries. Soldiers far better and far more experienced that I had been slaughtered like cattle.

The Sergeant,I saw him. He was desperately trying to keep his intestines from spilling out of the gash in his abdomen. Whenever a length of his bowels slid out he would scoop it up with his one good arm and shove it back in. He was screaming for help from someone, anyone. I helped him the only way I could. I stopped his screaming with my gun. I kept going until I stopped all of the screaming.

Some were more shocked than injured. I was usually able to knock some sense into them with a few swift whacks from my the butt of my M-4. Others had to be quieted just like the wounded. The survivors took up their guns and followed me toward the riverbed. We trudged through the mud for over a day and each of us hosted dozens us leaches by the time we reached the enemy's artillery but they were unaware of us. The Sergeant had tried to take the fast and easy route but that was too obvious.

When were we were close enough to use our grenades we charged out of the old riverbed. Our shrapnel tore through them like the hand of God smiting the forces of evil. Our bullets tore through the rest. Some cowards tried to surrender and they died cowards' deaths. It was easy.

Shrapnel is a powerful messenger. In the wrong hands it can spread oppression and suffering and terror; but, in the right hands it can spread justice and freedom and joy.

My uniform was still caked with blood and mud when the Colonel inspected us; our mud, their blood. I apologized for my state of dress. He didn't say anything. He just pinned a medal on my chest and slapped a patch on my shoulder. A silver cross and a Velcro-backed Sergeant's chevron – I was the Sergeant and the unit was mine.

I had never seen velcro before. It is truly a miracle fabric.

Nice. I like the second one better than the first.

Both great, although the first had me rolling. I like the semi-detached feel of the second one. Thanks for sharin'.

I liked them both. I can see the spastic deckers chatting away on the matrix in the first one. The second one had a detachment of a guy who's seen too much and is now numb.

Very nice...I liked them both.