Written by alcoholandaphorism The air is sharp with the cold, gas spilling to the air and taken with the crackle of flame that does nothing to break the frost on most of the street.  Terraced buildings caught with the flames of a gas fire, trapped inhabitants mewling in fear inside. If they are lucky the…

Written by alcoholandaphorism Scarborough.  Within a boarded up house marked over with swastikas and daubed racist slogans the ex Orpheus crucible try to plan against the foretold coming storm.  Downstairs the house’s owner Jameel limps on, using a walking stick to aid his movement, his knee still suffering from EDL attacks. He has been trying…

Written by alcoholandaphorism Halloween, bare hours since the encounter at the festival.  Worn down, world weary and on their last reserves of energy the Orpheus crucible hide out in the deserted caravan park that has become and improvised home. Karen, the girl they rescued is asleep on a bed in the back. Geoffrey’s projected gauze…

Written by alcoholandaphorism It is two thirty PM in the midst of Whitby abbey. The projected sleeper Geoffrey still reeling from the vision of violence to come here, later tonight.   In the thickening fog the crucible of three can barely see the lighting rigs outlined around the stage.  Muted thumps of music rise as a…

Written by alcoholandaphorism Running down the street, a ghost invisible to all but a few, the projector Geoffrey comes across the SUV where he had left his crucible colleagues.  A shattered wreck of a car full of broken glass and ridden with bullet holes. Blood drips from the open doors.  Timothy’s lifeless body, head lolling…

Written by alcoholandaphorism The view of the Abbey is clear from Timothy’s hotel room, but that it is of little interest to him.  The subdued atmosphere and dim lights of the hotel bar call, and more than that the self medication that whisky offers. The medication that has held him through the year and a…

Written by alcoholandaphorism The bar in York is rapidly emptying around Timothy, his fingers tight around a whisky glass. Bells, cheap stuff, but the warmth of it in his mouth helps keep the anger in check.  Their employers minders are gone now, the woman who the singer assaulted with them.  Tim really wants to put…

Written by alcoholandaphorism It has been one month since the last mission. One long, busy month.  Orpheus’ official stance is that the three projectors should undergo counselling after encountering what has now been classified a Shadow Red class entity, or what has become referred to as a spectre. Tim Scot’s answer is a simple “Fuck…

Written by alcoholandaphorism Michael shivers as he sits on the cold ground under a bridge in North London, chewing upon a wrapped baguette. Beside him sits Jack Hicks, an old friend from those years on the street. Jack has been eyeing him suspiciously since he got here. Even dressed down as he is currently it…

Written by alcoholandaphorism Wall after wall passes through Geoffrey’s immaterial eyes as his spirit form chases the ghost that has just caused such a ruckus.  In the physical world around him nurses and attendants stand  screaming or lie nigh catatonic in the wake of having the reality of existence beyond death revealed to them.  The…

Written by alcoholandaphorism In the streets around London Bridge Geoffrey walks, hoping that everything will finally sink in. He has been offered the opportunity, if you can call it that, to be reduced to effectively death, to be preserved as his spirit walks the world.  The alternative is to walk away, to walk away from…

Written by alcoholandaphorism It is 2012 and the Orpheus group, a ten year old business recently floated on the stock market is starting to make waves. Centred in London in the highly prestigious London Shard. Taking up, appropriately enough, the thirteenth as well as the twelfth floor. Despite its intensive PR campaigns, including many buzzword…