Metal Deep: Infinite - Damsels in Distress: Episode 1 Read Free Page A

I had hoped that it might bring some friends to our lonely life. It never did. I learned quickly that nobody shared my Dad’s appreciation for fantasy. Apparently when all was said and done, neither did I.

    The three words you have to understand the translations to are: Purie, Slate, and Amalgam.
     
    Let’s look at everyone’s favorite creature of the night, the Vampire. Purie is slang for Pure Blood. So it would be a Vampire born of two full blooded Vampires through the good old fashioned “bumping-uglies.” Easy enough.

    Slates are just plain old humans. They’re called Slates because there is a genome in the human DNA that makes a person an imprintable “clean slate” host, which in turn allows other genetically dominant creatures to turn that human into something that resembles their race. That’s why in stories humans are always being turned into creatures like Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies, etc; and that’s why he calls them, or should I say us… Slates. Again, that’s according to my Dad.
     
    That brings us to the Amalgam. So Pure Bloods are almost all but gone, and so to keep the species going they do their thing to the Slate turning it into a creature that shares their racial DNA, but that person is not “pure” because there are residual human elements that coexist within the genetic amalgamation, thusly they are “Amalgams” a combination of human and non-human DNA. It should also be noted that many Amalgams can’t handle their new abilities, and so they go insane. Why do you think these creatures are always cast as bad guys in movies, TV shows, and books? Those stories are based on a real lore involving good people who simply couldn’t handle their new existences as Amalgams.

    And so, what my lunatic father had just seriously conjectured, is that there were a number of people visiting my town who work for an unknown Pure Blood, and they are taking teenagers and young twenty-somethings by force and turning them into whatever species that Pure Blood happens to be. He says this is happening at the fairgrounds where there is a much-anticipated one-night-only racing demonstration. I had been thinking about going to see it, but I had decided not to drop the dollars on it. That was until the aforementioned emotional volcano bubbled to life.
     
    My boss at work often tells me to shut-up. I talk more than any guy I know. Not that I have an array of friends who I just jabber on the phone with, but if I did, I would possess the capacity to spend a great many hours in single conversation on just about anything. However, staring at my Dad in that dank kitchen, watching sweat form into beads along his temple while palpable fear held his eyes wide, I fell somewhere between irate -at what we had become, and frightened -that he might actually be insane and in need of some real psychological intervention. I could not form words for what felt like an eternity. All I could do was allow my emotions to simmer over.

    There are different levels to my angry mode. Sometimes I explode loud and obnoxiously. I get it out, and within minutes we’re all laughing. There are other instances when I walk away, hit something, and swear using such poetic profanity the wallpaper literally begins peeling itself from the wall. That’s always expensive and time consuming because after I calm, I have to replace a closet door, or mend the Swiss-cheesed sheetrock motif in which my fist redecorated my bedroom. This, however, was something else.

    All the years of frustration, pain, and embarrassment boiled over into what felt like a tangible liquid that oozed from a deep growling voice that seethed from me, though I still am not quite sure it was mine. A demon’s, maybe? But certainly I was not capable of making such smooth guttural words of hatred, especially toward Dad, whom I really did love. “You paranoid and insane mother…” I was able to stop myself before continuing, “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ve