Space Shark

The twelve people around the table were not friends. Until then, they had never seen each other in their lives.

Only one of them was not in utter confusion. In fact, he had been the one who had sent the fancy invitation that hte others had recieved. He was Asian, in his early sixties, and was dresed in a smart tan suit that showed off much wealth and status.

"Good afternoon, all of you. My name is Marc Nguyen. You may or may not know this, but I am the head CEO of Dragonic Productions, one of the foremost world arms producers until the Arivall of the Seraphin."

Seraphin.

Everyone knew who they were, though their exact origins were clouded in great mystery.No one could hear about them, seeing them on TV, without taking attention. Ever since they Arrived, the entire world had to pay lots of it. After asking everyone to introduce themselfs, Marc asked the others a question that would be a unifing cause between them, a glue to pull them together.

"Is there anything the Seraphin have done to any of you? I know this question may be a personal one, so I don't need extreme details. Just the basics." At first no one seemed to want to take the offer/challenge. But after an awkward moment of scilence, on of them finally did.

His name was Dalton Barrington. When he spoke, it sounded New Zealandish. It also sounded violent, like a man with many old scores to settle and no one to respect.

"Since none of ya'll want to go," he grumbled, " I might as well. It was my biological brother Martin. Could'nt be my violent dad and step-mom. Could'nt be my weed-smoking, hippie step-brother. Nor that slut of a sister who waves her panties for every wolf-whistler that happens to walk by. None of them. Just Martin. The only person in my sorry family worth a cup of nice piss."

"Sorry for your loss," said Robbie Rodaian, a blond, bearded man across from the table. "Was it intitional, by any chance?"

"No, Martin was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shezmu, you see, was in a bit of a rage, the latest whore he'd tried to hook up with just rejected him, so after tearing her apart, proceeds to wreck havoc in downtown Wellington. Martin was a window-washer, cleaning the windows of some apartment building. A ******* Ford truck comes crashing on him, and he's stone dead."

Around the table were strong looks of empathy. All could feel the rage, anger, and injustice that Dalton had felt. Marc had, in truth, known of this, and the story for each of them.

"I lost a child," said Robbie. "Edgar. He would've been 11 last month. Not a day goes by when I don't think about him, on way or another. One day, when he was seven, he was out on his school playground, chilling with friends, trading football cards, that kind of thing. But then, after a few idle minutes, she arrived." He paused for effect. " The Lamia. That horrible, blood sucking bitch. It went for one little boy to feast on -and it just had to be mine. She sucked the life out of him for five other classes to watch and then dropped his body off like an empty water bottle."

"I lost a child as well," said a man with a Scottish accent. He was in his mid forties, had a tint of grey in his hair, and wore narrow glasses. "My wife along with her. We had gont to Belize for a Sprink Break vacation, and luck would'a had it, Sobek and Quetzalcoatl were there. The two of them had a bit of a argument, Sobek complaing about the endangered status of some rare alligator, and Quetzal had to bring him back in line, calm him down. Sobek ended the whole thing with a huge wave over the Carribean. Maggie and Liz had gone out to the beach. It was a nice, sunny day, typical in the tropics. One moment there were crowds of people all over, then the next there was nothing but water, a grave for them and so many others killed over a temper tantrum."

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So yeah, that's the first chapter. The other stories are to come in the next installiment.

Space Shark

"Sorry," said Robbie. he then turned to the woman next to him, the one with bright red hair and dazziling brown eyes. "What about you?"

"Claude." Her French accent was apperent, but it was nearly flawless. "He was a GIGN officer. Killed seven years ago during France's final, pointless attempt to free itself from Tikal's rule. It's known today as the Marsailles massicere. Over 5000 police and army personal were killed by Quetzal himself, and over twice that number were slaughtered in reprisals. Claude was one of those 5000. A tiny fraction. Important to none but me, his fiancee. My name, by the way, is Nellie Petain."

"You mean Petain, as in-" said thw Scotman, Nathan Chilser.

"Yes, I know who you mean. The great traitor, right? Well, guess what? You just one of thousands to comment on it, and you won't be the last."

"Moving on," said Robbie. "What about you, Miss Tandy?" refering to the brunette nest to Dalton.

"Best friend, Uncle, cousin." She moved her fingers over a rosary hang from her neck. "The Hydra took them away two years ago. I've been against the Seraphin ever since. Mr. Moboko?"

Moboko stood.

"I lost my family, my friends, and more or less everyone who I ever knew at the time."

The Destruction. All knew about it. In retaliation for the US Navy attempting to take out Sobek (and losing eighteen ships in under half an hour) the Seraphin gave the US government a hard choice: dismantle the American Military completly or allow the destruction of Pearl Harbor. The US, unsurpizingly chose the latter. However, the Seraphin only proceeded to lay waste to the entire island chain. After a week of carnage, nothing was left but an open wound, to remind the world of what happened when the rulers were angered. Moboto was a Navy sailor on the U.S.S. George Washington, which was off Alaska at the time of the Destruction. He told of his constant, endless nightmares. He told of wanting to die along with the others. Out of all who had gone who had gone so far, his story was the saddest and most well spoken.

"I myself did not lose any relative," said a man with black hair, a growing peach fuzz, and a coat that was cross of a heavy one and a military issue from a military surplus store. "I instead lost friends. Comrades. Co-workers. Alexei Sokolov, former Spetznaz colonel and once the commander of the 48th Signals Brigade. My whole unit was wiped out during the battle of Tula, along with countless others. My personal command tank, a T-80, was destroyed by Huitzilopochtli himself, with three good comrades inside. How I survived is a miracle, though I did not go unscathed." He rolled up a sleeve to show a scar spiraling around the wrist. "That's just the minor one. There is far worse."