A Nightmare at a Pizza Shop - Ch. 1 of my book
Check out Chapter 1 of Techno-Virus: Hero and the Girl
I got a gritty, noiry, horrory, superhero-y book coming to Kickstarter on February 1st!
Last week I promised a preview of Chapter 1 of my upcoming novel, Techno-Virus: Hero and the Girl, so here it is down below!
Wanna know more about the upcoming release? Keep opening these emails for more info on the Kickstarter and the book.
What to expect in the next couple weeks:
January 30th: Kickstarter pre-launch link
February 1st: Kickstarter launches.
What’s it about:
In a world of super-powered men and women known as Ultra Cops, a disgraced former Ultra Cop forms an unlikely team with a ten-year-old girl to prevent a mysterious virus attack on Los Angeles that turns its victims into technology-infused monsters.
CHAPTER 1: SADIE
It all starts at a pizza parlor. A real one. Not one of those pizza parlors you see nowadays, with nowhere to sit and a menu that’s more Greek than Italian. Nothing wrong with gyros, but pizza parlors are for neon signs, busted arcade games, and red pebbled cups filled with crushed ice, not lamb meat.
The neon lights hum like cicadas in heat and the inside buzzes with life. Nuclear families escaping the obstacle course of domestic horrors to remember what it’s like to laugh together, harmless stoners grasping arcade sticks as tightly as their fleeting childhoods, and new teenage love politely picking at pepperonis, exchanging stories they’d eventually tell a dozen different times to a dozen different lovers –if they’d have chosen any other restaurant.
And, of course, the scene wouldn’t be complete without a birthday party. A pizza parlor birthday party, to be exact.
The best kind.
The never-ending smell of fresh pizza taunts the senses. An aroma so good that the taste couldn’t possibly live up to it. At least, that’s what’s on the mind of the newly 10-year-old, Maris, though there’s nothing new about her cynicism. Skeptical whether anything is ever as good as it’s promised.
More on her later.
The big front window frames the scene like a TV set. A nostalgic tableau as warm as a puppy’s bare belly. A flaking, grey Nissan truck wobbles into the handicap spot, taking front row seats. The truck bed sags, filled to the brim with motherboards, sticks of rams, and ethernet cables. Inside, a mountain of computer parts piles up to the roof, pressing against the passenger window, sparing just enough room for the driver.
The truck door clunks open, and circuitry trails out like a cloud of dust as the driver lugs himself out. A long hoodie hangs down to his knees and stinks like sweat and mold just by the look of it. His hood veils over his face as if to hide something better off unseen. He’s an unsettling and unwelcome gray cloud invading sunny skies, but in that moment, the pizza parlor bustles enough for him to trudge in unnoticed, without grinding conversation to a halt.
His name is Tetsuo, but this isn’t his story despite his irrefutable contributions to it. You’ll have to forgive the many omissions that would otherwise color his palette, but often the things that upend our lives end up being of the least importance in the shadow of what came from them.
Let’s get back to Maris, the freshly turned 10-year-old. While it’s actually a couple days after her real birthday, there’s precedent for late celebrations. Especially with her mom having this particular night off. Between you and me, I wish she would have had to work.
Her mom’s name is Sadie, and it’s adorably clear that her daughter devoured every last morsel of her genes first, only to realize she was too full for any of pop’s. Not that he’s still around to prove it.
The 20 years between them aside, they only differ in their eyes. Both big and brown, like the chocolate dots on thumbprint cookies, but the atmosphere behind their eyes is like completely different planets. While Sadie suffers no shortage of contemplations, Maris’ pools of fudge hide a churning ecosystem of rich thoughts below their surface. Some would attribute it to her being “wise beyond her years,” but is it wisdom to know things you don’t fully understand yet? Despite her many deep thoughts, she has yet to pose such a question to herself. She still has the ignorance of youth, though she wields it like a blade.
Maris can see things most adults struggle to see. A possible divergent outcome of all the free time a kid’s mind has to wander. Instead of pontificating big, 5th-grade-sized questions, like what would happen if your butt fell off, Maris studies people, possibly searching for some clue for why daddy left.
Sadie and her friend Ingrid, another thirty-something woman with a starfish tattoo sprawling over her shoulder, finish singing the birthday song, aided by the dulcet murmurs of randoms joining in. Maris tightropes between loving and hating it.
The modest cake in front of them needs forks so Ingrid goes in search for some, hoping to briefly escape the feeling of being an interloper. Sadie and Maris’ relationship has that effect on people.
Maris hits her mom with a scowl.
MARIS: This is embarrassing.
SADIE: Oh, shut up. This is revenge for all those temper tantrums you used to throw here.
Maris bumps Sadie with her shoulder. Her tough way of asking for a hug, which she gets, smothered in extra love.
Not even the hug-fest distracts Maris’ keen eyes from catching an attractive man in his thirties smiling at Sadie as he passes. Maris doesn't miss a beat.
MARIS: Someone likes you.
SADIE (dramatic): He was just staring because he felt sad for this pathetic, single mom.
MARIS: Get over yourself. Go talk to him.
SADIE: I’m not going to hit on a man during my daughter’s birthday.
MARIS: Excuses, excuses.
Maris crosses her arms, feigning disappointment. They both share a love for the over-dramatic.
SADIE: Fine. But if he turns me down, I get the gross frosting rose thing.
MARIS: Deal.
Sadie puts on a show of gathering courage before getting up. Maris watches as her mom approaches and talks to the man. It’s going well. Smiles, laughs, and phone numbers exchanged. Mission accomplished. Maris isn’t looking for a dad. She’s looking for her mom to be happy. Not that a dad would be an unwelcome bonus.
Sadie silently celebrates as she turns back to Maris–
But the hooded man swooshes past, almost shoulder-checking her as he leaves like a passing stench. Click-clack. A jagged, old flash drive drops from his pocket just before he pushes his way through the door. Sadie’s good Samaritan skills kick in and she swipes the drive off the floor, trying to catch the man before he’s gone.
SADIE: Sir, you dropped this!
A futile effort. Her voice fades as his truck peels backwards out of the parking lot. No use shouting at an empty spot. Confused, she clutches the drive in her hand.
She flinches.
The sharp, jagged edge glistens red as a drop of blood bubbles up from her finger. She shoves it in her pocket and shakes the pain away.
Of course, Maris caught everything.
MARIS: What was that all about?
SADIE: I don’t know… but I got that guy’s number. His name’s Greg. Good ole’ Greg.
Ingrid returns to the table overhearing the tail end of Sadie’s response. Maris decides to have a little fun.
MARIS: You would use my birthday to hit on guys? Real low, mom.
Sadie retaliates with a finger of frosting on Maris’ nose. Not one to be bested, Maris digs her finger into the frosting and jousts it at her mom’s nose, but she must have poked her eye because Sadie jolts and turns away.
MARIS: Sorry! You ok?
INGRID: She get your eye?
Sadie’s shoulders rise and fall with laborious breaths. Otherwise, she says nothing. An insecure smile tickles Maris’ lips, hoping to catch the scent of a practical joke.
Silence can be worse than the loudest cries of pain.
MARIS: Mom?
Sadie slowly turns to them. Their hearts sting with alarm before they even catch a full glimpse of her – their bodies realizing something’s wrong well before their brains. Her skin is suddenly so pale that the blue veins under her skin look like circuitry under milky water. Electronics protrude from her skin as if a computer has exploded inside of her skull. Her eyes stick out of her head like bulging balls of mozzarella.
MARIS: Mom?!
Sadie’s hand reaches for Maris, jagged with protruding circuitry, and Maris screams so loud it sends the whole pizza parlor on red alert, though it won’t save any of them.
I really appreciate your support in opening and reading this email. I think you’ll really enjoy this book, so stay tuned for the Kickstarter!