I'm pulling out all the stops on this one. Please review after reading.
From: The Slicer
To: Jim Duffy
Subject: The World is Ending
Body: Hello, Mr. Duffy. As you may now know, I am not your usual emailer. In fact, I am not your usual human, either. The world is coming to an end, and we know it. Who are we, you ask? We are the Crow Legion. What is the Crow Legion, you ask? I'm afraid we can't answer that in this short email. I'm sure you understand. It's in case the…officials find out. Who are the officials? Again, I cannot answer that in this short email. I will tell you the basics if you come to the phone booth at 121st and Hector at 8:00 tonight. You have to be there at eight sharp or else you won't get a call. If you don't want anything to do with the Crow Legion, ignore this message and go on with your daily life. If you are extremely curious as to what the Crow Legion is or who I am, then be there at eight. Got it? Good.
Jim Duffy looked at his computer in disgust. What kind of prank caller would send him this email? They must be desperate, he thought. Duffy looked around him. His cubicle on the third floor of TechCorp attracted no attention, as it was one of the many cubicles that populated the officescape. The workers were the habitants, in their natural habitat. The Cubicle. Duffy hated cubicles. He hated any type of closed space. In other words, Jim Duffy was claustrophobic. In fact, he hated living in New York City more than anywhere else. Once, on a business tour in China, Duffy was visiting the Chinese division of TechCorp. He noted that the cubicles there were about five inches longer. It would've helped his fear, he thought. Just five extra inches.
"Mr. Duffy, someone called you." an assistant tapped Duffy on the shoulder. He whirled around.
"Someone called me?" he asked, pointing to himself.
"Yes." was the reply.
Duffy groaned, then got up. Someone had called him using the operator, which meant he had to walk all the way to the Operating Room. It took a while before he entered the Operating Room. Once he did, he picked up the telephone.
"Hello?" said Duffy.
There was no answer. Jim Duffy looked at the phone in surprise, then asked again:
Suddenly, there were loud explosions. The windows of the third floor shattered and cubicles were ripped up. Pieces of carpet and human flew all over the place. Duffy quickly hid underneath a table. There was shouting everywhere. Duffy's cubicle went down under another barrage of machine gun bullets. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Some of the workers were still screaming when Duffy came out of his hiding place. The whole third floor was in ruins. There was blood everywhere. Duffy slowly made his way to the remains of his cubicle, the place where he worked for the past month. In shambles. One thing that remained, though, was his computer. Oddly enough, his computer was untouched. The space around it was shredded to pieces, but the computer was still there, it's monitor being supported by what's left of the table. The email that was once there was replaced with:
Time is running out.
Duffy blinked. How did the emailer know what had happened? Even as Duffy stood there, staring at his computer, firefighters and ambulance workers were pouring into the place. Policemen were asking questions to workers who were frightened for their lives. It was mass chaos. Right then, right there, Duffy made a decision that would change his life forever…
"Legend speaks of a rift, a Magna warp rift kind of thing. It's supposed to transport Earth materials to some planet called Charkon or something like that. Some Crows say that the Charkonii secretly use some of the other planets in this solar system, such as Mars or Mercury. The purpose is unknown, they say. They say…"
-Amhøn, New York Taxi Cab Driver