What They Say

Oily Williams stood at the window of no. 47 and stared bleakly at the dark exterior of no. 49, no sound was heard save for the harsh, heavy breathing of the said villain. His rohypnol glazed eyeballs gazed at the night, muffled laughter was heard from a nearby room, and the clink of glasses escaped the room as a triumphant chorus of celebration. They had succeeded where many had failed, they had perfected their very own mind control program, ready to be packaged and sold to the CIA for the tidy sum of 25 million dollars, USD. They heralded the night with gay abandon and visions of tropical siestas and faraway villas, ten thousand to those who had contributed more so than most, they too, celebrated in their own way, many a taste was had, and many suffered the undeniable fate of being carted away to the nearest psychiatric institution for a brief stay, so as to regain their senses. Dawn once more came upon the sleepy Wimmera township, and the five desperados slipped into the darkness and to their distantly located vehicles, whilst the infernal noise of various devices shut down.

Recording 52894-87501/13/4/25

Send 37 to the edge of the town, stay distant yet able to regain visual conformation if necessary, received.

The curtains silently breathed in the early morning light, and the muffled footsteps of the two silent visitors made soft work of the undercoverings of the floor, a slightly rasping breathing echoed across the room, silently, surely, the soft whoosh of the refrigerator was heard and the soft sound of plastic being unwrapped whispered into the morning. Silently, just as they came, they left, unhindered by any foe and vanished once again.