Disclamier: I wish owned Earthbound, but Nintendo does.
Authots Note: Ok, my last Earthbound fic didn't work out. But this one will. And you read, or you die.
Tired old hands slowly felt the dusty cover of an ancient book. Though the bearer of these hands did not read it. Instead he sat, and waited. A shotgun was in his left palm, as he rocked back and forth in the wooden chair. He looked over at the book, feeling a golden lower-case t on the cover. The Holy Bible. One of the last copies that weren't destroyed with all the others books.
The old man look across his farm. Nothing so far. Only the night sky and his crops. No one would get his cows tonight. If they tried, they would have a bullet in their forehead. He would make sure of that. Now that the Police force had been disbanded, (or truthfully destroyed by the Pig Masked ones) he would administer his own force of justice.
He scanned the fields. His barn was in sight, so no one would sneak into it. He had taken every precaution. They were his cows, and his only.
His stood up on his porch, rubbing his eyes. This was tough work. But as he rubbed, he saw a shift in the shadows. Instantly, his shotgun was in his hands. His scanned the field again, waiting. Then, another spark of movement. Alarmed, he raised his shotgun and fired a warning shot. Then, he lifted a lantern he had on the ground, and cast the light into the shadows.
He saw something emerge into the light. Feet first, then a black sweatshirt. They were short, so they were probably some hoodlum. He didn't care. He would blast their head off.
But then it fully stepped into the orange light. The hooded figure bore a mask. It was broken with age. He had seen it too many times. In his visions he had seen it. A pig mask.
Without hesitation the farmer cocked his shotgun and fired at the masked face. The bullet sped forward, colliding with its target and momentarily stunning it. Yes, it was barely affected as it stood back up. It had made no noise. For it was obvious now it was not human. Because the bullet had broken the mask and revealed the monster's true face. A toothy skull grinned back at the poor farmer.
Some things in this world are unexplainable. This skeletal figure was one of them. The farmer, who just wanted to protect his cattle, had come across something that few dare to look at in the eyes. Death. Though more in a metaphorical way. For in reality, the toothy hooded figure was just a minion of a higher power. But to the farmer it was Death, for he knew it was the end for him. Why did he have to protect his cattle? He wish he had been less grumpy in life.
The figure reached forward and pulled the gun away from the stunned and scared old man. And, without any effort, bent the shotgun into a metal pretzel. HE dropped it onto the porch, and it made a clanking noise.
Then Death reached a white palm for the old man's forehead. It spoke in a boy's voice. "You're a waste of meat you old man. Im doing a service for the world."
The old man could only utter two words in his fear. "The Machine."
The skull-faced boy snapped the fingers of his free palm, and a fiery explosion shot from the hand grasping the old man's head. He screamed in pain, and fell back to the porch. The lantern rolled next to his face. His burned face. Burned to his skull.
The Machine.