(Just a quick note: Don't worry, there will be a double helping of action in the next Part. All reviews/comments/flames are welcomed and appreciated.)
Sure, it seemed normal enough; he was back at high school, the ten year reunion. There was Dudley Jones standing at the doorway and Gary Gillman was over by the punch bowel. Someone called out to him, asked him what he did these days. But when he tried to speak, nothing would come out. Then he sank through the floor, ending up in a large room with a checkerboard floor. There was everyone from school, with large, distorted, demonic faces, floating above him, leering and jeering as he ran from what appeared to be a broom-riding witch with a very familiar face, and then he was falling...
Travis Jonathan Franklin Jr. awoke with a start. He shook his head as he re-orientated himself. He looked at the alarm-clock. It would be another hour until it rang, yet again he had woken up earlier than necessary and he wouldn't be able to get to sleep. Franklin sighed and went to the bathroom. After taking care of business, Travis paused to take a look in the mirror. Yep, those rings under his bloodshot eyes were still there, the result of yet another restless night. It had been nine months now since his divorce with Sharon and he was still reeling from all the alimony payments. She had managed to get some of the finest lawyers in Texas, who proceeded to help her drain most of his money. Whatever small wages he earned as self-employed mechanic, at least half of it went into her purse. But he was always one to look on the bright side. At least he still had his little piece of land out in the country and his privacy. At least he didn't have armed thugs at his door every fortnight, threatening beat him to a pulp if he didn't cough up the dough. Although in a matter of speaking, that's what was already happening.
He was a man of simple tastes, the polar opposite of the ever-materialistic Sharon. His usual attire consisted mainly of a polo shirt – flannel in the winter- overalls and a decent pair of boots. And his hard-hat. Never went anywhere without his hard-hat. For the past two years, he'd had it. Gotten it for Christmas from the woman who had been his wife. It was really more of a gift given out of obligation than a thoughtful gesture; she just bought the first thing she saw. He didn't care and wore it anyway because he loved her. Even though the feeling wasn't mutual. Even after she had announced that she was leaving him after four rough years. Sure he was sad that she had gone, but he was too easy-going to hold much of a grudge.
Walking outside, he smiled as Jake ran up to him.
"Hey, boy, how ya doin'?" he said as the black Labrador jumped up excitedly at the sight of his master. Franklin strolled over to the shed, whistling cheerfully. There next to his old battered pick-up truck was his trusty quad-bike. After packing his fishing gear onto the back -he had decided to catch his own breakfast- he gunned the engine and took off along the open field, Jake running alongside. There was a small stream that ran through the bottom of his property. There wasn't really anything else on the farm; he hadn't had any livestock on the farm for years. Often they would go to the stream, Travis would fish as Jake explored the woods or they'd play fetch. Sometimes they just lay atop of a grassy hillock and watch the sky.
After a few hours without any luck, he decided to pack it in and just settle for some tinned beef. Whistling for his friend, he headed back to the house.
When he got there, he noticed that they had company. A black sedan was parked outside. Travis frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. He killed the motor and walked the rest of the way, so as not to alert whoever it was of his return. Stopping off by the shed to fetch his pistol, he quietly made his way over to the front door. It had been left wide open. The Labrador issued a deep growl. He slowly searched each room, gun by his side in a non-threatening way, but was ready to use it if he had to.
He found her in the dinning room, seated at the table, a lady in a striking red dress.
"Howdy there ma'am," he drawled. If she was surprised by his sudden appearance, she gave no indication of it.
"Hello Mr. Franklin. You can put your gun down, I only wish to talk."
"You'll have to forgive me. A man gets a little suspicious when he finds a mysterious woman in his home."
"Understandable. However the door was open and I assumed you were in."
"Well I'm here now. Can I get you a drink or somethin'?"
"No thank-you. I want to get straight to the point."
Laying the gun down on the table, Travis sat down opposite her.
"Mr. Franklin, I represent Reliable Excavations and Demolitions. Apparently you were approached by a rogue military faction some time ago and asked to build a number of weapons. We would like to see the finished products."
The Texan's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"
"We know quite a bit about you Mr. Franklin. We know that you spent a decade in the oil fields; you have 11 PhDs ranging from mechanics to physics. We know that you have recently been through a particularly rough divorce, which has left you with little money. We'd like to help you with your current financial situation, as we are willing to pay you a hefty sum to work for us."
"Hmm....sounds like an interesting offer. I guess I better show ya my work huh?"
Walking back to the shed, Travis had to restrain Jake, who obviously didn't like the stranger. She didn't care. He removed a tarpaulin and revealed what appeared to be some form of gun atop a tripod. Reaching behind it, he flicked a switch, and it sprang to life.
"I call this baby a Sentry Gun. It's fully automated with state-of- the-art motion sensors, designed to fire upon any bad dudes who enter the line of fire. It's powered by a small generator attached to the back of it. It can rotate a full three-sixty degrees and up to ninety vertically. Most of the time it will be scanning the area for potential threats. Once it locks on, it will keep shooting until either the target is destroyed or the magazine is depleted it needs to be reloaded manually. It can fire .50 cal. Rounds at a rate of one hundred a minute."
The lady in red slowly moved her arm back and forth in front of the weapon's muzzle. It followed the motion and clicked rapidly.
"At the moment, it isn't loaded. My.... funding... was cut off before I could commence testing, but it should still work just fine."
"Most impressive Mr. Franklin. But what about friendly fire?"
"Actually I did think about that. I have a special computer that can analyze a DNA sample and transmit certain signals to the Sentry so that it won't fire on any persons with a genetic match. It's pre-programmed to recognize my DNA, which is why it responds to your movements rather than mine. I can only add up to twelve sets, so it's really only good for small specialist groups."
"Excellent. Mr. Travis, you are hired. You should go gather all of your blueprints and we will depart immediately. A truck will be by soon to pick up your Sentry and any other prototypes you have."
"Wait.... you mean I don't get a say in this? I mean, I don't wanna leave my property, and I can't just abandon Jake."
"You can refuse our offer, in which case, we can make no assurances that your land won't be seized by the government due to your lack of financial stability. If you accept, we will ensure that this land is yours for as long as you want it. Someone else will have to take care of your dog."
Travis slumped forward, face in his hands as he thought about it. Yes it would be incredibly difficult to leave his place. Yet he couldn't lose it to tax collectors either. Perhaps that if he worked diligently, he'd be back before too long and with a little money in his pocket as well.
Finally he decided to go through with it. He gathered all of his designs and packed a few changes of clothes. He managed to convince the woman to drive half a mile up the road to the Kendall residence; they would look after Jake on a property bigger than his own and with actual sheep to round up. It was an effort for Travis not to tear up as he held his best friend for the last time. As the black sedan pulled away, Jake, noticing that his master was leaving without him, gave chase. But the car accelerated and left him behind in the dust, howling miserably. For the first and final time, man and canine were separated.
Couldn't bring himself to look back in the rearview mirror. He couldn't bring himself to sit in the passenger seat and talk to the driver. The normally chatty Texan just wasn't in the mood. Instead, he clutched his hard-hat, as a child would hold a security blanket.