AN: It's about time I got around to write this. As happy as I am with this whole thing, I gotta spoil the magic. This fanfic is loosely based on 'Chucky's New Target', the fanfic has been long discontinued, but you can still find it though. I just liked that idea so much that I just had to do my own take on it. Anyway, please enjoy and thank you for reading. Updates will usually be made on a weekly basis.

"Wilkes…"

Where is the wonder? Where is the awe?

"Hey, Wilkes."

Where is the Alice knocking at my door?

"Wilkes!"

Osborne's eyelids fluttered a few times. He was still seeing blurry lines by the time he swiped his earbuds out. Curse Nightwish and their oddly meditative power metal! The audio and video section of the Barnes and Noble was devoid of any life, not including himself sitting in his reclining swivel chair behind the counter, much like always. Who buys CDs anymore?

"Wilkes." The rather nasally voice chimed again.

"Hmm?" Ozzy said, lazily, seeing how his manager now stood, or rather attempted to and failed, over him. The two seemed to meet each other with an exchange of annoyed looks.

"I'm heading out a bit early tonight," Tom, as the shorter man's name tag read blandly, announced, "Can you lock up on your way out?"

"Yeah, sure," Ozzy nodded after a brief moment. His newly opened palm was then belted by the key ring Tom had passed his way. Had to be at least twenty of the freaking things on the wrist sized diameter.

"Appreciate it," Tom had begun to leave him to it, "Oh, and Wilkes-"

"I keep telling you, man. You can call me Ozzy," the cashier said, trying to force a smile. He wasn't a fan of last name usage among peers, it kind of gives off a hostile vibe.

"Wilkes," Tom continued unamused, "let's try to avoid sleeping during our shifts, can we?"

"No promises...Blanch," Ozzy accepted his challenge with a now half assed smirk. Damn, he could feel the edible he took that afternoon wearing off.

Tom only shot him a mean look before heading out the doors. Ozzy was pretty sure that that man would get the last laugh when layover season arrives. It was only a matter of time before Barnes and Noble realizes that they still continue to station clerks on their payroll in a CD and video section in the year 2016.

"Day and night, the lonely stoner…." Ozzy couldn't remember the rest of the words as he lounged back in his seat. The cheap plastic that made it up creaked beneath him. He crossed his legs on the counter and fixed his dreadlocks into the more easy to manage pony tail.

Osborne Wilkes, ladies and gentlemen. Twenty two going on twenty three, living on his own since eighteen. His parents helped him move out. After all, it was them who tossed all his shit on the front lawn and told him to 'piss off forever'. Aspiring to be an artist, though the Kickstarter hasn't been working out and he's still lucky if someone submits a commission on the website. If you're picturing the stereotypical stoner with the drug rug and dreads than you wouldn't be too far off, though you wouldn't be terribly close either. Ozzy doesn't do drug rugs, rather grayish button downs with a slim base layer beneath, both sets of sleeves usually rolled up. He'd often doodle down different outfit combinations for himself in the sketchbook he always keeps near. Osborne Wilkes is also a bit of a tattoo enthusiast, at least as much as he prefers to be; a nice Athenian Owl on his back, the Greyjoy House insignia from 'Thrones' on his right arm, and the words 'Where Art Thou?' in cursive going down his other one. One more and the parlor gives him a discount on the next one.

Ozzy continued to twirl the key ring around his middle finger absent mindly. His eyes began to wander, slowly tracing down his inner arm out in front of him down to his wrist. How he hated looking at it…

Right on his wrist, just on the point where that one juicy, blue vein seems to bulge, sits a birthmark. At first glance and hopefully the only one, it's nothing special. A medium sized red-brownish blotch of pigment upon his usually caucasian color. A nasty bruise, but when investigated closer it seems to get a bit more morbid or more or less badass. The blotch shaped in a near perfect horizontal oval, then one begins to realize that there's something else in there. A darker, blacker pigmentation like charred skin, perfectly within the oval and a very small, pale iris like gash in the dead center.

Who's the jackass who gave me a snake eye? Ozzy remembered asking his tattoo artist. He had the mark his whole life but never seemed to pay any heed to it during his childhood. As he grew older, the birthmark seemed to grow in size. Maybe all the medical tests were wrong, maybe it was an expanding rash or sign of a virus. Ozzy snorted at it, the mark whatever it may be; its repulsiveness knew no bounds. Sometimes he could look at it for hours (stoned off his mind of course) and just wait for the nonexistent eyelid to come over it briefly in a blink but it never did. Ozzy recalls nightmares where that happens.

His loath induced reflection was suddenly halted by the alarm tone on his phone. 'Shauna's Roller Derby 9:15 pm' the message box at the lock screen displayed upon lighting up. Oh right, that was tonight.

Neatly coiling his earbuds around his phone, Ozzy pushed through the doors of the storefront while at the same time locking up behind him (after much effort of digging through the key ring for the right one). The evening breeze of July blew at such a perfect pace in easy intervals. Such a shame the roller derby was at an indoor rink.

Ozzy slid into the driver's seat of his dingy sudan. Thank you, Craigslist. Yes, I'm ok that the AC sometimes spews out dirt particles. Yeah, I don't care that you have to turn the key twenty to thirty times to get it to start. No, I don't mind that there is a dead raccoon mangled in the front bumper, I can clean it out.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, Ozzy felt his eyelids become lighter. It was at that time he reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a joint and a BIC lighter with a bulging eyed skull on it.


"You're doing it again, Shauna. You're picking fights with girls bigger than you." Ozzy laughed as he sprayed Neosporin on the dry blood spattered knee across his lap. Shauna groaned a bit when the stinging started. She removed her helmet, allowing her newly buzzed cut hair (or what little remained) to air out.

The couple sat at a table in the roller rink lobby. Ozzy had arrived just in time to see his girlfriend be crushed against the rink walls by a much larger skater. Shauna, still seeking graduation from the anger management class the summer school (she wanted to get into the business school before her junior year) had her go to, had the response of shooting back up again and decking her attacker. The refs had to break up the ensuing fight. Shauna had yet to totally cool down from the ordeal.

"That bitch slapped my ass everytime she skated behind me," she growled, folding her arms, "Yesterday I caught her finger fucking herself in the locker room! She was saying my name! The league is recruiting fucking perverts!" Ozzy was placing a band-aid on her knee.

"I don't see the problem," he humored, "I too slap your ass and say you're name in….certain cases," Once the band-aid patch covered her knee, Ozzy gave it a soft kiss, "There! All better!" Shaun moved her knee off his lap.

"Oh, that's so you, Ozzy," she had seen the moderate redness in his eyes, "Showing up to my semi finals baked."

"Am not," Ozzy said, head shaking with awkward giggles, "I'm just high. Baked implies that I have couch lock and the munchies."

"Then why did you order three funnel cakes at the concession stand?" Shauna pointed to the powder sugar coated paper plates stacked on the table. Ozzy licked his lips at the memory.

"I...uh...missed dinner...also why are they called funnel cakes? They don't even remotely resemble funnels...more like...twisted tree roots." Shauna zipped up her duffle bag beside her.

"I don't know what it is...but I can't be mad at you." She gave Ozzy a peck on the cheek.

"My love is your drug," Ozzy playfully droned. Shauna lightly smacked his arm. She seemed to have some spiritual connection to her bag, because the moment she picked it up she felt the slightest difference in it's weight. She felt it all over before dropping it and groaning to herself.

"Shit, I left my pads in the locker," Shauna got up, "Be right back."

"Hmmm-mmm," Ozzy hummed, beginning to lick the last specs of powdered sugar on the paper plates. Shauna managed to steal a finger full before leaving.

No shorter than thirty seconds later, Ozzy was up throwing the plates away. On his way back to the table, he passed by the TV that hung from the upper wall just above the bar area. He couldn't hear it, but the ever faithful black box with the white subtitles at the bottom of the screen was on. A news station by the look of it, an entertainment related one. The female anchor, fake as can be, was speaking over footage of an impressive looking mansion. In front of it, a crowd of people were placing candles and flowers on the lawn. Condolences? Mourning?

"The home that once belonged to Jennifer Tilly completes its first full year of dead silence," the subtitles read, "It was at this time last year when the late actress was found dead in her L.A. home at the age forty four. The cause of death was ruled out as an accidental fall. Her three children, Glen and Glenda; age fifteen and Charlotte; age nine were also found dead on the scene around the same time. The family's funeral was attended by over 3,000 fans the following day. Now, those same fans take time to pay their respects-"

"Ozzy."

"Wha!?" Ozzy jumped a bit upon feeling the tap on his shoulder. He turned and faced Shauna who now had her full bag over her shoulder.

"I'm ready to go," she said then looked up at the TV, "What's going on there?"

"Oh, it's the death date of, fucking what was her name? Oh, Jennifer Tilly." Ozzy explained. Shauna tilted her head.

"Who?"

"The...uh...actress…God, what the hell was she in?" Ozzy snapped his fingers in thought before clapping, "Mike Wazowski's girlfriend!" Shauna laughed.

"Is that really all you remember her as? Poor woman, everything she's done...all funneled down to a minor role in Monster's Inc. Hope she rests in peace."

"I don't know if she is," laughed Ozzy, "If I had a bunch of people I don't know dropping candles and shit on my lawn...I mean you do realize that in a few days that that yard is just going to be littered with dead flowers and candle wax...man, I wouldn't be able to rest easy."

"Oh really?" Shauna tilted her head, "Cause resting easy is all you do." That caused Ozzy to pause in thought.

"Do you think they grow kush in Heaven?" he asked out of the blue, "I guess the only way to find out for sure is to get there." Shauna began to haul him lightly by the hand out to the parking lot.

"How about we finish our work here before we move on to the next world?" she retorted, "Such as driving me back to the dorm because I have a practical tomorrow." Ozzy was still fumbling around for his key by the time they reached his car.

"Yeah...yeah, let's do that."

"It smells like straight weed in here, Ozzy," Shauna said, entering the passenger seat, "You should get an air freshener."

"No, Shauna….I am the air freshener."


"So, can I catch you tomorrow?" Ozzy asked as they pulled up to the community college dorm. Ask her you idiot! Ask her!

"Yeah, baby. I'm all yours tomorrow," said Shauna, getting her bags out of the back, "Your place, weed, and maybe we'll finally do that trip down to San Fran."

"Nice, tell your friend from locker room that she can join us too!" teased Ozzy. Shauna mockingly flipped him the bird. Fucking do it! Ask her!

"I love you, Ozzy."

"I love me too...jk, love you too." Ask her you pussy!

The two locked lips, a kiss which deepened with every second. Shauna ran her fingers through Ozzy's dreadlocks, something she often played with. She could feel the dryness within his mouth. Shauna parted from the kiss when she could feel Ozzy trying to suck the wetness of her mouth into his.

"Tha-that was dirty, Ozzy," she giggled, her salvia now returning.

"Oh, so the girl with the bag that smells like a roadkill deli is going to tell me about dirty," chucked Ozzy, "Hey...Shauna, can I ask you something?" Fucking finally!

"Yeah, anything."

"Well...I was...wondering if…" Yes! Just say it! You got it!

"What is it, Ozzy?" Shauna was now genuinely curious.

"Do you...want to...uh...go to Santa Barbara instead of San Francisco?" FUCK! SHIT! FUCK!

"Huh? Is that it?" Shauna said, disappointed.

"Yeah, yeah it is….I'm just stumbling over myself cause...the weed is too loud. Ha, happens to the best, right?"

"Sure. Well, see ya tomorrow." Shauna blew a kiss his way as she entered the building.

Ozzy just stood there for a bit, looking at the cracks in the sidewalk.

"Damn…" he said before climbing into his car and driving home."

Do you want to move in with me, Shauna? That's it! That's all you had to say! What are you afraid of?

"That she's out of my league…she'll say no...and she'll leave me...and I'll be alone again," mumbled Ozzy to himself. A college girl, a roller derby champion, and a failing stoner artist. Aren't underdog stories purely fiction?


Please let her be out. Please let her be out…

"Mr. Wilkes!" Dammit!

Ozzy turned away from the stairway of questionable structure. He had even taken a single step up and already the landlady was up in his grill. Mrs. Marsh waddled out of her lobby office. Every time Ozzy saw her do that it seemed that the doorway was becoming more and more narrow around her. Ozzy briefly glanced at the pocket on her half buttoned shirt, as always, the crack pipe was snuck as a bug inside. We had to have a crack addict living in this section eight otherwise it wouldn't have been a complete piece of shit.

"Lizzy...yo," Ozzy greeted with a fake smile and wave. Whatever was coming, he really didn't need it.

"The family living down the hall from you complained again," Mrs. Marsh continued hissing, "That's the fifth time this week they complained about that weed cloud factory that you run in your room! They're asking me to kick you out!"

"Well, are you?" asked Ozzy, nonchalantly. Mrs. Marsh folded her arms.

"I damn well might! You're lucky I don't call the cops on you!"

"Why are you taking their side, Liz? I pay my rent on time, I don't sell weed to the other tenants, and I'm always real with you when I have an issue, which I usually have to end up doing myself. Why do you hate me so much?" It may not seem like it, but Ozzy was toying with her.

"The Roberts have a family. They're trying to raise kids here. You're a bad influence…" there was unease in Mrs. Marsh's voice.

"Really?" Ozzy hummed, "Is it because they have kids or because their rent is higher?" Mrs. Marsh tensed up as a nerve was struck, "I need to ask, how much of that money actually goes to the city? I mean, let's be real; stoner to crackhead, that's a lot of drug money right there…I'm pretty sure the other tenants would like to know where their money goes."

Mrs. Marsh let out an angry cough and backed down. "Just...quit the smoking when they're home...ok?"

"Let's hope they take a vacation during 4/20 then," Ozzy began up the stairs, he suddenly stopped, "And Liz, the wallpaper in my bathroom is peeling, can I get it replaced?" Mrs. Marsh folded her arms and stomped back into her office.

"Go to Hell, Wilkes…" she growled. Ozzy clapped his hands.

"Sweetness! Could it be green? I tried blue and it gave off kind of a gas station bathroom vibe."

The walk up to the second floor gave Ozzy a little less time than he wanted to revel in his small victory. The width between the walls shrunk drastically as he came out of the stairwell and into the poorly rug-clad hallway with peeling wallpaper.

"The Hell?" Ozzy didn't need to stand directly in front of his door marked '2E', the UPS box wasn't hard to see. It was a big one, when Ozzy stood over it, it towered to his knee. The box itself was wrapped in brown paper, giving it a little extra protection. It had his shipping address on it, from his first name to his zip code but no return address. Attached to it was a post it note. 'This came for you today, signed off on it too. If this is another one from the Silk Road then I could forward it to the police department-Mrs. Marsh.'

Ozzy laughed a bit at this. Oh, Lizzy and her empty threats, besides I stopped ordering from Silk Road a while ago. They steal your pin numbers.

It wasn't so bad living in an second floor apartment like this. Bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen/living room/hallway/dining room/drawing studio/smoking room. There was also this one window, look out it and you can see the alley in the dead back of the building. Get lucky and you might see someone get mugged.

Ozzy threw the box on the kitchen/living room/hallway/dining room/drawing studio/smoking room couch as he slammed the door behind him. He then sat down and began tearing at the paper before bending back the folds of the package. Well, at least after combating the packing tape around them with dull scissors. The box was filled to the brim with packing peanuts. Ozzy only had to brush them aside and all was revealed.

"What the fuck…."

Like the cardboard coffin it was, the box housed the lifeless body of a doll. The toy, assuming it was actually created for children, was the likening of a small girl that walked the age gap between toddler and preteen. It had that trademark doll face, a chubby complexion compared to human standards and fluffy brown hair of moderate length. The red brownish dress it wore reeked of laundry detergent while at the sametime emitted a sort of copper scent. It almost seemed like one was hiding the other. For a doll designed to be akin to a child, the face show a mature demeanor, like a stern orphanage nanny. The eyes were closed and relaxed with the mouth in a frown. It really looked like it didn't want to be disturbed.

'Who and why?' was the only question Ozzy was mentally asking himself when he picked up the doll from under the arms. He felt weird holding the thing. It seems that the doll makers were paying attention to even the littlest of details. The doll almost seemed to weigh like a small child too.

"AH!" Ozzy suddenly jumped as the doll's eyes flipped open mechanically in his hands. Its blue Persian cat like eyes were already fixed on him the moment the lids revealed them. The frown perked up into a smile, a small one but still passable.

"Hi,"it said in a singsong childlike voice, "I'm Lottie and I'm here to give you lots of love." It giggled lightly, then fell silent. Ozzy felt himself internally laugh, but that was moreover shadowed by the curiosity and many questions he had. Maybe it was a gift from Shauna, but she didn't have a thing for dolls. Maybe someone was messing with him. Or maybe it was Shauna telling him, in a really odd way, that she was preg-NO! NO! GET THAT OUTTA HERE!

Ozzy yawned. Whatever the reason, it would seem his apartment now had a new resident, at least for now. Ozzy wondered how much someone would pay for it at the flea market. For now he just accepted it as it was. He lived in a building in an area where people constantly got mugged or robbed. Getting a doll in the mail with no return address wasn't the sketchiest thing he's seen. He placed Lottie on the couch on the center cushion and took a few steps back, taking in the doll on the couch as if it was a photoshoot.

"Well, at least you tie the room together," Ozzy spoke to Lottie ironically, he then ruffled the doll's hair, "Thanks kid, this is much cheaper than getting a rug." Lottie just sat in silence, propped up against the sofa pillow.

Ozzy allowed himself to flop directly onto his bed once he entered his room, exhaling in fatigue. He spent the next undetermined period of time flipping through the pages of the sketchbook on his nightstand. A Giger like snake creature, a Lovecraftian fish man, the portrait of Shauna he drew for her twentieth birthday, then there was that one of the giant robot fighting a lobster of equal proportion in a harbor. Someone had actually commissioned him to draw that, but they never followed through with the payment when he was half done, Ozzy finished it anyway. Among all the drawings he had done, one was always his favorite.

A rendition of Atlas holding up the Earth on his shoulders, fully finished in color and detailed shadings. Ozzy always had a fascination with the Titan, more of the concept and not the character himself. Atlas, someone who the world literally depended on. Should he move even in the slightest than everyone would feel it, should he grow weak then everyone would want him to be strong. That was a punishment, holding up the world for all time...but how? How is meaning something to everyone a punishment? Holding their fate with your own two hands? Being apart of something far greater?

Ozzy sighed and closed the book. He didn't have the energy to flip himself over in a proper sleeping position. He pulled up a pillow under his chin and rested on it with his upturned birthmarked wrist lying inches from his face. He let his dreadlocks fall over his face. Sleep found him relatively easy that night.

Damn, it must be so cool to actually be a someone and to mean something…

AN: Lottie belongs to CharlotteRay.