No, I'm not giving up. What the past has taught me is I always come back to try again. There are things that take priority at this point. Sitting down to write this lately feels forced. That's why I feel the story is junk right now. When I can get to this, I will. I might as well share what I did have thus far for the next chapter. Let's just call it a teaser. Rest of chapter to follow eventually. Enjoy.

Space Patrol Delta - The Series

Episode 02x04 - Wish

Chapter 3 incomplete

The morning bustle of New Tech City is exciting to the average tourist. Despite it's Los Angeles or New York zoo likeness, the city was well kept and gave off the clean look other similar metropolises lack. The grass topping concrete medians was green and cut, street gutters stayed unliterred, and buildings remained free of graffiti thanks to the mayor's latest efforts to punish taggers' crimes to the fullest extent of the law. To the local New Techie, however, it was just another day in a city whose only major qualm are the thirty-story robots that would -- or use to -- stomp through the streets every now and then.

Amongst these locals was the owner of a small corner-side bookstore called Mystics. The white furred extra-terrestrial whistled a happy tune as he approached the front doors of his shop. Unlocking the doors, he entered with the aroma of pine freshness meeting his nostrils.

The place had the look and feel of an old German candy store and workshop. All furniture -- tables, chairs, and shelves -- were all carved of wood and possessed a particular enchanting charm not found in many specialty stores such at this.

The owner disabled the alarm quickly and made his way to the store room where he peeled off the brown cloak that kept him warm on his journey to work. His day-in, day-out outfit was the same for eons – the same blue apron and the same blue dude rag tied atop his head. A pair of modern thin-frame glasses sat slumped at the bridge of his dog-like nose, possibly the only updated part of his appearance since the unspeakable event he referred to as "the wave".

Hanging the cloak on its hook, the doors' chime caught his long pointed ears. The first customer of the day the owner thought. Coming out the store room, he breezed past the many tables of books, potions, and supplies and took his place behind the counter.

"Welcome to Mystics," the fair-voiced shop owner spoke.

The man, older by his looks, turned and offered the obligatory grin to the greeting before continuing his tour of the store.

"Is there anything in particular I can help you find today?"

The man in the tan trench coat didn't answer, but simply shook his head. His eyes, hidden behind a pair of shades, continued to tour the items on display, the books sitting on the many shelves, and all the other diversions. The man then stopped in his path and faced the shop owner. The owner waited for the man to speak, hoping anxiously he could be of assistance to him.

"In fact, you could help me," the man said stepping around the center rack of magazines and making his way to counter.

"Wonderful. What is it that you wish?" the owner asked.

The man placed his hands on the old wooden counter and leaned in.

"...Monsters."

The owner, dumbfounded by the request, blinked once, then twice fast.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need you to create me monsters," the man elaborated with the same nonchalant tone.

"I, um ... I don't make monsters," the owner hesitated to answer.

"Sure you do. That's what you do, isn't it?" the customer asked a little more aggressive in his voice.

"I don't make monsters. I sell books about monsters, some with designs, some on the history of monsters. I sell movies with monsters in them. I even have figurines of past monsters that have attacked Earth," the owner rattled off nervously as he pointed to the shelf behind him filled with six inch pigs with Spartan helmets and other various creatures. "But nothing more I assure you."

"I'll pay you ... Mr. Younkin is it?" the man asked reading the owner's name tag pinned on the blue apron. "I have lots of money."

"You can't buy what I don't have, and I keep telling you I don't make or sell monsters. That's absurd."

With a dark chuckle and grin to match, the man leaned back from the counter and removed the shades from his eyes. He stared at the shop owner with a bemused look seeing the discomfort his proposal had caused.

"I know business here has been slow. You have a family to support I understand, a wife and three pups, right?" the man asked placing the tip of his shades by the corner of his lips.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Younkin asked losing his calm resolve over the question.

"Reina is her name. And your pups Max, Rusty, and Rockford go to Northwest Academy together."

If his fur weren't in the way, the color could be seen draining from Mr. Younkin's face. The customer's eyes drained of its patience and narrowed slightly as he leaned back over the counter. The owner, still struck, didn't move an inch.

"What do you want?" Mr. Younkin asked with hushed intimidation.

"I told you already. I need you to create monsters for me. I'll even pay you," the customer repeated his request. "There are ways I could get you to comply with my request, but do you really want to go there?"

"...Leave my family out this. Please."

"Oh, I will. If you do what I ask."

"But I told you. I don't make monsters," Mr. Younkin pleaded on the brink of tears.

"I know it's been a while, but I know you can do it. You made some of the most unique creations this planet has ever seen. I especially loved that Terror Toad. He had quite an appetite for destruction."

Mr. Younkin's eyes widened as his stomach hallowed. The customer demonically smiled and nodded to confirm the assumption.

"Oh yes, I know," the man said. "It's kind of brave, isn't it? Relocating to Earth, assuming a new identity, a new life, just miles away from Space Patrol Delta who has one Finster of Alzentari filed as assumed deceased as of 1998. Wouldn't it be just awful if someone were to inform them that he lives and is just minutes away for easy containment?"

"You...you can't!" Finster stuttered over his words. "Please!"

"Oh, I would!"

The customer reached over the counter pulled Finster up by his blue apron. Fire-like energy flushed over his body and revealed a laughing Sukira. He brought a fear-induced Finster over the counter and sent him crashing into the magazine rack. The dog-faced being cried in pain from the impact as he struggled to find the glasses that flew from his face.

A chime drew Sukira's attention to the door. Two more men in tan trench coats entered the shop and looked at Finster then to Sukira.

"I see we're not using our disguises," one of the two men spoke.

Fire consumed both the mens' bodies, revealing Uniga and Gainmede. Uniga locked the doors the drew the doors' blinds shut.