The yellow stitching on the slave collar was the first clue that it was a fake. The terrified look on the slave's face was the second. Well might she be scared; if her new master found out he'd been cheated, he might take it out on her--might even kill her. There were rules about that, and it would prevent him from being able to report the fraud to the police, but that might not stop an intemperate man in the heat of rage. Shaun rolled his eyes. He was on the fraud squad, but he'd come her in pursuit of rumors of counterfeit cash, not slaves. Still, the terrified expression in the girl's eyes was enough to make him intervene. He shouldn't let it affect him, but hadn't he been close to bond-slavery when he was a boy?

Inspiration: Reading a question about yellow stitching and counterfeits, after reading a bit in a book about pursuing slave ships.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Eh. Meh.

"Let me get this straight. He started a band, chose that occult name, and slaved until he wore his fingers to the bone, all so that he could get popular enough to have an auditorium full of people chanting that name?"

"Looks like it."

"Why didn't he just make a flashmob event like the rest of the wannabe demon summoners who need a hundred or so pawns?"

Lenny shrugged. "Maybe he needed the faith, too? Maybe he was just old-skool and didn't follow fads much. There's a good tradition of using music cults to get power."

She shook her head. "And that's the reason why I only listen to obscure bands and never, ever go to concerts!" She looked around her at the path of torn bodies that led up to the stage. "Looks like he may have regretted his approach, too. Isn't that his body up there, impaled on the guitar?"

"Yes and no."

She looked at him. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Depends. How do you feel about sacks of flesh with the skeleton missing?"

"Fuck."


Inspiration: "Dragula" (live) - by Rob Zombie. He gets the crowd chanting "Zombie."
Story Potential: High-ish?
Notes: The voices just started talking in my head. That's usually a good sign.

Trilemma. Three paths lay before him, but none of them appealed in the least, and all seemed to end in the misery, not only of himself, but of those that he would be trying to help. He could sign up with the army and go out to war, knowing that his gift would be of use to them--and knowing that if they figured out what he was capable of doing, he'd get put into a "special unit" of the sort that it was extremely difficult to escape from. He could flee into the next country to avoid the military, but he knew that he would not be able to return--if he could even make it out in one piece. He was not some entirely unknown lower-class person that would be unnoticed in his absence. There was probably already a spot reserved for him in the Officer's Class in the military. Or he could join a religious--

Inspiration: "trilemma"
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: I'm thinking something unexpected lies in the religious orders, perhaps....