Todd Doyle: Farm-To-Table Man of Mystery (Chapter 2 • The First Time It Shouldn’t Taste Like Blood)

Part One

Agent Todd Doyle was 14, the day of his first confirmed kill. The event itself was a complete catastrophe that set US military training exercises back 40 years.

It was supposed to be a routine simulation — no live rounds, within a controlled setting. But this was Todd Doyle, a living round unto himself.

“That’s some good sim-room combat there, Doyle,” General Ganje said, punching the intercom button from behind a two-way mirror. “Next time rip the hologram’s throat out after you incapacitate him. We didn’t pay extra for real-life throats on these hologram terrorists for nothing, you know.”

“Sorry General,” 14-year-old Todd Doyle answered from inside the simulation room, which was rebooting between exercises and now resembled an axis grid splashed against the walls, ceiling and floor.

“You’re wasting taxpayer money by not ripping out those throats,” the General reiterated.

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TD: Chapter 1 • Origins and Origies (Part 3)

Part Three

“Never saw anything like it,” the first responder said, his eyes still wide. “Nude orgy fighting.”

“It was like, like coming across a big flailing pretzel,” the second responder said, choking back tears, “…with penis.”

The two dispatched firemen sat on the rear bumper of their fire truck. Between sobs they sipped piping hot cocoa — blankets draped over their shoulders to combat orgy-observing-induced hypothermia.

In the meadow before them sat a smoldering seven-foot wide heap. Todd Doyle’s teepee was no more. Where just an hour prior stood a proud tribute to Mother Gaia, now lay a puddle of hemp and soy.

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