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Placid Facade-Chapter Two The answer came to me almost immediately. The passengers of the vehicle violently knocked on the front door. I forgot to pay the monthly taxes. Amazing how they could keep up with that and not the amount they spend building the Vencadian army. I swear, that's the only reason Vencade is in debt. But that's beside the point. I calmly grabbed my spending card and opened the door. I gazed at the large men sleepily as I flashed the small piece of plastic I was holding. They snatched it from me and scanned it. A terrifying screech came from the tiny machine. "Sir, you're short fifty salts," stated the small moth holding the scanner. I sprinted to my desk and grabbed my wallet. It was emp-No, there was a half-salt! I grabbed the triangular object and ran back to the tax collectors. "Here," I panted, tossing the currency to him. One of the muscular spiders caught it. He handed it to the moth as the small insect snorted. "Now you're short forty-nine salts and a half," she smirked.
Placid Facade-Chapter One I threw the warm, comforting blankets off of my hairy body. The sudden cold I felt annoyed me. I groaned and glanced at the shrieking object that woke me up from my dream. The device read "7:59". I swore under my breath as I slowly rose from the mattress. My legs ached as I stood from it. I stretched, looking at my surroundings. My belongings all seemed to be in their correct positions. Being somewhat satisfied with the current state of the bedroom, I slowly walked into the bathroom. It was a small bathroom. Only suitable for a single individual. But, in truth, that's all I needed. I wasn't planning on bringing anyone home with me, I knew that visits happened rarely, and when they did, they were not here to talk about the weather or see if I happened to be mentally sound. They worried about my votes. Vote for Bryon! Vote for Pierce! Vote for that asshole down the street! That's all they cared about. I groaned once more, trying to get back to the task at hand. That's right
Placid Facade-Prologue A large figure sat in a large brown leather recliner, his face hidden in the shadows. He appeared to be reading some type of literature. No. As I took a closer look at it, I recognize it as a scrapbook. The figure shook slightly as he flipped to a page. I looked over his shoulder, glancing at the photograph. Three teenagers sat at a fast food booth, smiling and laughing. They wore full military uniform. I now knew the identity of the silhouette sitting in the antique chair. I now knew what the shaking was. I felt it myself as a salty tear fell to the ground. More and more start to fall as I kneel to the ground. The silhouette put a callous hand on my bare shoulder. Its mouth did not appear to move, but the words "it'll be okay" resonated from the orifice. It closed the scrapbook and pointed to a nice, shiny cane. I looked at him strangely. I was not a feeble senior citizen. I was a strong, able-bodied man! I refused the offer, but the figure stood its ground. I grumbled a