CWG 4: A Bloody Monday Morning – Jaime

Week 3 CWG

Director Alexa Cameron drummed her nails on the table as she waited for the various agents to find their seats. Her tech-wizard, Julianna Keyes, set thick files in front of each chair. Once the last file left Keyes’ hand, Cameron cleared her throat. The babble died down as the members of her team watched her.

She nodded and Keyes dimmed the lights, taking a seat in the corner. Alexa grabbed the remote at her side and flicked a button. A dark-haired woman, tanned and muscular, popped up on the wall screen. “We’ve all been mourning the loss of Agent Lexmark. Many of you have questions, but I’ve only recently been cleared to reveal the details.”

She peered around the table, grabbing each agent’s eyes with hers for a moment before moving on. “If you want the answers, open the folder and sign the document at the top. This remains classified at the highest levels, for reasons that will soon become clear.”

Scribbling sounded briefly as each man and woman signed away the right to speak about what they were about to hear. The last pen clattered to the table and Director Cameron pointed back to the screen. “That…woman, for lack of a better term, killed Sam.”

A hand raised. Her cool gaze settled on a wrinkled veteran, Collins, not intimidated one whit by her glare. “Why is that classified? Why all the mystery? And I thought that Winters scumbag offed Sam, not some broad.”

Alexa mentally ticked off the days until Collins’ retirement, deciding to wait him out instead of shooting him. “Because Mr. Collins,” she said in a voice that polar bears would frolic in, “Winters shot Sam, but she killed him. From another dimension. By killing his wolf-half.”

Collins shot to his feet, face red and jowls shaking. “Is this some kind of sick joke to you, Director?” The way he said her title made it sound like the worse curse he could muster.


Collins whirled to glare at Keyes, who also stood and quivered with rage. “I don’t think I was talking to you, bi-”

“Agent Collins! Enough!” the Director barked. She stared him down into his seat. “Just watch. If I hear another word out of you, I’ll have your badge. Understood?” When he nodded, she slammed the play button and crashed in her seat.

The woman on the screen spoke.

My name is Jaime…you know what? Just Jaime will do. I don’t want to make this too easy for you.

Where to start? I could give you some sob story about how Mommy was a drug addict and Daddy diddled me, but it wouldn’t be true. Nope, both my parents were great people. I almost regret setting that fire.


The wide-mouthed grin and wicked glint in her eyes sent a collective shudder down the spines of the assembled agents.

I’ve always liked to hurt things. A shrug. It’s the way I am. Some might say I’ve got some wires crossed, but I like to think I’m just humanity’s reflection boiled down to its true form. Without all the “polite society” bullshit piled on. 

That’s why I’m making this video. I’ve found a…game I excel at, but might end up killing me.

The grin came back. And if I die, I want to make sure I don’t go down alone.

There’s a man named Snyder. He runs a game with a couple of flunkies named Jed and Charley. And this game is amazing. She affected a pleasure-shudder. I get all tingly just thinking about it. Here’s how it works. Jed finds some poor chick and pours on the charm. If she resists…well, let’s just say the pigs can close some murders if they ever track him down.

If, however, they fight back and draw blood, then he kidnaps them and they become contestants. 

“Sonofabitch,” a voice muttered in the darkened room.

They get taken to a warehouse that has a transporter. A transporter to a different dimension. Don’t ask me how he got it or how it works. He may have created it, he may have stolen it. I don’t know. All I do know is that the women dumped in the other dimension never made it back.

Until me.

Collins looked at Director Cameron, but she held up her hand then pointed at the screen.

Snyder would film the poor little dears running around nude and frantic until some wolf, or dinosaur, or something worse mauled them, then turn around and sell the snuff film for obscene amounts of money.

And freaks gobbled that shit up. Follow the money. Snyder kept meticulous records about his “contributors.” I’m sure you can even find some bootleg copies online. 

It was Heaven, Nirvana, and Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory all wrapped up in bow for me. When poor Jed tried to work his magic on me, I beat the bastard and, lucky for him, decided to get his story before making him victim #37.

“Victim #37? You mean this crazy chick is a serial killer?” Collins blurted.

Alexa let it slide, since she’d had a similar reaction the first time she watched the tape. She paused Jaime’s insurance. “Was, Mr. Collins. Was. We’re trying to track her movements prior to her hooking up with Snyder, but the trail is cold and long. May we continue?”

“Sorry,” Collins muttered.

The story sounded so fantastic that I made dickless wonder take me to his leader. I hatched a scheme that would increase profits. Simple, really. He would funnel victims to the dimension and set up a series of challenges. I would take the lost lambs under my wing and guide them through, giving them some song and dance about mind-wipes, winning, and such to give them hope.

She laughed, bitter and spiteful. Then I’d “help” them fight off the wolf-men, dinosaurs, and other dangers before knifing them in one final battle before they could step on the transporter.

It was glorious. You should have seen those faces. Broadcast the “games” on one of those sites available only to those that can afford it, take bets, and watch the cash flow. You wouldn’t believe how many suckers thought these bitches ever had a chance.

You wouldn’t believe half the stuff I’ve seen and done. I’ve killed Dromaeosaurs, avoided swarms of meat-eating mini-crabs, rode out storms of insects.

I lived…and I loved every minute of it.

Alexa stopped the tape. “When we debriefed Jenna Lexmark, she told us about the wolf-men. They are a species called Wolfen, and they exist in two dimensions simultaneously. That one…and this one.”

“You mean freaking werewolves are real now?” Collins called.

She shook her head, but Keyes answered. “Think of Native American mythology and spirit animals. Shamans would call upon the anima, or spirit of the animal, and take on its properties.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Apparently, the anima transfer can work both ways.”

Cameron picked up the thought. “These aren’t men that turn into wolves; these are wolves whose spirit’s inhabit men.”

“And these ‘spirit wolves’ inhabit that dimension?”

“Yes. The leader of the Wolfen pack, In’ang’to, was Sam’s wolf-spirit made flesh in that dimension. He recognized Jenna as his human-half’s sister and tried to lead her to safety.” Alexa waved her hand. “I know. It sounds so fantastical, I’m still having trouble believing it.”

She nodded at Keyes, who pulled up a timeline of events as described by Jenna. “The timing seems to lend credence to the story. At the same time Winters shot Sam, In’ang’to collapsed, bleeding from a wound not received on his side.”

She cleared her throat and took a sip of water. Fists curled as she ground out, “And when Sam died, Jaime stabbed In’ang’to in the back. Which is why the doctors were baffled when Sam…passed from a kidney wound after being expected to make a full recovery.”

“What about the nut-job? She still breathing free air?”

A wintry smile creased Alexa’s face. “She’s not breathing at all. Jenna killed her before we transported her back to this dimension.”

Collins looked confused. “So why are we wasting time with her?”

The grin shifted to grimace. “Because her cryptic clues have left us searching for 36 victims in this world, countless unsolved murders now suspected of being performed by Jed Winters, who knows how many missing women cases, and a money trail that leads to some of the most powerful and influential people in this country and the world.”

“In short, this bitch left a mess. We have to clean it up. Now you know how Sam died and why it was classified.”

She gestured to the door. “So get cleaning.”

The agents stood and started out, but turned back when Director Cameron called, “Oh, and Agents? Don’t mention her at all. When this is over, I want that bitch’s name to die with her. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chain Writing game

This week on Chain Writing Game were taking a break from serial-storytelling to delve a little deeper into some of the characters from the previous three stories. My choice is Jaime from “A Bloody Monday Morning.” I felt she was the type to leave an insurance policy behind to screw over her partners and admit her crimes for a form of posthumous fame.

Join in the fun. Read the stories and make up a back-story or continuation for a character that catches your eye. Or join us next week as we resume telling a story in 100-word chunks.

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

CWG #3: Episode 20

A rock whistled as Jenna stepped on the transporter. She yelped as it struck, leaving a gash that seeped blood. In’ang’to and Jenna whipped their heads around to see Jaime, spear in hand. “Nobody’s going home but me, bitch!”

In’ang’to charged. Jaime set her spear, but In’ang’to howled in agony and collapsed. Blood pooled under his fur.


Sam burst through the door of the man last seen with Jenna. His focus shifted to the pistol the suspect held. “Jed Winters! FBI!”

Jed swung around in fear and Sam fired. As he fell, Jed’s finger tightened and his pistol barked.

Chain Writing game

So, I think we’ve established that I can’t go three episodes without shooting SOMEBODY 😉 Will In’ang’to and Sam reintegrate? Will Jenna succeed in her showdown with Jaime? Will Snyder become lunch for the Dromaeosaurs? Does Jed get killed or wounded? What about Charley? This is my last shot, so it is up to YOU to decide. Head over to Writing For Life and join the Chain Writing Game gang. Or click Mr. Blue down below, catch up with the story so far and drop in. We promise not to set the Wolfen on you 😀

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn