Looks

    At the dawn of time, in 1992, it was finally discovered that looks can, in fact, kill. It started, as most important things do, with a wave of unexplained deaths. An unfortunate man or woman would simply stop whatever they were doing, keel over, and die. It was just a handful of people to begin with. A couple of models, an actor, a politician. Then a couple more. Then a hundred. Then a thousand. A million. A billion. When half of us were gone, we finally figured it all out. That was the last day a human being looked upon another.

Why So Glum?

    "Why so glum, friend?" Jonathan Phrase said.

    "Not much to be happy about, is there?" Jax muttered, glaring at the man sitting across from him.

    "Oh, I don't know about that," he said, smiling infuriatingly. "You're still alive. You're young and strong. You have an incredibly charming and handsome conversational partner."

    Jax looked at the man with a raised eyebrow. His skin was dirty and rough, a week-old stubble covering his jaw and cheeks. Grey, tangled hair fell to his shoulders. Quite frankly, he looked like a pile of rags, and 'charming' was not the first word that came to mind.

Legendary Frauds

    "You'll need more than brawn, though."
    "For what?" Jax muttered, wincing at his aching head..
    "To survive, for starters."
    Jax frowned in annoyance. He'd been surviving just fine for twenty years.
    "I'll have you know," he said, raising himself onto his elbow. "That I was trained Raoul Lefevre." That'd teach h-
    "That old fraud?" He laughed. "No wonder they caught you."
    Infuriated, Jax tried to stand.
    "He's a legend!" He shouted. "He's trained the best warriors in the world! He's outsmarted the Metals at every turn! He's a penguin who lives on the moon and I think I have a concussion."

--
Music of the now: The Streets - Going Through Hell

Headache

    "You alright, son?"
    Jax rolled onto his back, groaning. Where was he? He tried to open his eyes and immediately regretted it. It was very bright. Ow. Right, forget that. What had happened? Had they finally caught him? Signs point to yes.
    "Shit." He croaked.
    "I'll take that as a yes. You must've put up quite the fight, judging from the blood and bruises and whatnot."
    Jax turned his head towards the voice and opened his eyes a fraction of an inch. He could just make out a blurry shape some six feet away.
    "My name is Jonathan Phrase." It said.

--
Music of the now: Memento Mori, by The Streets
 

Nightmare

Before reading, make sure this track is playing.

    I touch the sigil. It's cold to the touch. My fingers start to tingle. My arm goes numb. The world goes black.

    I'm staring at the stone ceiling of an ancient prison cell. Crumbling wooden bed. Rusty iron bars. Cobblestones stained with something dark. I don't know where the light is coming from.

    I wiggle and squirm, try to force my body back up the well. It's too tight to move my arms. I cry and grasp at the slick walls, sliding further down. The light above me shrinks into the distance and leaves me in darkness.
    Beneath me, something moves.

Find Him

    "Find him." She said. They tried.
    They used DNA. They used federal agents. They used snipers. They used mind readers. They used surveillance cameras. They used satellites. They used Gordon Ramsay, but he honestly wasn't much help. By the time they'd realized that he was a master chef and not a Master Chief, he'd spent their entire budget on caviar-filled croissants. Granted, they were delicious, but that didn't help their investigation much.
    When they did finally catch him, it wasn't thanks to snipers, DNA or satellites. What finally caught him was Chocolate Gunsmoke, the best black private eye in Elevation City.

--
Music of the now: Dr. Wanna Do, by Caro Emerald 

Bwoken Nose

    "Motherfucker! You bwoke by nose!" Jax fell on his ass, clutching his bleeding face. "That really hurt!"
    When the man stepped forward, Jax launched himself at him. His head hit the man square in the face with a crunching sound, knocking him to the ground.
    "Yeah," Jax said, shaking his head. "See how you like it!"
    "I like it well enough." The man said.
    "Oh yeah? Have some more!" He kicked at the prone man, missed, and almost fell over. He felt a little woozy. He smoothed his hair back, and his fingers came away bloody.
    "Oh." He said and fainted.

--
Music of the now: Ecstasy of Gold, by Ennio Morricone