Well, again, i have changed the title to this story, and i have been rarely writing, but i will post it anyway, here you go Psycho, i know ya love this. But we gotta start at the beginning!


The Battle of Ends

1: Lyon

Mr. John Lyon was a small man, he wore glasses and a trench coat around himself. His thick black hair was beginning to thin. He was only forty-seven years young. His house was in Wisconsin. He lived in a small, out-of-the-way town.
He lived in an obnoxiously big house. It did not go well with the town. Everything was big to him. Except for his size. When it came to the size of him, he was not very happy about it. 785 Leach Street was his address.
The small man had answers. A lot of them. He worked at Rickwood Academy. He was the history teacher. He was the next target.
They needed answers from the guy. How they were going to get Mr. Lyon was the tricky part. This man was a scheduled, organized guy. He was a robot:
Every day he would wake up at 6:30 AM. He would gather up the papers he had corrected the night before, and put them in a three-ring folder. He then would send the papers that were needed that day from his computer, to the printer at Rickwood. He then would get ready for the day.
He then would put the clothes he was going to wear that day on his bed. It was normally a colored dress shirt with a matching tie and pants. He then would toss the clothes he wore to bed into the washer.
He would take his shower and dry himself off. He would put on the clothes he laid out. He would brush his teeth, gargle Listerine, and do his hair with a comb.
At 7:15 he would put the clothes from the washer, into the dryer. He would leave to the Academy by 7:25. He’d reached the school at 7: 40 AM.
He would go to the teachers lounge and receive the papers he made from his cubby. He would go to his classroom. He walked in the classroom fifteen seconds before the bell rang. He would stand at the door of the classroom, checking off who was tardy while the kids that were on time would read. After fifteen minutes, he would mark the kids that never came, truancy.
He then would teach. Teach until 12:50 PM and then would go have lunch. He then would go check his cubby for mail. There was always mail. No one knew exactly why. He would return to his classroom and read the mail or a book until the bell rang. He would repeat the process of his ways until the day was over. The rest was history. He would go home. Correct the papers that were handed in and do whatever until he went to bed.
There was only one way to get this Mr. Lyon: get him distracted.
He did not get distracted easily. Now They needed to find out his weakness. It could range from ice cream cones, to a failing student, to a one hundred dollar bill. Something had to distract this guy.

They climbed through the window that a kid opened when the last class emptied out. They bribed him with a fifty dollar bill. They were carrying a small suitcase. It was black metal. They opened it: It contained a small camera the size of a palm, wires, electrical tape, a microphone, and a screwdriver. They opened a vent that was in the back of the classroom. It would be able to see everything, and hear everything. They wired it up until it reached the roof of the building. They connected it up to a satellite dish. They looked at the serial number on the dish. 392045481093. They wrote it down and left the building.
They had a perfect view of him. Then it happened. He talked above the commotion. “Roger Strow, you are failing, why?!” Mr. Lyon asked, eyes now drained of any light.
“Um, I don’t understand the words.” A boy said. Mr. Lyon beckoned him forth with a finger. Lyon then walked over to his desk. The boy followed him. Lyon was now off schedule. The people that were watching through the camera rejoiced. Now They needed something to catch Lyon’s eye.
“I already have one of his papers. I will just write a name down, and plant the paper near his car, when he picks it up, we get him!” one of the people said smiling.

Three people left the building they were in and headed into a white, unmarked van without a license plate. They planted a paper with a name on it. It had an “F” on it.
Thirty minutes later, Mr. Lyon walked out to his car. He stepped on a piece of paper. He picked it up. Now was the time to act.
They grabbed him and put a handkerchief over his mouth. They dragged him into the van. Once the door closed, They removed the kerchief. “What in the heck are you doing?” Lyon asked.
“You, Mr. Lyon, are in no position to ask questions. We ask the questions. You answer them. Simple, am I correct?” said a person wearing a ski mask. Lyon could not determine whether the person was male or female because of a voice changer. the voice was highly pitched and sore.
Mr. Lyon nodded to the question.
“You will never be seen alive by someone you know ever again. No matter what, unless,” The person who his left started. “You answer truthfully.” Mr. Lyon went limp. The person to his right had knocked him out.

Lyon woke up in a highly lit chamber. The chamber was painted a clean shade of white. He moved around. He stumbled as he ran into something. He looked down. Nothing was there. Then he placed his hand where he had bumped. It was a table. On the table was a pitcher of water and a glass. A door opened.
A man that was wearing a black suit. It had orange pinstripes on it.
The man had blond hair. His skin was tan. He was wearing silver sunglasses, so Lyon could not tell what color his eyes were.
“Good afternoon Mr. Lyon, how are you feeling?” The man asked. He had a low voice. Mr. Lyon had finally noticed that his neck was throbbing.
“I am fine.” Lyon lied.
“I have a few questions regarding something named the “Amulet.”

Please reply, and be a critic!

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