Release the eelhead!

  The Delivery             "Listen, you really don't want to do this," he explained to the gentleman, pointing the gun at him. He was trying to address the man behind the gun, but his eyes couldn't see past it. It was like he addressed the weapon as the person, not the person behind it.             "You walked into a situation you were never supposed to leave from, Mr. O'Brian." The gentleman's voice said from behind the void of the gun.             "Well, I mean, shit, man. I was just here to drop off this package for Mr. Johnson in exchange for another package to bring back," O'Brian said without trying to expose the current fear flowing through his body. He surely couldn't die yet; he had just signed up for a whole new year's worth of comics to read.          ...

                 He awoke from deep sleep to the smell of smoke and the crackling of fire. With the grogginess still dancing in his mind, he thought he was dreaming. The illusion of the dream quickly and terrifyingly snapped him into reality with a burning sensation in his lungs. Panic kicked in, and for just a moment, his mind betrayed him with thoughts of dying right here and now in his bed.                         He began to stifle the thoughts of death and become an overcooked human tater-tot. The bedroom only had one door in or out with a closet that housed mementos from his childhood. Then, the thoughts of trying to save all those physical memories flooded over him with brief flashes in his mind. He tried to push those out of his head and think of getting out of the room, most likely through the window. He knew that would work as he was on ...