Get a Write On. [Editable title: Syndicate]

Sightless

Veteran
Light began to seep through a window stained by years of neglect and unusually high levels of humidity. That, and a small hole in the ceiling through which occasional raindrops and unfortunate morsels of edibles fell, was the only apparent vulnerability of the haven.
 
The light and humidity had yellowed the walls adorned with rustic, Victorian influenced wallpaper. The air was musty and dust gathered on the abandoned oak furniture.
 
It was clear that MC Hammer's home was indeed a retail estate agent's worst nightmare, for nobody had lived there since he became bankrupt. If you listen closely you can still hear "hammer time" echo through the barren, dusty and humid room that was once used to store parachute pants.
 
When first approached to sell the house of none other than MC Hammer, after seeing the deplorable condition of the room, the agent thought to herself "I can't touch this...because surely no one else will want to."
 
The agent immediately remembered that the property value of the house would increase by 15%, simply because a minority was leaving the neighborhood. She smiled devilishly to herself.
 
The dramatic increase in value was tempting, tempting enough to draw her in to touch it, barely and briefly.

From between the imprint of parachute pants and over-scratched records, she was observed.
 
"Nooo...", a voice behind her whispered. She spun around to see pants rustle and a tarnished Grammy roll across the floor but could see no one. Again, the whispered voice, this time from above, "...U can't touch that...". She gazed up, but only saw a swinging chandelier.
 
"Could it be?" She thought to herself. "Could it be that the dead career of MC Hammer is reaching out to me?"

No sooner had she thought this did a chill run down her spine. The old grandfather clock (because every creepy house has one) struck 12. All of a sudden she heard an ominous, soft whisper speak: "Stop! Do you hear the time? It's...Hammer time!"

The agent let out a shrill scream of terror, dropped her file and started running out of the room...
 
Suddenly the walls screamed "Yo VIP, let's kick it!". A loud thud of bass filled the room bumping out the tune Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie.

....Only it wasn't Under Pressure, it was something worse... Much worse... This became abundantly clear when the voice told her to stop, collaborate, and listen.
 
Dry ice started to fill the room...creating a foggy atmosphere. She started to back-up closer and closer to the front door.

She reached out her hand for the handle and grabbed it. "Hmm? It's loose?" She asked herself. Familiar chords started to echo the room whilst she started to hear voices. "Ice...Ice...Baby.......Ice...Ice...Baby......", she looked down in her hand to find an ice pick instead of a door handle...
 
Before she could comprehend what had just happened, a formless force fiercely grabbed hold of her and bound her tightly. She was paralyzed, a scream caught in her throat, and a terrifying thought blazed through her that this would never stop.
 
In relief, it finally stopped. "Silence at last, but was it just a dream or reality?" she pondered as she was tying her shoes.
 
She paused, mid-loop. "...When did I put on my running shoes?" She was sure she'd been in heels -- the suede half-heels that she liked so much for complementing her dress so well. It was a bit late in the season for a dress, but she secretly liked to cling to summer as long as she possibly could, even when constant rainfall threatened to force a cold onto her.

As the memories of warm sushine on her skin sensitized her, she became increasingly aware of the silence. It was... too quiet. Her ears perked up, trying to pick out a single sound on which to focus and anchor herself, but all she could detect was the eerily arhythmic beating of her heart.
 
Lub-dub...lub-dub...the sound of her heart was as strong a ever. She started to think hard about simple things. What was her name? Where did she live? What the fuck was she even doing here?!

She doesn't remember! She let out a sigh which echoed greatly until suddenly...a voice!
"Hey there, honey! Please subscribe to h.ttp://www.twitch.tv/ughrochester!"

"Who is that?!" The lady turned around clutching her bag in fearful anticipation to see a shadow. The figure came into the light...
 
It was a chubby man dressed as Batman, his long hair flowing out from his cowl, and his belt struggling noticeably to stay buckled.

His boots squeaked as he stepped toward her. She flinched as he shot his arm out from under his cape. He was holding something. Something he wanted her to have.
 
It was a guide to 90's one-hit wonders. Complete with song lyrics to Ice Ice Baby and Can't Touch This.

"Wha... Why have you given me this?" The lady asked confised and disoriented, flipping through the pages of cringe-worthy rappers.

"BAH-HAB-BAB-BUR!" Batman mumbled angrily.
 
"...What?"

"Go to page 86!"

"Wh--... I--... I'm not in some freaking Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, for chrissakes! And just who the hell are you?"

Frustrated, Batman grabbed the awkwardly sized book and found the page himself. "There!" he said, jabbing his index finger onto the middle of the page and bringing it up close to the woman's face. He breathed excitedly. "See!?"
 
Finally Batman was speaking something cohesive and his angry muttering he used to disguise his voice stopped. The woman thought this superhero was a little peculiar as he struggled to pull his latex pants up. But now wasn't the time to worry about the caped crusader.

She looked at page 86 and to her horror she discovered why nobody had lived here since MC Hammer... It's because the Hammer man never left....
 

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