NEW PRES STAGES PHILLY MASSACRE to strains of GOIN' TO A GO GO 2/15/17

This is how it happened. This is what they did after the real Ben Franklin fled the Anti Enchantment Bureau... .. But for newcomers, we'll provide some pivotal info. Ben Franklin never died. He preserved himself via the science of harmonics. Since the ostensible date of his demise he's been holding court in what has become a vast, multi-leveled science, technology and paranormal research facility hidden under what became the Philadelphia Navy Yard. In fact, it's the premiere facility of its type. Most days he tools around the endless hallways in his signature, green, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suits checking stuff... his white, wispy hair flying behind, like some mad scientist. No, wait a minute. That's exactly what he is. There are chambers with cutting edge apparatuses only he and his associates know how to operate. The biological floors host a who's who of exotic guests. An ancient mermaid woman regales all with shrill, old Sumerian sea shanties. Two young Jersey Devils inhabit a sylvan recreation of their Pine Barrens home. The ceiling of this gymnasium sized habitat is thirty feet up, allowing them enough space to stretch their leathery wings and fly. He has one Bigfoot and one Sasquatch. The differences are subtle, yet, never the less quite real. Both are essentially plant eaters but like chimps in the wild will eat meat, even human, when they can get it. This last fact was discovered when a hapless attendant accidentally got locked in their enclosure during a 'night' phase. The guy monitoring the video feeds fell asleep, so no one saw when the two frantic hominids cornered the shrieking little man and tore him limb from limb. Odd, how the mouth still moves on a specimen comprised of a head, neck, part of a chest (one inflating and deflating lung still visible), one shoulder and the upper half of an arm... And after a bit, they devoured those parts too... rubbery tendons (oh, how they snap)... cartilage... some of the bones... organs... North American indigenous hominids have the bite strength of three and a half lowland silverback Gorillas in heat.

Tales about the place are endless. But we're here to tell you what the government, or rather its most recent leaders did. Look, many people know about Area 51, and the God damned, chain smokin' cursin', foul mouthed aliens they got sittin' in the lunch room, suckin' their teeth and watchin' TV all day. Then when they get bored, the help has to run around findin' Flintstones Coloring Books. And they fight over who colors Wilma and who colors Betty. Doctor over there wanna slip 'em 'the needle,' but boss won't let him, 'cause America got a shortage a aliens, since a few ran off with some renaissance faire and one is married to a woman Laundromat owner in Beek-a-Boo, West Virginia. You know how it is.

When the genuine Ben Franklin disappeared few noticed, 'cause the look - alike was real good. And things got back to almost normal. Special Ops guys still walk around in their black uniforms with their threatening, but cool looking black guns. Guys from Washington hacked and downloaded the computers real fast. They don't know about the place up in the Poconos, or its completely separate data system. Staff figured they'd maybe take a juvenile Jersey Devil as a souvenir and drive back to D.C., but they didn't.

One day the main one, Captain Sigmund, makes Luna (she's Franklin's assistant and a medical doctor vampire in her own right) unlock the biological wing. She doesn't want to do it, but she does. As far as she knows, they haven't 'typed' her as an 'exotic' (paranormal human) yet and that's OK with her. But then four other big guys come trotting in with special little rifles.... Luna goes - Please, what are you gonna do?! You're not going to kill them, are you?!... But they don't answer. Luna sobs, as they trot in and out of all the habitats shooting every specimen in their path. Took a while. There's a lot of habitats. Specimens down at the end start screaming and crying. Staffers can't call out. All communication devices have been confiscated. None of the Bureau people are from Metro Philadelphia. That was done for security. But family members have been calling. It's been a few days and they want to know if everything's all right. Since all incoming calls go to the main phone number, the girl at the desk, a Special Ops woman, tells them about some routine lock down for inventory and trouble shooting. All the mommies and daddies and spouses and kiddies say 'OK, please ask them to call as soon as possible?' ... Special Ops woman says - Definitely. I will. Bye bye now.... But then her face gets all mean and hard 'cause she's Special Ops and all.

More black uniformed minions start pushing special gurneys into all the habitats, bigger ones for the North American Hominids, smaller ones for the merfolk, Jersey Devils, reptilians and other rare specimens. They've obviously been well trained, because they know how to properly fold Jersey Devil wings and wrap merfolk in specially warmed, moisturized cloths. Turns out none were killed, just sedated for transport back to a federal installation in Virginia. And all the while they're doing this, the piped in music system's been playing Smokey Robinson and The Miracles singing Going To A Go Go... Yeah, they're 'going' alright... straight into the back of big, black vans, straight out the Navy Yard and down I-95 back to D.C., or the Virginia suburbs of D.C., or somewhere like that.

Oh, one more thing, at the last minute they shot Luna too. Right through her lab coat. Right above the left breast. And the 'medication' worked, which meant they knew she was a vampire, because night-folk only react to certain, little known, ancient, aromatic potions.

We can only guess how the new president will use her.

But she wakes up fast and stars to cry.  They have her swaddled like a baby in a hooded blanket, all tight, newborn style. The fabric's cold and metallic, woven from fine filaments of pure lead. Ain't no vampire can sublimate through that.

Special Ops guy guarding her, jabs her in the ribs with the butt of his rifle. She cries some more.... He mumbles - Shut up, you devil bitch. Then he makes like he's gonna slice her eyeball with a special lead straight razor... She shuts up...

They keep driving... a strange caravan of unmarked black vans...

Meanwhile, back in the Bureau, the staff is desperately trying to get out. But none of the exits work. Key cards won't work. Eye patterns won't work. Phones are still all screwed up. Heats off and it gets cold fast that far under ground and right by the river. People start yelling and crying. All forms of digital communication are dead.

And then the gas bombs go off....

<more next time>

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