Calculations of Neon

The NASA headquarter in Washington, D.C. is buzzing with life. Everyone at Mission Control is working hard to make sure the latest mission goes smoothly. A faun and doppleganger, the two flight directors, pace the rows of desks and computers to make sure everyone is doing their jobs. At the Capsule Communicator's desk, a teenage girl sits. She wears a headset and types rapidly into the computer. Her job is one of the most important in the mission, to communicate with the astronauts. Even if it is just a trip to the space station this round, her role is imperative. She adjusts the microphone inches from her mouth, and leans back into her chair. The various kinds of mushrooms growing on her shoulder and down her arms would normally serve as a distraction to her, as she likes to shave them off as soon as they appear, but today they were left to grow. There was still 27 hours until the launch, but the knot in her stomach wouldn't leave. She always felt a lot of pressure, both from her coworkers and herself. Normally on a clear day like this, she enjoyed staying in the basement of her parent's house, where she had a room. It was damp and quiet, and she could spend all day on her computer blogging or eating.

The 27 hours to launch ticked down to 26, and she went back to typing. Her computer was top of the line, and she had stuck mushroom stickers all over it. The best sticker, in her opinion, was the mushroom with all the clover growing around it. Clover was her name, and she was very proud of it. Clover Abadía Eve Loughrey. It was almost the only thing she liked about herself.

Her species was a fairy, a mushroom fairy to be exact. She lacked wings and was still a good height, 4'8", but anyone who looked at her could tell she was a fairy. The mushrooms sprouting from her arms, starting at the top of her shoulders and continuing on the top of her arm all the way down to her wrists, were a telltale fairy sign. Parts of her skin were rotting, the top of her arms, legs, the back of her neck, and her scalp were all a organic decaying plant material. This provided food for the mushrooms.It didn't hurt her, but she wished it would in a way.

26 hours until launch.

In the hot Palestinian sun, a medical facility on a military base stands. It is a crisp white, the large red cross on the side a symbol of the services offered. Inside, in a crowded waiting room, a ghoul soldier awaits treatment for his broken arm. The nurse calls him in, and he floats up the the front desk. He fills out a small form, then is given the name of the doctor and the room number. Room 12, with doctor Denise Aliane Roberts. He thanks the nurse, and goes searching for this room.

Inside room 12, a woman in her late 30s sits at her desk, writing on a form. Behind her is a table full of all sorts of food, fragrant and tempting. Denise herself isn't eating any of it, as she very rarely eats anything. But the giant, toothy mouth on the back of her is stuffing itself full. She used to have to feed it by hand or have her husband feed it, but in the last couple years it somehow gained control of her hair and now uses it as tendrils to grasp any food near to it.It uses its huge, sharp teeth and tongue to consume pound after pound of the food that Denise leaves out for it. Denise is a Futakuchi-onna, and she is alright with it.

A sharp knock at the door startles her, and she quickly bundles her hair over the gaping mouth. The food can be left out, as Futakuchi-onnas are not the only people that have to consume massive amounts. She would leave the mouth out too, but since it gained control of her hair it would lash out at other people's food. And it had been eating all day, it could use some rest.

She calls for the patient to come in. This would be one of her last ones in Palestine, as tomorrow she was getting shipped off to California. That was ok with her though, she needed a change of weather. Plus maybe she could see her daughter again. Denise missed her so much.

The light of several computer monitors shines over a basement in La Junta, Colorado. The sound of typing echoes through the room, piercing the otherwise silence. The room's lighting is dim, but the shelves full of figurines, comic books, anime dvds, and various pieces of electrical equipment can still be seen. All but one all is plastered with posters. The remaining one has years of researched on it. Numbers, names of users on online games, algorithms, prices of items on online games, and other things cover this wall. Nothing illegal or anything she could get in trouble for, just things a online game addict might have on their wall. But the owner's computer moniters told a different story.