Saturday, July 2, 2011

I will return

It's been a while since I posted. Been busy with life, now that the nice weather is here I 've been getting out more often. But I will continue posting stuff. Here's something for today;

Part XXIV – Gaea’s Sentinel

“Storm’s comin’ in,” Dyer says, looking out over the plains, Kilimanjaro rising up through the clouds of the storm.
“It’s quite a sight.”
“Been a long time since I’ve seen somethin’ like this, or even felt real, clean rain.”
“Where you been, Dyer?”
“I live in Phoenix Arcodome now.  We don’t have real weather there; it’s all engineered.  But here, it’s beautiful.  Half the continent’s really a preserve?”
“Yep.  That’s what we fought the African Conflict for.  Those Farmtech bastards wanted to terraform hundreds of thousands of square kilometers, wipe out everything you can see, to engineer ‘better’ plants and animals.  We would’ve lost all this forever.”
“You think anyone else ever fought a war for nature before?”
“I don’t think anyone ever had to before.  This was one of the last places on Earth you could see it like it was; before people took over everything.  Before we needed a Gaea Liberation Front to wake people up.  Before the Earth Liberation Army was formed to stop those like Farmtech, and the Company, from taking away the last of Nature’s beauty.”
“It’s incredible you guys won.  Didn’t the E.L.A. nearly get wiped out?”
“A lot of lives were lost, on both sides, out here in the wild.  See that lone tree over there?”  He points.  “We lost over two hundred good men and women in the battle there.  We lost good friends and soldiers back then.  We were out to save the world.”
“Is that why you stayed out here?  Why you still live here?”
The tall, stocky man shoulders his old-style double-barrel slugrifle, and looks toward the approaching storm.
“This is the Earth as she was meant to be, my friend.  Now, c’mon; let’s go shoot some dinner, and maybe get you some native real animal skin souvenir of  your trip.”

Thanks for stopping by!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

OMFG! Help out a great group of guys!

Ever wanted to get in on the ground floor of something awesome? NOW YOU CAN!!! Click the link to find out how YOU can help us make a toy dream come true! If you love me, you'll do it. ;)

 Outlandish Mini-Figure Guys!

The awesome poster!

The back of the card the figures will come on.

So help us out, and get a piece of toy history!  And stop by and let us know you support the project!
OMFG! - Forum Mini Figs - The Discussion Thread 

Thanks for stopping in!

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


Part XXIII – Nurse Cohen’s Part

“Are you feeling better now, Mr. Tone?” the voice on an intercom says.
“No.  Where’s Dr. Smith?”
“Dr. Smith has… other responsibilities.  He has asked me to handle your care.  My name is Doctor Jones.  I’ll be back later to check on your progress.”
“Progress would be letting me the fuck out of here!”  Rock shouts, wriggling in his restraint jacket.

“Did you know about Dr. Smith?”
“Yeah,” Nurse Cohen answers.  “Creepy; he died watching Mr. Tone’s nightmares.”
“Weird,” the other nurse says.
“The look on his face when we found him… horrifying.  Like something had scared him to death.”
“Do you think a dream could really scare someone to death?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Nurse Cohen lies to the other nurse, fearing she might sound crazy if she told the truth.  The truth that what Nurse Cohen saw on the screen in the monitor room, the mere seconds of twilight terror she could bear to witness, have invaded her own dreams.  She has slept little, and that restless the past two nights.  She cannot banish the dark vision of those horrible shadow-lurkers, dancing their otherworldly dance to a terrible, alien statue.  She cannot, no matter how she tries, forget the face of Rock Tone as those shadow-lurkers danced their cursed dance around that twilight statue he was bound to.  The terror in his eyes was like nothing she could ever have imagined.

Later that evening, as she lay in bed drinking hooch and smoking Syneshtia Flower, she thinks of Rock Tone again.
‘I’d go crazy, too, if I had nightmares like his.  I’m sure we’ll help him.’  She turns off her light, and out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees a shadowy figure slither itself behind her dresser.  ‘I at least hope we can do something for me.  I’m starting to lose it.’  She closes her eyes, exhausted, but dreading the twilight dreamscape awaiting her, and fearing the shadow-lurkers that will certainly invade her dreams again this night.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

I know, we all kinda look the same

I know to the untrained eye, all Orthodox Jewish men look the same; black suits, hats, and beards. But if you look at the details, it's pretty easy to tell the difference between certain sects. I'll tell you how to tell a Satmar from a Lubavitcher from a regular Orthodox when they're outside their own neighborhoods.
It's all in the face and the attitude. If he's nervous, a bit uptight, and clearly doesn't want to interact with you, he's a Satmar. If he's got a serious, businesslike expression and manner (and probably on his cellphone), he's Orthodox. If he's happy, maybe smiling, and has a cool, casual confidence about him, he's a Lubavitcher.
There's also the distinctive hats each group wears, but I'll get into that another time. Now you can tell the difference, and won't confuse me for a 'regular' Orthodox guy. You can tell by my smile. :)

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Back to our regularly scheduled program

Part XXII – Old War Buddies

“So what is it between you two?” the bald man asks after his partner leaves the room.
“What do you mean?” the blonde in the red dress asks back.
“I mean he’s very fond of you.  And you can’t really be old war buddies.  I mean, you’re what, twenty-one?”  He takes a swig of his hooch.
“I’m twenty-four, and yes, he knew me from the war.  Before then, even.  But I wasn’t in the war.  I was only sixteen.  But I wanted to be.”
“So how did you two get so close?”
“My father and him served together in the Syneshtan War, and before that when I was younger, in the African Conflict.  My father was killed in action in the War, so he and Aunt Sarah took care of me for a few years.  I feel horrible about Sarah and Zoe.  I haven’t been around for a few years.  I didn’t even know.  How has he been?  How did it happen?”
“He doesn’t talk about it.  A while back, he took off for a few days.  When he came back, he seemed better.  But then Declan got killed, and Rock’s in the hospital.  He seems fine, but I’m sure he…”
“Did you miss me?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.
“Terribly,” she replies sarcastically.
“We were doing just fine without you, don’t worry partner,” the bald man adds, drinking his hooch.
“Well don’t get any ideas about my niece here, old man.  She’s gonna settle down with a nice cyberdoc, or an offworld biologist, not some old merc like us.”
“Don’t worry, partner.  She’s way outta my league.”
“Why, thank you; I’m flattered,” she says, drinking her hooch from a glass.

It may be the hooch, or the distraction of a beautiful woman, but none of them notices the robotic fly in the room.  None of them suspect it has been observing them.  None of them even conceive the idea it could be a bomb, waiting to be swatted.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

I was abducted by aliens...

And I've accounted for the missing time, and am back on track now. They cloned me, and the clone went to work for me for the last few days. They took him with them, the bastards.

This is a post to let you know I'm back to posting. Trying to make it more regular, say three times a week. 

Only in NYC;
     A married couple on the train. He's Jewish, she's Chinese, they're speaking Russian.

     Two guys coming out of a restroom; 1st guy; Eeew, you didn't wash your hands? Gro-o-ooss.
         2nd guy; I keep rubbing alcohol in my pocket, I use that.
         1st guy; That's not rubbing alcohol, that's lube.
         2nd guy; Well if that's what you use for lube, no wonder you don't have a boyfriend.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Oh no, not again

Someone must get the reference in the title and the story. Someone must get this, I don't want to pass the Dennis Miller Ratio (3 in 100 people will get his references). I'll give you a prize, possibly a no-prize, if you get it right.
This is the third time I've written out this blog entry. Both other times, something went awry with Blogger, and the post was deleted. I hope this problem doesn't repeat itself. Or...Oh no, not again...

Part XXI – My Favorite Wilson

“Hurry up, they’re coming.”  Declan says, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I’m working fast as I can,” says Wilson.  “This lock’s real tough.”  He’s jacked into the door, trying to crack it.  “Where’s the bald man and his partner?  They’re supposed to be here.”
“Don’t worry, Wilson.  They’ll be here.  They’ve never let me down before.”
“I’ve almost got it,” Wilson says, looking up.  “Here they come!”
Around the corner step three Securbots, rifles raised and ready to fire.  Declan runs into the group, vibro-sword swinging in a whirlwind blur of motion.  One bot’s gun is cut in half, another’s legs are chopped at the knee.  The third loses its head.  He finishes them off before they fire a single shot.
“Almost too easy,” Declan says, smiling.  A second later, he dives to the floor to avoid the bolter fire from the six Securbots coming down the hall.
“I can’t get the door!” Wilson shouts.  “I’ve been locked out!”
“Shit!” Declan shouts.
The six Securbots round the corner, rifles at the ready.
The door behind Declan and Wilson, the door that denied them entry, opens.
“Get in!” the bald man shouts.  He’s holding a single-missile launcher, ready to fire.
With Declan and Wilson in the lift, the doors begin to close, the Securbots begin to fire, and the bald man takes his one shot at the group of bots.  The whole lift, indeed the whole building, rocks with the explosion.  The lift stops suddenly on the thirtieth floor.
“Uh-oh,” Wilson grunts.  “Our vehicle’s on the twenty-fifth.”
“Mine’s on this floor.  I had to change the escape plan.  My partner’s driving,” the bald man explains.
“He can drive an aircar?”
The three of them exit the lift and run down the hall.  The bald man takes the lead, going into an office to their left.
“There’s no way out,” Declan remarks, looking around the room with only one door.
“Yes there is.”  The bald man sets small charges on the wall.  They blast a section clean out, allowing them access to the next room.  They climb through into the room with windows.  The bald man places explosives on a window, blasting a hole for them to escape through.
“Now what?” Declan remarks.
“Now we jump,” the bald man says, straight-faced.
“Serious?”  Wilson blurts out, surprised.
“It’s fine,” the bald man says.  “My partner’s waiting.  We’ve done this before.”
“You first,” Wilson gestures to the bald man.
“No.  All at once.”  He motions the other two toward the window.  Wilson moves slowly, still unsure.  This makes him the first the Securbots see when they come through the door, rifles ready.  Their bolters cut him down as he draws his pistol.
“Wilson!”  Declan yells as the bald man dives into him, taking them both out the hole in the window.

In the aircar on the way to Declan’s place on Level Two, he has his head in his hands, pulling at his short, black hair.
“Wilson,” he says.  “Dammit.  Shit!”
“Hey, I’m sorry Declan,” the bald man says, turning to his friend.  “We’ve all lost a buddy in battle.  I know it can hurt.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.  Wilson’s a clone.  That was Wilson06.  I’ll just get another one.”
“Oh,” says the bald man, surprised.  “Then what’s wrong?”
“That particular Wilson had the data that we broke into that place to steal in his O.B.C.”
“He was my favorite Wilson,” the bald man’s partner chimes in, chuckling to himself.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Another alien, a little explanation, and some more of Rock's nightmare. Enjoy...

Part XX – The Syneshtan Deal

“Did yer ears werk?  You herr me?”
“Yes I… I’ve just never seen a Syneshtan before.  Sorry.  I’ve got it.  Delivery arrives at seven.  Bomb blows at seven-thirty,” the bald man repeats the details.
“You say; O.K.” the Syneshtan utters.
“What if there are Eudorans checking the shipments?” the bald man asks.
“Udern na matter.  Agints use Syneshtan Mind Block.  No werry.”  The Syneshtan holds out one of its smaller, hairy tentacles to the bald man.  “Fee, please.”
“Ah, right.” The bald man picks up a briefcase.  “In full, in Trade Alliance Credit, like we agreed.  I’m sorry, I have to ask you; what is that above your eyes?  Another eye of some sort?”
“Yer rude, questin.”  The Syneshtan seems offended by the question.  “You ner see Synestan befer.  Yer government not much like us be on Erth.  You look bad to us, too.”  The Syneshtan takes the case of credits.  As the bald man leaves the room, the Syneshtan speaks again.
“Yer fernd Rock not crazed.”
“Pardon me?” The bald man is shocked by the Syneshtan’s words.
“You wunder.  Not crazy.  Someone mess his brain.”
“How did you know?” the bald man asks, eager to know.
“Syneshtans see tings Erther not.  Jelly see tings we not.  Queens fount of nollage.  You er tink how Syneshtia Bee talk to uther?  Brain to brain.  The Jelly knows.”
“Thank you,” the bald man says, closing the door on his way out.
‘Who would mess with Rock? Have to be Eudorans, but who would… Farmtech.  The money, the resources, and the motive.  Damn.  Now, how do I get him back to his old self?’

At that moment, Rock Tone is imprisoned, in a small, dark room, with one door and no windows.  He quickly discovers his hands are tied to a stone ring in the floor.  He is surrounded on all sides by stone representations of the horrifying gods of this nightmare city.  He cries out in the darkness, shielding his eyes from the stone visions no man is meant to behold.

Next time; My Favorite Wilson.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Names have power. And consequences.

Did you ever give someone a fake name, knowing you wouldn't see them again, so you could be whoever you wanted to be, just for the night? Then you know what I mean.
Did you ever give someone a fake number? Well then, you suck. Don't be a coward, just tell them you're not interested. You deal with a moment of feeling uncomfortable, rather than subjecting them to possibly hours or days of discomfort, and feeling like a fool, and looking like a heartless bitch.

On to the story...

Part XIX – Name Game

She watches him run the high hurdles course, clearing every one.  She admires his firm, lean body, muscles sweating in the heat of the day.  ‘Those legs,’ she thinks, ‘sooo well built.  Kurita-LR800; the best.  Good for anything, amazing for runners, especially pros like him.  Damn, he looks good in that bronze real-muscle look.’
When he finishes the hurdles, he begins laps on the outside track.  She runs up beside him.
“Hi.  Nice workout,” she says.
“Hi.  Thanks,” he responds.
“Kuritas, huh?  You like them?  Fast enough?” she asks.
“They’re plenty fast, pretty lady.”
“Wanna race?” she asks, putting her long, red hair into a ponytail.
“What do I get when I win?” he asks, confident of the outcome.
“A kiss.”
“And if you win, however unlikely that may be?”
“A kiss.”
“O.K.  Four times around the track, on three.”  He slows his pace to let her get a few steps ahead.  “One, two, three.”
She takes off in a blur.  He’s never seen anyone move so fast.  She shattered his world record, beating him by many seconds.  He couldn’t believe it.  She jogs over to him from the finish.
“How?  What kind of legs are those?  That’s incredible!”
“They’re alien tech,” she answers.  “Got them through the Pocait Trade Alliance.  Illegal for sports, but great for getting out of bad situations.  Or into good ones.”
“Wow. Amazing.”  He still can’t believe it.
“So where’s my kiss?” she asks, leaning toward him.
“Oh, I…” He is unable to finish his words.

As she gets into his vehicle to go to his place, he begins to speak, and turns to her.
“I feel I should at least tell you who I am.   My name…”  She stops him.
“Ssshh… no.  No names.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I don’t want anything strange to happen to us.”

 Hope you enjoyed this part. It's one of my favorites. More in a few days. Thanks for stopping by. Leave me a comment so I know you were here. ? Even if it's just 'Kilroy was here'. :)

Saturday, April 30, 2011

References to other stuff; stuff I didn't write

I hide little references to stuff I like in my writing. Maybe you've caught some of them. This has one that isn't hidden very well. And another is a quote I always wanted to hear someone say on an old sci-fi show I watched when I was a kid. See if you spot them.

Part XVIII – I Just Wanted A Soda

Rock wakes up in a small, white room with one door and no windows.  He soon discovers he is strapped down to a table, with a pillow under his head.
“Hello,” a voice on an intercom says.  “How are you feeling?”
“Who are you?  Where the hell am I?” Rock yells.
“I am Doctor Smith, your Primary Care Psychological Technician.  You are in the Quincy Metropolis Mental Health Center, Ward South Two.  Are you feeling better now?”
“I’d feel better if you let me the fuck out of here!!”
“Well; you’ll never get well with that attitude,” the voice says.  “When you are ready to co-operate with us, I’ll be back.  Please, help me to help you.  If you do, you can get off that table and into a casual restraint jacket.  Would you like that, Mr. Tone?”
“AAaahh!  Let me out of here you bastard!  I’ll sue your ass!  I’m a rock star! I have friends in high places! You’ll regret ever fucking with me Dr. Smith!”

“Nurse, have the room filled with sedative gas, then hook up the Thoughtscan Imager.  I want to see this man’s nightmares.   I want to see how his brain works while he sleeps.”
“Yes, Dr. Smith.”

“My God,” he says aloud.  He is alone in the monitor room, viewing Rock Tone’s dreams.  As he sees the figure of the shadow-lurker, sliding its un-natural shape about the twilight shadows of the ruins, he himself begins to feel the terror of Rock Tone, asleep on a table in a small room.  ‘It seems so real; more so than any other dream I’ve seen.’ 
As Rock runs through the twilight ruins, he sees shadows of the lurkers everywhere, sometimes one of their withered limbs, but never does he get a clear picture of their horrible, true form.  Rock turns a corner quickly, running into a pillar of ancient stone.  As he gets up, he feels the shadow-lurkers closer, closer…
Dr. Smith jumps up from his seat, pressing a button on the console in front of him.  “Nurse!  Wake Mr. Tone immediately! Nurse!  Wake him now!”
“She can’t hear you anymore.”
“What?”  Dr. Smith utters, turning around.  The sight of the shadow-lurker, its full form revealed there in the bright monitor room, is too much for his mind.  The terror causes his heart to fail, and he falls to the floor clutching feebly at his chest.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

It's Two-fer-Tuesday!!

Part XVII – The Dream

“Did you see the old man?” Rock asks the bald man, tugging at his sleeve while he talks at him.  “Just then, across the intersection.  It was him.”
“What are you talking about?  It was who?”
“The old man.  The one who created the sunlit city, before it became the twilight city.  I saw him.”  Rock rants on, “That’s the second time.  But he’s dead.  So are the lizard-men.  That’s why the city is in twilight.”
“Rock, pal, take it easy,” the bald man says.  “We’ll get you to a doctor for your dreams.  You’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t get it.  They’re not just dreams; it’s a whole other reality.  It’s real.”  Rock closes his eyes, pounds his fist on the dash of the aircar.  “And I’m afraid of what those dreaded shadow-lurkers will do when they get me.”
‘Rock, my friend,’ the bald man thinks, ‘I hope we can get the kind of help you may need.’
“They think I’m this human-god that the dead lizard-men worshiped, and the twilight gods want me dead.  I try to tell them I’m not a god, just a singer in a rock band, but they don’t listen.  They just hang around and… lurk.”
“Well, as long as they don’t come any closer, you’ll be O.K., eh?” the bald man says lightly.
“No, you don’t grok;  they lurk; in the shadows.  They just… they…”
Rock passes out from the pill the bald man put in his drink.
‘Finally,’ the bald man thinks. ‘Rock’s really losing it.  I hope it’s just some drugs, or something.  Maybe the pressures of stardom getting to him.  I’ll take him somewhere to get checked out.’

This has nothing to do with the song

...but I'm still going to post this video with it. Just because.

Part XVI – Hello Old Friend

He was breathless at the image of beauty before him.  Her hair was long, and fiery red, and her red dress was well tailored to fit her petite, athletic figure.  Her bright green eyes met his, and her moist, red lips formed the word ‘Hello.’
“Hi,” he responds.
“Hi, yourself.”  She pulls a smoke from her purse, an old fashioned Long Light.
“Got a light?” she asks, fluttering her lashes at him.
“I don’t smoke,” he replies.
“Everyone smokes.”  She flips her hair.
“I don’t.”
“Well, you should start,” she says, reaching into her purse for her lighter.  “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Oh, how romantic.  Do you say that to all the pigeons?”
“Only you,” he says, taking the Long from between her lips.  He puts it out in the ashtray.
“How’s that, yobbo?”  she says, annoyed by his daring.
“You should stop.  At least for now.  We should get going.”  He grabs her hand with his cyberarm.
“What’s your hurry, old man?  You don’t see your war buddy for years, then we can’t stay out late?  Aunt Sarah got you on a short leash?”  the fire-haired girl jokes.
“Sarah’s gone.”  The pain is clear in his eyes as the words come out.  “You’re being followed.  We should go. Now.”
“Oh, Gods, I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”
“Forget it.  Those suits are here to watch you.”
“Who?” she asks, turning to look that way.
“No, don’t… now we gotta go.  They know we spotted them.”
“Where’ll we go?” she asks him.
“I’ll explain on the way,” he says as he escorts her to the door.  “Let’s hurry; Vostok’s waiting.”
“Vostok?” she questions.  “I thought he was dead.”
“I hope not; he’s our getaway driver.”

Friday, April 15, 2011

The horror...

Horror comes from the terrible things you see. Terror comes from what you don't see. Your own brain can scare you with it's visions of what could be around that corner far more than whatever is actually there. It's one of the things that separates Stephen King's horror from H.P. Lovecraft's terror. All fear is, at its base, a fear of the unknown. No matter how horrible and monstrous something looks, once you get a good description of its every detail, it's a little less scary.

This is one of my personal favorite parts that I've written. It's right about here that the story became really fun to write. Please enjoy...

Part XV – Twilight City

In the eerie twilight of the ruined, once sunlit city, he peers around a decayed column, spying a shadow that chills his body.  A shadow, of what must be said to have been a limb, though distorted by twilight.  But not any known limb of a man, nor even of the lizard-men that thrived in the sunlit city of long ago.  It appeared a singularly inhuman appendage, resembling vaguely the weathered limb of an ancient tree.  Looking closer, with hope that it was a trick of the unearthly twilight, it moved, and he glimpsed another, similar shadow to his side, but not just a shadow, but the withered treelike limb itself, quickly pulling behind the ruins of an ancient bathhouse.  Noises of movement to all sides brings fear to the young man’s heart, knowing the human-gods of the sunlit-dream-city would not be well received by the withered shadow-lurkers of the ruins, or by their distinctly more monstrous, terrifying gods of the twilight city.

Rock wakes with a jump.  “What the fuck was that?!” he yells. 
“We were wondering the same thing,” his keyboardist says.
“What happened?” Rock asks.
“You passed out, took a header, right in the middle of ‘Clone Heroes.’  Rock, pal, are you doin’ O.K.?  Are you on the horse?”
“I don’t know what happened, man,” Rock replies, “and I ain’t done drugs in days.”
“Can you go back out there?” his manager asks.
“Yeah, let’s go.  Yeah!” Rock shouts as he gets up.

The Eudoran in the balcony of the dark club speaks into his wristphone.  “It’s done.  The dream is implanted.  He can’t escape the nightmares now.  Where will I collect the rest of my fee?”
He turns to leave as the Element come back onto the stage to finish their sold-out show at Mew Channel Club.  Rock Tone has forgotten about the dream already.

 Thanks for stopping by.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Flu, and what comes after

Had the flu for about a week. Really beat me down. In that time, I missed more days of work than I have in the last six months or so. Also, I found some great music that was new to me. Here's a little of it;

And some more of the story. It starts to come together here, hold on, it'll all pan out. Really, trust me...

Part XIV – Vostok

As she sifts through the rubble of what was once Vostok’s building, she sifts through her last day or so in her mind.
‘I can’t believe they’re still after me.  How the hell do they keep finding me?  First my place, then here.  I hope Vostok got out.’
She sees his shades, broken underneath cold stone and steel.  The cyberjack still has blood on it.
“Shit,” she says out loud.
‘Gotta get mobile.  They’ll be here soon.  They always are.’ She goes down the street to the aircar she stole, and gets in.  She starts it up and heads toward the nearest tunnel to Level Two.
‘What did he say? A beacon? But how?  I don’t have anything of theirs except… The program!’  She pounds the dash with her fist.  She checks the system of her On-Body-Computer, looking for anything unusual.  It’s hidden well, but not well enough.  ‘This is amazing.  I didn’t even notice.  Whoever came up with this is brilliant.’
She marvels at it.  This program somehow gains access to the system it resides in, and has it send out a homing signal for it over the Matrix, a radio, whatever means it has at its disposal.
‘I went through all this and I can’t keep it.  And by the time I could sell it, I’d be dead.  If I ever meet the guy who wrote this… the trouble he caused me… bastard.’
As she erases the program from her O.B.C., she thinks about her friend Vostok.
‘I think he made it outta the building.  I hope he did. He always seems to come through O.K.’

Saurian swivels in his chair, and looks up through thick glasses.  “My O.B.C. tells me another copy of your brilliant program has been erased.  Do you think it could be that blond girl?”
“It could have been.  She’s smarter than you think.”
Saurian looks across his desk into the other man’s shades.  “If she’s smart enough, we could use her.   Keep an eye on her. We’re all done here.”  He turns his chair to the window, his back now to the other man, who gets up and walks to the door.
“Oh,” starts Saurian, “Sorry about your building, Vostok.  But you should live up here in real sunlight with better people anyway.  You could afford it now.”
Vostok slams the door behind him on his way out into the real world below.

Thanks for stopping by! Come back later, I'll have more stuff for you in a few days. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Now on to part two of

I've been sick for a few days. Fighting off a cold with rest, Alka-Seltzer, and fine Lagavulin Scotch. Mmmm...
So, on to another part starring our blond friend.

Part XIII – The Blonde’s Second Mistake

            She barely dodges the high-powered bolter fire from the skycycle pursuing her as she weaves up through the third traffic level.
            ‘How’d they find me?’ She wonders.  ‘I just left the place twenty minutes ago.’
            She takes a left the next chance she gets, then stops around the corner.  She readies her rifle, waiting for the skycycle.  As it turns the corner, she fires a grenade, hitting it dead-on.  The skycycle explodes, and crashes into the Cityblock beside it on the fall to the ground.  Shards of metal and transluminum fly everywhere, one piece impaling her cyberarm.
            ‘Shit,’ she thinks as she looks at her damaged arm.
‘Shit,’ she thinks again as the police aircar rises up in front of her.  She flies straight toward the hole made by the falling skycycle, and gets inside the Residential Cityblock.  Once inside, she knows she can get away.
Back at her place, she copies the stolen data onto another chip, and stores the chip and its data in her home terminal.  ‘It never hurts to have a backup.  Maybe I can sell it to someone else.  My buyer won’t know; unless he has a Eudoran with him when we meet tomorrow.  I wouldn’t think so.’
She looks at her damaged cyberarm.  ‘Gotta get this fixed,’ she thinks. ‘I’ll go see Vostok.  Maybe he knows someone who’ll buy my data.’
She grabs her jetpack and heads outside.  When she’s flying away from her apartment, three skycycles converge on the window to her place.  They begin firing their bolters, then missiles into it, destroying her apartment and the surrounding apartments as well.
‘What the hell?’ she thinks.  ‘How did they find me again?  Better get outta here; Vostok’ll help me.’
She turns and begins to fly away, but isn’t watching where to.  She bumps right into an aircar stopped in traffic.  She looks through the windshield at the surprised bald man at the controls.
“Sorry,” she says.
“Hey; I know you!” the bald man shouts as she flies away.
“Who was she?” Rock asks his friend.
“An old friend,” the bald man answers.
“You always did like blondes,” Rock jokes.

So now you've met most of the main characters. Have a favorite? Someone you don't like? Let me know. It'll let me know someone's actually reading this...:)  Thanks!  Next time we'll see some more of someone we know already, and maybe meet someone new. 

Thursday, March 31, 2011

On the other side of that door

You actually know what's happening in the room down the hall. But do you know that you know...

Part XII – The Blonde’s First Mistake

            She looks down through the vent into the hallway.  The bodies of two security guards are lifeless on the floor.   She can hear the sounds of fighting down the hall, in the direction the man who killed the guards went.  ‘That gut with the old slugthrowers is good,’ she thinks. ‘I’ll have to avoid him; don’t want to be mistaken for security.’
            She pushes open the vent and drops onto the floor.  She looks down the hallway, toward the direction of the gunshots.  The doors to the big room at the end are open, with four dead guards lying in the doorway.  She bends down to pick up a bolter rifle.  A sudden explosion from the big room sends her diving to the floor.  A cloud of smoke and debris billows out through the doors.
            ‘Rifle launched grenade.’  She picks herself up off the floor.  ‘I’m not gonna stick around to see who comes outta there.  Either way it could be bad for me.’
            She heads the other way, turning left down a different hallway.  She passes numerous scorch marks from bolters on the walls, and a few dead security guards, before  reaching her destination.  The metal door to the lab is locked, but it’s no problem for her.  She jacks in, finding the code in seconds, and opens the door.  She walks into the lab, and goes right to the terminal.  The information is very easy to find.  She doesn’t even need to enter the virtual Matrix to find it.  ‘Piece of cake. Guess they never expected anyone to get in here.  Guess they never heard of me.  Good for me.’
            She downloads the data onto a chip, then puts it in the port on the back of her neck.  She hears footsteps out in the hall, and ducks behind the metal desk.  She sees the man in the trenchcoat walk past the door.  ‘That’s my cue to get out of here.  The cops’ll be swarmin’ this place in minutes, looking for someone to blame.  Don’t wanna be that person.  I got what I came for, plus a new rifle I could sell.’
            She gets up into the ventilation shafts, which she follows to the roof and her awaiting jetpack.  She straps it on and flies off into the artificial daylight of City Level One.

Until next time...

Monday, March 28, 2011

And now back to our regularly scheduled program...

Been away for a few days, now I'm back to pick up where I left off.
'When last we left our heroes'...well, there was stuff happening, that didn't make much sense at the time, so this won't help clear things up at all. Or will it...

Part XI – Closure

“P-please don’t,” Cameron begs.  “I’ll pay anything.  Just don’t kill me, please!”
            Standing at the door, he holsters his Kolt 700 and looks at Cameron groveling on the floor.  “Sobbing for your life.  You disgust me.  Do you know how many you’ve murdered?”
            “I’ve never killed anyone!” Cameron counters.
            “No; you paid someone else to do it for you.  Or your company did it, by forcing families off farms, or out of their own businesses.  You took something from them, and from me, that your money could never bring back.”  Just then, a security guard runs, bolter rifle at the ready, into the bright office.  The guard shouts ‘Freeze!’.  Instead of standing still, the man in the trenchcoat swings around, grabs the guard’s throat with his cyberarm, and breaks his neck with a twist of the wrist.  The guard’s lifeless body drops to the floor.
            “Oh, God,” Cameron sobs.  “No, don’t kill me, please.”
            “Shut up,” he says to Cameron as he drags him by the collar to the large window overlooking the harbor.  “Transluminum, right?”
            He taps the window with his fingers.  “We must be pretty high up.  Above most of the thick smog layers.  Must be one of the tallest buildings in the city.  Must make you feel good, being up here in the sun, above everyone else, all the little unimportant people down there.”
            He pulls out his old slugthrower.
            “No, oh no, please,” Cameron cries.
            “I’m not going to shoot you, don’t worry about that.  This is for the window.”  He takes three shots into the window, cracking and breaking it.  A punch with his cyberarm knocks out the broken pieces.  “I’m not even going to kill you.  I’ll let something else do that.”
            “What is-is it?”  Cameron asks, fearing the answer.
            “The ground,” he replies, and picks Cameron up with his cyberarm and tosses him out the window.  He watches Cameron fall until he gets into the smog layers and can’t be seen.  As he turns away from the window, he pulls a picture from inside his armored trenchcoat.  He looks at the image of the woman and the little girl, both smiling and beautiful. ‘I know you’ll never come back, but now neither will he.’
            A single tear falls from his eye onto the picture in his hand.

Next time around, you'll get to meet someone new.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Lazy today

Just some music I love today. I'll post some more of my story tomorrow night.
If you like the 'Alt-rock', you should give these a listen. Good stuff.

"December's tragic drive..." Brilliant.

"If their hearts were dying that fast, they'd have done the same as you..." Brilliant.

"All this time looking for love and you want to find peace, and you find me..." Brilliant.

"I couldn't end it there..." Brilliant.

"So you can't hold a star in your hand..." Brilliant.

"The glove compartment isn't accurately named, and everybody knows it..." Brilliant.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Double shot

These parts are both pretty short, so I've got a double-shot today.

And just because;

Part IX – Downtime

            The bald man looks up from his desk when his partner comes in.  “Where you been?” he asks
            “Shopping, I guess you could say.  Got a new gun.  It’s old, of course; a Wesson-Jones.  Different from the Kolts I have, but a good old slugthrower nonetheless.”
            “I got bad news partner,” the bald man says.  “I talked to Rock earlier.  Declan got nailed.”
            “Declan?  How?  He’s one of the best.”
            “Rock said it was on a job against the Company.  He said Declan and Wilson took out a few security teams before they ran into a Eudoran.  Now he’s nearly brain-dead.  No function except to keep him alive.”
            “Those bastards.  First that Borg, now this.  Robots, aliens, what’s next, Syneshtia Bees in the aircar?”
            “So what do we do?” the bald man asks his partner.
            “What do we do?  We get the bastards who’re responsible.  We go after the Company.  Get in touch with Rock and the others.  We’re going to need some help on this one.”

Part X – Our Gang

            The stereo is on in the background as the three friends sit in Rock Tone’s studio.
            “…And that was the new song from Rock Tone and the Element.  The latest on the shooting at their show yesterday.  The bassist was apprehended this morning, after killing four cops and wounding twenty-two people, mostly people at the free concert.  Hats off to her, and luck to the Element finding a replacement for their cursed bassist spot…”
            “Radio,” says Rock. “Shut the hell up.”  The stereo turns itself off, and Rock turns to his two friends.  “So what do we have to do?”
            The bald man turns to his partner.  “Yeah, what’s the deal?”
            “Rock,” his partner starts, “I need you to call on our old buddy Facelift.”
            “He ain’t been around since he flatlined Vampire Jones.”
            “That was a couple years back.  I think Jones’s corporate pals are over it by now.  Just see what he says.”
            “I’ll call Vostok,” the bald man suggests.  “I’m sure we could use his help.”
            “Good idea,” his partner says.
            “And you?” Rock asks.
            “I’m going to call an old war buddy of mine who owes me a big one.  I think the six of us will be good.”
            “We’ve got our team, and our objective.  We’re golden!” Rock sings.
            “Yeah; we just need one thing now,” the bald man mutters.
            “What’s that, big guy?”  Rock asks.
            “A plan.”
            The radio turns itself back on…
            “…her last words as Element bassist Moon Lace was being dragged into the prison; ‘I didn’t shoot no one that didn’t need shootin’…’”

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Not much to say...on to the story...

Part VIII – The Eudoran Setup

            Declan wipes the sweat from his brow with his hand and feels his pulse racing.  The long fight has really tired him out.
            “How you doing?” he asks Wilson.
            “Bruised, battered, tired, and my armor’s almost gone, but I’ll live.  Assuming we get outta here.”
            “Oh c’mon, we’ll make it.  This’s been easy.  These security teams are nothing to two pros like us, old buddy.”  He’s lying, though.  His E-shields are low, and his light armor vest isn’t much good against high power bolters on its own.  He’s tired; worn out from fighting through the complex.
            ‘If only we’d noticed that alarm back in the lab.  That’s really Wilson’s job, but can’t be too hard on him.  He hasn’t been doing this sort of thing as long as I have.’
            “We can take those stairs down to the third floor, then the lift to the transport to the subway,” Wilson says after checking the map of the complex on his On-Body-Computer.
            “Let’s do it, then.”
            They run down the stairs and step into the hallway.  Wilson draws his bolter pistol and loads a new clip.  Declan has his vibro-sword drawn, and his other hand at the ready by his side to grab the vibro-knives from in his coat.  He’d rather not use the last few charges in his bolter unless he has to.
            They walk cautiously toward the elevator down the hall.  It’s very dim due to the damage to the generator their fight caused, so Declan puts on his low-light glasses.  They hear the elevator door open, and a lone, dark figure steps into the hallway.
            ‘White skin, black hat, gloves… Shit!  Eudoran!’  Declan pushes Wilson into an open doorway.  “Quiet,” he whispers.  He sees Wilson’s puzzled expression, and whispers to him.
            “A fucking Eudoran.  They’re Teeps; you know telepaths.”  Wilson nods.  “On three.  Ready, one, two… three.”
            They jump out, Wilson firing four shots down the hall at the Eudoran.  The shots are stopped short by an E-shield and the Eudoran’s armor coat.
            The Eudoran looks at Wilson and waves his hand in Wilson’s direction.  His bolter explodes in his hand, sending its energy and metal shards into his body.  He drops to the floor, twitching and gasping for air.  Declan looks down at his friend, then charges the Eudoran, yelling as he swings his sword.  His strike is parried by a blade of blue energy that suddenly materializes in the Eudoran’s hand.
            ‘Shit!  What the fuck is that?!’ Declan thinks as he fences the Eudoran and the psi-blade.  ‘This Eudoran’s a great swordsman.  I’m dead if I don’t get the hell out of here.  The Company pulled out all the stops for this one.  Fucking psychic swordsman.’
            Declan steps back away from the Eudoran, who waves his hand, and Declan’s body is flung against the ceiling, then dropped to the floor with a thud.  His head bounces off the floor, and one of his ankles breaks.  He turns onto his back, and throws two vibro-knives at the advancing Eudoran.  They stop in mid-flight, turn, and fly back at Declan, one impaling his left leg, the other just missing his head.  He winces in pain and reaches for his leg.
            The Eudoran reaches down and grabs his short, black hair, turning Declan’s face toward his own.   The Eudoran holds the psi-blade to Declan’s forehead.  “Don’t worry,” he says.  “This won’t hurt as much as killing you would.”  He stabs the blade into Declan’s head, scrambling his brain functions like an egg.  For a second, Declan wonders if he’ll be a vegetable; but only for a second. After that, he is incapable of thought at all.