Story Bites

FreakAngels Window

2008-09-17T20:20:00.001-07:00

Stephen King's N

2008-09-17T20:14:00.001-07:00

Reach for the Sky

2008-07-26T23:07:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my room after a good meal and great conversation/training. I'm just listening to Social Distortion's "Reach for the Sky" and unwinding after a long hard day of flight, training and thinking.

It's going to be a really good year. I feel even more confident being around the people at this training. Berkeley, for all its worth, seems pretty cool.

Cartooning

2008-07-19T21:56:00.000-07:00

This is the tentative name of the class I'll be teaching after school during this next year. I'm so excited. I'm going to try and get a hold of Kazu Kibuishi, since my students like his work and he's local, lives somewhere in Alhambra and his studio's off of Main Street. Plus it seems that Art Center Pasadena is our partner so I'll be taking them there to see how art schools are run and what they offer.
comics comics comics. Man I love my job!

Playing with my Toshiba

2008-07-19T21:54:00.000-07:00

Just got a new laptop this past weekend. Loaded almost everything I'll need for the coming year and loving how quick it is. Also have all the goodies like anti-virus, firewalls, Mozilla and a really cool Mac-like dock for my apps.

On my reading stand...

2008-06-17T18:56:00.000-07:00

Murakami's Kafka on the Beach
Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon
The Sleeper Awakes by H.G. Wells
Blindness by Jose Saramago
The complete works of Jorge Luis Borges
Valis, Lies, Inc., and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldricth by Philip K. Dick
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Fun Home by Alison Bechdel
Gun, With Occasional Music by Jonathan Lethem
Legion by Dan Abnett
and Apocalypse 2012 by Lawrence E. Josephs
and still working through the Ultramarines Omnibus (Hey, they don't call the dang thing an omnibus for nothing)

One Year Ago...

2008-06-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

It was one year ago that I was finishing up student teaching. One year later I am completing my first year as a full-fledged teacher. I wound up having 8th graders, who honestly weren't that bad since I had them from the beginning of the year. My wonderful 9th graders were just that, wonderful, trying and full of creative energy.

A must read for anybody who likes sci-fi...

2007-06-24T23:45:00.000-07:00

and it's from Corey Doctorow.

http://baens-universe.com/articles/When_Sysadmins_Ruled_the_Earth

Have a nice night all.
R

Dammit I hate waiting...

2007-06-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

This Just in from the Black Library website:

19/06/2007 : Planetkill Update

The destruction of worlds has been postponed... for now.

Such was the staggering amount of entries we received for the Planetkill short story competition that our diligent editors require a little more time to get through them all!

All finalists will now be informed by the end of June, so keep your fingers and toes crossed and don't panic. Planet wide destruction is imminent...

Comic Con...

2007-05-29T17:25:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I'm finally going. After who knows how many years I've been waiting for this, but yeah, I'm going to the Big Con on the West Coast. Just finished printing my registration pass. I'm so stoked!
Peace,
R

Planet Kill...

2007-05-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Now is the spring of my waiting. I've got no choice. My synopsis went off into the ether that is the net and lays somewhere in a digital pile of words. But, it is probably the closest I've been to the Black Library in quite some time. I had joined the forums ages ago and rejoined tonight. Hopefully I'll hear from the Library, and if not, well, I won't hold my breath, just keep plugging along.
On the brighter side I've finally got the FELL trade. Sadly it did not come with the backmatter which I was looking forward to reading. Damn Ellis and his having to buy the singles. I know why the did it, but I don't agree with it, especially when I'm working my butt off as a teacher and don't have the time or money to do the single issue thing anymore. But I still wanted the book and bought the hardcover. And I'm taking it have it signed, Hopefully by both Ellis and Templesmith.
That would be soo damn cool. I'll be buyin' me ticket this week before the presale ends.
Peace,
R

Wow...

2007-05-19T01:09:00.000-07:00

It was an insanely long yet fast week and I'm beat. Just finished submitting a synopsis to the Black Library for the Planetkill contest. Fingers are crossed. Also, I've got a shit load of homework to do tomorrow aside from other errands that need to be done. But, on the bright side, at least There's Live Journal, which has been a boon for my own personal teaching notes which help a helluva lot for writing my logs for the week. I basically say what's working in my classes and what needed to be tweaked or gotten rid of. more on that later.
Tired now. think I'll get some shut eye with the Mrs.
Peace,
R

Ye Old Ancient Grudge...

2007-05-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

Ninjas versus Pirates freakin' rocks!

Go pick it up and see.

-R

FREE COMIC BOOK DAY...

2007-05-06T00:24:00.000-07:00

Free comic book day was awesome. We got there early and there was still a line to get in. But, having taken company, my brother-in-law, his girlfriend and one of his best friends, it wasn't that bad waiting in line. I got a really cool Heroclix BATMAN i'll put up on my desk when I actually get my own classroom, and I've got some pretty interesting books to read for quite some time. I was able to pick up The Umbrella Academy by Mr. Gerard Way of MCR fame, as well as Robert Kirkman's Werewolf book (interesting), Owly(For my wife, she likes comics with cute creatures in them), as well as Justice League 0, the Legion of Superheroes based on the cartoon, and White Out by Greg Rucka, to name a few. In the comics shop was Tone Rodriguez, of Violent Messiahs and The Snake Plissken Chronicles. He was cool and talked with anyone who wanted to talk, as well as sketched pretty much anything anyone wanted. There was another artist who was promoting her book, I think it was called Magic 3, or something of the sort, but it turns out she is a professor at Otis, College of Design. I'll have to look her up and see what her name actually is, just been busy with doing research on the Ultramarines and which Battle Company I Couldn't use, after realizing that Mr. Graham Mcneill has the 4th Company belonging to Captain Uriel Ventris. I should have realized this sooner, but I had only begun the Ultramarines Omnibus on the plane to Maui on my honeymoon, my mind was on the flight and staying in the air, not on what company I was reading about.
Anywho, that pretty much sums up yesterday's highlights, today I'll see Spiderman 3 and will hopefully not be disappointed.
I'm also feeling a little scared by the prospect of sounding like a complete dolt in front of 21 high school freshmen on monday morning for the first time ever. It is not like presenting a project to these students, the point is to hit upon the California State Standards and make sure they at least attempt to learn. We'll see what happens with me and them and The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.
I wish I knew where Mr. Marc Rasic was so I could tell him that almost 13 years Later I'd be teaching high schoolers what he taught me in 8th grade.
God bless you Mr. Rasic, where ever you are.
R

Superman and Doomsday...

2007-05-03T16:53:00.001-07:00

yeah, uhm, you just need to see it to know...

http://www.warnervideo.com/supermandoomsdaydvd/

This Just In...

2007-05-02T18:47:00.000-07:00

This is from Newsarama...

BOOM! STUDIOS SEEKS ARTISTS FOR WARHAMMER AND WARHAMMER 40,000 COMIC BOOKS

Press Release

ATTENTION ALL SEQUENTIAL ARTISTS: Boom! Studios is launching an artist search for their expanding line of comic book projects based on Games Workshop’s immensely popular Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 games.

“Boom! Studios is happy and proud to be working with Games Workshop to create great, high-quality comics set in the Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 universes” says Boom! publisher Ross Richie. “Fan reaction to our current series, Warhammer 40,000: Damnation Crusade, has been enormous, and we’re excited about expanding our line of Warhammer and Warhammer: 40,000 titles. At the moment, our growth is outpacing our ability to find suitable artists for the books.”

“The universes of Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 provide a vast, rich source of great story material, and we need more books to tell those stories,” Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 editor Joe Abraham says. “We’re working closely with Games Workshop to ensure that we produce high quality stories that are true to the details and spirit of the Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 universes, and it’s important that we find the right artists for these projects.”

Artists should submit via email 3-5 pages of sequential artwork, along with contact information, to boom.artist.search@gmail.com.

Only one thing to say...

2007-05-01T20:48:00.000-07:00

8th graders suck.
I don't ever want to teach them if they are as disrespectful as they were today. We had to sub an 8th grade class and they were horrible little monsters from the ancient depths of the black abyss that was there before Hell was created.
R

This week...

2007-04-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

Is my last week at LAC+USC Medical Center as part of the Department of Emergency Medicine.
I will begin Student Teaching on Monday April 30th at Marshall Fundamental. I'm excited and yet a part of me is sad that I'm leaving a job. I've worked since I was about 12 and it'll be the first time I'm not getting paid for doing work. It is kinda scary, but I know that at the end it'll be worth it to be running my own class room. This doesn't mean that I'll stop writing or blogging at all, on the contrary, it'll be nice to be able to put the graded or grading in progress papers aside and let my mind relax by pouring my head into this blog or a short story. I seem to have to really be inspired for me to pull out my sketch book and draw these days. Which is also sad, but I've come to terms that I can describe what I see a helluva lot better than I can draw it and that' s okay.
Especially when you see guys like Jacen Burrows, Bryan Hitch, Ben Templesmith, Frank Quitely, Jim Lee, Darick Robertson and Marc Silvestri.
But I can write whatever I can imagine so long as I can describe it.
-R

It came from Outer Space...

2007-04-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

And I saw the lights from the heavens raining down on us, the once favored sons of the great God Emperor of Mankind. And we were poor in spirit and empty of all gratitude to him, who sits on the Golden Throne, rotting like the meat puppet that he is. Let his vengeance come to us. Our guns our waiting, our swords are keen, are blades are stained with the blood of his servants. Let the planet and the galaxy burn...

PLANETKILL

I'll be writing if my bro will.

Interesting things this past week...

2007-04-13T12:31:00.000-07:00

The Killers @ Staples Center
Learning that Kurt Vonnegut died
Curse of the Golden Flower - China, Later Tang Dynasty, 10th Century. On the eve of the Chong Yang Festival, golden flowers fill the Imperial Palace. The Emperor (Chow Yun Fat) returns unexpectedly with his second son, Prince Jai (Jay Chou). His pretext is to celebrate the holiday with his family, but given the chilled relations between the Emperor and the ailing Empress (Gong Li), this seems disingenuous. For many years, the Empress and Crown Prince Wan (Liu Ye), her stepson, have had an illicit liaison. Feeling trapped, Prince Wan dreams of escaping the palace with his secret love Chan (Li Man), the Imperial Doctor's daughter. Meanwhile, Prince Jai, the faithful son, grows worried over the Empress's health and her obsession with golden chrysanthemums. Could she be headed down an ominous path? The Emperor harbors equally clandestine plans; the Imperial Doctor (Ni Dahong) is the only one privy to his machinations. When the Emperor senses a looming threat, he relocates the doctor's family from the Palace to a remote area. While they are en route, mysterious assassins attack them. Chan and her mother, Jiang Shi (Chen Jin) are forced back to the palace. Their return sets off a tumultuous sequence of dark surprises. Amid the glamour and grandeur of the festival, ugly secrets are revealed. As the Imperial Family continues its elaborate charade in a palatial setting, thousands of golden armored warriors charge the palace. Who is behind this brutal rebellion? Where do Prince Jai's loyalties lie? Between love and desire, is there a final winner? Against a moonlit night, thousands of chrysanthemum blossoms are trampled as blood spills across the Imperial Palace.
Got to design some logos at my job. Haven't done that in more than five years. It was fun

Peace,
R

From PBS' FRONTLINE show...

2007-04-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/somuchsofast/

This is documentary that I had tried watching, but unfortunately our PBS station aired it at an odd time. I have not seen it yet, but I do know what came out of this man getting ALS
The ALS Therapy Development Foundation.

If you have time, check it out. My family was deeply affected by this disease and we lost our Grandmother from it. So if you read this, check it out and help out any way you can.
Peace,
Rene

Another Gran Morrison Joint...WE3

2007-04-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

This was a really interesting article, and I'm so glad Morrison is writing the first draft of the script at least.

http://www.filmick.co.uk/2007/04/script-review-grant-morrisons-we3.html

Peace,
R

Along came...The Killers

2007-04-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

SoMonday night's show was amazing. But, the acoustics at the Staples Center sucked. These guys put on one helluva show though. If you can see them in concert, catch 'em, they sound like they do on their records

Peace,
R

Cool sites to see...

2007-04-06T21:14:00.001-07:00

Ben Templesmith of Fell and Wormwood fame.
http://ben-templesmith.livejournal.com/

Josh Middleton, this guy is fucking awesome:
http://joshuamiddleton.blogspot.com/

Ashley Wood: this guy interpreted Fuckin Metal Gear and Metal Gear Solid not to mention working with Kojima-san,
http://ashleybambaland.blogspot.com/

check these guys out or be a fucking lame ass!
Peace,
R

Story to come...

2007-03-25T02:36:00.000-07:00

Watched Hellboy: Sword of Storms & The Prestige. Both got the creative juices flowing and I've literally been drawing for six hours straight. Insane, I know, but oh so damn cool as well.
I'll have the story in connection to this little drawing up later. I've fleshed it out and came up with a neat little idea. Peace,
R.

Ancestor...

2007-03-23T12:35:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of J.C. Hutchins, the author of the 7th Son Trilogy podcast,
this is the pdf of Scott Sigler's Ancestor. Read it, share it, buy the book from amazon.com.
http://cache.libsyn.com/scottsigler/Ancestor_ScottSigler.pdf
Peace,
R

Onward!: Part 2 - Chapter 8

2007-03-19T22:46:00.000-07:00

Jeremy Crane. The man was more than a myth or a legend. He was living, breathing, pulsing flesh, trapped by a motor neuron disease the world could still not defeat. Yet he designed and built the most elegant of weapons and armor that North Americans had ever worn into battle since the age of Arthur. And he was deep in cryo-sleep. The people of the City had deemed it necessary to keep the brilliance of the man alive and therefore began to perpetuate the myth that he had traveled to different worlds. In fact the only worlds Jeremy Crane had ever traversed were the ones behind his eyes.

Previously on Onward!...
Macon landed the small vehicle and popped the restraint harnesses release button on the center of his chest. Three Operators walked up to Macon and Deacon. They were wearing the Mark 9 full body armor suits. They were sleek, a deep navy blue that almost looked purple, and armed with wrist guns. Each suit was outfitted with two types of ammunition, armor piercing rounds and the Hellfire Rounds used to bring down large star ships. The tallest of the three Operators came up to the two men and took his helmet off.
Macon, Deacon, we're glad you're here. It seems that the MTF lost two of the most notorious multiverse criminals ever," the Operator said.
"Evoy De Groot and Kyuzo Gyllipus, right?" said Macon. He clamped his helmet to the hip of his suit.
"Yes sir," the Operator answered. "Handler Graves is waiting inside sir, he wanted to talk to you both once you arrived," said the Operator.
"Let's not keep the man waiting then," Macon said. He walked into the station and followed the three Operators down the steps to the Metro RedLine Rail.
Handler Graves was a large man with a head of white hair he kept almost completely bald. There were scars on his left cheek and a scar that ran down his right eyebrow into a curve to meet with his lip. When the light hit him at an odd angle it looked as if he had a large C-shape on his face. Every Operator was afraid of him except two, Macon Dean and Deacon Smith. They were his best students and now two of the best Operators the company had, especially after Deacon's heroic exploits in the Drighton Spaceport.
"Where have the two of you been? Gyllipus and De Groot have been time hopping for over three days and we finally got a tip from Jonathan Daizen at the Multiverse Task Force that they were coming here armed to the teeth and ready to wage war for one man," Graves said.
"What one man could they possibly want?" Deacon said. He looked at Graves then at Macon.
"Jeremy Crane," was all Macon said.

I'm glad it's going to be a long BLACK SUMMER...

2007-03-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

3 cheers for Mr. Ellis once again. He'll probably get flack from all those pro-war people who still support President Dumb Ass. I hope this book sells out everywhere along with his book Crooked Little Vein

The Black Parade...

2007-03-13T13:48:00.000-07:00

Sunday March 11, 2007,
The Anaheim Convention Center.
Opening Band: Rise Against

Before the band hit the stage the house lights were put out and Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2 came on. The crowd chanted the lyrics in unison with 'We don't need no education' and kept the momentum going until through the darkness of the arena a gurney was placed in the center of the stage. The heart monitor beep that begins My Chemical Romance's album, The Black Parade, filled the arena along with the screams of their fans. A spotlight shot out and focused on Gerard Way, lead singer, and the concert was well under way. My Chemical Romance, performing under the guise of The Black Parade, went on to perform the entire album on stage, complete with Pink Floyd like balloons that flew overhead, a backdrop that was one part art deco architecture like that of Hugh Ferriss and Otto Wagner.
Afterwards both my wife and I got to meet the band courtesy of my cousin, who works for them.
Also in attendance was the great Grant Morrison, who happens to be friends with MCR. All in all, a good sunday.

Next week...

2007-03-02T16:51:00.000-08:00

Frank Miller's 300 comes out along with the new Horus Heresy novel,
Flight of the Eisenstein by James Swallow.

Then on July 7th, this...
Fulgrim, by my favorite Black Library author,
Graham McNeill

enjoy!

Rejection...

2007-02-27T21:14:00.000-08:00

I got my rejection letter from the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. They didn't like it. Back to the drawing board.
Peace,
R

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 7

2007-02-27T15:22:00.000-08:00

Macon landed the small vehicle and popped the restraint harnesses release button on the center of his chest. Three Operators walked up to Macon and Deacon. They were wearing the Mark 9 full body armor suits. They were sleek, a deep navy blue that almost looked purple, and armed with wrist guns. Each suit was outfitted with two types of ammunition, armor piercing rounds and the Hellfire Rounds used to bring down large star ships. The tallest of the three Operators came up to the two men and took his helmet off.
Macon, Deacon, we're glad you're here. It seems that the MTF lost two of the most notorious multiverse criminals ever," the Operator said.
"Evoy De Groot and Kyuzo Gyllipus, right?" said Macon. He clamped his helmet to the hip of his suit.
"Yes sir," the Operator answered. "Handler Graves is waiting inside sir, he wanted to talk to you both once you arrived," said the Operator.
"Let's not keep the man waiting then," Macon said. He walked into the station and followed the three Operators down the steps to the Metro RedLine Rail.
Handler Graves was a large man with a head of white hair he kept almost completely bald. There were scars on his left cheek and a scar that ran down his right eyebrow into a curve to meet with his lip. When the light hit him at an odd angle it looked as if he had a large C-shape on his face. Every Operator was afraid of him except two, Macon Dean and Deacon Smith. They were his best students and now two of the best Operators the company had, especially after Deacon's heroic exploits in the Drighton Spaceport.
"Where have the two of you been? Gyllipus and De Groot have been time hopping for over three days and we finally got a tip from Jonathan Daizen at the Multiverse Task Force that they were coming here armed to the teeth and ready to wage war for one man," Graves said.
"What one man could they possibly want?" Deacon said. He looked at Graves then at Macon.
"Jeremy Crane," was all Macon said.

Previously on Onward!...
Deacon and Macon moved into the armory and found two suits of body armor. These were the standard Operator suits instead of the bulky full-body suit that Deacon had worn in the Drighton Spaceport debacle. Macon keyed the lock on a circular door that opened into a room with two white circles painted on the steel floor. Macon stood on one circle and Deacon on the other.
"Bay 12," Macon said.
They were standing in the hangar of the precinct with a small patrol speeder. The driver's seat was on the left hand side of the vehicle while the passenger's seat held an autocannon directly in front of the passenger's side. Deacon shook his head. Macon looked at him before buckling himself into the speeder.
"You okay? You look pale," Macon said.
"I'll be okay. Just a bit light headed is all. Still have a concussion from that Neekreshi warrior two days ago," said Smith. He strapped himself in and keyed the autocannon on.
"You'll be okay once we start the fighting," said Macon.
"There's gonna be fighting?" said Deacon.
The speeder was out of the landing and shooting over the City. They left the 7th Operator Precinct and flew over the sprawling metropolis that had once been Los Angeles. The ancient Metro Tower still stood overlooking the East Portal of Union Station but the City had built upwards and the building was now standing in the shadows of structures five times its height. Geodesic domes, tiered and cylindrical habitats were now surrounding the old tower. And air traffic was almost as bad as ground traffic. Macon swerved to avoid a waste removal carrier and dove below the heavy lines of speeders and hover cars that were trying to get back to the heart of DownTown. Macon began landing the speeder on the Patsaouras Plaza where several other Operator vehicles were already waiting.

Notes 2...

2007-02-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

Had a dream last night that involved the following:

Twin brothers that don't feel each other's pain
floor camouflage that leaves you completely invisible in a room
car chase with friends
lots and lots of sharp weapons
death of a twin by sharp screw stab through spinal column at base of the neck.

go back to work now drones...
-R-

Notes for me...

2007-02-21T16:51:00.000-08:00

Pay no attention, these are for me.

Clone soldiers
sarcophagi
floating platform
colossi
ruins
Circular portal

You may now resume your adoration of me.
that is all.
R

Finally!!!

2007-02-20T14:39:00.000-08:00

I Finally passed the damned CSET. I got my unofficial scores about twenty minutes ago and then called my academic counselor for the next steps.
Peace Ya'll
Rene

Onward! Chapter 1 update...

2007-02-18T20:24:00.000-08:00

Yes, yesterday I mailed off the completed, proofread and corrected manuscript to the magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
Peace!

Something Wicked...

2007-02-17T09:19:00.000-08:00

Macon turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees in the middle of the street. He was surrounded. Markus snapped his fingers again and the shadows presented themselves. They were now in human form and still both man and woman were easily a full head taller than Macon. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead and his throat went dry.
"Boss, from the looks of y'all, you don't need my help," Macon said. He shifted his eyes away from the tall woman beside him and looked at Markus.
"That is where you are wrong my friend. The Urahman Clan and the Murad Clan are hunting us Mr. Dean. You are the one who is to lead us to the Promised Land. Your name, does it not mean "chief of ten?" said Markus. He lifted his enormous right hand, palm up towards his followers.
Macon looked at them and counted. Including Markus, there were only ten of the hybrids.
"Crap," said Macon. "This is some kind of joke right? I mean, there are more of you waiting somewhere else aren't there?"
"No Mr. Dean. We are the last of our kind. That is why we must go to the empty world and live peacefully. The Urahman Clan were despotic vampire rulers that gave birth to us and the Murad Clan wanted us wiped out. They said we were abominations, that wolf blood should never be mixed with the blood of the enemy. Most of us never made it out of their compound in the Caucasus," Markus said. He retracted his canines and smiled more humanly.
"Fine, but we need to leave immediately. I just need to make one call," Macon said. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 1 on the keypad.
"Sid, yeah, Macon here, look, I got a situation here in L.A., get Jack on the horn, and we're gonna need a door opened to an empty earth. I got refugees. Thanks," Macon said.
"So, who's buyin' me my last beer of the night?" Macon said.
Markus smiled and clapped his hands.

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 6

2007-02-14T18:08:00.000-08:00

Deacon and Macon moved into the armory and found two suits of body armor. These were the standard Operator suits instead of the bulky full-body suit that Deacon had worn in the Drighton Spaceport debacle. Macon keyed the lock on a circular door that opened into a room with two white circles painted on the steel floor. Macon stood on one circle and Deacon on the other.
"Bay 12," Macon said.
They were standing in the hangar of the precinct with a small patrol speeder. The driver's seat was on the left hand side of the vehicle while the passenger's seat held an autocannon directly in front of the passenger's side. Deacon shook his head. Macon looked at him before buckling himself into the speeder.
"You okay? You look pale," Macon said.
"I'll be okay. Just a bit light headed is all. Still have a concussion from that Neekreshi warrior two days ago," said Smith. He strapped himself in and keyed the autocannon on.
"You'll be okay once we start the fighting," said Macon.
"There's gonna be fighting?" said Deacon.
The speeder was out of the landing and shooting over the City. They left the 7th Operator Precinct and flew over the sprawling metropolis that had once been Los Angeles. The ancient Metro Tower still stood overlooking the East Portal of Union Station but the City had built upwards and the building was now standing in the shadows of structures five times its height. Geodesic domes, tiered and cylindrical habitats were now surrounding the old tower. And air traffic was almost as bad as ground traffic. Macon swerved to avoid a waste removal carrier and dove below the heavy lines of speeders and hover cars that were trying to get back to the heart of DownTown. Macon began landing the speeder on the Patsaouras Plaza where several other Operator vehicles were already waiting.

Previously on Onward!...
Dwight sat back in the chair and rubbed his face with his hands. He didn't know what else to do once he shut off the live-feed. The small black orb sat on the table; its interior also black like its sleek exterior.
"So that was it huh? The whole reason for the spaceport attack?" Dwight said.
Deacon Smith nodded his head. He had been sitting in the corner watching the vid-feed again with his arms folded. He unfolded his arms and moved slowly towards Dwight's chair.
"You can go now Dwight. You just sent a judge where he needs to be," Smith said. He smiled, slapped Dwight on the shoulder and moved out of the conference room.
Dwight Anders was alone with the disc. He looked at its metallic surface and then picked it up and shoved it into his pocket. He grabbed the orb and placed that in his interior jacket pocket of the black linen suit he wore. Macon Dean walked towards him and held out his hand.
Dwight reached into his pocket and gave him the disc.
"Smith left it in there. You can't let that thing out of here. Not now, anyway. The feed was live and..."
"And you finally did something for the good of the people you're always saying you need to protect," Macon said. His one eye locked onto Dwight's face.
"Then why do I feel crappy?" said Dwight. He patted Macon on the shoulder and brushed passed him towards the elevator.
"You did what needed to be done Dwight, there's no shame in that," Macon yelled as the doors closed behind Dwight.
Smith came up behind Macon and sighed. Macon didn't turn around.
"You think he'll be okay?" Smith said.
"He's seen worse, hell, he's been through worse, I should know," Macon said.
"What do you mean?" said Smith. He scratched his head.
"How the hell do you think I got this, boy?" said Macon. He softly patted the heavy black eyepatch.
"Funny, always thought you got that during the Sterling Riots," Smith said.
"No, mine was done way longer than that. I know you got your fancy eyes from that event though, didn't you?" said Macon. He laughed.
"Yeah, earned them, I guess you could say," Smith said.
Both men laughed for some time. Then the Emergency Feed came on.
"All Operators to Union Station. Repeat, all Operators to Union Station. Code 13. Repeat, Code 13," the female voice said.
"Code 13?" said Smith. He ran down the hall towards the Armory with Macon beside him.
"Yeah, Code 13 is the worst. It's an attack from another universe.
"Okay. It's a what?" Smith said.

...and on the Third day he Rose again...

2007-02-13T16:42:00.000-08:00

So it's been three days since I've posted. Been busy, and haven't been feeling well. stayed home yesterday and was in bed most of the day. Didn't want to write or read or really do anything but sleep. Hey, it happens sometimes. I'll post something maybe thursday. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day so go out and have fun people, whether you have someone or not.
Peace,
Ren

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 5

2007-02-06T11:50:00.000-08:00

Dwight sat back in the chair and rubbed his face with his hands. He didn't know what else to do once he shut off the live-feed. The small black orb sat on the table; its interior also black like its sleek exterior.
"So that was it huh? The whole reason for the spaceport attack?" Dwight said.
Deacon Smith nodded his head. He had been sitting in the corner watching the vid-feed again with his arms folded. He unfolded his arms and moved slowly towards Dwight's chair.
"You can go now Dwight. You just sent a judge where he needs to be," Smith said. He smiled, slapped Dwight on the shoulder and moved out of the conference room.
Dwight Anders was alone with the disc. He looked at its metallic surface and then picked it up and shoved it into his pocket. He grabbed the orb and placed that in his interior jacket pocket of the black linen suit he wore. Macon Dean walked towards him and held out his hand.
Dwight reached into his pocket and gave him the disc.
"Smith left it in there. You can't let that thing out of here. Not now, anyway. The feed was live and..."
"And you finally did something for the good of the people you're always saying you need to protect," Macon said. His one eye locked onto Dwight's face.
"Then why do I feel crappy?" said Dwight. He patted Macon on the shoulder and brushed passed him towards the elevator.
"You did what needed to be done Dwight, there's no shame in that," Macon yelled as the doors closed behind Dwight.
Smith came up behind Macon and sighed. Macon didn't turn around.
"You think he'll be okay?" Smith said.
"He's seen worse, hell, he's been through worse, I should know," Macon said.
"What do you mean?" said Smith. He scratched his head.
"How the hell do you think I got this, boy?" said Macon. He softly patted the heavy black eyepatch.
"Funny, always thought you got that during the Sterling Riots," Smith said.
"No, mine was done way longer than that. I know you got your fancy eyes from that event though, didn't you?" said Macon. He laughed.
"Yeah, earned them, I guess you could say," Smith said.
Both men laughed for some time. Then the Emergency Feed came on.
"All Operators to Union Station. Repeat, all Operators to Union Station. Code 13. Repeat, Code 13," the female voice said.
"Code 13?" said Smith. He ran down the hall towards the Armory with Macon beside him.
"Yeah, Code 13 is the worst. It's an attack from another universe.
"Okay. It's a what?" Smith said.

Previously on Onward!...
"The camera date reads 2/7/5049 at the bottom right hand corner of the feed. There are a group of rebels entering, some are Rastas, others are Mexican and Japanese. A few High Ends are with the group wearing the latest UpTown trends. Their eyes are bloodshot from stims. The leader of the group steps towards the massive steel table in the center of the factory and he jumps on top of it. The sound cuts in and everyone is yelling and hollering his name.
"Mabata Nokiri," the crowd yells. They are growing restless and he knows it. He lifts his massive arms and prepares to speak. Several red dots fill the man's chest area. He opens his mouth, unaware of the laserpoints. His chest is blown apart by the gunfire of the CPD force that enters the factory, guns blazing. Men, women and children are gunned down. The leader slumps to his knees, still on the table when a Judgment Suit enters the screen. Marshal Amon towers over the leader. He gushes something but all that comes out is his blood, it spills on the Marshal's boots and Amon slams his powered fist into the remains of the man's face. The camera operator screams and starts to run with the camera. The last of the images is of Marshal Amon raising his Ragnarok Cannon at the camera and firing. The screen is now filled with snow. But the audio track is still rolling.
"Captain Roark, is everyone accounted for?"
"Yes Marshal Amon, all four hundred have been judged and found guilty of unlawful gathering in order to leave offworld without proper documentation."
"Good, call in the clean up crew, and I want it heat signature free as well, we don't want any Psi-Investigators poking their noses around here either."
"Yes Marshal Amon, right away."
"You, stop, in the name of the law, stop or I will shoot," is what an officer was screaming. He fires and misses because more men are yelling and firing. The camera comes back on outside the factory. There are three rebels in a low transporter motioning for the person holding the camera to hurry.
The camera moves to see the CPD firing on them and Marshal Amon standing above the officers. He says something to the captain and lifts him up. He holds him by the neck and then slams the man down into the concrete. Liquified human is what covers Marshal Amon's Judment Suit. The camera shuts off.

Something Wicked...

2007-02-05T12:39:00.000-08:00

Macon Dean met Markus outside the Four Winds Bar. He was tired, half drunk and not in the mood to be toyed with by some God-forsaken fallen angel or a demon running from the heavenly police. All Macon wanted to do was go to sleep.
"What ya want?" Macon growled. He rubbed his hands and blew into the tattooed knuckles. Light spilled out from between his fingers.
"We need your services," Markus said.
"I got that already you dolt. What do you want?" said Macon, his hands blurred.
Markus looked at Macon's hands and smiled. Markus' eyes glowed red and his canines protruded from his mouth.
"Great, you're either a dog or bat," said Macon.
"Neither, I am both. That is why my kind needs your help. We've heard that you have travelled to a place where no humans exist. How do we get there?" Markus said.
"Why do you keep saying we?"
Markus stretched out his arms and the shadows around him formed into a dozen shapes bigger than him and with large leathery wings.
"Oh crap," Macon said...

Level 13

2007-02-02T12:26:00.000-08:00

Both Emory and Janine entered the elevator at the end of the hall. They laughed as they entered, they laughed as the door closed and they even laughed as they hit the button marked13, for laughs. They laughed as the humming of the lift's magnetic drive dropped them ten floors fast. But they stopped laughing when the doors of Level 13 opened to reveal eight armed guards wearing full tactical body armor. Janine and Emory put their hands up and walked out of the elevator slowly.
"So I guess this isn't where we're supposed to be?" Emory said.
"I don't think this is such a good time to joke Emory," said Janine.
"What are you two doing here," clicked the closest guard. He aimed his rifle at Janine's face.
"We were sent down here by Director Daizen, he told us to come down to Level 13, but he didn't say why," Emory said.
"Turn around slowly," said the guard again. His vox unit clicked off each time he finished speaking.
"Hicks, check their RFIDs, make sure the Director sent them," said the guard.
"They check out sir, Director Daizen cleared them himself. You two are good to go. Welcome to Level 13, Agents Roberts and Mendoza."
The metallic doors slid into the walls with a hydraulic hiss. There were two frosted glass doors that opened automatically for Agents in the MTF. Emory and Janine walked inside and were instantly assaulted by several men in white lab coats...

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 4

2007-02-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

"The camera date reads 2/7/5049 at the bottom right hand corner of the feed. There are a group of rebels entering, some are Rastas, others are Mexican and Japanese. A few High Ends are with the group wearing the latest UpTown trends. Their eyes are bloodshot from stims. The leader of the group steps towards the massive steel table in the center of the factory and he jumps on top of it. The sound cuts in and everyone is yelling and hollering his name.
"Mabata Nokiri," the crowd yells. They are growing restless and he knows it. He lifts his massive arms and prepares to speak. Several red dots fill the man's chest area. He opens his mouth, unaware of the laserpoints. His chest is blown apart by the gunfire of the CPD force that enters the factory, guns blazing. Men, women and children are gunned down. The leader slumps to his knees, still on the table when a Judgment Suit enters the screen. Marshal Amon towers over the leader. He gushes something but all that comes out is his blood, it spills on the Marshal's boots and Amon slams his powered fist into the remains of the man's face. The camera operator screams and starts to run with the camera. The last of the images is of Marshal Amon raising his Ragnarok Cannon at the camera and firing. The screen is now filled with snow. But the audio track is still rolling.
"Captain Roark, is everyone accounted for?"
"Yes Marshal Amon, all four hundred have been judged and found guilty of unlawful gathering in order to leave offworld without proper documentation."
"Good, call in the clean up crew, and I want it heat signature free as well, we don't want any Psi-Investigators poking their noses around here either."
"Yes Marshal Amon, right away."
"You, stop, in the name of the law, stop or I will shoot," is what an officer was screaming. He fires and misses because more men are yelling and firing. The camera comes back on outside the factory. There are three rebels in a low transporter motioning for the person holding the camera to hurry.
The camera moves to see the CPD firing on them and Marshal Amon standing above the officers. He says something to the captain and lifts him up. He holds him by the neck and then slams the man down into the concrete. Liquified human is what covers Marshal Amon's Judment Suit. The camera shuts off.

Previously on Onward!...
Deacon Smith looked at the glass table that sat between Dwight Anders and himself. He scratched his chin with the inside of his palm.
"We have to disc. And you'll get to see it real soon, on one condition," Smith said.
"And that condition would be?" Dwight said. The smoke from his nostrils swirled upward towards the vents in the ceiling.
"Turn off the recorder first," said Smith.
"Can't do that, live-feed to the masses Deacon," said Dwight. He tapped his cigarette out onto similar metal ashtray.
"Do it or you can't see the disc," said Smith.
Dwight sighed and pressed the sphere's sides. It hovered but the crimson light in its belly died out slowly.
"There, now hurry up, we're losing money on this Deacon," said Dwight.
"No, we're not losing money, you and your company are. Now here's the condition. You get to see the disc and all its contents from beginning to end. But you have to report everything you see, exactly as you see it happening," said Smith. He sat back in his chair and relaxed.
"That's the condition? That's easy," said Dwight. He quickly pressed the orb again.
"Okay, I accept the condition. Just so you know folks, I'll be viewing the disc and reporting to you exactly what I'll be seeing," said Dwight.
"Screen, load disc D.S.2049-1. Full volume array," said Smith.
A vid-screen lowered itself from the ceiling and swiveled towards Dwight.
"Start disc," Smith said.
Dwight spoke as he watched the events of the DungJillie Factory feeds unravel before his eyes.

Tomorrow...

2007-02-01T18:33:00.000-08:00

Since i've got a day off tomorrow as I await the arrival of our new couch and ottoman, I'll be posting some things up.

A new Onward! post
A new Something Wicked post
A brand spanking new (because people have been requesting it) post on the Working Title about Director Jonathan Daizen.

Konichiwa

Ren

Damn, I couldn't believe this...

2007-01-31T18:38:00.000-08:00

After more than 20 years as executive producer and host of "Reading Rainbow," actor Levar Burton is leaving the popular children's television series, he said Monday night.

Burton, 49, mentioned his departure during a 65-minute public talk in Eisenhower Auditorium. He said he shot his last episode last year.

That really and truly sucks, but the article said that his intentions for the show were not in line with the "education" business. In other words, other people wanted to change Reading Rainbow.

I'm glad he stuck to his principles and decided to leave. America needs more good-hearted people like him.

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 3

2007-01-30T18:49:00.000-08:00

Deacon Smith looked at the glass table that sat between Dwight Anders and himself. He scratched his chin with the inside of his palm.
"We have to disc. And you'll get to see it real soon, on one condition," Smith said.
"And that condition would be?" Dwight said. The smoke from his nostrils swirled upward towards the vents in the ceiling.
"Turn off the recorder first," said Smith.
"Can't do that, live-feed to the masses Deacon," said Dwight. He tapped his cigarette out onto similar metal ashtray.
"Do it or you can't see the disc," said Smith.
Dwight sighed and pressed the sphere's sides. It hovered but the crimson light in its belly died out slowly.
"There, now hurry up, we're losing money on this Deacon," said Dwight.
"No, we're not losing money, you and your company are. Now here's the condition. You get to see the disc and all its contents from beginning to end. But you have to report everything you see, exactly as you see it happening," said Smith. He sat back in his chair and relaxed.
"That's the condition? That's easy," said Dwight. He quickly pressed the orb again.
"Okay, I accept the condition. Just so you know folks, I'll be viewing the disc and reporting to you exactly what I'll be seeing," said Dwight.
"Screen, load disc D.S.2049-1. Full volume array," said Smith.
A vid-screen lowered itself from the ceiling and swiveled towards Dwight.
"Start disc," Smith said.
Dwight spoke as he watched the events of the DungJillie Factory feeds unravel before his eyes...
Previously on Onward!...

Dwight did not expect to see Deacon Smith out of his armor. He sat in the left hand corner of the room in darkness. Only the orange burn of a cigarette could be seen until he leaned forward into the light. Deacon wore the Skinsuit that was worn beneath any suit of armor. There were various plugs and hose feeds for the suit to connect to. Sitting at the other end of the conference room was the Mark 1 armor. It sat in a chair and leaned against the wall like some sleeping sentry. Dwight's forehead broke out in beads of perspiration.
"You remember that don't you? The way the suit gave you claustrophobia when you were sealed into it and the helmet came on. You remember the first time you vomited into your faceplate only to have the damn thing clean itself and smell like it was brand new. I know I remembered even before I put it on. Sit down Dwight," Smith said.
"Yeah, yeah I do Deacon. Now let's talk about what happened," Dwight said. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small black ball that resembled a marble. He placed it on the table and pressed his fingers on its sides. A red light came from inside the sphere and it hovered above the table and stopped at the level of their mouths.
"Fancy, Orb Recorder from RugashiCorp., huh? I didn't think journalists made enough to pay for tech like that?" Smith said.
"We're online and the feed is open, so I suggest we begin. How does it feel to be called a City Hero Operator Smith?" said Dwight. He reached into his jacket pocket again and produced a cigarette.
Deacon Smith stood up and limped towards the table in front of Dwight Anders. He sat down and smashed his cigarette into one of the stainless steel ashtrays.
"Well Dwight, I'll tell you how I feel. I think it's a waste of time for people to call me a hero. I killed a man on the roof to get inside and that isn't something a hero does," said Smith. He paused a moment. "That's why I shouldn't be a hero. No room for them in this world anymore," Smith said.
"Tell me something then about the Drighton Spaceport Massacre then, or at least the key question that everyone has on their mind. Tell me where the disc that incriminates Marshal Amon is?" Dwight said.

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part. 2

2007-01-30T14:05:00.000-08:00

Dwight did not expect to see Deacon Smith out of his armor. He sat in the left hand corner of the room in darkness. Only the orange burn of a cigarette could be seen until he leaned forward into the light. Deacon wore the Skinsuit that was worn beneath any suit of armor. There were various plugs and hose feeds for the suit to connect to. Sitting at the other end of the conference room was the Mark 1 armor. It sat in a chair and leaned against the wall like some sleeping sentry. Dwight's forehead broke out in beads of perspiration.
"You remember that don't you? The way the suit gave you claustrophobia when you were sealed into it and the helmet came on. You remember the first time you vomited into your faceplate only to have the damn thing clean itself and smell like it was brand new. I know I remembered even before I put it on. Sit down Dwight," Smith said.
"Yeah, yeah I do Deacon. Now let's talk about what happened," Dwight said. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small black ball that resembled a marble. He placed it on the table and pressed his fingers on its sides. A red light came from inside the sphere and it hovered above the table and stopped at the level of their mouths.
"Fancy, Orb Recorder from RugashiCorp., huh? I didn't think journalists made enough to pay for tech like that?" Smith said.
"We're online and the feed is open, so I suggest we begin. How does it feel to be called a City Hero Operator Smith?" said Dwight. He reached into his jacket pocket again and produced a cigarette.
Deacon Smith stood up and limped towards the table in front of Dwight Anders. He sat down and smashed his cigarette into one of the stainless steel ashtrays.
"Well Dwight, I'll tell you how I feel. I think it's a waste of time for people to call me a hero. I killed a man on the roof to get inside and that isn't something a hero does," said Smith. He paused a moment. "That's why I shouldn't be a hero. No room for them in this world anymore," Smith said.
"Tell me something then about the Drighton Spaceport Massacre then, or at least the key question that everyone has on their mind. Tell me where the disc that incriminates Marshal Amon is?" Dwight said.

Previously on Onward!...

"Life in the City, or Los Angeles, as we used to call it, is pretty damn fast. You stop to look around and admire the architecture and you'll find yourself in the Black ORs. Yeah, I said Black ORs. Operating Rooms that are run for the Black Market. Yes, even in the future we have these things. Over a hundred years worth of technology and googleplexes of money spent to create body parts and the High Enders always wind up paying black market prices," he said. He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled through his nostrils.
"But you know what, I love it here. I love it here in the filth and stink of this tainted city. It's my home. And I'm the only journalist doing the City justice. So back the hell off me Macon Dean. I paid my debt to you and Deacon Smith asked for me and only me," said the man. He tossed his cigarette at Macon Dean's armored feet.
The eye-patched commander of the 7th Operator Precinct in Down Town Los Angeles crossed his immense forearms and sighed.
"Dwight, the only reason I tolerate your ass is because you helped me out once. You know that don't you?" Macon said. His icy blue eye looked Dwight Anders unwaveringly.
"I missed you too Macon," said Dwight. He hugged Macon tightly.
"He's in the conference room."
Dwight Anders was as much a celebrity as Deacon Smith now was. In fact they were the City's stars due to the request made by Deacon Smith after the Drighton Spaceport Massacre. Dwight pressed his hand onto the icy slab of metal on a cylindrical column in front of the conference room. A light at the top blinked red, then amber and finally cleared to blue. The double doors hissed open and closed quickly behind Dwight.
"You're late," Deacon Smith said.

Raider Nation news...

2007-01-30T09:51:00.000-08:00

Lane Kiffin
Head Coach


Lane Kiffin has been named the 16th Head Coach in Raiders history.

Lane Kiffin has been named Head Coach of The Oakland Raiders. With his appointment by Raiders owner Al Davis, Kiffin becomes the 16th head coach in franchise history and the youngest head coach in the NFL. The 31-year old Kiffin is also the youngest Head Coach in Raider history. Pro Football Hall of Fame Coach John Madden was 32 when he was elevated to the head post by Davis in 1969.

Most recently, Kiffin presided over the vaunted offensive attack at the University of Southern California that a featured long, medium and short-range passing game coupled with a power running attack. His tutoring helped the Trojans capture back-to-back National College Football Championships in 2003 and 2004.

Kiffin's play-calling, structure and offensive design helped the Trojan produce two Heisman Trophy winners-Reggie Bush in 2005 and Matt Leinart in 2004.

All I can say is sweeeeeeet!

I took the Which Science Fiction Writer are you? and I am...

2007-01-28T19:01:00.000-08:00

William Gibson

The chief instigator of the "cyberpunk" wave of the 1980s, his razzle-dazzle futuristic intrigues were, for a while, the most imitated work in science fiction.

Check which one you are at:

http://paulkienitz.net/skiffy.html

Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 1

2007-01-28T00:27:00.000-08:00

"Life in the City, or Los Angeles, as we used to call it, is pretty damn fast. You stop to look around and admire the architecture and you'll find yourself in the Black ORs. Yeah, I said Black ORs. Operating Rooms that are run for the Black Market. Yes, even in the future we have these things. Over a hundred years worth of technology and googleplexes of money spent to create body parts and the High Enders always wind up paying black market prices," he said. He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled through his nostrils.
"But you know what, I love it here. I love it here in the filth and stink of this tainted city. It's my home. And I'm the only journalist doing the City justice. So back the hell off me Macon Dean. I paid my debt to you and Deacon Smith asked for me and only me," said the man. He tossed his cigarette at Macon Dean's armored feet.
The eye-patched commander of the 7th Operator Precinct in Down Town Los Angeles crossed his immense forearms and sighed.
"Dwight, the only reason I tolerate your ass is because you helped me out once. You know that don't you?" Macon said. His icy blue eye looked Dwight Anders unwaveringly.
"I missed you too Macon," said Dwight. He hugged Macon tightly.
"He's in the conference room."
Dwight Anders was as much a celebrity as Deacon Smith now was. In fact they were the City's stars due to the request made by Deacon Smith after the Drighton Spaceport Massacre. Dwight pressed his hand onto the icy slab of metal on a cylindrical column in front of the conference room. A light at the top blinked red, then amber and finally cleared to blue. The double doors hissed open and closed quickly behind Dwight.
"You're late," Deacon Smith said.

Chapter one is up...

2007-01-28T00:21:00.000-08:00

Like I promised. It is up and it is available to view and in PDF format. Simply go to my site, look for the tag that says Onward! and voila, story time.

http://writingonthewall.wetpaint.com/

And I'll start chapter 2 shortly. Mwahahahahahaha!
Peace

Onward!: Pt. 10

2007-01-26T12:19:00.000-08:00

The rebels backed away from Smith as he lifted himself from the far wall of the room with their leader in one of his powered fists. The man was not suffocating, as Smith knew exactly how much pressure to apply, but his feet were dangling about a meter off the ground. Smith pointed a pistol at him.
"I'm only going to say this once. Leave now with your weapons on the floor, or the Marshals will come in here and slaughter you all. I'm here to stop the latter, but if you want to be burned alive by them, fine by me, I'll leave. But any chance you have of cooperating will be null and void if I walk out that door with your leader," Smith said. He waited for several minutes.
Two of the largest rebels moved towards each other and exchanged glances. They began to talk and one nodded to the other. He did not move though. The other man moved towards Smith. He held up his rifle and put it down on the floor. The rest of the rebels did the same.
"We just want to talk, and you, Deacon Smith, are the Operator we wanted," the man said. His accent heavy with the local street mix of Spanish, Jamaican and English.
"Why didn't you just ask for me?" said Smith.
"We did, the Marshals cut the feed links. They want to come in here. You're the only one that can get us out of here Smith," the man said.
"You see, we just want to get off world. Away from the City and away from Marshal Amon. He's the one that killed our clansmen over in the DungJillie Factory near the old refineries. It was just him and we have him on a live-stream disc. The other Marshals don't know, but he's the one that pushed for them to come.
Smith released his grip on the rebel leader and then walked over to the taller man. He was about to shake his hand when the man's brain matter was sprayed across his faceplate. The Marshals had lost patience with the situation.
"Macon, what the hell's going on. I just had them stop firing and now someone's coming in here guns blazing?" yelled Smith.
"Sorry Deacon, the Marshals outrank us here. Best bet is save as many as you can and try and get to the roof. We've got a gunship waiting for you and any survivors," Macon said.
"Operator Smith to Company Handler Graves, Line 4812, transmit signal. Get a Marshal Ashtree on the the line, Marshal Amon is compromised, repeat, Marshal Amon is compromised, Send now," Smith said.
He grabbed the three closest rebels, two women and the leader, and made way for the elevator. He jacked into the mainframe once more and was ready to key the door closed when an armored fist smacked into his faceplate. He was grabbed from his right shoulder guard and yanked out of the elevator. The elevator jack snapped but the doors closed and Smith heard the hum of the elevator rising. He smiled inside his faceplate and sighed heavily. Then he was smashed against the metal doors of the elevator by Marshal Amon's Judgment Suit.
"Well, look what he have here boys, looks like we have public enemy number one," clicked Marshal Amon. The vox units built into the Marshal's suits made their voices sound cold and inhuman.
"Who is that Operator?" said Marshal Raihu. The green skinned Marshal wore no helmet. He preferred to see who he was talking to at all times, even in the depths of space Marshal Raihu was renowned for wearing only an oxygen mask. He walked over to Smith and pulled off his helmet.
"Deacon Smith? You were helping these rebels? Why? Are you not considered a hero of the City?" said Marshal Raihu.
"He's scum, always has been, always will be," said Amon. There was a click and then a quick whirring of gears as Amon's Judgment Suit brought forth the deadly Ragnarok cannon that each Marshal carried in the forearm of their suits. Smith watched the chromed barrel grow bright yellow as it powered up.
"Smith, how could you betray the side of justice to help these people?" said Raihu. He shook his head. Suddenly his pointed ears twitched and he turned behind him.
"Put him down Marshal Amon. And back away slowly," said Marshall Ashtree. Both his Ragnarok cannons were out. Since he was considered the High Marshall, his suit had two cannons and other gear awarded only to the high ranking judge. He moved slowly toward Amon.
"Marshal Ashtree, what are you doing?" said Amon. He had not let Smith go.
"I said stand down Marshal Amon," said Marshal Ashtree. He moved in close enough to place both cannons at the back of Amon's suit.
"Okay, why are we letting this law-breaker leave?" said Amon.
"He didn't break the law. You did," said Ashtree. He slammed an armored gauntlet into the back of Marshal Amon's suit.
Amon twirled and fired his cannon at Ashtree, missing by mere centimeters. Marshal Raihu tackled Smith out of the way and led him outside.
"What happened?" Smith said. He gasped for air.
"Marshal Ashtree told me you sent him a message about Amon. He's a crooked judge and we will not stand for that. Justice will be served," Raihu said. Then he ran back inside the spaceport.
Concrete slabs were blasted from the foundation beams of the building. The gunship took off with the three survivors in tow. Smith watched as it headed for the nearest precinct. There was no sounds coming from inside the building. The crowd that had gathered held their collective breath. Suddenly Marshal Raihu was thrown through the facing wall and landed behind the crowd. Smith ran over towards him and made sure he was okay. There were deep lacerations to his face and thick bluish-green blood streamed down his face.
"Marshal Raihu, are you alright? What happened in there?" Smith said. He helped the marshal to his feet.
"Smith, evacuate everyone here now, Amon just keyed his suit for termination. Marshal Ashtree is trying to undo the sequence but Amon put some kind of code blocker in his suit's mainframe. We don't have much time," Raihu said.
"Fine, just help him out, we can't lose him to Amon," Smith said.
Raihu flew back into the building just as Smith started yelling at the crowd to get away as quickly as possible. They were not dispersing so he keyed into the City's vid-feed monitors and his voice boomed from the floating speakers.
"This is Operator Smith, leave the area as quickly as possible. Marshal Amon's suit has been set to self destruct, move as quickly as you can from this building," yelled Smith. He waved his hands as he ran through the surging crowds.
The last of the stragglers had ran down two full blocks when Smith heard the loud groaning sound coming from the building. There was a crumbling of another wall followed by Marshal Raihu carrying Marshal Ashtree. Ashtree's face was covered in blood and one eye was completely shut. Raihu's Ragnarok Cannon had been smashed to his arm and blood flowed from his right arm. Ashtree's left cannon had been ripped from its mooring and only the hydraulic interior remained. And he carried the limp body of Marshal Amon.
"Run!" screamed Raihu as he flew passed Smith and took cover behind a building several blocks down.
Smith pumped his arms and legs as fast as his powered armor would allow and then dove behind the wall of a building just as the spaceport structure collapsed inward as the foundation gave way. Smith put his head against the cool wall and sighed. Then the world was bathed in smoke and debris as the Judgment Suit exploded. Smith curled into a ball and covered his head as best he could. The world was still around Smith.
When he woke he found that he was buried beneath debris and rubble. The wall he had chose to provide him with cover held and he used the hand held rail gun to shoot his way out of the small cave that had formed around him. His armor was scratched and dented in several different places. His left arm was not moving either. The servos that were in place in the shoulder area had been sheered off by the falling masonry. He was thankful that his arm did not break.
What was left of the area was not much and it was bathed in the dust and ash of the blast. No sooner had Smith stood on the debris to look at the remains of the spaceport than the first of the Media Orbs arrived. Their metallic orb bodies taking in the view of the area with Smith standing in the foreground. Several minutes later the rest of the media showed up and microphones, vid-cams and reporters stormed him.
"Operator Smith," said one of the reporters wearing a Newspeak Gazette cap came running up to Smith.
"I want to talk to only one of you, and that would be Dwight Anders," Smith said. He sat down on the pavement and sighed deeply.

About Onward! pt. 10

2007-01-26T12:16:00.000-08:00

Once the end of a chapter comes, there will be no Previously on Onward!, as it seems silly to have that much story to a post. However, in the event that there are large time gaps from the second to last and the final post, then and only then, will I add a previously section.
Peace, and enjoy the the final post of Onward! Chapter 1. It'll be done in a couple of hours.

RR

Onward!: Pt. 9

2007-01-26T10:48:00.000-08:00

The ride down to the spaceport was one that Deacon Smith would come to remember for years. It was his second year as part of the Company's line of Operators. He got paid well, lived in the upscale part of town and never had any vices that put him on the front page news feeds. He was called a local hero by the Star Town News Daily and a promising sign of the the times by the City Herald. And he never let any of the press get to his head. In fact, he often stayed home alone. But now he was going to be front page news and everyone jacked into the local feeds would know that Deacon Smith was going to try and stop the rebels before the three best Marshals had to go in and clean up house.
Deacon's head swam as they readied for landing. The old armor he had on was substantially heavier than his own own Mark 10 armor. But what he needed now was not a light-weight suit of armor, no, what was really needed was for the rebels to put down their weapons before the Marshals and their Judgment Suits came in and turned everything before them to ash. He didn't want to see these people die, even if they were breaking the laws of the city. He'd rather have them all in jail then have to attend to a mass funeral. But with the Marshals being as temperamental as they were, no one ever knew how long they would wait.
The gunship flew in low and quick over the hot zone. Smith would have a five meter jump down from the gunship's ramp and then he'd be by himself. He took his pistols and a hand-held rail gun in case he needed an extra incentive for the rebels inside the building.
"Green light Smith," said the door operator on the landing ramp. The rotating amber lights filled the bay area and Smith turned back one last time to see Larissa's face.
"If I make it out of there alive, will you go out with me?" said Deacon. His faceplate obscured his eyes and the fear they held.
"If you make it out alive I'll think about it," said Larissa. She laughed.
"So was that a yes?" Smith said.
"Yes you damn fool, now get going," Larissa said. She ran up to him and kissed his face plate.
"Okay then," said Smith. He ran off the ramp and landed on the roof of the building the rebels had occupied.
He rolled to help with the shock of landing and then decided that had been a bad idea. Mark 1 armor had never been known to absorb the shock of gunship free-fall jumps, even from five meters up. He shook his head and then the ear bud he wore chimed on.
"Smith, this is Macon, what's the SitRep?"
"Not good, they are heavily armed. I count Eight Autocannons up here alone, the gunships can take those out once I get the guards up here, there's only three of them, no armor. But the cannons are remote controlled. So wait for my signal to blow them, over," Smith said.
"Fine, tell us when you're inside. Out," Macon said.
Macon ran at the nearest guard and took him out with an open palm punch to the solar plexus. He scanned the rebel for any internal damage and saw none. He moved on to the next guard but this one fired at him as soon as he turned around. The bullets of the automatic rifle bounced off Deacon's armor and clattered to the floor.
He smiled behind his faceplate and smacked the rebel sideways with an open palm. Two down, one to go, Smith had thought. He looked around to try and spot the last guard but found him too late. The Autocannon opened fire on him and sent him sprawling. He could feel the dents in his chest. Luckily the armor was not compromised, yet. He crawled over to the nearest cannon mooring and leaned against it. The gunfire stopped. He heard the rebel calling for back up and knew that he had to take him down with force. He aimed his pistol and made it a head shot.
The rebel's body slumped backward onto the concrete roof. Smith ran towards the downed man and grabbed the remote. He fired on the furthest cannon and then aimed the rest at each other.
"Operator Smith to Chief Operator Dean," Smith said. The vents in his suit released cool air and helped him relax.
"This is Macon, how's it going Smith?" said Macon. He heard the Autocannon fire in the background.
"The cannons are taken care of. You can land a gunship or two up here now, I'm going in. Two men are out here, one deceased. No other way," Smith said.
"Fine Smith, get going," Macon said.
"Smith out," Deacon said.
He looked around at the smoking cannons and made his way toward the service elevator. He got in and opened a panel in his armor. He jacked into the elevator's mainframe and sent the elevator's stopping point as the ground floor, where the majority of the rebels were. The slow hum of the elevator picked up and then abruptly slowed down as it neared the ground floor. There was a loud clang then the doors opened slowly. Smith had barely enough time to snatch his plug out of the control panel. He was fired upon the moment the elevator's door opened. Smith ducked behind the inside panel and tried closing it. It didn't close.
He brought both pistols up and leapt out of the elevator. The first few bullets did nothing to him as they bounced off his armor. It was the lascannon that the rebels had that slammed him against the wall. He felt the world spinning again and blacked out for a minute.
They thought he was dead since he did not move. But when he squeezed the the throat of their leader in his amored fist, they all backed away...

Previously on Onward1...

The vid-screen was turned off by Smith. Both Larissa and Drake turned and looked at the battered Operator lying in his bed.
"They had to send in the three best judges the City had to stop this, Drake? Smith said.
"Looks like they did Deacon. And you know how this'll pan out. Rebels had a terrorist in their midst that went rogue and started firing on the Marshals, Marshals will go in with Extreme Prejudice. They are the law and they've got more firepower in their Judgment suits then an entire precinct of Operators do," Drake said.
"We were told to make sure you are okay and that you don't get any ideas in your thick skull to move toward the Drighton Spaceport. Plus, you've got no armor on you and that would be foolish to run into the combat zone with no protection," Larissa said.
"The rebels don't have any armor, and they seem to be doing a helluva lot better than our Operators down there are doing. No armor Larissa. They might as well be standing there naked. Yet we can't get close enough to them?" said Smith.
"I think they've got some kind of EMP that shorts out the armor's abilities and that's why we've been getting shot up out there.
"No, not an EMP, worse, A nano-fence around the perimeter that will take out the armor's abilities," said a man entering the room.
Drake and Larissa stood up and saluted the giant of a man. He saluted back. He smiled at Smith and walked over to him.
"You've dealt with this before haven't you Smith? Hmph, looks like I was wrong all those years ago. How close are you to being able to move?" the man said.
"Give me some regular body armor and I can get in there Macon. You know I can. And then the Marshals won't have to leave that place like a slaughterhouse," Smith said.
"Gwen and Drake, you are now his back up. Get him to the nearest precinct that carries Mark 1 body armor. Then get your asses down to the spaceport," Macon said. He smiled at Smith with his one good eye.
"Glad to see you still wear the eye patch Macon, and that you didn't get all hi-tech on me," Smith said. He laughed and hobbled out of bed...

Searching for Chapter 1...

2007-01-24T18:31:00.000-08:00

So I came up with an idea. Onward! will be collected as chapters when they reach a certain length.
So, that being said, Onward! Pt. 10 will be Chapter 1. It will be collected Chronologically and put on my website:

http://writingonthewall.wetpaint.com/

Peace

I Am Legend...

2007-01-23T10:23:00.000-08:00

So I saw this recently. Could be good or bad.

Castlevania Blog is up and running...

2007-01-23T10:22:00.000-08:00

So go catch the damn thing over at:

http://project51productions.com/

Peace,

Onward!: Pt. 8

2007-01-22T14:16:00.000-08:00

The vid-screen was turned off by Smith. Both Larissa and Drake turned and looked at the battered Operator lying in his bed.
"They had to send in the three best judges the City had to stop this, Drake? Smith said.
"Looks like they did Deacon. And you know how this'll pan out. Rebels had a terrorist in their midst that went rogue and started firing on the Marshals, Marshals will go in with Extreme Prejudice. They are the law and they've got more firepower in their Judgment suits then an entire precinct of Operators do," Drake said.
"We were told to make sure you are okay and that you don't get any ideas in your thick skull to move toward the Drighton Spaceport. Plus, you've got no armor on you and that would be foolish to run into the combat zone with no protection," Larissa said.
"The rebels don't have any armor, and they seem to be doing a helluva lot better than our Operators down there are doing. No armor Larissa. They might as well be standing there naked. Yet we can't get close enough to them?" said Smith.
"I think they've got some kind of EMP that shorts out the armor's abilities and that's why we've been getting shot up out there.
"No, not an EMP, worse, A nano-fence around the perimeter that will take out the armor's abilities," said a man entering the room.
Drake and Larissa stood up and saluted the giant of a man. He saluted back. He smiled at Smith and walked over to him.
"You've dealt with this before haven't you Smith? Hmph, looks like I was wrong all those years ago. How close are you to being able to move?" the man said.
"Give me some regular body armor and I can get in there Macon. You know I can. And then the Marshals won't have to leave that place like a slaughterhouse," Smith said.
"Gwen and Drake, you are now his back up. Get him to the nearest precinct that carries Mark 1 body armor. Then get your asses down to the spaceport," Macon said. He smiled at Smith with his one good eye.
"Glad to see you still wear the eye patch Macon, and that you didn't get all hi-tech on me," Smith said. He laughed and hobbled out of bed...

Previously on Onward!...
"This is Eve Newstead here at the Drighton Spaceport on the south end of the City where rebels are holding their own against a large force of Operators. The Company has sent in anti-grav tanks, land-speeders and Exo-squads to try and bring the rebels to justice. On hand are also several well known Marshals like Marshal Amon, Marshal Ashtree, and Marshal Raihu. All are wearing their Judgment Suits, though we spoke to Marshal Ashtree, the eldest of these judges and he said, and I quote, "We are looking for ways in which to avoid our entrance into this debacle. If we have to move in though, the rest of the Marshals and myself are not above using force." So there you have it folks, straight from a Marshals mouth, this is Eve Newstead for the Newspeak Gazette, live on the streets," said the reporter.

Onward!: Pt. 7

2007-01-22T14:06:00.000-08:00

"This is Eve Newstead here at the Drighton Spaceport on the south end of the City where rebels are holding their own against a large force of Operators. The Company has sent in anti-grav tanks, land-speeders and Exo-squads to try and bring the rebels to justice. On hand are also several well known Marshals like Marshal Amon, Marshal Ashtree, and Marshal Raihu. All are wearing their Judgment Suits, though we spoke to Marshal Ashtree, the eldest of these judges and he said, and I quote, "We are looking for ways in which to avoid our entrance into this debacle. If we have to move in though, the rest of the Marshals and myself are not above using force." So there you have it folks, straight from a Marshals mouth, this is Eve Newstead for the Newspeak Gazette, live on the streets," said the reporter.

Previously on Onward!...
Smith woke up to the lights of the infirmary bay. He had been placed on a gurney and strapped down. He looked to his right and saw the morphine drip. He tried to speak to the nurse who was taking his vitals but his speech came out slurred.
"Mr. Smith, you know very well you can't talk with morphine in your system. Please just relax, the procedure is almost over.
Smith's eyes widened as he looked to his left and saw two surgeons removing part of the body armor from his left rib area. Their headgear made them look like monsters with glowing eyes and odd protrusions from their skulls. Smith's vision blurred for a second then focused on the spinning saw blade in the larger surgeon's hand. He watched it approach his ribcage and could do nothing. On the bright side he could feel nothing either.
Darkness crept over him yet again. He heard voices one male and one female but could not make out what they were saying. He wasn't exactly sure if his eyes were opened or shut. He decided to go to sleep.
Smith woke once more in the infirmary. This time he was in a different room. Drake and Larissa Gwen were sitting at his bedside watching the vid-screens and taking in the sights of yet another riot near the spaceports. It had been day 27 of fighting near the ports and the Company was losing Operators rapidly. Smith heard Larissa sigh heavily...

Onward!: Pt. 6

2007-01-22T13:53:00.000-08:00

Smith woke up to the lights of the infirmary bay. He had been placed on a gurney and strapped down. He looked to his right and saw the morphine drip. He tried to speak to the nurse who was taking his vitals but his speech came out slurred.
"Mr. Smith, you know very well you can't talk with morphine in your system. Please just relax, the procedure is almost over.
Smith's eyes widened as he looked to his left and saw two surgeons removing part of the body armor from his left rib area. Their headgear made them look like monsters with glowing eyes and odd protrusions from their skulls. Smith's vision blurred for a second then focused on the spinning saw blade in the larger surgeon's hand. He watched it approach his ribcage and could do nothing. On the bright side he could feel nothing either.
Darkness crept over him yet again. He heard voices one male and one female but could not make out what they were saying. He wasn't exactly sure if his eyes were opened or shut. He decided to go to sleep.
Smith woke once more in the infirmary. This time he was in a different room. Drake and Larissa Gwen were sitting at his bedside watching the vid-screens and taking in the sights of yet another riot near the spaceports. It had been day 27 of fighting near the ports and the Company was losing Operators rapidly. Smith heard Larissa sigh heavily...

Previously on Onward!:
Smith could feel the fiber bundles on his vertebrae straining to stay together. The body armor that all Operators wore underneath their clothes saved him countless times before, but now, under the heel of an alien warrior, the suit was failing him. There was a loud pop and crunch followed by Smith losing consciousness.
When Smith finally came to three Operators were standing over him, one carrying a hand-held rail gun that had just been discharged. He shook his head and tried to get up. The three Operators helped him up and told him not to move. The smell of ozone was in the air. Smith managed to get a glimpse of the warrior crushed into the wall of the building they had been standing next to.
"You're lucky to be alive Smith," said the female Operator closest to him. She smiled.
"Yeah, I've never seen something like your back before. She basically squeezed the fiber bundles out of your suit. You're gonna be paralyzed while you're in your suit. We already called the Company and told them the situation," said an Operator Smith knew
"Drake? That you? It is isn't it? Where the hell am I?" said Smith.
"You're in Low Town, you got stomped, literally, by a Neekreshi Warrior. A female one at that. Don't know why you were down here though," Drake said.
Smith nodded his head and tried to move his arms, but they didn't move.
"Why did the suit paralyze me?" Smith said. He turned his head to the female Operator.
"It's part of the emergency process. You aren't supposed to be able to move in case any of the fiber bundles breaks or tears. In your case, they were squashed out of their netting and that caused the suit to stiffen. You're lucky your back is not broken," she said.
"What's your name?" Smith said. He tried to crack a smile through his lacerated face.
"Gwen, Larissa Gwen," Larissa said.
"I'm Smith. Deacon Smith, nice to meet you Larissa Gwen," Smith said. He smiled and then passed out again...

Onward!: Pt. 5

2007-01-19T10:50:00.000-08:00

Smith could feel the fiber bundles on his vertebrae straining to stay together. The body armor that all Operators wore underneath their clothes saved him countless times before, but now, under the heel of an alien warrior, the suit was failing him. There was a loud pop and crunch followed by Smith losing consciousness.
When Smith finally came to three Operators were standing over him, one carrying a hand-held rail gun that had just been discharged. He shook his head and tried to get up. The three Operators helped him up and told him not to move. The smell of ozone was in the air. Smith managed to get a glimpse of the warrior crushed into the wall of the building they had been standing next to.
"You're lucky to be alive Smith," said the female Operator closest to him. She smiled.
"Yeah, I've never seen something like your back before. She basically squeezed the fiber bundles out of your suit. You're gonna be paralyzed while you're in your suit. We already called the Company and told them the situation," said an Operator Smith knew
"Drake? That you? It is isn't it? Where the hell am I?" said Smith.
"You're in Low Town, you got stomped, literally, by a Neekreshi Warrior. A female one at that. Don't know why you were down here though," Drake said.
Smith nodded his head and tried to move his arms, but they didn't move.
"Why did the suit paralyze me?" Smith said. He turned his head to the female Operator.
"It's part of the emergency process. You aren't supposed to be able to move in case any of the fiber bundles breaks or tears. In your case, they were squashed out of their netting and that caused the suit to stiffen. You're lucky your back is not broken," she said.
"What's your name?" Smith said. He tried to crack a smile through his lacerated face.
"Gwen, Larissa Gwen," Larissa said.
"I'm Smith. Deacon Smith, nice to meet you Larissa Gwen," Smith said. He smiled and then passed out again...

Previously on Onward!...

The buzzing started up and Smith covered his ears. His tear ducts would have spilled liquid if he'd still had the ducts to begin with. the enhanced eyes that the Agency had given Smith did many things but they did not shed tears. Besides, he was an Operator for the Agency and he didn't do things like cry. Even when an female Neekreshi Warrior was speaking with the voice buffer turned off. His ears began to bleed and he could feel reality slipping away from him rapidly. He crashed down onto the concrete amid the remnants of dirty old shoes, rancid meals in plastic bags and broken phials and discarded needles. The last thing Smith felt before the lights went out was the Neekreshi Warrior slamming her good foot down onto his spine...

Onward! Pt.4

2007-01-17T17:08:00.000-08:00

The buzzing started up and Smith covered his ears. His tear ducts would have spilled liquid if he'd still had the ducts to begin with. the enhanced eyes that the Agency had given Smith did many things but they did not shed tears. Besides, he was an Operator for the Agency and he didn't do things like cry. Even when an female Neekreshi Warrior was speaking with the voice buffer turned off. His ears began to bleed and he could feel reality slipping away from him rapidly. He crashed down onto the concrete amid the remnants of dirty old shoes, rancid meals in plastic bags and broken phials and discarded needles. The last thing Smith felt before the lights went out was the Neekreshi Warrior slamming her good foot down onto his spine...

Previously on Onward!...

The lights of the LAPD gunship flashed down on Smith's car. He hid in the shadows of the alleyway as the gunship flew by. It hovered over the area where the Neekresh's body had been. Smith held his breath and watched as the light turned off and the low hum of the gunship's engines drifted off into the heart of the city. Smith was safe for now.
He looked at the Neekresh. It was a female and of the the Warrior Caste. And she was pissed that Smith had shattered her ankle.

There was a garbled buzzing as the voice buffer turned on. The Neekresh Warrior was going to speak...

Onward! Pt. 3

2007-01-14T00:24:00.000-08:00

The lights of the LAPD gunship flashed down on Smith's car. He hid in the shadows of the alleyway as the gunship flew by. It hovered over the area where the Neekresh's body had been. Smith held his breath and watched as the light turned off and the low hum of the gunship's engines drifted off into the heart of the city. Smith was safe for now.
He looked at the Neekresh. It was a female and of the the Warrior Caste. And she was pissed that Smith had shattered her ankle.

There was a garbled buzzing as the voice buffer turned on. The Neekresh Warrior was going to speak...

Previously on Onward!:

Smith smiled and waited for the camouflaged runner to stop yelling. He ripped off the runner's mask and winced. Smith had been expecting a human being, not one of the Neekresh aliens, creatures that had the upper and lower bodies of humans but chicken-like heads complete with beaks.
"This could be very very bad," Smith said.

Onward! Pt.2

2007-01-10T13:22:00.000-08:00

Smith smiled and waited for the camouflaged runner to stop yelling. He ripped off the runner's mask and winced. Smith had been expecting a human being, not one of the Neekresh aliens, creatures that had the upper and lower bodies of humans but chicken-like heads complete with beaks.
"This could be very very bad," Smith said.

Previously on Onward!
Smith moved around the corner of the alleyway, gun trained and moving on anything that could move in the alley. Several squatters got up slowly, hands raised and shuffled out of their makeshift home. Smith grunted and waited for them to leave. That was when he watched the thermal camouflage blur move toward one of the gantries at the end of the alleyway.
He released the clip in his gun and slammed in homing bullets.
The camouflaged runner was brought down hard as one of the bullets slammed through its ankle and it dropped back down onto the alleyway...

Children of Men...

2007-01-07T09:55:00.000-08:00

If you haven't seen it yet, do yourself a favor and get off your ass and go watch this movie. It's funny, serious, and morbid all at once. There are scenes filled with noise and despair and silent reflective scenes that jolt your consciousness into reality.
Children of Men, go see it,
Peace

The Charge...

2007-01-04T16:12:00.000-08:00

Janine Mendoza and Emory Roberts did not believe what Director Daizen had told them. They both laughed it off as he finished speaking.
"That's perfectly okay, I didn't expect you to understand the kind of place we are truly running here, so I'll let the little slip in professionalism go, just this once. However, I was deadly serious about you both being MTF sleeper agents. I was told so by a trusted friend of over a hundred years. You won't believe me about him either. But why don't you both go down to level thirteen? Use your ID badge and not your card keys, trust me on this much," said Daizen. He handed both of his employees two manila folders with their names on them. Each file was heavy.
"Sir, that still doesn't explain our headaches," Janine said. She flipped through her file.
Daizen slapped the folder closed.
"Not in here Ms. Mendoza, classified information in there for your eyes only and there are cameras in here," Daizen said.
"Sleeper agents. That's a good one Director Daizen," Emory said. He got up and left the director's office...

The Other...

2007-01-04T16:04:00.000-08:00

Janine Mendoza had been sitting at her cubicle when the email from Director Jonathan Daizen reached her inbox. She opened it and her heart raced a little as it always did when she received an email from the director. It was stupid, she knew that, because everyone in the MTF offices received his emails. But she always felt as if he was speaking specifically to her. She read the email twice and scrunched her eyebrows together. Then the headache hit like a bomb blast followed by a shockwave of nausea. She hit the print button and walked the piece of paper over to the director's office. She knocked on the doorframe and saw that Emory Roberts was sitting in the leather chair in front of Director Daizen.
"Ah, see my good man you're fortune just changed, we have the partner," said Daizen. He smiled and waved Janine into his office.
"Janine Mendoza, good to see you, good to see you, please sit, and close the door before you do so. I have something to tell you and it is very important..."

Back at the Office...

2007-01-04T14:54:00.000-08:00

Emory walked into the director's office and cleared his throat. The director stopped drumming his desk with the eraser end of his pencils. He looked at Emory and smiled.
"Yes Emory, how can I help you today?" the director said.
"Director Daizen, sir, are you okay?" said Emory.
"Why yes, whatever would suggest that I wasn't?" said the director. He put the pencils back inside a small cup filled with more sharpened pencils.
"Well sir, we seemed to have gotten this odd email from you sir," Emory said. He handed the email to him.
Daizen looked at the email and laughed.
"Oh this email, ah, it's nothing at all Emory, nothing to worry about at all," said Daizen. He handed Emory back the email and touched the mouse at the end of his desk. His flat screen came back to life.
"Sir, this isn't like anything you've ever sent us before. The entire office received this, not just me," Emory said.
"Oh dear. Well, I guess I should explain shouldn't I?" Daizen said.
"I think that might be appropriate sir," said Emory. He sat down in the chair facing the director.
"Do you know what graceful degradation is Emory?" Daizen asked. He clasped his hands together like banker would when pitching CDs to investors.
"Yes sir, it is the process by which a system can continue to function despite having some of its components not working," Emory said.
"Good boy, you deserve a treat you do. But not now, despite that fine exegesis, for now you have a job to do. Tell me, did that email cause anything strange to happen?"
"Why no sir, nothing at all," Emory said.
"No pain in the frontal lobes? No splitting headache?" Daizen said. He leaned back in his chair like a comic book evil genius would; hands steepled together.
"I did get a headache sir, quite painful," Emory said.
"Ah, then you are the one. Let's wait another minute and we'll have another join you in partnership," said Daizen.
Emory sat and looked down at his beaten brown shoes...

The Message...

2007-01-04T13:12:00.000-08:00

The screen on Emory's computer read simply, "Iteration system-wide engenders economies of scale, cross-media technology, presentation action items and life cycle replication."
He squeezed his eyes shut and squinted at the words strung together to try and figure out what it meant. His phone went off and he picked it up while still staring at his screen.
"Hello?" Emory said.
"Em, you see this weird message?"
"Who is this?"
"Oh, sorry, its Tom," said the voice on the other end of the phone.
"Tom, yeah, I'm looking at it right now. This some kind of stunt or something?" said Emory.
"I thought it was but Betty is looking at it too," Tom said.
"Guess we'll just have to ask the director about it," said Emory. He got out of his seat and walked
towards the director's office...

A New Year, A new Outlook...

2007-01-03T18:32:00.000-08:00

Something I've been working on for quite a while...

"Tonight is the night the world changes and most people would never realize it. In fact most are sleeping in their comfortable Jersey knit sheets and Down pillows. Most humanity is normally asleep and so they would come to miss the actions brought about by The Accident. Of course, my job is to make sure The Accident doesn't happen at all. I'm the keeper of the doorways to other worlds. I'm the Director for the Multiverse Task Force, simply called the MTF. We fix whatever is wrong with our world for a better tomorrow. And we will find those that seek to destroy our way of life.

Director Jonathan Daizen
MTF

more soon...

Ellis is Like Crack...

2006-12-29T18:54:00.000-08:00

So I wound up buying a couple of Warren Ellis books since I need my fix of his writing (snort) and all I can say is that this man is an amazing writer. I finally found and bought Desolation Jones and that is a really awesome read. Pick it up if you can find it.
Peace, and Happy Holidays to all...

Something wicked...

2006-12-22T16:16:00.001-08:00

Markus had walked into the Four Winds bar looking for Macon Dean. He glanced at the bar and saw the refuse that took up residence there. He heard the click-clack of the pool tables and sniffed the air. He knew where Macon was. He turned on his heel and walked to the back of the bar. Standing against the back wall and holding his cue stick, Macon Dean smiled as he played against the regulars at the Four Winds.
"Macon Dean?" said Markus. He clenched his fists.
Macon looked at the imposing man blocking the entrance to the game room and stopped smiling.
"How can I help you friend?" said Macon. He sipped a beer from a table nearby.
"We have need of your services, and you must come with me now," Markus said.
"I don't think I'll be going anywhere with you tonight, sweetheart," Macon said. He laughed. The people standing around him laughed as well.
"Fine, you want to be flagrant about not coming, you'll have to pay the price," Markus said.
He looked at the man closest to him and the man immediately burst into flames.
Macon sipped his beer again and mumbled something Markus could not hear. The fire was gone and the man was left unharmed.
Markus smiled and nodded.
"Give me five minutes and I'll see you outside," Macon said. He finished his beer and slammed the glass down on the table. "It's gonna be a long night tonight."

Killing Time...

2006-12-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

I need to write something interesting during the break. I've got to free my mind from work or I swear I'll wind up going crazy, on the bright side, Wizard World looks promising this year and my wife said I should try going to San Diego Comic Con this year (Mostly because a friend of ours lives in San Diego which would eliminate her from having to be around more fanboys than myself. Besides, she was a good sport and did Wizard World L.A. with me the first year at Long Beach...
Warren Ellis
Joseph Michael Linsner
Neil Gaiman
Paul Pope
Adam Hughes
Allan Heinberg
etc.

STRANGER THAN FICTION...

2006-12-18T10:16:00.000-08:00

Saw this movie last night and all I can say is that it was really well done. If you're a fan of Grant Morrison's work, you'll love this movie. Or just a fan of literature in general.
Peace

Warren's newest stuff...

2006-12-18T09:56:00.000-08:00

Thought you might like to know what Ellis is up to...

"

A few details, then.

LISTENER is, god help me, a near-future sf novel. An accident at a military loading bay with an illegal biological weapon led to the extermination of almost everyone in America. Some years on, the British government is contacted by a colony of survivors Stateside who claim to have a cure for The Bite. An internet journalist — a man studded with audio implants turning him into an objective “listening post,” the Listener of the title - is engaged to travel with a fact-finding mission to the Seattle colony, where unaffected survivors are living uncomfortably close to a gathering of the Bitten, people in whom the bioweapon became chronic rather than fatal, and in whom the weapon may still be active. The Listener is there to determine what kind of society is emerging in post-Bite America; to separate the myths that have risen around dead American from the truth of what’s happening in the colony called Needle.

I deliver the novel in the summer of ‘07, around the same time CROOKED LITTLE VEIN gets released. My guess would be that LISTENER will therefore be slated for summer 2008.

My book agent is Lydia Wills at Paradigm NY. My film/tv agent is Angela Cheng Caplan of the Cheng Caplan Company. My editor at HarperCollins is Jeremy Cesarec."

Connnected: Chapter 5

2006-12-16T10:26:00.001-08:00

5
Tom Fitzgerald drove down La Brea and turned on Sunset. He was going to lunch at a small Indian restaurant well known for its vegetarian meals. He did not expect much in the way of traffic since he had stopped at the restaurant every Friday at the same exact time. He even had his meal ready for him when he walked through the door. One of the perks of being a good cop in a bad city. He parked the car across the street in the small lot and walked to the restaurant. His meal was waiting for him.
A smiling waiter brought him more of the flatbread called Naan for his meal. The smell of curry filled his nostrils and he asked for some water and a Coke. The waiter bowed, still smiling and went to the back of the restaurant.
“How are you my friend?” said an older Indian man.
Tom looked up and smiled. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and shook hands with the man in front of him.
“How are you Suresh?” said Tom. He motioned for the man to sit.
“Very good my friend, very good, business is running smoothly. Our karma is good because of you my friend. Please do not ever stop coming,” said Suresh. He laughed.
Tom laughed also. He looked around the small room and saw that it was packed and it was only noon.
“Suresh, is it always this crowded now?” said Tom. He took a swig of Coke.
“Oh yes, always during lunch and dinner times. We make enough to close on Saturdays until dinner time, Sunday too,” Suresh said. He smiled. “All this because you saved us that one day, my friend.”
Tom looked at Suresh and the smile had gone from his face. Suresh was being serious. Suresh looked back and forth then motioned for Tom to come closer.
“You truly are good karma for us Tom. Please do not stop coming. Also, there is a package for you from Chicago. I did not open it, for your eyes only,” said Suresh. He placed a small manila envelope on the red and white tablecloth and pushed it gently towards Tom.
“Thank you Mr. Fitzgerald for all that you have done, as we say in my country, Namaste,” Suresh said. He excused himself to greet other customers.
Tom looked at the envelope and looked around the room. He reached for it and his Coke at the same time. He then casually opened the letter and read its contents.
“This has got to be some kind of joke,” Tom said. He paid for his meal, leaving the cash on the table and running back to his car.
He opened the car door and took out his cell phone. He dialed frantically and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. Two rings, no answer. On the third Tom was going to hang up when he heard a voice say hello.
“What the hell is the meaning of this? I know that, but you shouldn’t have sent me anything at all. You don’t think he’ll find out who it was eventually? I know that, but what do you want me to do about it? You’re in Chicago and I’m in Los Angeles. There’s no way I can be there in ten minutes,” said Tom. His car started shaking and he held onto the steering wheel.
Before him was what looked like a blank canvas roughly six feet high and ten feet long. His cell phone went off again. He looked at the display and hesitated. It ran three more times before he picked it up.
“I see it. Now what? Drive my car through that? Are you crazy? Fine. I’ll see you in a few,” said Tom.
He turned the ignition on and drove straight towards the wall of white. As he approached it quickly changed color and was now a bright golden color. He put his shades on and drove through. The golden glow quickly dissipated as he passed through and no one on Sunset Boulevard noticed an LAPD Detective disappear without a trace.

Connected: Chapter 4

2006-12-16T10:25:00.000-08:00

The world was burned to a crisp. Cities had been reduced to rubble and life had resumed, only below ground instead of above. The inhabitants of Sloan, California had not seen daylight for over ten years. But that was the way things had been in the 8th Parallel. No light for ten years, then too much light for another ten. Hogarth had been away for the ten years of light. He had found the city of Los Angeles in a parallel earth to be quite pleasing. His family was not happy to find out where he had been.
He told them of the man named Zev and how he had somehow known of the 8th Parallel and had spent some time here before the sun began to die. None of his family believed him. They told him he was a fool for believing the strange shirtless man. Even Hogarth had begun to believe the man was made up. No one they knew in the city of Sloan had been alive for more than fifty years, and if what the man named Zev had said was true he’d have to be at least a hundred years old or older to have witnessed the glory of the city prior to its destruction.
Hogarth had combed through piles and piles of logs and photos trying to find anything that could link Zev to his world. Unfortunately all that the local library had was extinguished in about a week. He needed someone who had archives that went further back. He needed someone who was supposed to be a keeper of arcane knowledge. He needed to talk to Macon Dean, the oldest person living in the city.
Hogarth had made his way to the enormous spired tenement building built deep beneath the mountain ranges of Southern California. He had come alone and bearing gifts from earth to entreat Macon. The asbestos suit-wearing doormen opened the great glass doors and led him to the only working elevator in the complex. They walked back outside but before they did they put on their oxygen masks as a firestorm was coming toward them. Despite being underground, the massive hive city lay beneath the San Andreas Fault line and the fissure that had opened months ago let in the flames that seared the surface of the planet once every week.
The men were covered in flames and then they seemed to have disappeared in a wall of flame. The doors shut and Hogarth traveled farther up the building. He was able to look out of a small viewing slat and saw the guards below him in flames. They walked around as if they were not even on fire. Their suits were protecting them from the intense heat outside. He breathed in and exhaled slowly. The elevator had started to slow and he looked at the floor key. He was on the twelfth floor. The doors slid open with a short ping and Hogarth stepped out into the hallway.
He did not breathe. Everywhere he looked was a sight that he could not believe. Marble covered the floor, walls and ceiling. Hogarth stepped closer to the gilded pillars and saw that they were gold. Frescoes hung on the wall, freshly painted. A red headed woman stepped towards Hogarth with a leather book in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Name, sir?” said the red head.
“Hogarth.”
“Hogarth? Is that a first name or a last name?”
“First name.”
“Your last name, sir?” the red head said again.
“Brennan, Hogarth Brennan,” Hogarth said.
“Very well, have a seat over there by my desk and I’ll go speak with Mr. Dean,” the red head said. She slammed the book shut and walked to some frosted glass doors.
Hogarth could make out the outline of a man and the red head’s shape but could not see anything else. He sat down on the plush leather couch and placed his back against it. He sighed in comfort and closed his eyes.
“So you’re the one who met Zev?” said a blonde haired man with matching muttonchops.
Hogarth opened his eyes and slid down. He was surprised to see the man known as Macon Dean several inches from his face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, force of habit, I was an interrogator for the Army,” Macon said. He snapped his suspenders.
Hogarth took in the man that stood before him. Clean shaven, muttonchops, a whites shirt with blue pinstripes, brown pants and matching suspenders and some well-shined brown shoes. He smiled at Hogarth, which was a little odd since no one he had ever met in the 8th Parallel ever had a reason to smile.
“Yes, I’ve met the man called Zev. Do you know him?” said Hogarth.
“He’s my cousin,” said Macon. “Please, step into my office.” Hogarth slid up and walked with Macon. The frosted glass closed softly behind them.

Connected: Chapter 3

2006-12-16T10:22:00.002-08:00

3 Zev had been shot. Zev had been shot 42 times. The EMT that worked on his dying body was covered with Zev’s blood. The ambulance blared its siren and then abruptly cut it off when it came towards the hospital’s ramp. The ramp lead up to the Emergency Department of County General Hospital where Zev had worked two years earlier. Now he watched as the EMT blurred in and out of focus. He saw a flashlight, heard his own breath come out in ragged gasps and felt the bullets being pushed out of his body. Then his heart gave out and he felt the defibrillator paddles on his skin.
The EMT put a white cloth over Zev’s lifeless body and banged on the barrier wall so the driver didn’t have to rush anymore. The EMT removed her gloves and tossed them into the red plastic container with the bio-hazard warning on it. She sighed and put her face in her hands and let her muscles relax. Then Zev sat up.
The EMT screamed and then passed out. Zev looked at his chest and both saw and felt the bullets being pushed back out of his body. Several clanged onto the metal floor of the ambulance and Zev made his way to the door. He opened it and nimbly hopped out since the truck was moving so slowly. He jumped a foot high railing and landed in some bushes. He removed the tatters that had been his shirt and left it hidden in the bushes. He waited for some people to walk by and then casually stepped out of the bushes and followed the small crowd towards the front of the hospital. He reached into his back pocket and removed a five dollar bill.
Zev spotted a lunch truck and walked towards it. He pulled an ice-cold bottled water out of the drink area and paid the woman that operated the lunch truck, letting her keep the change. He saw the Dash bus and paid twenty-five cents to go to Chinatown. From Chinatown he hopped aboard the light rail towards Union Station. Zev conversed with a homeless man named Hogarth for about an hour and then bought him a bagel sandwich. They talked about the 8th Parallel destroying our eco-system and the breaking down of barriers between our world and the ones right next door to earth. An hour after lunch Zev bid Hogarth farewell and headed for the Red Line, which was underground. He rode without incident. He had even bought himself a new t-shirt for twenty dollars. It was an I ♥ Los Angeles t-shirt.
He got off at Sunset and Vermont then caught a bus to La Brea. Waiting at the bus stop right on schedule was Selma. She had her arms crossed.
“Hiya doll face,” Zev said. He hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.
“Zev Petrovich Sigmally. Where the hell have you been?” Selma said. She tossed him the keys to her car.
“I would have been here sooner had your dear brother and his boys not shot me forty-two times Selma. That boy has got violence issues,” Zev said. He smiled at Selma and his gray eyes flashed in the sunlight.
“Forty-two times? What did you do to him this time?” Selma said. She sat in the passenger’s seat.
“Nothing sweetie, he barged into my house, kicked down my bedroom door while I was sleeping and proceeded to shoot me dead. Then an ambulance came, picked me up and I wound up getting paddled and scared the EMT when I came back,” Zev said.
“Did you meet someone from the 8th Parallel today?” Selma said. “You smell like you did, it’s that sulfurous stench they have about them.”
Zev put the keys in the ignition and started driving. He was going to tell Selma about Hogarth and then decided against it. She never liked anyone he had ever met from the 8th Parallel anyway.
“Where’s your brother going tonight?” Zev said. He turned into a Carl’s Jr. drive-thru and waited in line.
“Sergei told me he was trying to get into Midnight’s, you know that club downtown. Said he had a proposition for the owner about the restaurant Daylight, which is what the club is during the daytime up until ten at night. It’s actually a pretty good restaurant. We should make reservations. Anybody can go, it’s not like it’s for VIPs only, Zev,” said Selma. She played with a red Bic lighter she had found on the dashboard.
“Maybe for our anniversary hun, for now, let’s get something to eat. Being shot that way takes a lot out of a man. Your brother will find out soon enough,” Zev said.
“Order me a salad too yeah?” Selma said. She tossed the lighter in the back of the car. “Sure thing sweets,” Zev said. He ordered for the both of them.

Connected: Chapter 2

2006-12-16T10:22:00.001-08:00

2
Daniel Porter had been blind. It was a simple fact and one that was never taken lightly by Mrs. Porter, Daniel’s mother. Mrs. Porter had made the rounds of the neighborhood to visit mothers of boys that had picked on Daniel.
“They jus’ don’t understand you Daniel,” said Mrs. Porter. She always cooked when she talked to Daniel.
But time marched on and the day came when Mrs. Porter passed on to the next life. Her son had grown into a man that everyone in their neighborhood in Chicago had known. Everyone knew if they had a problem, go see Mr. Porter on Sticks Road, Number 25. Being blind had meant that other talents had emanated inside him. As people would say, he had a real knack for helping them down the right path.
At the age of fifty-four Daniel was able to move freely in the community and had his assistant Jennings oversee his business. Daniel Porter was a multimillionaire and no one in the world knew but Jennings. They worked day in and day out. Seeing people, scheduling meetings with the most prominent and powerful people in the world, and all completely free from any danger that someone would recognize the aging African-American man from Chicago.
A rainstorm had set in early one November night and preparations had been made for a visitor Porter had told Jennings about earlier in the day. At six o’clock the doorbell rang and Jennings answered it. A man with short-cropped hair and a thin scar beneath his right eye stood in the doorway with a military bag in his hands.
“Come in, Mr. Porter has been expecting you,” Jennings said.
The man entered and was soaking wet. Jennings reached behind the door and handed him a warm towel that had been prepared for the visitor. He took it and began to dry off his head, face, and neck. His waterlogged army jacket was immediately taken from him by Jennings. The assistant pointed at a doorway and the man entered.
“How ya’ doing there sunshine?” Porter said. His black shades were on despite the rain. “I know you don’t talk much so this should be a real hoot. All I need to do is have you set there and give me your hand,” Porter said. He pointed to a chair directly across from his.
The man sat down and noticed the small table between them had the newspaper opened to the section about the trial going on in Chicago about the Evolutionary Process and the dying planet they called home.
“Sad isn’t it? We only come together when things are practically falling apart,” Porter said. He shook his head in disgust. “Makes you wonder if we should even be given another chance don’t it?”
The man did not speak. He sat and looked at Porter. The elder man smiled and removed his shades. His eyes were opened and completely opaque.
“My momma said they were once the most beautiful brown she’d ever seen. Can’t say I believe her, never seen them myself. But you, you have eyes that I can see. Deep blue, like the ones that came before you, the other warriors of your line, I guess you could call them,” Porter said. He laughed.
The man still did not speak.
“I know you can talk and I know that you don’t want to. But in this place, my home, you don’t have to worry about that because I can still hear you in here,” Porter said. He tapped his forehead with a gnarled knuckle.
I can hear what you’re thinking and know what you’re gonna say before you even say it son, the man heard Porter’s voice say in his head. Don’t be alarmed, I know you’re scared and just want to go home, but now’s not the time to be scared. We all need you, and you know what I mean by that, the voice said. The man knit his eyebrows together and sighed deeply. He nodded to Porter.
“Let’s begin then,” said Porter. He nodded to Jennings, who closed the double doors behind him and walked down the hallway.
Both men waited until the assistant’s footsteps could no longer be heard on the hard wood floor. The man held out his hand to Porter and waited for the old man to take it in his gnarled hands. Silence filled the room. Then Porter grabbed the man’s hand in both of his and looked him directly in the eyes. Gone were Porter’s opaque irises. What the man saw made huge drops of perspiration drop from his forehead. Porter’s eyes were as blue as the man’s were and they had an unearthly glow to them.
“It’s okay Dwight, you’ll be safe. I promise,” Porter said.
Dwight’s vision blurred and he felt as if he had fallen face first into the soft carpet of Porter’s home. The reality was he was sitting up and holding onto the black sage’s hand and not breathing. All time had stopped around the two.
Porter looked up and was thrown backwards in his seat. The shockwave that had been released made Dwight suck in air. His eyes stung and he gasped for the breath that had been wrung from his lungs. Once his breathing was back to normal he moved towards Porter. The older man lay flat on his back, convulsing. Dwight tried to reach for him and Porter yelled at Dwight to stay away from him for a moment longer.
Porter stopped shaking and his eyes went from blue to brown to opaque in no time at all. Dwight rubbed his eyes to make sure he had seen the eye color change. Porter laughed heartily.
“Dwight Anders is your name. And you came here because Ms. Sharposhnikadinov sent you after she saw what happened to your family in Vegas. That’s right isn’t it?” said Porter.
Jennings came back into the room holding Dwight’s bag and jacket.
“Jennings, take Mr. Dwight Anders here upstairs and show him his room. Run a bath for him as well,” Porter said.
“Yes sir, as you wish,” said Jennings.
“A shower, a nice hot shower,” Dwight said.
Both men looked at him with eyes opened wide. They looked at each other slowly and then Porter Laughed. Jennings cracked a smile.
“Hot damn, boy, you can talk, what made do it now?” said Porter.
“I don’t like baths, but I love showers and it’s been a while,” said Dwight.
“Bright and early tomorrow morning Dwight,” Porter said. He plopped down onto his seat again.
Dwight looked at the rain pouring down in large chunks of hail and he laughed.
“Sure Mr. Porter, bright and early tomorrow morning.
Jennings showed Dwight the way up to his room and closed the door once Dwight was inside comfortably. He walked back to the living room and sat across the table from his employer and his friend.
“He good upstairs?” said Porter.
“Yes sir, he’s good. Why have him do this though, and why now?” said Jennings. He cracked his knuckles.
Porter stood up and walked over to a large oak cabinet that was between two of his bookcases. He removed a silver key in the shape of a heart from about his neck and opened the cabinet door. He then used the key again to open a small obsidian case inside the cabinet. Jennings stood beside his friend and looked on as Porter opened the case.
“Is that what I think it is?” said Jennings. His eyes moved over the pearl handle of the .45 caliber pistol that lay on a crimson pillow.
Porter’s hands easily found the handle and lifted the gun to Jennings.
“You see the scrollwork on the barrel? That was custom made for that particular job. The man who shot Dwight’s family knew what he was doing and knew exactly whom he would kill. What he didn’t know was that I’d get the gun in the end and that I’d help Mr. Anders find him,” Porter said.
Jennings checked the slide action and the clip. There was one bullet left in the clip. Jennings was about to speak when Porter did.
“Yeah Mike, one bullet, and you know who it’s for,” said Porter. He smiled but did not laugh.
Dwight stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror in the small bathroom. He wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked at his reflection. He then wiped away the rest of the condensation to see the upper half of his body. He traced the scar that slashed across his torso, a grim reminder of what had happened to him in Las Vegas. He then looked at the thick black tattoo of the broken and jagged heart that was positioned exactly over his own heart. He rubbed it and began to cry. His body shook with his crying and he remained in front of the mirror for several minutes.
He wrapped a towel about him and fell asleep on the bed. He did not dream.

Here they are, like I promised...

2006-12-16T10:04:00.000-08:00

Chapters 1 NaNoWriMo novel: Connected

1
Kasumi walked to the computer console and tapped some keys. The digital Dreamcatcher lit up the bay area in the room beyond the control room’s glass. The web-like structure of the digital hoop hung in the center of the room and slowly made its revolution, it moved imperceptively on its axis. Kasumi smiled.
The bay doors opened up to reveal seven chairs attached to a track. The chairs had pivot points and could easily be positioned down into a horizontal setting. Kasumi exited the control room and entered the bay area. Guzman walked in carrying the long heavy stack of fiber optic cables that would be attached to the seven chairs.
“How much time Guzman,” Kasumi asked. She slowly paced between the chairs, letting her freshly painted nails grate on the head rests of the leather seats.
“Sixteen-minutes Kasumi,” said Guzman. He smiled at her and finished plugging in the last of the glowing fiber optic cables to the seats.
Kasumi took a deep breath and exhaled. She nodded to Guzman and he walked toward the entry doors.
“Showtime,” Guzman said. He turned the power switch on, shut off the lights and opened the entry doors to the bay area.
The room was bathed in the white light of the rotating Dreamcatcher on its painfully slow rotation in the center of the bay. The light changed from bright white to an iridescent blue and seven spotlights focused their light on the chairs. Lin Kasumi looked at the sight of the digital Dreamcatcher and the seven chairs and smiled. She sighed once more.
It’ll work out in the end, she had thought to herself, it always works out in the end. Guzman shook hands with the first of the visitors to reach the bay entryway. She was a slender woman, older, and dressed in her finest. In her left hand she carried a martini with an olive. Kasumi smiled and the realization had hit here that Lacrosse was working his magic on the investors. Guzman waved at Kasumi, who in turn waved back to him. He exited the room as more people filtered into the bay area. They all looked at the chairs first then pointed up at the rotating Dreamcatcher. The room filled with whispers. Kasumi smiled broadly. Their plan was coming to fruition.
The investors and the Board had both been invited to witness the first full-fledged test of the digital Dreamcatcher. Henry Lacrosse’s baby project for Sombra Labs had been conceived in the back of the bay area after a failed meeting with the Board. Lacrosse was the Dreamcatcher Project manager and Lin Kasumi was his assistant project manager for each of the fourteen projects the lab was currently implementing. The Dreamcatcher Project, or DCP, as it became known throughout the lab, was Henry Lacrosse’s baby. He only hired seven staff members, which included Lin Kasumi and Antonio Guzman, the technician. There were also the seven volunteers that would occupy the chairs Lin stood beside. After the last of the investors strolled in and surrounded the chairs, the members of the Board arrived, graven faced and filled with food and drink. Henry Lacrosse entered last, a female investor on each arm and a smile on his face. From across the room he shot Lin a knowing nod and she placed the needle thin microphone by the side of her face and fastened it around her right ear. She looked back at the control room and Guzman gave her thumbs up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the board, welcome to Sombra Labs. My name is Lin Kasumi, Assistant Project Manager of the Dreamcatcher Project,” Kasumi said.
Overhead speakers blared out U2’s Miracle Drug. From the open spaces of the Dreamcatcher’s web images of the world flashed on and off. Visions of war, poverty, scientists working on various projects, the first landing on the Moon, the very first space flight, the X-Prize flight, and then the Sombra Labs logo flashed above. There was some clapping as the images faded in and out of the spaces.
“I’ve no doubt that Mr. Lacrosse has shown you all a good time at dinner and taken you through our amazing facility. If you could all please step towards the chairs and form a circle. Tonight you’ll see first hand the miracle of science we’ve created here at Sombra,” Kasumi said.
“As most of you know, our planet is dying, and we are running out of resources to help us sustain life on it for more than thirty years. The Dreamcatcher Project is a means of bridging the gap from our world into worlds that exist parallel to us. You’ve all been there in dreams, the city you can’t quite place, the country you swear you’ve been to and know like the back of your hand. This is the purpose of this project, nothing short of finding a means of traveling to other worlds to save humankind from our inevitable destruction,” Kasumi said.
The spotlights on the chairs dimmed and seven men and women entered from the control room’s doors and weaved through the crowd towards their seats. Each volunteer was wearing a tight fitting gray suit with various plugs and nodes on their garb. They sat down on the plush leather seats and keyed a small pad that positioned their seats perfectly horizontal.
“As you can see our volunteers will now be keyed into each others consciousness through the Touch Suits we’ve created here at Sombra. Without further ado, I give you the Digital Dreamcatcher,” Kasumi said. She stepped out of the circle of chairs and walked over to Lacrosse.
“That was perfect Lin,” whispered Henry. He smiled at Kasumi and handed her a glass of champagne.
The lights turned off and the only illumination came from the rotating Dreamcatcher overhead. It stopped its rotation and moved upward several feet. Then it changed colors once more from blue to green. Everyone in the room was bathed in the glowing green light. The volunteers appeared to fall asleep, due to the sleeping cocktail Henry Lacrosse had devised. Then the long low humming began from the ground and worked its way up towards the hoop of the Dreamcatcher.
The champagne glasses vibrated and sung. People were amazed at this feat and then looked up to see the images before them. The seven volunteers were running in a green world. Lush grass that rose to thigh length and trees that created their own canopy covered the world. There was clean fresh water, clean skies and animals running free. There was some talk in hushed tones from some of the investors and the members of the Board. Henry Lacrosse smiled. Lin whispered in his ear.
“This is it, get ready for it,” she said. She breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.
The images that they had been waiting for never appeared. Instead what appeared was a flash of white light that shot out from between the spaces of the net and landed on the bay floor between the circle of seats. Henry Lacrosse stopped smiling. He walked over to the glowing light that landed and picked it up. He recoiled at first and dropped the light. He looked back at Kasumi.
“It’s cold,” he said. He tried to pick it up again.
Lacrosse held up the frozen piece of light and his eyes opened wide at the sight before him Encapsulated in the light was the image he had fought so long to hide from the Board. He motioned for Kasumi to come to him as everyone else was mesmerized by the images of the seven volunteers running through an empty world.
“What is it Henry?” Kasumi asked.
“Look inside the piece of ice,” said Lacrosse.
Kasumi shook her head after seeing the image she had been afraid of.
“What does that mean? It didn’t work before,” Kasumi said.
“It’s working now though, which means they really are in a world of their own making,” Lacrosse said. “We’ve figured out how to send someone out of this world on their own,” said Lacrosse.
There was a deep grating sound, like tires skidding on the road and a deep vibration began beneath the bay area. Lacrosse looked at the control booth and at Guzman. He shrugged his shoulders and checked the monitors.
“Nothing wrong from this end Kasumi,” Guzman said into her ear through the microphone in the control booth.
“So what the hell was that then?” said Kasumi.
“Don’t know. But everything is clear in there,” Guzman said.
“No, its not,” Kasumi said. She looked up at the Dreamcatcher, which had stopped showing images.
A fog could be seen between each strand of the net Henry Lacrosse dropped his glass of champagne as he saw the outline of the creature trying to break through the net of the Dreamcatcher. It was enormous and had glowing amber eyes. A deep rumble was felt as the thing punched through the netting of the Dreamcatcher. The seven volunteers’ vitals spiked and they all went into cardiac arrest. Guzman ran out of the room and tried to unplug the fiber optic cables from their chairs. As he reached the first chair and pulled the cable he was flung from the floor to the far wall in the bay area. Kasumi ran towards him and saw that he had been burned beyond recognition.
A vortex formed inside the Dreamcatcher as the creature pounded on the net. With one last punch, the Dreamcatcher disappeared in a fizzle of light and the creature moved into reality. A heavy obsidian foot slammed down on the chairs, crushing the volunteers and some of the investors that were unlucky enough to be standing there when the creature broke through. Henry Lacrosse yelled to the visitors to head for the bay doors and out the building. Kasumi ran into the control room.
The power had been cut inside the control booth and Kasumi searched for a panel beneath the control center. She flipped the switch inside the panel and the lights in the booth went red. The bay area was in complete darkness. Lacrosse ran towards the red-lit booth and slammed the door shut behind him. Another earth shaking movement jolted them sideways. The lights inside the bay area flickered on an off and played off the shiny body of the creature that had stepped into their world.
“What the hell is that thing? And how come that never happened before Kasumi?” said Lacrosse.
“I don’t know Henry, I really don’t and the only man that could possibly tell us is fried like charcoal outside this room,” said Kasumi. She worked the control panel back on and then hit several keys sharply on the main switchboard.
“What are you doing?” said Lacrosse.
“I’m trapping that thing in here, so at least it can’t get out,” Kasumi said.
“We’re still in here though, are you crazy?” Lacrosse said. He moved towards the back of the room and waited for Kasumi to finish.
The rumbling stopped. The lights flickered again and Kasumi was staring directly into the iris of the creature outside the control booth. She did not move. The glass fogged as the creature’s breathe was exhaled against the booth’s window. It roared and the glass blew inward, spraying Kasumi in the face. Blood trickled from the shards that had cut her as they flew past her and toward the back of the room.
The creature looked at the vortex and saw that it was closing. It lumbered back toward it and managed to get most of its body free. Its left arm was cut off from the wrist and fell to the bay area’s floor cleanly severed. Thick black colored mucous-like fluid flowed from the severed appendage. The lights flickered back on and stayed on. They shone brightly off of the slick obsidian shell of the appendage.
Kasumi looked down at the detached limb and vomited to her right. Lacrosse moved carefully toward Kasumi and looked down into the bay area’s floor and saw the gleaming arm of the creature that had made its way into his world.
“Magnificent,” said Lacrosse. He ran outside the booth and touched the sleek black surface of it.
Kasumi looked down from the booth and watched as Lacrosse passed out on the clawed hand.

Heeeeeeeere's Johnny...

2006-12-07T13:47:00.000-08:00

So I'm back from my amazing wedding and Honeymoon. The wedding went off almost perfectly and the trip to Maui was amazing.
I also celebrated my 27th birthday and received some really cool gifts,
among them is the OGN, Fables: A 1,001 Nights from my wife.

I didn't finish the NaNoWriMo challenge, but did get in 11,ooo+ words so it was as start, and created some characters that I'll have to flesh out some more. Here's a list of the ones I wound up liking the most:
Dwight Anders, Lin Kasumi, Daniel Porter and his assistant Michael Jennings, Henry Lacrosse, Zev Petrovich, Hogarth Brennan and Kino Miranda

I'm still working out the kinks of the story but I'll be posting some chapters soon.

...and so it ended!

2006-11-22T13:30:00.000-08:00

With only a couple of days before my wedding I'm sorry to say that I've stopped my entry into the NaNoWriMo. I'm still proud that with everything going on I still managed to write 11,000 plus words and roughly eleven chapters. I'll finish the story eventually, and I'll definitely do this next year as well.
For now though, a much needed break from work and on to the turkey eating tomorrow, my wedding on saturday and honeymoon next week. Needless to say, I won't be posting for a while after maybe tonight or friday.
Peace ya'll

SAW 4...

2006-11-14T15:32:00.000-08:00

On Monday, October 30, 2006, Lions Gate Entertainment announced plans to produce another sequel for a release on October 26, 2007. Tobin Bell, who played Jigsaw in the first three films, will appear in the film

Thank God for this one. The last one was probably the best Saw film to date, not knocking the original, but this one went farther than the first film did and got back to the question of people deserving their lives.

Back from Vegas...

2006-11-11T21:02:00.000-08:00

Just finished getting through some Google Reader feeds and stumbled over this one from Dan Abnett:
"The next novel is going to be Only In Death (Gaunt #11), which will be followed by another Horus book and then something very big and juicy and 40k (which I'm not sure I'm allowed to mention yet. I must check with the Black Librarians)"

He'll be doing more Horus Heresy stuff so that should be pretty damn cool.

I've also gotten a lot of story written in a little black notebook I bought from Borders before my trip in Vegas. Turns out I was too tired to write there and wound up writing tons before the plane left on my way there, the first night, and on the way back, both at the gate and on the planeride home. God do I hate the airport. And passengers on planes suck. My flight into Vegas was sweet, there was like maybe forty people. I didn't have to share my row with anyone, put on my iPod and zoned out while writing my story for NANOWriMo, which I've yet to type. I'll start that sometime tomorrow, when I'm not too tired.
More later...

More info on the Flight of the Eisenstein...

2006-10-31T14:29:00.000-08:00

This is from the Black Library site:

James Swallow has now finished The Flight of the Eisentsein, Book 4 in the Horus Heresy series (yes, there will be more than three). The Flight of the Eisenstein starts alongside events of Horus Rising and False Gods, and follows the story of the Deathguard Captain Garro, as he is plunged into the turmoil of Isstvaan II and beyond.

Several more months to wait.
And in other 40K news,
The Soul Drinkers Omnibus
The Space Wolves Omnibus
and The Eisenhorn Omnibus are all either out or on their way to being released/released

Onward!!!

2006-10-29T14:29:00.000-08:00

Smith moved around the corner of the alleyway, gun trained and moving on anything that could move in the alley. Several squatters got up slowly, hands raised and shuffled out of their makeshift home. Smith grunted and waited for them to leave. That was when he watched the thermal camouflage blur move toward one of the gantries at the end of the alleyway.
He released the clip in his gun and slammed in homing bullets.
The camouflaged runner was brought down hard as one of the bullets slammed through its ankle and it dropped back down onto the alleyway...

There's a place where you are goin', you ain't ever seen before...

2006-10-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

The title is from Beck's Lost Cause song.

Here's a little something from my childhood. It started off as small games my dad would play with my brothers and I and turned into this full blown D&D-esque game with much simpler rules. Plus, we got to use all the cool miniatures my dad had painted and this really cool castle he had bought us one christmas.

The Castle

The rain settled in an even drizzle that blanketed everything in the valley. The three men made their way toward the enormous stone castle in the distance. The aged and shredded flags flapped on the ramparts and the men approached cautiously. They neared the large black gates and saw that they were closed. The tallest of the three men, a man with snow-white short-cropped hair, yelled to the gatekeeper to let them in. The wind picked up some and made the three men shiver. The rain fell harder around them. The man with white hair hefted a massive double-headed hammer of silver and brought the head down against the black gates. But nothing happened to the hammer or the gates.
The next tallest of the three, a man with wavy, shoulder length hair that had streaks of white in it, and an eye patch over his right eye, loaded his small hand cannon. He lit a match and pressed it to the fuse. The hand cannon was aimed at the black gates as well. There was a blast of smoke and the deep clanging thud of metal on metal. The steel ball the man had shot at the gate rolled back toward him.
“Damn it all,” the man said. He lifted a small cigarette from one of the many pouches he wore on his heavy leather belt. He placed the cigarette against still burning match and inhaled.
“Nicholas, do you have to do that right this moment?” said the third man. He wore black leather armour with silver trimming on it.
“No Trevor, I don’t. But I feel better afterwards,” said Nicholas. “What say you Simon?”
Simon had his hand resting on the handle of the hammer as he looked up at the front gates.
“We climb in,” said Simon. He took off the large backpack he carried and removed from it a length of rope and a grappling hook. He tied an end of the rope to the hook and walked towards the other two men.
“Stand back,” said Simon. He swung the rope in a circle and let it spin for several seconds. When the hook was just a blur in his hands he tossed it towards one of the openings in the ramparts.
The hook stuck and he tugged with all his might to pull. The hook did not move. He gathered his hammer and then put on thick black gloves. He began to climb the rope when the other two men realized they had to climb as well.
Simon flung himself over the rampart and helped the other two up. Once they dusted themselves off they looked down into the square and saw nothing but broken and busted vendor’s carts, a small crimson tent with its roof flapping away, and deep claw marks slashed into the stone’s around them. There were several staircases that lead down into the square and the three men moved quickly down them and into the square. Wilted cabbage and lettuce littered the foot of the staircase. Simon pulled out his hammer and walked toward the crimson tent. With the head of the hammer he drew back the entrance flap and saw several bodies strewn around the room. The bodies were picked clean of all flesh and only bone remained.
“Something big ripped this pavilion to shreds, I mean look at these claw marks Nicholas. Only one thing around this valley could leave marks like that,” said Trevor. He walked away from some of the claw marks near the back of the tent and moved towards the black gates.
Nicholas finished smoking his cigarette and followed Trevor to the gates. Simon looked up at the towers of the castle further up. He looked from the ramparts to the winding staircases that wrapped around some of the towers and saw doorways leading in to them, but did not see any leading into the castle itself. Trevor found the gate’s wheel and began to turn it to release them. Nicholas did not move as he saw a stairwell leading down into the castle. He also caught the gleam of amber eyes trained on Trevor. He pulled his friend backwards just as the creature made its move.
Simon saw the beast clearly. It was a red dragon, the kind that had no wings but was still just as deadly, and agile. The scales of the beasts were like heavy plate armour and their only weak spots were their underbellies. Simon watched as the dragon had almost caught Trevor, had it not been for Nicholas moving his friend out of the way. The dragon clung to the side of the wall like a spider, its claws deep in the stone of the fortress. It lifted its wedge-shaped head towards the two men, now on the cobblestones of the square, and opened its mouth. A long deep hiss escaped from its throat.
Nicholas Grabbed Trevor once more and hefted his friend up.
“Run,” yelled Simon.
The dragon’s opened maw grew a bright amber, just like its eyes, then it seemed to squirt liquid like the king cobras of Indus, and flames shot towards the running men. They managed to duck down behind the tent before it caught fire. It did not last long as the rain grew harder. Simon was with them. He told them to wait there for his signal.
“Where d’ya think yer goin’ old man?” said Nicholas. He reloaded his hand cannon.
“To kill that dragon,” said Simon. He smiled at his two companions and hefted his hammer.
The dragon hissed again but did not shoot flame at Simon. Instead it climbed off the wall and onto the cobblestones of the square. It was easily three meters in length but only a meter high. Its motion was painstakingly slow for Simon. He realized quickly that it moved with precision. Every inch gained was a calculated step towards his destruction. Simon did not like the thought and swung the silver headed hammer at the red dragon. The flat end connected with the dragon’s right front leg, smashing the bones inside. It hissed and thrashed at Simon, its great jaws snapping in anger at the damage done to it.
Simon waited patiently for an opening then struck again, at the dragon’s side, sending it rolling over on its back, the scales making a grating sound as they clanked against the cobblestones of the square. Simon looked back at his friends, who had been ready for his signal.
Simon nodded and Trevor ran forward, his sword drawn from its scabbard, as did Nicholas with his hand cannon loaded and ready for an attack.
Nicholas, shoot the belly,” yelled Simon. He avoided the clawed extremities as the dragon thrashed on the ground.
Nicholas’ hand cannon went off and the dragon’s body seemed to lift off the ground as it was struck in the underside. It hissed flames at the men.
“Now Trevor, cut the front legs off,” yelled Simon.
Trevor ducked and weaved between the thrashing dragon’s legs. He slashed at the broken leg and cut off the dragon’s foot at the joint, thick, hot black blood spraying him in the chest. One of the clawed feet curled into a fist and slammed into Trevor’s chest, sending him across the square. His sword clanged to the ground several feet away. The dragon used the distraction to move onto its legs and hobbled quickly over to the downed man and was ready to breath fire onto him. It opened its maw and hissed the high-pitched sound that made Trevor cover his ears and close his eyes.
The hammer slammed down onto the dragon’s head, making the jaws click together loudly and the dragon slumped down onto the floor. The rain poured down now harder than it had in the past week. Simon looked up and closed his eyes. He let the rain bathe him. Nicholas moved to Trevor and helped his friend up.
The dragon’s amber eyes were still open, but they were losing color and the creature was turning to stone. Simon kicked the head away from the rest of the stone covered body. He reached down and hefted the head on its stump. He opened the jaws, which was easier since they had snapped together, breaking the jaw, and held onto one of its jagged teeth. He reached behind his back for the small carving knife he carried and dug deep into the gum of the dragon’s mouth to cut out the tooth he had chosen.
“Eh, what’re doing Simon? You shouldn’t take dragon’s teeth from them, bad luck,” said Trevor. He was standing up and had much and small scrapes on his face from the fall.
“Come on Simon, leave the beast be, you’ve already killed it,” said Nicholas.
“Yes, I killed it, but we need this as well. Maybe not here, but soon,” said Simon.
“We found a way in,” Nicholas said.
“Where?” said Simon. He turned to Nicholas.
“By the gate. I think we have to go down to get inside,” said Nicholas.
“Let’s go then, I’m done with the rain here,” said Trevor. He walked over to his sword and placed it back in its scabbard.
They traveled inside the tunnels of the castle for only a few minutes as they found themselves inside the court of the castle. It was smaller than anything they had been accustomed to in Falkirk. But everything was beautiful in the court, marble pillars encrusted and bejeweled with strange stones none of the men had ever seen. There were odd lamp posts that glowed with a pale blue light that burned brightly but gave off no heat. There were also strange doors that lead nowhere built into the stone walls. But the crowing jewel of the court was a monumental throne made of gold.
The armrests were made of solid gold and had been shaped into the shapes of lion’s heads. The majesty of those regal heads shown brightly even in the gloom of the empty court. The piece that left the three men staring was the great Imperial Eagle symbol they all wore beneath their heavy armour. Simon moved toward the throne and watched as it moved backwards as if on a track and revealed a winding staircase that began moving toward the ceiling.
“Coming?” said Simon. He leapt upon the stone steps.
Trevor and Nicholas followed. Each stood still as they waited for the steps to stop moving. They passed through a gap in the ceiling and found themselves looking up at the steel gray clouds again. They were on a vast landing that had catapults and a ballista. From where they stood they could see how much further the castle went on.
“Should we try that small tower, or go further inside the main castle?” asked Nicholas.
Simon looked at the options and then turned to his friends once more.
“We have to go through that tower, out onto a walkway that’s obscured right now and wind up on that arched stairway in order to reach the top. All you’ll find in that door is supplies,” said Simon. He slid the hammer back onto his back and started for the door.
The handle was carved to resemble a dragon swallowing its tail and Simon smiled. He now knew that the former lord of the castle had kept dragons as war hounds and not as pets. He opened the door and then ducked. Trevor ducked as well and Nicholas caught the shafts straight in his breastplate. They knocked him back to the stone floor and he groaned in pain.
Trevor scrambled over to him and checked his wounds. Miraculously none of the arrows had penetrated his armour. For that brief reprieve Nicholas thanked the blacksmith for making him his armour.
“You okay brother?” said Trevor.
“Nothin’ I couldn’t have handled,” said Nicholas. He fixed the eye patch over his right eye and smiled.
They followed Simon and moved through the various towers cautiously, especially since they knew that some could be booby traps. For three hours they made their way higher into the outer portion of the castle. Then came the final tower and walkway that lead to the last top of the castle. The rain had stopped hours before and the sun had yet to reveal itself even though the day had begun long ago. They stood and watched the sliver of clouds move over the land. The wind kicked up despite there being no more rain. Then a great shadow passed over them. There was the sound of heavy armoured feet landing on the stone floor behind them. Simon, Nicholas and Trevor turned in unison and brought their arms to bear. A knight stood behind them.
The knight was covered in armour from head to toe. There was one horizontal slit for the knight to see out of the helm, which had batwings fashioned from the sides of the helmet. The armour was trimmed in silver and upon a great silver chain was a medallion of silver that shone brightly in the waning light of dusk. Simon recognized the great lion headed symbol from the court down below.
“Who trespasses on my lands?” boomed the knight.
“Four soldiers from the Imperial palace of Falkirk,” said Simon. He took out his hammer. The silver head gave off heliographs as he spun the shaft in small circles.
“Falkirk? Hah! I laugh at your pathetic empire. You and yours are saplings compared to me and mine,” said the knight. He laughed deeply. A harsh grating sound that each man could feel in the pit of his stomach.
“Who are you sir knight that you mock our great Empire?” Trevor said. He unsheathed his sword and aimed it at the knight.
“I have no quarrel with you sir, I have no quarrel with any of you, all I ask is that you leave now, before it is too late,” the knight said. He unsheathed a mighty sword that had a bluish blade. He took several steps towards them and held a stance.
Simon moved first and swung the hammer at the knight. He blocked the swing with his sword then grabbed the handle of the hammer and threw Simon behind him with his free arm. Simon tumbled across the landing and slammed into the door of the last tower. Nicholas tossed a knife at the knight who deflected it again with his sword. Trevor moved in front of Nicholas as the knight brought down his blue blade. Trevor’s sword sparked as he blocked the chop from the knight. Trevor turned the blade of his sword so that it was almost vertical and then kicked the knight back for an opening. Trevor looked behind the knight and saw Simon was still down.
Swinging with controlled force, the knight charged at Trevor. Trevor sidestepped the knight’s charge but fell sideways. Nicholas reloaded the cannon. He made the fuse short and walked up to the knight, pointed the cannon at the back of his helmet and lit the fuse just as he was about to give the deathblow to Trevor. The smoke filled the area and wafted back towards Simon, who shook his head clear and slowly stood up.
Nicholas looked down at the knight, who held his face in his hands. The shot had only managed to knock his helmet off his body and left a diagonal slash across the man’s face. They saw that the man had long blond hair and once he stood up and revealed his face, ice blue eyes. His canines were longer and sharper than any normal man’s and his tangle of blond hair was streaked with white.
“You’ve bested me, I am your servant,” said the knight. He kneeled before the three men.
Simon had not moved back to them instead kept looking at the ridge they had crossed. Just seconds ago it had been empty, now close to fifty riders in black and silver carrying a banner that flapped sharply in the wind stood on the ridge. Their leader was a man that had the same sandy blond hair that the knight had and wore twin golden bands on his head, like a crown. He led the charge and pointed up to the castle. He was riding his horse full force towards the black gates of the castle when he stood up on the horse’s back and flung himself towards the ancient stone walls of the fortress. Simon hefted his hammer and backed away from the edge of the landing.
Trevor, Nicholas and the knight turned and looked at Simon then went to the edge and saw the black riders nearing the castle. That was when their leader leapt up from the ramparts and in one smooth jump landed between Simon and his friends, the man’s cloak trailing behind him like bat wings. He looked at the knight and unsheathed his sword and slew him before anyone could react. Simon swung his hammer and missed, hitting only the stone floor. Trevor tried to swing his sword at the man but he easily dodged it and grabbed Trevor by the throat, flinging him over the edge of the landing. The sound of plate armour clinking on metal filled the square. The rest of the knights tore Trevor to pieces. Nicholas reloaded and fired the cannon at the man, hitting him in the bicep.
The man howled in pain as he grabbed his wounded arm. Thick black blood seeped down his arm slowly. It began to reverse itself and then stopped.
“My arm, what did you do to my arm,” said he man. He ducked a swing from Simon and kicked him towards Nicholas.
“Silver shot,” said Nicholas. He reloaded and was ready for the man again.
“What is he?” said Simon as he picked himself off the floor.
“A vampire lord, in fact I’m pretty sure he’s Julian of the Black Lake, the hero of the Dark Ages,” said Nicholas. He grabbed his knife, which was the length of a man’s forearm and switched the grip to his left hand.
“Julian of the Black Lake died five hundred years ago,” said Simon. “That man doesn’t look a day over thirty.”
“Amazing what the elixir of life can do isn’t it?” said Julian. He liked the blood from his arm and spat it out. “You’ve poisoned me.”
“Yes, that won’t ever heal Julian. It’s silver,” Nicholas said. He fired again and missed.
Julian moved faster than both men could think and had disarmed Nicholas of his cannon and shoved Simon down again. Simon was ready and kicked the vampire’s feet out from under him, his face landing on the broad side of Simon’s silver headed hammer. Julian’s face smoked, as his skin touched the side of the hammer, and skin began to peel away from it. He writhed in pain as he pulled his face away from the weapon. His right eye dangled out of its socket and his cheek’s skin flapped away from his face into his hair. Burnt flesh filled Simon and Nicholas’ nostrils.
Julian looked at the two men and roared. “You’ve fought well, but I will not kill you here this day, with no one to watch as I destroy two soldiers of Falkirk,” Julian said. He leapt off the landing and glided back down to his horse.
Julian roared once more and his black and silver clad warriors streamed out of the gates and back to their horses. In several minutes they had reached the ridge and stayed there, facing the castle.
Nicholas and Simon moved back down through the towers, walkways and arches back down to the square. The saw that Trevor had fallen through the tattered crimson tent’s roof and had been torn apart by Julian’s men. Trevor lay with his eyes looking up at the sky. The sun had finally broken through the clouds and was shining down on the castle. Trevor’s eyes moved and he looked at the two men that had been his friends once. Simon reached for the dragon’s tooth inside a pouch and slammed it into Trevor’s heart. The remains of Trevor liquefied and all that remained was a wet skeleton.
Nicholas vomited as he saw his friend liquefy to nothing and only bones remain. Simon reached down and grabbed Trevor’s skull. He handed it to Nicholas, who reached into Simon’s backpack and gathered a small black back with a white cord drawstring. He placed the skull inside and tied it to his belt.
“Now what? Trevor is gone, we’ve met Julian of the Black Lake, and we killed a dragon, but the artifact is not here,” Nicholas said. He fixed his eye patch again.
“We go home and tell Galen where this castle is and that we’ve found Julian of the Black Lake. That is all we are required to do Nicholas,” said Simon.
“And what about the skull?” said Nicholas, lightly touching the black velvet bag tied to his hip.
“We give Trevor a warriors funeral and place his head in the tomb of his forefathers,” Simon said. He began walking towards the ridge. He saw the black and silver banner stuck into the ground where Julian’s men had been.
“Should we take the standard with us?” “No, Galen needs to see it here at this place,” said Simon. “Come, let us get back home, other adventures still await us.”

Here we go,

2006-10-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

NANOWriMo...

2006-10-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

So I was checking my google reader and caught sight of this little gem from Mur Lafferty's I Should be Writing blog.

here's the link for the information: http://www.nanowrimo.org/modules/cjaycontent/index.php?id=2

And I am soooo doing this. I've already got an idea for it, the only catch, I'll have to submit it BEFORE I leave for my honeymoon on November 27th. Ooooh, deadline approaching soon.

More later...

My 40K story...

2006-10-19T21:17:00.000-07:00

Here's my First complete Warhammer 40k story. I owe my little Bro Andy for kicking me in the shins to finish it. You'll also notice I used one of his characters as well...

The Drop
Interrogator-Chaplain Belarius paced outside the holding cell in the small hallway. Every few seconds he would glance at the steel doors, with the Ravenwing symbol etched upon their surface in black, and shake his head. He felt his choler grow at the slightest sound made by the occupant in cell number twelve.
‘Blood for Chaos! Blood for the Blood God! Blood for Khorne!’ the traitor marine screamed. Belarius depressed the intercom button and stopped pacing.
The entryway doors slid open to reveal two Dark Angels in their plate armour. Belarius turned and saw that Brother-Captain Erasmus and Brother Sergeant Domitian had entered the cell bay.
‘To what do I owe this encounter?’ said Belarius. He genuflected before the Ravenwing captain.
‘Rise Brother Belarius. We came to seek news of the traitor. Has he spoken at all of the drop site the World Eaters will attack?’ Erasmus said. He clenched his fists at his sides.
‘No my lord, nothing at all.’
‘Has the traitor repented?’ asked Domitian. He looked at Belarius, his face a roadmap of scars and his forehead a trophy deck for service studs.
‘No. He has somehow fought against the synth-chems and every form of truth serum we utilize,’ said Belarius.
‘Perhaps the time has come to show him why you have your black pearl upon your rosarius,’ Brother-Captain Erasmus said. ‘By any means necessary Belarius.’
The Interrogator-Chaplain bowed to the two Astartes warriors and walked back down the hallway to cell twelve. He placed his hand firmly on the obsidian plate and waited for the rectangle to turn red. He picked up his Crozius Arcanum and walked through the piston-controlled doors of the cell. Thirty-seven hours later Belarius emerged, his obsidian power armour covered in the blood of the World Eater. Brother-Captain Erasmus and Sergeant Domitian awaited him in the hallway.
‘Purgatory Thirteen,’ Belarius said. He wiped his face with his exposed right hand. The gauntlet attached to his hip.
‘Sergeant Domitian, ready your troops, we must make planet side before the Khornate war party arrives,’ said Captain Erasmus. He smiled.
‘Yes my lord,’ said Domitian. He turned and switched to vox communication and ordered his troops to ready for a planet drop.
‘Sir, I do not trust this World Eater’s confession. We may save the lives of those in Hive Furioso, but I can sense that this is subterfuge for something larger that we are not seeing,’ said Belarius.
Dirt was baked black beneath the force and heat of the drop pods landing in the open space several hundred meters from Hive Furioso. The landing ramps opened like flower petals with Dark Angels charging the barren hillside chosen as the landing site. Ravenwing Land Speeders had been circling the drop site for some time. The Thunderhawk gunships that had deposited the Land Speeders headed toward the hive city. The captain of one of the gunships voxed Captain Erasmus and told him that the Khornate war party had entered the planet’s gravitational sphere.
‘All units make for the command center. The Khorne Berzerkers will be landing at any moment,’ Erasmus said. He turned to Belarius and Domitian and looked at his brother Astartes.
‘We will not let this hive city fall. Nor will we allow Gath and his Berzerkers to overrun this place. Get me Librarian Gramael. I want him here in case the traitors decide to bring forth a daemon,’ said Erasmus.
The two Astartes nodded and went down to the troops. Erasmus looked up to see the blaze trails of the Chaos Dreadclaw Assault Pods. The drop pods rained down from the World Eater battleship, Woebringer, the personal battleship of Blayag the Hated. Erasmus clenched his fists for he knew that within one of the Dreadclaws was murderer of their former captain of Squad Absolution. The captain’s vox crackled on.
‘Interference from...area...Berzerkers are.... full speed after the Dreadclaws landed...wing Land Speeder Purity was shot down...’ said Sergeant Domitian over static breaks.
‘Sergeant, hold the position and utilize Librarian Gramael. Do whatever it takes,’ Erasmus said.
‘I’ve found something in the ground just over the ridge captain, I’m going to check it out,’ said Interrogator-Chaplain Belarius.
‘Belarius, you are stay put and hold the flank for us, where are you going?’ said Erasmus. He could see the chaplain’s black armour moving toward an outcropping of rocks behind the Astartes’ position.
‘Domitian, I’m going after Belarius, he’s found something behind the ridge. Keep the Berzerkers at bay,’ said Erasmus. He ran up the ridge and over it in several well placed lunges.
‘Captain...rising from the ground...Eldar symbols all over the surface...appears...door...prying it open now,’ came Belarius’ voice.
‘Chaplain, do not enter, repeat, do not enter. Wait for me to enter with you,’ Erasmus said. He was running full force toward the outcropping.
‘Blood for Khorne!’ screamed a traitor marine. He was massive and had his hand merged to a chain fist.
Erasmus pulled his bolt pistol, turned behind him, aimed and obliterated the Khorne Berzerker with one shot between the eyes. The Berzerker’s head exploded in clumps of brain and bits of bone. Erasmus entered the maze that Belarius had run to.
‘Death to the False Emperor,’ screamed another Berzerker. Ten more marines that had been dropped behind the ridge followed him.
Erasmus holstered his bolt pistol and flicked off the safety of his stormbolter. He took cover behind one of the giant standing stones and then let off a few shots into the mass of Khorne Berzerkers. Several were hit squarely in the chest and kept coming. They howled for blood and foamed at the mouth. Erasmus unhooked a grenade from his belt and lobbed it towards them. Blasted earth flew everywhere, as did five of the traitors. The rest had been stunned and were shaking themselves off.
Erasmus ran deeper into the outcropping and followed the path Belarius had made. He heard a chain-axe activated and ran with all his might towards the closing door Belarius had found. He threw himself at the closing aperture and slid through onto a slippery marble floor. The buzzing of the chain-axe grew louder and Erasmus leapt out of the way as he saw a Khorne Berzerker sliding through the doorway, chain-axe buzzing in one hand.
‘Gath,’ said Erasmus. He activated his power fist and struck the World Eater in the shoulder guard, smashing it to bits of ceramite.
The World Eater was stunned and lost his balance. Erasmus used the opening to run towards Belarius’ position. The Interrogator-Chaplain was locked in mortal combat with one of the Black Legion’s marines. Erasmus walked up behind the traitor marine and aimed the stormbolter at the back of his ancient helm. A spray of flesh and blood covered Belarius. He had wiped his eyepieces on the helm clean when he spotted Gath bringing his chain-axe Snaga down onto the captain’s left shoulder guard. The armour buckled but did not break.
Belarius shoved the captain out of the way and brought his Crozius up to bear. He blocked the chop of Snaga and swung the head of the arcane weapon across Gath’s right arm. The Crozius connected with the ceramite and smashed it. Gath let his right arm swing down, useless, but still held on to Snaga with his left. He stuck at Belarius and wrenched the Crozius out of the chaplain’s hand. As Belarius dove for his fallen weapon Gath swung the chain-axe at Captain Erasmus, striking him square in the face. The captain slumped to the floor, his face a shattered piece of meat and spilt blood. The Snaga feasted on the blood of the captain and whined high as Gath pulled it free of the remains of the marine’s face.
Belarius screamed in anger and launched himself at the World Eater. Gath squeezed his right hand with all his might and willed it to move. Khorne had granted his servant Gath power to defeat his enemy.
‘Blood for you Khorne,’ yelled Gath. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he laughed.
Belarius struck first, leaving a gaping diagonal slash down Gath’s chest plate, the Berzerker laughed harder and let saliva drip down his chin. Belarius raised his Crozius high over his head and brought it down on Gath’s shattered shoulder guard but missed as the traitor sidestepped the blow and kicked the chaplain to the ground. The Crozius Arcanum skidded across the dimly lit chamber and Gath moved in. He struck at Belarius with Snaga and connected on the chaplain’s shoulder guard. The chain-axe bit into the chaplain’s arm, severing nerves and tendons. Belarius arm hung lifeless at his side. Gath raised his ancient chain-axe high once more and let it fall towards the downed chaplain. Belarius kicked the World Eater’s feet out from under him; sending the traitor marine crashing, face first, into the marble floor of the chamber.
Belarius landed a punch to Gath’s face and managed to cut a gash across the bridge of his nose. Blood poured out from his nostrils and Gath laughed at the sight of his own blood. Belarius moved to a crouching position and threw a punch at him but it was caught by Gath and he broke the arm at the elbow and the wrist. The chaplain howled in pain but as quickly as the break was made it was already healing itself. He shoved the traitor away and sent him skidding across the floor near Snaga. Belarius put his shoulder into Gath’s chest and tackled him across the chamber. Gath gripped the handle of Snaga as he skidded back wards. Both marines slid down the hallway and fell five meters off a landing and onto the hardpan floor inside the immense Eldar structure.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’ Gath said. He threw a punch at Belarius who turned and let his dead arm take the brunt of the punch.
The Ceramite covering the chaplain’s arm cracked where Gath’s fist connected with a solid punch. Belarius could not feel the pain and head butted the World Eater, further damaging his nose. Gath coughed up blood and spat thick black mucous onto the hardpan floor.
Weaponless and growing weary, Belarius reached for his bolt pistol. He aimed at the traitor but had the weapon slapped away open handed. Gath punched the chaplain in the face, leaving the chaplain stunned. He reached for the Chaplain’s dead arm, twisted it back and then pulled it from its socket. The chaplain howled in pain as Gath drank the blood pouring from the severed appendage. With a last surge of effort Belarius brought out the Blades of reason and slashed Gath’s throat, watching the corrupted World Eater stumble backward holding his throat. Belarius slumped to the ground. He pulled a grenade from his belt and lobbed it toward Gath. The Berzerker watched as the Interrogator-Chaplain vanished in a cloud of eldritch light. Gath saw the grenade fly towards him then stop and was flung into the warp gate that had opened the moment that Belarius had died.
For a brief instant Gath saw the powers of Chaos gathered to take him but Khorne stepped in and demanded he stay behind. Blood for the Blood God was needed and Gath was the one who would provide. Khorne healed Gath’s wound and transported him back to the battlefield for more slaughter and carnage.
Captain Erasmus’ vox crackled to life inside the empty Eldar structure.
‘Captain, there’s too many of them, the entire Khornate host has landed. We’re being overrun, we need back up, repeat, we need backup,’ said Sergeant Domitian. The staccato of bolter fire filled the grotto like chamber and then the gurgling sounds of death filled the vox followed by the incessant chanting of the World Eaters.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’

It means Adventure in Danish...

2006-10-19T21:00:00.000-07:00

Here's the opening chapters of my reeeealy long story... called EVENTYR

Prologue
Their movement was slow and the rain beat down on the tribe. Some of the horsemen notched arrows to their bows and made way for the end of the tribe’s long shuffling line. Wolves had been seen running parallel to the tribe, waiting to pick off the elders. The warriors watched the shadows of the forest for any sign of the animals.
The wolves scattered as the warriors let loose their steel tipped shafts. Several of the pack had fallen to the arrows of the horsemen while others fled. There was an elder who had stood back to watch the young braves fight. A great gray wolf with crimson eyes set his gaze upon the old man and licked its chops. The speed of the creature caught all but one brave by surprise. He moved in front of the elder and let loose the shaft straight into the wolf’s left eye. The force of the arrow penetrated the skull and imbedded itself into the trunk of a great ash tree.
The elder thanked the warrior, known as He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes, and then passed on to the lands of the Great Spirit. The elder did not die without thanking the warrior and told He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes that even if he had become lost from the tribe his future people would be a people of legends to come. Having witnessed the death of the elder it was He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes’ duty to bury the dead man and watch his body for three days time. The other warriors helped prepare the body and formed a great cairn for the elder.
The three days had passed and He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes lit the great cairn and let the elder’s body burn to the heavens in thanks to the Great Spirit. Then he began his long journey to catch up with the rest of the tribe. It had been sprinkling at the time he left the elder’s body and the rain did not let up at all. He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes had lost the trail. The mud that had come down from the hillsides had wiped any tracks clean from the ground. He saw an outcropping of rocks and moved towards them. He came to an immense half circle made of odd colored stones he had never seen before. Maneuvering his horse carefully through the half circle, He-Who-Has-Gray-Eyes passed through the portal created by the stones and disappeared from the tales and histories of his people.

1
No Easy Way Out (The Beginning of it All)
Death of the Torqemadas
The snow fell lightly around the trio of Inquisitors. Inquisitor Donatien Prokov, of the Ordo Torquemada, hefted his sword from his left hand to his right and swung at Inquisitor Alphonse Deschain. Not able to move fast enough from Prokov’s blade, Deschain clutched his torn throat and slammed into the snow gurgling face down. The blood that fell to the snow steamed skyward.
“Prokov, what have you done?” said Inquisitor Robespierre Dupalm. He unsheathed his sword and blocked a slash from Prokov’s steady hand.
“I’m killing the Order, Dupalm, what does it look like I’m doing?” said Prokov. His black coif’s chin ties swung around his neck. The ruby at the center of the headpiece gave off an eerie shine as he swung his sword again and again at Dupalm.
“I don’t understand why, Prokov?” said Dupalm. He blocked yet another stroke and then parried with several of his own.
“To have control of the Inquisition of course, then we can finally be rid of the Peacekeepers once and for all. They spend too much time fighting the demons of this world that they have forgotten time and time again to thank us for all our help,” said Prokov. He feigned a slash, which Dupalm fell for, and hacked the other Inquisitor’s sword hand clean off.
Dupalm fell to his knees, clutching his bloody stump. Prokov walked up to him and pointed his sword at Dupalm’s face.
“Yield old friend and I’ll let you live. You’ll be captain of the new Torquemadas. Yield now or…” Prokov turned to look at the severed head of Deschain, whose blood was still giving off steam.
“Go to hell Prokov,” was all Dupalm said. He stared Prokov directly in the eyes.
“As you wish,” Prokov said. He swung the sword with such force that Dupalm’s head rolled several meters away into the snow-covered ground.
Prokov walked over to the head of Dupalm and grabbed it by the hair. The eyes moved for several seconds, still taking in information for several more seconds. Then he laughed and walked over to Deschain’s severed head as well. He reached into his long black cloak and reached inside one of the great pockets to produce a brown sack with a drawstring on it. He placed both heads inside and tied a double knot on it. Then he attached the heads to his belt.
“That should start things in motion, and if not then I’ll just shed a little more blood,” said Prokov. He laughed and moved south towards the Emperor’s palace, Blade’s End, in the land of Falkirk.
Lament
Sid moved inside the gunship’s belly and stood on the landing ramp, at the head of his squad. He put on his helmet and turned the rebreather on. Sid could see out the small slat provided for viewing. Six other gunships were moving silently and quickly through the empty, rain soaked world. Normally Sid would have had Macon Dean with him, and his bodily tattoos that were actually ancient spells of protection, to cover his back. But this job was special. And Mr. Graves wanted this done the right way. No outsiders to perform the wetwork. It needed to be Sid.
“Agent Denker, we’re two minutes to landing. Ground or roof, sir?” said the pilot.
“Ground. I have to check the building with the men first. Thanks for the options though,” said Sid. He slung his rifle low on his hip and clicked off the safety.
“Descending now sir,” said the captain. “Landing in three, two, one, bay doors opening.”
The squad of ten men moved off the ramp and moved towards the abandoned tenement. The rain poured on them harder than when they had arrived. Sid led them to the front of the building where he made way for the soldier with the handheld battering ram. The man stepped into the swing and smashed the apartment’s main entrance to splinters. There was the sound of wood sliding across the floors and the echo that came with it. The demon within the boarded up old apartment would know that the Peacekeepers were below.
Sid turned on the small microphone built into his rebreather and spoke to his squad.
“I want tight formation up the stairs. They’re large enough for two men to walk abreast. Eyes open at all times,” said Sid. He slung his rifle and unbuttoned the two holsters he kept at his hips crisscrossed like a cowboy from an old Hollywood film.
“Sir, Squads Snake, Eagle, Phoenix, Fenris, Skoll, and Felix are all in position on the opposite rooftops, the ground floor and around the building sir,” said a sergeant from another squad.
Sid looked around and nodded to his men to continue moving to higher ground. Flashlights attached to the ends of their rifles bobbed up and down, their beams weaving patterns around the hallways and staircase as they made their way further up the tenement. Sid hand signaled his men to stop. He handed one of the men his rifle and unholstered his pistols. The clean steel shone brightly in the gloom of the hallway. Sid pulled back the hammers and walked up to room 1205. Not wasting any time Sid kicked in the door.
He was blown backwards, hitting the wall and sliding down it. He did not let go of the guns despite the air being knocked out of his lungs and his men went over to him. He took a long breath and then got back up. He looked inside the room and continued into the next room. It was boarded up also. He kicked it down and was again tossed like a rag doll against a wall. He shook himself off and continued towards the bedroom. It was there that Sid stopped and let his guns hang at his sides.
The men funneled into the room after Sid and surrounded the fouled sleeping quarters. There was a large brown mass that did not move. Eyes could be seen, though they were milky white and had the faintest hint of once being blue. The Peacekeepers made no sound and the mass of brown moved. One man was hurled up through the ceiling while simultaneously another was crushed against a wall. The rest of the men fired on the bed and watched as it exploded in sprays of excrement and blood. When the smoke cleared all of Sid’s men were dead.
“You shifted space, didn’t you?” said Sid. He was covered with the blood of his men.
The mass of cloth spoke in a deep guttural voice that sounded like two voices at once.
“Peacekeeper, what do you seek here?” said the demon.
“Your death, nothing more,” said Sid.
“Then prepare yourself for war,” said the demon. The mass of cloth moved vertically on the bed and showed its disfigured body to the last remaining Peacekeeper.
Sid’s arms still hung at his sides. He could hear the sounds of more men coming up the stairs. He took off his helmet and rebreather. The stench of the room made him gag, but he did not vomit. He lifted a hand to his mouth as the demon came forward toward him. He ducked and rolled beneath the demon’s swiping arm and then came to his knees, spun and fired with his left hand. The round burrowed into the flesh of the demon and caused it to light on fire. The demon screamed in agony.
“You shot me with Hellfire rounds?” said the demon. It was engulfed in flames and sunk back into the bed. The bed also went up in flames.
“Orders from on high. No bad feelings okay?” said Sid. He watched the demon burn to death on the mattress.
The rest of the Peacekeepers came up the steps. Sid had put his helmet and rebreather back on. He spoke into the built-in microphone and asked for a medi-vac tube. Several minutes later one was brought in. The soldiers placed the burned corpse into the tube and followed Sid up to the roof. A gunship was hovering just above the roof and landed with a dull thud once the pilot saw Sid with the tube. The landing ramp opened and two of the crew took the tube inside the bay area and strapped it down. Sid sat down inside the bay area and asked his men to leave him with the body. The men filed into the belly of the gunship and the bay door hissed shut.
The pilot called for launch and the ramp lifted shut. The bay filled with the sound of the ramp’s hydraulic system behind the steel walls. When the noise stopped Sid took off his helmet and laid it on the bench he was sitting on. He walked up to the tube and looked at the charred remains of the demon. He pushed a button on the side of the holding mechanism that tilted the tube to a standing position. Sid looked the charred body over and waited.
“Wake up,” said Sid.
The demon’s cloudy eyes opened and stared at Sid’s.
“You can’t talk since your vocal chords have been burned off your body so you are going to listen very very carefully to me. You are not going to be taken back to Control. You’re staying here. This world will be dying soon and you’re going to die with it. Any last words?” said Sid. “Oh that’s right, you can’t talk can you?”
The demon maintained eye contact with Sid. Sid walked back to the bench and put his helmet back on. A small hatch opened beneath the tube and an overhead clamp held the tube from its top. The restraints from around the tube’s body released and fell down the hatch. Sid stepped forward and looked at the demon once more. Then he looked down at the opened hatch and saw the burned out remains of the city they were in and released the clamp at the top of the tube.
“Approaching warp gate in ten seconds sir,” said the pilot into Sid’s helmet.
Sid watched through the hatch as the tube fell and then smashed open onto the empty city streets. Almost immediately the ground and the entire city began to turn black. Sid closed the hatch and walked to the cockpit. The door slid open and Sid watched the warp gate form in front of the gunship. He also saw that the entire area they were flying over was now a thick black in color. The countryside, the city, lakes and even the ocean were all the same inky black.
“Sir, what the hell is happening?” said the pilot as they finally passed through the warp gate.
“That world was dying. And we just gave it a heart attack,” said Sid.
The communication channel chimed on and the pilot took the call.
“It’s for you sir, do you want it on intercom?” said the pilot.
“Yes, put it through,” said Sid.
A gravely voice laughed on the intercom. Then the voice spoke.
“Agent Denker, good of you to finally check in once your mission is done,” said the voice.
Sid rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Good morning Director Daizen. I just finished my mission about three minutes ago. We’re not even docked in Control yet. As soon as we dock I’ll be in your office,” said Sid. He flicked the intercom switch off.
“The director isn’t going to like that very much sir,” said the pilot. He chuckled.
Sid laughed as well. He even managed to crack a small smile. The pilot docked the gunship and Sid was the first one out and running down the landing ramp towards the director’s office. As he came close to the director’s office he had to give up his pistols and combat knives.
Jonathan Daizen was the Director of the Department of Multiverse Activities, or as it was commonly known, the DMA. Constructed ten years ago, the DMA’s main function was to track all Peacekeepers throughout the time stream. Along with the Peacekeepers, the Multiverse’s answer to police officers, are the MTF, or the Multiverse Task Force. Unlike the Peacekeepers, they are trained and live in Control, the massive way station between worlds and times. The Peacekeepers force, created by the Lord of the Rock, Azel Ashtree, lived and trained in a separate world in a desert fortress older than the earth itself. It had taken Sid three years to move up in the ranks of the Peacekeepers and he had learned why they called Azel Lord of the Rock. And what exactly the Rock was.
The office door of Director Daizen buzzed then clicked. Sid opened it and went inside. Director Daizen sat at his black leather chair behind his glass-topped table. The holographic reports that hovered over Daizen’s desk were vast and filled with backwards numbers from where Sid stood. Sid cleared his throat.
“Ah, Agent Denker, good to see you, finally. What is the verdict of the mission?” said Daizen. With a wave of his hand the green holograms fizzled out.
Sid stood at attention and put his hands behind his back, chest out. He spoke calmly, despite having the director test his patience. Had he not been trained as a Peacekeeper years ago, Sid more than likely would have already punched the director.
“Everything went according to plan. Except that he was actually more powerful than you and your people thought. I lost an entire squad of men for this mission Director Daizen and I want to know why you couldn’t have just let that world die with that demon on its own. All the doors to that place were sealed off ages ago, it wasn’t as if someone would accidentally wind up there,” said Sid.
Daizen stood up and sighed lightly. He had a smile on his face.
“Agent Denker, your job is to do as I tell you when you are loaned to me. When you’ve obtained the status of Peacekeeper General, then you may question our actions. This one time I will humor you with your request. Next time I will hold you in violation of directive 4812,” said Daizen.
“That’s a sedition law, it’d never stick Daizen. So don’t try,” said Sid. He stopped his military stance and walked toward Daizen.
“Why Agent Denker, are you threatening me?”
“No, you threatened me for questioning why ten men had to die to get rid of one empty world and a demon,” said Sid.
“Very well Agent Denker, I’ll tell you. Agent Graves and I had been tracking this demon for over twenty years. The only reason we found it was because we tracked it back to you.”
“Me? I had never met the thing before today,” Sid said.
“Ah, but in that statement therein lies the problem. You did meet the demon before; you just had not seen it in that body. And the host was your brother’s body Agent Denker,” said Daizen. He moved back to his desk.
Sid’s eyes filled with tears but he held them back and snapped back to attention.
“That is why I wanted to know when the mission was done Sid. You found the brother you’ve been looking for since you first joined the Peacekeepers, but he had passed on long ago. There was nothing you could do but kill it. You laid your brother to rest peacefully. You fulfilled a part of your oath,” said Daizen. “Dismissed.”
Sid walked out of the director’s office and practically ripped the arm off the guard that held his weapons. He was a hundred feet from the office when a shaft of light a meter long appeared before him. The light was at eye level then opened vertically so that it formed a kind of door. Sid smiled as the light turned a cool blue in color. It was the blue color doors that the Peacekeepers used. Sid was going home.
2
Resurface (Purgatory)
I. The Lights of Control
Director Daizen marched out of his office and down the long winding corridors of Control into the prison set deep within the planet’s core. The message on his wrist communicator had said a power failure was eminent. Daizen had launched every single protocol for this massive emergency he could think of. The next step was to secure his men behind the prison’s walls and seal the prisoners inside the prison for all time.
The warden, a woman named Sylvie Hatch, had been killed when a power beam split from the Electrical Room and impaled her. The rest of her crew had also suffered heavy injuries. Daizen had to see the carnage inside the room himself before he decided to evacuate all his MTF troops. Once the last one had made his way up the access ramp Daizen activated the override program and closed the prison forever. As soon as the doors had slammed shut Control lost all power.
“God help us, we’ll be flying blind,” said Daizen.
“Sir, this is Allen, Charles Allen, the Door Operator, we’ve lost all power to the door feeds and all emergency power as well. We’re out of commission sir,” said Charles.
“Get me the Peacekeepers on the line quickly,” said Daizen. He put his hands to his temples.
II. Activated
The majority of the Peacekeeper force was having breakfast in the immense mess hall inside their home base of Midian, home of the Rock. A claxon sounded and all Peacekeepers stood at their tables. From every wall in the mess hall screens dropped down from the ceiling and showed them the face of Director Daizen. The sound kept cutting out and the picture was filled with static. Behind his shoulder they could see workers frantically trying to seal a large door with their torches.
“This..not a test...Control is without power...jail is sealed...containment is possible...Ashtree if you can hear me, please send your Peacekeepers to us. That is all,” said Daizen’s voice.
One Peacekeeper, who had been sitting down at a table by himself grabbed a staff he had with him and ran out of the mess hall. He was half way down the hallway when he saw Azel Ashtree, Lord of the Rock and leader of the Peacekeepers.
“Daizen...emergency...Control without power,” said the man, out of breath.
“I know Dominic, I already heard the message, in its entirety. I’ve already sent a force to deal with his problem. Let’s make sure the men don’t get too excited and tell them what their duties will now be,” said Azel. His all blue eyes glowed as he looked directly at Dominic.

III. Get Moving
“You are now the official police force of the Multiverse. Until Control comes back on-line, we will be flying a bit blind. But we do have the doors, so use them when necessary. And remember, this reality is huge, take each assignment as if it were your last,” said Dominic Amon. He sat down beside Azel.
Azel thanked Dominic and approached the podium. He looked at the massed troops that composed his Peacekeepers. Men, women, humanoid creatures and various species of alien life, all wearing the uniforms of the Peacekeepers and listening intently to their assignment.
“You came to this place because I found you. Your people did not want you. You were all outcasts and without homes. Now, after your training, every world in existence wants you. You can live in any world when this is over. You are all heroes, not because of the uniform you wear. No, that’s just cloth and thread. You are heroes because you have chosen to protect that which is the most important to all of us. You have chosen to protect reality from all threats. There is a threat,” Azel said. He placed his hands on the podium, creating a V shape with his arms on the wooden podium.
The Peacekeepers began to talk among themselves. Azel raised his hand and then it stopped.
“Director Daizen does not know that I have found the threat that has rendered Control and the MTF impotent. He tried as best as he could to hide it from me, but to no avail. My brothers and sisters, this threat had come from beyond anything we know. It’s come from the Dark Tower at the center of creation to destroy us all. Your job is to stop it any way you can,” said Azel. He looked at Dominic.
Dominic’s face resembled that of every Peacekeeper’s, mouth agape, eyes wide in disbelief.
Azel raised his hands once more. A hush fell over the soldiers.
“Save us from our enemies,” said Azel. He left the podium.

3
The Other Worlds (Next Door)
Night came to Corellis once every twenty years and lasted for only a week. The rest of the time the sun stayed out or was obscured by clouds in a perpetual haze. In the far north of the planet lived the creatures known as the Kushagi. For eons they had lived in immense rock spires that jutted towards the sky for hundreds of kilometers. The Kushagi themselves were a peaceful people that lived in harmony with the entire planet. One of the Kushagi elders moved into the vast planetarium to view the stars as she always had. Upon fixing the lens she noticed that the planet’s sun was being swallowed by a great black void. Within minutes the void could be seen over the planet. Within an hour the planet was no more.
Several planets away on Sefris XIII, the planet had begun a mass exodus. With their warnings being spread throughout the galaxy, the inhabitants of Sefris XIII were on their way to a planet called Earth, where it was said that a group known as the Peacekeepers would know what to do. It was said that they traveled to the worlds next door and that they would have the answers.
4
City of the Dead
I. Necronomicon in the Necropolis
Dominic and his force of Peacekeepers had traveled north from the city fortress of Midian, home of the Rock, towards the ancient and crumbling castle of the demon known as Pazuzu. Every century a new man would rise and be the host of Pazuzu. For some time there had been no demon activity in the Armageddon Desert. But then the demons began raiding the villages and cities outside the desert and it was decided that Dominic and a portion of the Peacekeepers would stay in Midian and patrol the desert. On one such raid a secret chamber was found in Pazuzu’s old castle.
Inside the chamber was a library the likes that Dominic had never seen save for when he visited the Black Library of the Imperium. Shelves of books filled the room. There were also towers of books that had been handmade and covered with the flesh of humans and demons alike. Most bore the symbols of Pazuzu and there was one that bore the Imperial Seal, which Dominic held for several minutes. It was that book that Dominic was now on his way to retrieve.
The Librarian of Midian, a conglomeration of ancient sorcery, modern technology and bits of human flesh that refused to die, had called Dominic into his chambers for the purpose of retrieving the book. The Librarian told him that in that book might be a way to stop the darkness that was eating star systems whole. Dominic told the Librarian he would not fail in the book’s retrieval.
II. Fear in a Handful of Dust
Pazuzu lay doubled over on the cold stones of his fortress. He was born from the blood of Dominic’s fallen men. Their blood had seeped into the primordial crypt below the throne room and splashed onto the intricately wrought sarcophagus that held the ancient evil. He also knew that Dominic had taken the book with the Imperial Seal on its cover.
III. They Got Out
Dominic raced across the desert with only a handful of men in tow. The hibernating demons that had attacked them in the castle were not expected. It had been a blood bath and Dominic knew it. But the book had to be taken back to Midian. Especially if there was a way to save all of creation.
IV. The Prophecy
“The Hidden One walks among you as a soldier. You take him in as a friend yet he will be the greatest betrayer of all. He is the one that unleashed the Legion in the first place, long before the book was taken. He was chosen by the dark gods of chaos to be their emissary. Pazuzu is nothing in comparison to him,” said the Oracle. She let her third eye close and she sighed heavily.

A fragment...

2006-10-19T20:55:00.000-07:00

This is from my grand story. Just a peek though, there's a lot more of Sid and Graves later...

“What if I told you there was a way to reverse what happened here in Los Angeles? Would you try and fix what happened Sid? Would you be the one responsible?” said Graves.
Both men sat on a bench in front of the Metro Tower on the Patsaouras Transit Plaza in Union Station. Graves held a portable flash drive in his right hand. He held it up to Sid. Sid stopped watching people get on buses and turned his black shade covered eyes to the flash drive in the older man’s gnarled fingers.
“If I accept responsibility, what then? Will you be reprieved by the Council?” said Sid.
“Does it matter? Think of all the people that can be saved if you do this Sid. Think of all the great things that could come from your action. Think about Moray and what she would do,” said Graves. He pushed the drive closer to Sid.
“I don’t need her name thrown around Graves. I understand what is involved. I knew the risks as well as she did when we signed up for this position. What do I have to do?” said Sid. He looked Graves straight in the eyes.
“Everything you need to know is on this drive. Read it very, very carefully Sid. And remember the fate of millions rests in your hands,” said Graves. He stood up and walked from the bench.
A bus rounded the corner and looked as if it was going to slam into Graves as he stepped off the curb and onto the transit plaza’s path. He disappeared instead. A light blue haze blurring him out of existence before the bus sped past where he had been walking.
“Incredible,” said Sid. He looked down at his right hand and the small flash drive that carried the possibility of changing events in the course of time.
He pressed a small red button on his watch and a portal that only he could see opened a foot away from him. He looked up at the sky, dingy with smog and clouds rolling in from the west, and sighed. He stepped over the threshold of the portal and was transported to the command center of the Peacekeepers, known as Control.

My occult story...

2006-10-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

Everybody should try at least one attempt at writing something like this. Plus, it forces you to actually try and learn Latin, which is why I bought a Latin dictionary. Enjoy...

The Shift
Macon Dean’s punch connected with the rib cage of the demon. It howled in pain and frustration. The skin that Macon had assaulted burned and crackled. For several minutes it had tried to reach out and touch Macon but its hands kept getting burned from Macon’s body. Macon moved in within inches of the demon and placed his open palm on the creature’s ear. The rock-like texture began to sizzle, then melt.
“What’s the matter, don’t like my body art?” said Macon. He put his hand out in front of the demon. His entire hand was covered in Latin verses, Christian prayers and archaic symbols.
The demon roared and opened its maw wider, revealing a second set of jaws smaller than the first, but still as powerful and serrated. Spittle with bubbles of foam spewed onto the floor inches from Macon’s boots. It lunged at Macon and the beast’s mouth clamped down on his outstretched hand. Blood spurted from the creature’s mouth and Macon stood still. The demon released its hold on the man’s arm. Steam and blood spewed from the demon’s mouth as Macon opened the palm of his clenched and now wet hand. Not a scratch or puncture wound was visible.
“Tergum ut abyssus,” Macon said. A wall of flame enveloped the demon and burnt it to ashes.
There was a deep droning sound, like that of a giant magnet clunking to life and the room was covered in darkness. Macon reached into his jacket pocket and lifted a small phial filled with holy water.
“Fiat lux,” Macon said. His words echoed throughout the room and the phial shone as bright as the sun outside the room.
“Oh shit,” Macon said. He turned slowly around the room, keeping the phial raised as high as he could lift it.
Roughly twenty demons surrounded him and were shielding their eyes from the light.
Macon reached for the holster inside his jacket and realized the gun was on the floor near the doorway. He moved slowly towards it, the demons backing away from the light. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before one of them was brave enough to endure the light and attack him. He had hoped it would be after he reached his gun, but that was not a reality he knew would ever appear. He was within two feet of the gun when the largest of the demons charged like a bull ready to gore someone. He dove and rolled for the gun.
Two spent shells hit the ground the exact moment the demon did. There was a hole the size of a man’s clenched fist where the demon’s face used to be. The brain matter lay splattered on the wooden floorboards and on the demons now facing Macon.
“Hellfire rounds for everybody boys,” Macon said. He fired round after round until the gun was empty. He holstered his gun and reloaded while waving the phial in front of him like some unearthly torch.
One of the demons swiped at Macon’s jacket and sliced the arm holding the phial. He did not drop it but laughed when the demon’s claws burned off his body. It started a chain reaction that began to burn the creature from the arm up. In a matter of seconds the entire beast was enveloped in flames. The room quickly filled with the noxious smell of charred skin of the hell spawn. Macon backed out of the room and tossed the phial of holy water onto the burning demon.
“Drinks on me my lad,” said Macon. He laughed and shut the door just as the other demons charged it.
He turned and bumped backs with Jack Cray. Jack jumped back and aimed his guns in Macon’s face.
“Jesus Macon, don’t do that,” Jack said. He dropped his arms to his sides.
“What about you, you weren’t even watching where you were going Jack,” Macon said. He dusted off his jacket and sniffed the air.
“What is that smell?” Jack said. He looked at Macon.
“That one’s full,” Macon said. He motioned at the room with his thumb and smiled.
“Christ. Did you just leave them to burn? And what were they?” said Jack. He put a wrist up to his nose to cover the smell.
“Neekresh Clan, the ones that have the pink skin with the black dirt on them. They live near the border of the Styx,” said Macon.
“I don’t even want to know how you know that Macon, I’ll take your word. Where’s Amir?” said Jack.
“I thought he was with you?” Macon said.
Both men ran down the hallway of the abandoned hotel and made their way downstairs.
Amir Haytham walked into the circle he had created. Both his gun holsters were unbuttoned and ready for him to pull the weapons free. He whispered an incantation under his breath and waited. The sigils he had drawn in black chalk glowed golden. Several feet away from him the doors rattled and rocked in their hinges. Light could be seen flickering through the view port.
“Penetro Cella,” said Amir. He pulled his guns free and pulled the hammers back.
At first there was only sound, like static from a phone, then came the black smokes that swirled round and round but did not billow out towards Amir. From the obsidian plume came a shape that was all muscle and tendons. As the demon became unraveled on Amir’s plane of existence it shook and howled. He could see and hear the snapping of bones as they knitted themselves into a shape that Amir could see.
Macon and Jack arrived in time to see the mass of muscle and bone swipe at Amir. He turned towards them and yelled.
“I know what I’m doing Macon, stay back,” said Amir.
Macon and Jack watched as the demon swiped at the man with two guns inside the secured circle of magic. As if a force field had been erected around him Amir stood firm and did not even flinch as the demon’s scythe-like arm came crashing onto the circle. There was a sound like thunder and a crackle of blue light as the demon’s arm connected with the borders of the magical circle. Amir smiled at the demon which caused it to open its maw and reveal yet another mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. Amir pulled the triggers and watched the Hellfire rounds plunge into the creature’s body. For several seconds nothing happened. Macon tried calling to Amir but he couldn’t hear him.
The shells inside the creature’s body ignited and blew apart its chest. There was splattered muscle and bone everywhere in the room. The creature stood fully seven feet tall and towered over Amir. He could see the beating heart beneath its ribcage, black and pulsing. The demon drew its arms back and slapped them back together around Amir. The circle crackled and sparked and then to Amir’s dismay, dissipated. Before he could move the demon slapped its hands together again and Amir was nothing more than red mist.
“NO!” yelled Macon. He ran towards the demon with his gun and fired at it.
The round caught it in the left shoulder and sheered it off. Blood sprayed on the wooden floor and then began reconstituting the demon’s severed limb. The same process had begun with the monster’s chest. But before it could Jack had slammed a silver lance through its heart and pinned it against the far wall of the room. Macon ran up to it and began punching it in the face and body. Parts of the demon burned off as Macon’s tattooed fists sheered off bits of it with each fierce punch. Soon there was very little of the creature left and Macon pressed the palm of his left hand on the dying creature’s chest. As if placed on a hot skillet, the flesh and bone began to peel off and melt. The entire demon was covered in flame shortly after and turned to thick black ash.
Jack walked over to the only things that remained of Amir Haytham, his guns. They were covered in blood. Jack bent down and picked them up as if they were Amir and gently placed them in his backpack. Macon slammed his fist into the pile of ashes and watched as they floated all along the room. He looked at Jack putting Amir’s guns away and nodded.
“Time to go Jack,” Macon said. He was covered in ash and blood.
“Yeah, time to go home and tell everyone Amir is gone,” Jack said. He looked around the lobby of the abandoned apartment and stopped at the door.
“Hold on a second Macon,” said Jack. He reached into his bag and pulled out several metal discs with strange sigils on them. The sigils themselves were gold and the disks were stainless steel.
He placed one disk on the wall where Macon had killed the demon, another on the circle drawn by Amir and several more at the entrance to the tenement. He pulled out what looked like a small cell phone and pressed the only key on it.
“Run,” Jack said.
Both men ran back to the car they had come in and Jack started it up. Ten second later the apartment was rubble. It didn’t collapse outward, but fell in on itself and nothing touched the buildings beside it, not even the dust it kicked up as it crashed down to ground level.
“What the hell was that Jack?” said Macon. He looked out the rear window of the car at the pillar of thick black smoke rising to the sky.
“Something I’d been toying with. They’re bombs, obviously, but the have containment spells on the casing, so that even though the casings eventually melt away, the…”
“The spell remains working. Jack that’s brilliant. How did you learn to do that?” Macon said.
“Ozzymandius taught me how to draw the symbols for protection then it was just a matter of saying the symbols while creating the bombs. It became a litany of sorts,” Jack said.
“So Jack Cray, feared Vampire hunter learned magic like the rest of us? I’m impressed Jack. Those same protection spells could be put in bullets as well couldn’t they?” Macon said.
Jack smiled and turned on the radio. Bob Dylan belted out Like A Rolling Stone. Macon laughed and then stopped.
“What are we going to tell Ozzymandius about Amir? The circle didn’t hold. You saw what the demon did,” Macon said.
Jack stopped smiling. He screwed his eyebrows up and frowned. “I don’t know Macon. It was just too powerful for him. What did he summon? And why did he summon it?”
“That’s what I want to know Jack. And only Ozzymandius Blake will know that,” Macon said.

Ah, a true pulp horror story, or so I thought...

2006-10-19T20:46:00.000-07:00

Yeah, this one doesn't quite qualify, but it was a first attempt at a horror magazine entry...

The Chase
Cole James chased the man in the black trench coat for five straight blocks. He watched him turn into a building that had a great neon sign on the front that said Open All Nite. The man in the black trench coat turned to look behind him once he had made it to the front door of the building. He smiled and entered through the revolving glass door.
Cole shoved people left and right to try and keep up with the man in the black trench coat. As he ducked into the building Cole was able to glimpse the man smiling at him before he moved inside the revolving glass door. Cole ran as hard and fast as he could but was only able to watch as the man reached the elevator doors. The elevator doors dinged as one of them hit the ground floor. The man went inside and Cole arrived to watch it leave. The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. He looked around and saw the stairwell door and kicked it open. One of the bellhops yelled at him to not kick the door open.
Cole took the stairs two at a time and pushed the door marked with a large black six outward. He looked around the hallway and heard the man in the trench coat talking to someone. Cole moved against the wall opposite the door of the stairwell and listened. He crept forward slowly so that he could just make out the man in the black trench coat talking on a phone attached to the wall.
“Yeah, he followed me, and no I don’t know if he made it up here yet. Sure boss, I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t get farther than here,” the man said.
Cole made his move and lunged for the man at the phone. The man dropped the phone and somersaulted backward in front of a door. Cole looked up at him and watched the man open a door that appeared out of nowhere. He waved at Cole with that same smile he had when he entered the building and closed the door behind him. Cole moved to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. It didn’t budge. He put both hands on the knob and it still didn’t budge. Finally, he tried to kick the door down, but the door didn’t even crack.
Cole put his hands on his hips and sighed. A great grating sound was heard, like the sound of moving gears that had not been lubed in years. Cole felt the carpet beneath his feet begin to vibrate then the trapdoor opened and he disappeared from the hallway.
He had been sliding in a circle down a long chute filled with warm water. The entire chute was dark and no light could be seen anywhere. After several minutes Cole had been dropped into a small pool of cool water. There was a mirror on a wall directly in front of him. He looked around and saw that the entire room was made of white tiles. There was steam coming from the vents placed at ankle height but there was no one in the room but him. He looked at the puddle of liquid he had slid into and noticed how it had turned oddly warm and was the same color as his hands. He stood up and realized he was completely naked. He stepped out of the pool and the tube that had fed him into the tiled room opened again, this time discharging another man. He too was completely naked.
Cole stepped away from him and tried to cover himself. The man looked up at Cole and screamed.
“Get away from me you monster, get away,” the man said.
“What are you talking about, you’re the monster,” Cole said. He backed away to the far end of the room. Cole looked at the mirror and saw for the first time what the man was yelling at.
The reflection of the mirror showed Cole that the skin had been stripped from his face. The muscles and sinews lay exposed and dripping. Cole pointed at the mirror and the man slowly turned and looked at his own reflection. He began to sob.
“Who did this to us?” Cole said.
“It was Crane, Jeremiah Crane,” said the man.
“Who is that?” Cole said. He waited patiently for the man to answer him.
“He’s a twisted doctor, he’s done these experiments…you know, the kind that get the military involved to take guys like him out for good,” said the man.
“But why? What did we ever do to him?”
There was a loud crackling coming from speakers set inside the walls of the room.
“You tried to steal from me Mr. James. That’s all you did. So as penance you’ve given your flesh to help another,” the voice from the walls said.
“What did you do to our faces?” said the man.
“I extracted them. It’s a brand new process that involves a special warm liquid I’ve produced that only detaches specific skin zones. It leaves the rest of your body intact,” the voice said.
“That liquid that goes up the tube? That was our skin?” Cole shouted.
“Precisely Mr. James. How very astute of you to notice. But sadly, you’ll both have to follow the others into the pit,” said the voice.
“Wait a minute, you’re just going to throw us in a pit with dead bodies?” said the man.
“Oh no, they’re not dead, just, hmm, how shall I say it? Ah, that’s the word, ravenous,” the voice said. The speakers squawked and then shut off.
The floor beneath the man collapsed and hands reached up to grab hold of his ankles. He screamed and yelled. Then he was quiet. The floor beneath Cole’s feet did the same except he leaped out of the way and began to climb up the way he came in.
Once more the speakers came on and the voice spoke.
“Come now Mr. James, that’s cheating, you have to face your fate the proper way.”
“Go to hell Crane, I’m not going to be eaten alive,” Cole said.
“Very well, have it your way,” the voice said.
Cole reached the top of the tube after much hard work of slowly inching his way up the tube on his knees and elbows. He pulled the trap door down and climbed out of the tube. Several people were standing by the elevator when they saw Cole coming out of the floor. Two women screamed as a man ran down the hall. Cole put his hands up trying to calm them down.
“Please, help me, there was a man who stole my face,” Cole said. He tried pleading with the women but they simply ran off screaming away from the naked and faceless man.
He headed into an open elevator and slammed the down button. The doors opened on the lobby and several police officers were standing around taking down information from a woman. Cole moved toward them slowly, crying. His hands were held out as if he were crucified.
“Thank God, please help me, someone stole my face, I know who did this to me, please help me,” Cole said.
“Freeze sir,” yelled one of the police officers.
Cole continued walking towards them. The woman fainted and the other officers drew their weapons.
“I know who did this to me,” Cole said.

Based on a nightmare and my old blue Chevy Cavalier...

2006-10-19T20:39:00.000-07:00

This one is from a horrible nightmare I had and my Chevy dubbed: The God Mobile, because of the God Rules sticker the previous owner slapped on the rear window. I never took it off and I don't know why; bless you old Chevy car for lasting more than 300,000+ miles...

First Day of School
The campus had been completely renovated. The new dorms could house six hundred students per dorm, there were three spread out on the campus. As he arrived along with all the other freshmen, Aaron stood beside his beat up 1984 Chevy Cavalier with the God Rules sticker on the back window. He had been through so many things in his car that he left it on as a badge of honor instead of the joke it was meant to be. He strapped his backpack to his shoulders and started to close the door when he remembered that he would need the map to figure out where all the buildings were now located.
He climbed the small series of steps that lead to the campus from the parking lot and walked up a hill enclosed on either side by lush green grass.
“Brand spankin’ new grass for a new campus,” Aaron said. He smiled and clutched the backpack’s strap that crossed his chest. He smiled at some girls as they passed by.
He walked for ten minutes slowly, taking in the new look of the campus and saw the enormous football and baseball practice field that lay before his eyes. There had been bleachers put up to welcome the parents. Above the bleachers enormous canopies had been placed so as to provide shade to everyone sitting in the stands. Aaron turned to look behind him to watch the long procession of incoming freshmen to the campus.
Then there were screams and a loud boom. Aaron turned and looked around but didn’t see anyone in particular who had screamed. In fact he didn’t see the bleachers or the canopy at all. A crowd had gathered by the field and looked on as they saw an enormous mound of dirt covering the bleachers and canopy. One of the football players ran to the field railing and yelled to Aaron. He in turn ran towards the railing and looked down. Arms and legs pushed out of the mound and flailed. But no one had dug themselves out.
“They’re all buried in the dirt man, just happened like that,” said the football player. He had snapped his fingers.
“Okay, okay, look, do you have a cell phone?” Aaron said.
“Yeah, why?”
“Call 911, tell them where exactly we are, what field this is and tell them to bring shovels,” Aaron said.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that,” the football player said. He pulled out his phone and dialed the three numbers and stuck the phone to his ear.
“The phone’s dead,” he yelled to Aaron.
Aaron had jumped the railing and was trying to dig out the first flailing arm the he could see.
“What?”
“My phone’s dead.”
“Mine too,” said a girl standing beside the football player.
“And mine” said another girl in a wheelchair. She shook her phone around as if that would jump start the dead batteries.
The crowd that had gathered all mumbled the same things. Their phones had all died. Not one of them worked. The football player looked down at Aaron and shrugged, his eyebrows knotted together in defeat and sadness.
Aaron pulled the person out of the mound and looked at his watch. The arms had stopped at 2:23pm. He looked around but the sky was clear and then he saw a flash of orange light arc towards the parking lot. He tried to find the source but it had moved too quickly. Then he saw a tree at the far end of the field and saw it flash with the orange light. Ten feet from where Aaron stood the wall of the field had been blown to pieces.
“There’s something in the trees, everybody run,” yelled the man who had been saved. He still choked but ran as fast as he could away from the mound of dirt.
Aaron turned to try and grab him but it was no use. He slid to the bottom of the mound face first and looked up in time to see the man get hit by that orange flash of light that made no sound. There was a split second in between when the man was hit and when he turned to dust. Aaron stood still and waited. The lights continued to hurl themselves around the campus and eventually one landed in the parking lot. Aaron knew this because he saw the cars explode.
Please don’t let my car be one of the ones gone, he had thought to himself. He stood up slowly and looked straight at the line of trees that the light had come from. He started to run and saw a huge ball of orange light flying toward him. He slid and just barely missed being hit. He faced the trees and moved in bear claw fashion towards the practice field’s chain link fence. He stood up quickly and hurled himself over the four-foot high fence, landing in some bushes. The lights continued to be hurled at various places. The physics building that had been directly behind the bleachers was a smoldering ruin; one of the dorms had a hole in it the size of a semi truck.
Aaron stayed in the bushes and caught his breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He counted to five and started running as fast as he could towards his car. He looked behind him ever two seconds and just missed being hit yet again. There had been a girl, who had run into him and bounced off his shoulder, but when he saw the light he dropped and she was disintegrated instead of him.
With his heart pumping in his head, Aaron made it to his car and opened the door. He put the key into the ignition frantically and watched the windshield as the source of the light could now be seen. The trees had started to crush the fence that kept them out of the practice field. One tree whipped itself backward and its roots, deep and long inside the earth were pulled out from beneath the school. Two cars parked over from Aaron’s right side had been thrown ten feet in the air when the tree had pulled its roots from the ground. They came down and smashed on top of other cars parked beside Aaron’s car.
He put the car in reverse and added gas. The car swung out and to the left. He had enough time to watch as the tree branch shot out some more of the orange light. Aaron looked at a car that had been hit by the light and saw that it was not light after all; it had been the sap of the trees being flung at everything. He weaved in and out of lanes in the parking lot that were full of cars that were either smashed or on fire. The entire parking lot was bathed in thick black smoke. He had made it to the school’s entrance and sped up as he saw two more trees advancing towards his car off to his left. He floored the gas and watched in the rearview mirror as the trees smashed into each other and set fire to each other’s branches.
Aaron turned on the radio and kept his speed at 90, he realized that no one would be on the roads right now and he had been right. There was someone on the radio yelling about the trees in the are going berserk and killing everything in sight with branches and shooting their sap at anything that moved. There was a crashing of glass and a horrible high-pitched scream from the dj and then the radio went to static. As Aaron looked down at the radio tuner he missed seeing the tree that had been running along side his car on the opposite end of the highway. He turned in time to see the orange hued sap hurtling towards him.

The End for Rumael and Bethor...

2006-10-19T20:35:00.000-07:00

This is how I've envisioned these two Angels ending their days as Johnny Cash would say, "...When the Man comes around..."

Change of Plans
Rumael landed on the roof of the old church without a sound. He sat down cross-legged and opened the leather bound tome attached to his wrist by a golden chain. He reached inside the chest pocket of his white coat and produced a golden ballpoint pen. Unclasping the leather bound book Rumael opened it at the page with the black and gold marker ribbons. Looking up Rumael saw the heavy steel gray clouds forming in a storm pattern.
He looked down at the blank page and began to write. Something heavy thudded on the roof. Rumael did not look back he merely kept writing. A voice blurted out from behind him.
“I though I’d find you here,” the voice said. The heavy boots thumped louder as the voice approached Rumael.
“I’m working Bethor. What do you want?” Rumael said. His hands were a blur on the pages.
“There’s been a change in plans dear friend,” Bethor said. He moved to his haunches.
Rumael stopped writing and sighed. He turned to look at his friend and smiled. His gray eyes stared at Bethor.
“So its true then. I’m being replaced?” said Rumael. He closed the book.
“Yes, your time, our time, is over now. There is to be a new Watcher. And I must go to the abyss. I thought I would tell you myself, even though you probably already knew,” Bethor said.
“I was not allowed this information dear brother,” said Rumael. He clasped the book and stood up. The gold chains gently making a beautiful chiming sound.
“It has been quite an adventure hasn’t it? The first man, clumsily walking upright for the first time, and then the Egyptians and Mayans with their advanced forms of civilization. I miss those days Rumael, when we were all still brothers,” said Bethor.
“I too miss those days. But Lucifer changed all that. He changed the world, as we knew it. It was such a promising world before the Fall. But look at the state of things now. Wars over religion, wars over oil, wars over land. All man knows how to do now is make war. No peace ever for this place,” Rumael said.
“Maybe that is why you are called back and I am to go to my rightful place,” said Bethor.
“I will try and make sure you come with me.”
“Why? I made my decision in the war with Heaven,” Bethor said.
“You did not make a decision then Bethor, which was why you were allowed to accompany me,” Rumael said. He walked off the church’s roof and continued walking on air.
Bethor followed him and also walked off the roof. There was a shaft of light that penetrated through the heavy cloud coverage. Rumael walked toward it holding the book in his right hand. Bethor walked slightly behind Rumael, afraid to move beside his friend.
“Come Bethor. You’re coming with me. Or else I shall remain here,” Rumael said. The shaft of light opened wider and then disappeared.
Both men stood weightless for several seconds then slowly descended to the street below. It was empty and rain began to pour down.
“I think the Boss made his choice on you Rumael,” Bethor said. He looked up at the rain filled sky.
“Then so be it. I shall remain here with Bethor till you need us again,” said Rumael. He looked up at the sky and smiled.
“So, wanna get a beer and hot dog now?” said Bethor. He scratched his head.
“Sounds like a good plan,” said Rumael.

Another story for the Wicked out there...

2006-10-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

This one was done in a night for yet another contest, took third, but didn't get anything for it. It's kinda cheesy and Lovecraft inspired. And can you tell I had a certain drink on my mind?

The Desert
He had walked out of the sands of Iraq a different man. He had been lost for over a month and somehow managed to find his way back to the base. His face was covered by a checkered white and black ghoutra that he had found in his wanderings. He still had on his desert fatigues but these were torn all over the legs and knees. Scratches covered his forearms. In his hands, clutched tightly to his chest, was a worn leather book. The MPs and medics swarmed him as he shuffled into the base’s makeshift gates.
Several hours later the soldier found himself attached to a saline drip and lying in a cot in the infirmary. Sitting beside him was a man with familiar stripes on his uniform. The sewn-on name patch said Morgan.
“How you doin’ soldier? You’ve been a very wanted man. The Iraqis have been trying to find you, and we’ve had the Rangers out scouring that damned sand for a long time now,” said Morgan.
“Captain? Captain Morgan, right, sir?” said the man in the cot.
“Yes, and no, I don’t have a pirate’s hat or a parrot, but I am your captain son,” said Morgan.
“Son, you wanna let that there book go so the medics can take a look at ya properly? They’ve been awful patient with you all night. And between that gibbering you were doing and the screaming about the black orbs, you’ve scared the hell out of the medical staff,” Morgan said.
“I can’t let the book go sir, if I do they’ll find me and rip me to shreds just like they did to Powell sir,” said the man.
The captain looked at the man’s dog-tags and read Winters.
“Well Winters, whoever they are, they won’t be getting in here. There’s eight men posted outside. Two for each exit and we have the entire battalion at this little outpost. No one was behind you either son. You walked right to the gates before you keeled over,” Morgan said.
“So how about that book son, I promise I won’t put it down,” Captain Morgan said. He held out his right hand to take the book.
“As long as you promise not to put the book down sir, I’ll do it,” Winters said.
“I promise soldier,” Morgan said. He took the book from Winters’ hands and held it.
Captain Morgan sat beside Winters and opened the book with his left hand. His right hand grasped Winters’ right hand tightly. He had remembered making this same gestures dozens of times to his dying friends and fellow soldiers in the jungles of Vietnam. All they wanted was some comfort and the knowledge that they didn’t die alone. He looked onto the first page and had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream.
The first page of the book had a black pyramid drawn on it. There were two creatures with the bodies of men and the heads of jackals carrying a soldier up the steps. Morgan could see that the drawing was moving and the two figures carried the soldier to the apex of the obsidian structure. The captain could hear the soldier’s screams and begging as the creatures hefted him up the carved stone steps. Then he saw that one of them carried a small handheld scythe. They carried the soldier to the top and chained his ankles and wrists to the smooth stone. Beneath him was a large circular groove that flowed in the four directions. Then the jackal-headed creature with the scythe swung its hand past the soldier’s face. Blood spurted out of the man’s body and his remains slumped onto the groove.
The blood flowed freely, filling the groove and then cascading down the four sides of the pyramid. All over the obsidian face of the structure hieroglyphics began to light up and burn with the strength of a thousand suns. Across the horizon Morgan watched as an immense black ship came into view. Then he heard buzzing sounds. He slammed the book shut. Perspiration, cold and clammy, was on his forehead. He wiped at it, took a deep breath and reopened the book. The jackal-headed creatures pointed at him. Their eyes glowed deep emerald.
He turned the page and saw intricate scrollwork in Arabic. Then the lines and curves formed into familiar words he had been used to. He began to read.
“…Within these pages are the ways in which They can be stopped. They are bound to this planet so long as They do not lay Their hands upon this sacred tome. I was a humble servant of Allah who came upon their great sky ships and wandered the desert trying to find someone who could help me fight them. But sadly this is my last entry. The ones that are like spheres are here. I can hear their buzzing teeth as they carve into the door behind me. Their infidel tongues spoke of heaven and the wonders that awaited there. But they lied. They had not traveled off this world in millennia. My last words to you who find this are these. Fight. For your family’s sake, fight…”
Captain Morgan ran out of the infirmary and headed to his tent. He put the book under his arm and began loading his weapons. He took off the safety from his pistols and assault rifle. He put on a flack jacket and placed the book inside and zipped it up. He could feel the weight of the worn leather book beside his heart. He pulled the slide on his pistol and chambered a round. He did the same for the other pistol. His left deltoid was sliced as the black sphere hovered to his left. He turned and aimed his pistol at the creature. He finally saw the creature that the Arab had written of.
The creature was at least three feet high had it legs to stand on. The body of the creature was an orb of obsidian, slick and covered with veins. There were four deep crimson eyes that were trained on him, waiting for the moment when he dropped the book. The eyes blinked at different intervals. Surrounding the creature were three rows of teeth, some serrated like a shark’s, others broken and jagged; they spun eternally around the creature. The teeth were the cause of the buzzing sound Morgan heard. There was a rushing sound as the teethed stopped suddenly. It spoke to Captain Morgan, its voice burrowing deep into his head.
What Morgan heard sounded like two different voices, one male the other female and a third that echoed after it.
“We want the book Captain Morgan. We have come across the stars to have that great talisman,” the creature said.
Captain Morgan raised his hands to his ears as if that could stop the high and low voices speaking at once. His pistols thumped on the desert sand in his tent.
“We need that book to rid the world of our mortal enemies, the Ghanen. You’ve seen them, the jackal-headed ones. We know you’ve seen them because we know you opened the book and seen their ship. We are called the Tondak. We come in peace. They do not. They are the ancient ancestors of your Egyptians and Aztecs. They have wandered the universe collecting specimens of races and then destroying those worlds,” the Tondak said
The Tondak hovered inches closer to Morgan. He lifted a pistol off the sand and pulled back the hammer. He aimed the weapon at the star traveler.
“Don’t be a fool Captain Morgan, you can’t stop us and we will have that book,” said the Tondak. Drool dripped in a long string onto the sand.
Morgan felt the barrel of a gun pressed firmly at the base of his neck. Then he heard a voice he recognized. It was Winters. He told Captain Morgan to stand down, drop to his knees and let the weapons fall to the sand.
“Sorry Winters, you told me not to put the book down. So I won’t. I promised,” Morgan said.
“Winters didn’t know what he was saying. He was a fool that ran from the wisdom of the desert. I won’t make that mistake though,” Winters said. He walked in front of Captain Morgan and Morgan saw that Winters’ eyes were rolled back into his head.
“You’re not Winters. It’s his body, but you’re not him are you?” Morgan said.
Winter’s body slumped into the sand face first. From the back of his skull a Tondak burrowed through the soldier’s skull. It burst out with a spray of brains and fluid. Morgan grabbed a pistol, shot it three times and then aimed at the larger Tondak that hovered a half meter away. He heard the buzzing teeth start up again, this time faster than before. He yelled as the Tondak attacked.
Four bullets shot out of the Tondak’s back. The eyes burped blood and brain tissue. The teeth spun wildly for several revolutions then stopped. It hit the sand with a deep thud that Captain Morgan felt beneath his feet. He shot it twice more. Its globe-like body twitched momentarily and then stopped. The captain walked to it and kicked its rows of teeth in. He reached into his flak jacket, pulled the book out and walked out of the tent.
Bodies lay strewn on the sand as dawn crept up on the horizon. All around Captain Morgan was the sound of the buzzing chainsaw teeth. There were millions of them waiting for him. They had completely destroyed the base and had been waiting for him to exit the tent. On the horizon he saw two figures with heads like jackals. One held a scythe and the other put a horn to its mouth and blew. The sky was blotted out by the mass of sharp toothed creatures and the buzzing sound they made silenced Captain Morgan’s cries.

The Con

2006-10-19T20:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, this story is based on true events. Anybody who knows me knows how much I like film, comics, comics, comics, and did I mention comics? This is hands down is my favorite story I've written so far. Enjoy...

The Con
Chapter 1: The Rules
Louis did not know the rules. Not just any rules, but the rules about the Con. The annual Comic Book Convention, endearingly known to all geeks and nerds as “The Con,” was the event that had rules. Louis thought they would be easy to handle and live by. Never had he imagined a more rigid structure than what would be presented to him by his two friends, Greaser Boy and Pompadour. As they casually smoked their Marlboros, Greaser Boy and Pompadour began running off the rules to Louis.
“Okay Buddy, rule number one, at the front of the line is the fat comic geek more than likely wearing a grease-stained Wolverine T-shirt and glasses, he is leader of the Freaky Four,” said Greaser Boy. He exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.
“Rule number two, the fat comic geek does not travel alone but with his trusty sidekick, the short kid, you’ll know which one he is because he is never more than two feet away from his weighty friend,” said Pompadour. He took a long drag and then exhaled it through his nostrils as well.
“Rule three, these two kids have two other friends, there is always the ‘dark one’ the kid that dresses like he’s a Goth but really is just a little poseur trying to get some Goth chick’s attention. Your ten-year old sister could take him in a fight and beat his ass so bad he’ll wake up screaming for a year,” said Greaser Boy. He took a long drag and then put out his smoke.
“Rule four, besides the short and fat duo and the Goth, there is what we like to call ‘Li’l Skater Dude’ you know the one I’m talking about, the one who has his Spitfire shirt and Independent circle cross patch on the backpack he always carries though he never really skates,” said Greaser Boy. He spat on the concrete.
“Rule five, with their total and complete lack of cohesiveness they have managed to get here three and a half days early and rule the front of the line,” Pompadour said. He finished his cigarette and ground the butt beneath the heel of his Harley boot.
“Rule six,” said Greaser Boy.
“Wait a minute, how many goddamn rules are there you guys?” said Louis. He scratched his short-cropped hair and began smoking one of his cigarettes.
“Look man, you gotta listen to us ‘cause we’re pros, we know because we have experienced this stuff first hand, you’re just fresh meat,” said Pompadour.
“Still wet behind the ears and he thinks he knows all the rules,” Greaser Boy said. He pulled out his pocket comb and let it glide through his pompadour.
“Look man, do you know what to do when you see the abominable fat kid running toward you as he sees you’ve got the final Frank Miller issue of his Daredevil run that completes his collection of Mylar bagged mint condition comic books? Do you know what to do?” barked Pompadour. He stared Louis straight in the eyes.
Louis looked down at the pavement and focused on a black glob that had once been some person’s chewing gum. He took a drag off his cigarette and waited as the dynamic duo of Greaser Boy and Pompadour illuminated him to the nuances of the comic convention horror stories.
“I asked you a question man, do you know what to do?” said Pompadour.
“Sure, pay for it and if he follows me around, kick his ass,” said Louis.
“Wrong, chances are these geeks came with one of their parents and more than likely it was their mom that came. Moms you do not fuck with man,” said Pompadour.
“We once saw this one mother take out four big dudes with huge muscles after she saw what they did to her fat ass kid and his geeky buddies,” said Greaser Boy. He cringed.
“Tell him,” said Pompadour. He looked Greaser Boy in the face.
“You tell him.” “No, I wasn’t’ there, you have to tell him, just in case we get separated,” said Pompadour.
“Fine,” said Greaser Boy.
“Tell me what?” Louis said.
“Well, this one time I came with my older brother, Slick, well, there was this huge fight as we started to enter. I mean bodies were flying everywhere and every which way man, it was crazy, and all for a stupid toy. A goddamn Power Ranger action figure given only that day and never put on the market,” said Greaser Boy.
“So what’s so bad about that?” said Louis.
“You ever seen a sixty pound kid get crushed by a two hundred and fifty pound ten year old running full speed to dive for a toy?” said Greaser Boy.
“No.”
“Well, neither had I till that morning and man, I can’t stop thinking about the way that poor kid screamed and yelled for his parents, but they couldn’t hear him cause they were at those plastic baby cleaning stations in the bathrooms they have now,” said Greaser Boy. He looked around and continued.
“They point of the story is this, if anything lands on the floor in there, let it go man, just let it go, I’ve seen arms come off and people get beat over the head with prosthetics,” Greaser Boy said.
“What does that have to do with getting separated?” said Louis. He finished his cigarette.
“You will get separated, that’s part of the Con and that’s also one of the inevitabilities of the Con buddy. You will see many strange and wondrous things here and your mind will expand to accept them, but beware the greediness that the Con brings with it and you will also see the monstrosities that step through those glass doors,” said Pompadour. He lifted his right hand and pointed with his index finger at the plate-glass windows of the convention center.
“So now that you know, rule six, never eat anything produced in there. Only drink sodas and water that come in plastic containers,” said Greaser Boy.
“Rule seven, stay away from the porno section, once a Goth kid sees you he’ll try and hit you up till you finally blab out your real age and find yourself buying him Goth Girls Dungeon Pleasures 7. And at this place undercover cops work to bust people trying to make an easy five bucks, so don’t fall for it, got it?” said Greaser Boy.
“Got it man, now, is that all?” Louis said.
“Actually no, Rule number eight, go to the bathroom in pairs, less likely to get jacked by one of the Freaky Four, and trust me, once you cross one of their paths, you’re marked pal, worse than that guy in the Fritz Lang movie ‘M.’ Trust us, Peter Lorrie never had it as bad as anyone marked by the Freaky Four,” said Pompadour.
“Rule nine, we eat at the same time and together, once again, less of a chance at getting jacked in large numbers,” said Greaser Boy.
“Rule ten, the most important, you’re still outnumbered four to three, take cheap shots and aim for the crotch, the little buggers go down harder and faster than a Hollywood hooker at New Year’s Eve,” said Pompadour.
“Anything else, oh Masters of the Force?” said Louis. He chuckled.
“Yeah, don’t bag on the Force dude, you wanna give us bad Karma or what?” said Greaser Boy.
“Look guys, it’s just a fucking comic book convention, nothing is going to happen. You both make it sound worse than prison,” Louis said.
“Rule eleven, stay away from the Goth chicks, you don’t wanna know where they’ve been, ‘cause chances are they are famous in certain circles,” said Pompadour.
“Say what?” Louis said.
Chapter 2: The Goth Chick
“Okay, so this one Con, Pompadour and myself come to check out that Joseph Michael Linsner dude, you know the one, he draws that really hot redhead, Dawn, anywho, as we’re getting to his booth this hot looking Goth chick comes over and asks us if we have any cigarettes, I ran out but this lucky bastard right here had some left,” Greaser Boy said.
“Yeah, so she comes over and I hand her one and light it for her, not even thinking about getting her number or anything like that, but, as it turns out she wants someone to walk her over to the Linsner guy and explain her artwork to him because she was so nervous, hence the smoke before meeting him,” said Pompadour. He smiled and blinked his right eye.
“Okay. So what happened that it made the eleventh rule?” said Louis.
“After meeting Linsner she invited us to a party at her hotel room, so we, in gesture of pure sincerity and friendship, accepted,” said Greaser Boy.
“See, as we headed back to the girl’s hotel room, we didn’t know she was really popular at the Con, until we got there and had to get in line to go inside her room,” said Greaser Boy.
“What do you mean?” Louis asked.
“I mean we had to take fucking numbers like in the goddamn market buddy, and all we thought we were gonna do was party with her and meet some of her Goth friends, but no, this chick just wanted us for herself,” said Greaser Boy.
“The worst part of the whole fiasco was that on her door she had times and price ranges along with other services rendered for ungodly prices,” said Pompadour.
“Tell me about it, five bucks just so she could make me a sandwich, do you believe that?” said Greaser Boy.
“Uh, Greaser Boy, I don’t think she was going to make you a sandwich for five buck,” said Louis.
“Oh yes she was, she had the prices on the door just like I told you, and sandwich making was one of them. Supposedly she made her own bread, or so the legends go,” Greaser Boy said.
“Well, you guys know what they say about legends,” said Louis.
“What?” Greaser Boy and Pompadour said.
“Every legend has an ounce of truth to it,” Louis said.
Chapter 3: The Freaky Four Strike
Screeching sounds made by brand new tennis shoes bought specifically for this day were heard throughout the convention hall, along with crying babies strapped to their parent’s chests suicide bomber style, screaming fanboys hollering for their moms to bring them their money as they completed their Dan Jurgens run of Superman comics. Colorful banners held aloft signaled important companies and let attendants know where freebies could be had. Pompadour and Greaser Boy waited in line for sodas and water while Louis leaned against a wall. Two Goth girls walked by in bikini bottoms and fishnet tops. One winked at Louis and smiled. He raised his eyebrows and threw the inevitable How-you-doin’ look at her. She laughed and Louis looked away from her.
“Hey man, you want anything from here?” said Pompadour.
“No thanks,” said Louis.
“Are you sure, maybe some ice cold water to cool you off after being burned so bad a second ago?” Greaser Boy said. He laughed.
“You saw that?” said Louis.
“The Great and Powerful Oz sees everything,” Pompadour said. “You’re pathetic man, we told you to stay away from those girls man, they only lead down the dark path.”
“Yes Master Yoda,” said Louis. He bowed to Pompadour.
“Hey, you knocking Master Yoda, man?” Pompadour said.
“No, why?” said Louis. He walked over to Pompadour.
“Because if you want to go round and round we can buddy, I have no problem with that, especially if you’re dissing Master Yoda,” Pompadour said.
“Lay off the drama, both of you, we came to have a good time and not worry about the rest of the week until Sunday night,” said Greaser Boy.
“How the hell am I supposed to have a good time with all your goddamn rules, don’t do this, don’t touch that, don’t hold your dick like that while you’re taking a piss, but spin three times before you pee just in case the fat kids see you. I mean, come on guys, we’re like ten years older than these stupid kids, you guys really do sound ridiculous,” Louis said.
“Excuse me simple mortals, would you be willing to move down the line or step aside to allow Wolverine and his trusty sidekick to partake in beverage buying?” said the leader of the Freaky Four.
“No, we are not letting you go ahead of us you little twerps, now get behind us,” Louis said.
“What, has someone insulted the best there is at what he does?” said the leader.
“I think he did Melvin, uh, I mean Wolvie,” said the short kid.
“I think we should teach him a lesson he’ll remember for ages,” said the Goth kid.
“Yeah man, let me hit him with my board man, come on,” said Li’l Skater Dude.
“Oh my God,” Louis said.
“I told your stupid ass not to piss ‘em off, but did you listen, no, Mr. Louis thinks he’s too good to abide by Con’s eternal rules,” said Greaser Boy.
“Look, our friend is new here and doesn’t know the rules, he’s a new guy, so why don’t we forget this happened and you can go ahead of us,” said Pompadour.
“Okay, since he’s fresh meat, but next time,” said the leader. “Next time your carcass belongs to the Wolverine, snikt, snikt, just like that.”
“Okay, I’ve heard just about all I can handle,” said Louis.
He grabbed the leader by shirt collar and tossed him into the soda stand.
“Holy crap, do you know what you just did?” said Pompadour.
Louis looked around and saw everyone was staring at him. They slowly surrounded him.
“This is not looking good,” said Greaser Boy. He shook his head.

Choices

2006-10-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

The sky was beginning to fade to a deep purple at the horizon. Three men sat at a table overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Their chairs were moved so they could watch the sun setting. In the middle sat Emilio Palacios, a resident of East Los Angeles. On his left sat Bethor Kunashiel, a fallen angel who always wore black clothing. To his right sat the angel known only as Rumael. Rumael wore a white ankle length coat and carried a book that had a worn leather cover and intricately detailed hinges. Emilio sipped his coffee while the fallen angel spoke to Rumael.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sunset this beautiful in all my long life,” said Bethor. He raised his glass of wine and drank.
“You always say that to the humans Bethor, can’t you think of another line, you’ve been alive for over a thousand years and even longer when you were in the Fields,” said Rumael. He tapped his fingers on the book.
Emilio continued to sip his coffee and watch the setting sun.
“Does he know why we’re here?” asked Bethor. He tapped his black fingernails on the white metal table.
“No, that would defeat the purpose of us telling him now, wouldn’t it?” asked Rumael.
“So can I speak to him now?” said Bethor.
“Not yet,” said Rumael. He opened the leather bound book and took out his golden pen. He wrote something down and left the book open. “Now you can speak to him,” said Rumael.
“So, have you ever seen a sunset this beautiful in your life?” asked Bethor.
“No, I don’t think I have, at least not that I can remember,” said Emilio.
“And you don’t think that you’ve seen one quite like this one do you?” asked Rumael. He turned to write something in the book again.
“I can’t honestly remember. What I do know is that I am enjoying this one. It’s my first since my girlfriend left for school on the East Coast,” said Emilio. He sipped his coffee again, looked at Bethor then continued to look at the sunset.
“Would you say your life was a waste with her or did you honestly feel that she made you feel good so you actually did good?” asked Rumael.
“Listen, Mr., what is your name again?” asked Emilio.
“Rumael, Mr. Rumael.”
“Listen Mr. Rumael, I think that she made me feel special, and when someone feels special they do good. So to answer your question, yes, she made me feel good and I actually did good,” said Emilio. He finished his coffee and waived for a waiter to bring more.
“Yes, that sounds very nice, but did you actually love her?” asked Bethor. His black nails tapped faster on the table.
“Of course I loved her and always will, when she comes back to L.A. from school we are supposed to get married,” said Emilio. He smiled and crossed his arms.
“Well, I’d hate to break it to you buddy, but you are never going to marry her,” said Bethor.
“Why is that?” asked Emilio.
“She’s already dead,” said Rumael. He looked into his book and wrote another line.
“You’ve got to be joking, right?” asked Emilio.
“I wish I was, but the only thing I can tell you is this, judging by what you say about her, you can save her from being completely dead. You see she is in what we supernatural beings like to call the Way Station. She is not dead yet, because the Big Cheese, you know who I’m talking about, hasn’t decided if she should die,” said Rumael.
“It’s a new program for you humans that the Boss is trying out, you know, like the experimentation of the New Formula Coke and Classic Coke,” said Bethor.
“I must be hallucinating, I have to be,” said Emilio.
“No, you’re not, here let me show you,” said Bethor.
Emilio’s cup was filling with coffee, a plate appeared from nowhere with hot food steaming off it, and Rumael’s white wings could be seen trailing behind him.
“This can’t be happening to me, I didn’t do anything wrong,” said Emilio.
“We know that, the Big Cheese knows that, and you know that, and it has nothing to do with you doing anything wrong,” said Rumael.
“What are you two?” asked Emilio.
“I’m an angel,” said Rumael.
“I used to be an angel,” said Bethor.
“We do work for the Almighty here on the dust ball, trying to see who actually deserves a good life from their actions. Like Bethor said, it’s a new program,” said Rumael. He smiled.
Bethor took a fork full of food and swallowed.
“Why me?” asked Emilio.
“Why you, why Mary, why Mohammed, why any of the Frankish kings, why Kennedy, why, why, why, why not shut up and listen,” said Bethor.
“Thank you for that lovely tirade Bethor, anyway, you are one of a few humans who have been selected to choose your fate and the fate of one of your loved ones. As we have said earlier, your girlfriend is at the Way Station awaiting judgment. However, we also know of your parents who are each battling a debilitating disease, your grandmother who is dying of cancer and your youngest brother who is about to die from a drug overdose,” Rumael said. He turned the page of the book and nodded.
“Wow, you’re family’s a real cemetery, wonder who you’ll choose?” asked Bethor. He took another bite of food and chewed loudly.
“You would think with all his time spent on earth Bethor would learn to eat with manners, but that’s not why we are here. We want you to choose someone to save and make the choice wisely,” said Rumael.
“What if I don’t want to choose, then I get chosen to be eliminated off the face of the earth?” asked Emilio.
“No, I take your soul and eat it,” said Bethor.
Emilio stared at him and Bethor simply chewed his food.
“He’ll eat my soul?” asked Emilio. He turned to Rumael.
“Yes, he will, It’s a safety catch the Big Almighty created so that there is no way to worm your way out of the choice,” Rumael said.
“The Boss thought you humans were dodging too many choices, so he decided you should make one and stick with it. Pretty good plan to me,” said Bethor.
“Figures a fallen angel would like only one side of a choice,” said Emilio. He turned and looked at Bethor. He then turned back and looked at Rumael.
“So, who do I have to choose from besides my girlfriend?” asked Emilio.
“Your parents, your grandmother and your youngest brother. But, before you decide, maybe we should tell you of the fates of these people even if you save them,” Rumael said. He moved the leather bound book directly in front of Emilio and began speaking again.
“Your parents will die two days apart from each other, both not from their illnesses, but from the care provided them in the hospital. Your brother will go on to greater things like finding a cure for Cancer, but will still succumb to the power of the narcotics he enjoys more than life itself, leaving behind a family. Your grandmother would find herself cured and feeling better than ever. She would die in a plane that was intended to teach her to sky dive,” said Rumael. His fingers pointed to the book at various places.
“But what about the girlfriend, Rumael?” asked Bethor.
“Bethor, silence please,” Rumael said.
“Yeah, what about my girlfriend, Rumael, why didn’t you mention her? Don’t I get to hear what happens to her?” asked Emilio.
“Yes, you can know, but do you really want to?” asked Rumael.
“I think I deserve it,” said Emilio.
“Just tell the poor sucker, Rumael, quit leaving him in suspense of the already inevitable,” Bethor said and squatted on his chair.
“Your girlfriend, she goes on to the East Coast, lives her life, gets her degree, comes home and no longer finds your old plans desirable, she has seen life without you and feels empty when she sees you. She never cheated on you, never did anything to make herself stop loving you, it just happens. She leaves L. A. and heads back to the East Coast but never makes it. She winds up in the ICU of a hospital from the accident her plane gets into. Her family asks if you can go to see her because they are unable to and you go. What you find out there is that she wants to marry you but was afraid to do so in Los Angeles. As you propose to her on her hospital bed, she accepts, you both hug and kiss,” Rumael said. He turned the page and it was blank.
“What happens then?” asked Emilio.
“I don’t know, I think the Almighty wants you to make the choice now,” said Rumael.
“About damn time,” said Bethor. “ I was getting sick of all those pathetic endings.”
“I wish I could help you more, Emilio, but the only way to find out what will happen is to make the choice. Everyone else you may choose you know the outcome of because the Almighty wanted you to. He won’t let me glimpse at the future beyond what I’ve told you though. So you may choose the obvious or choose the unknown,” said Rumael.
“I don’t think he’s going to choose the girl, Rumael, the bitch left him here by himself and is going to do it again. I say let her die, she deserves it for ruining your future life,” Bethor said.
“Shut up you sorry piece of shit, you’ve never chosen anything in your pitiful life except to disobey the Creator. After that choice have you made any others?” asked Emilio.
“I only needed to make that choice and all the others fell into place,” said Bethor. He smiled at Emilio and hopped off his chair. “And its one that I’ve never looked back on.”
“Great, so I make a choice, and there is only one, but I don’t know what I’m going to be in for, or I choose the others and still face them dying. How is that a choice at all?” asked Emilio. He tossed his cup of coffee toward the bluff.
Rumael stood up, stretched, and closed the book. He motioned for Bethor to follow him and looked down at Emilio.
“We’ll give you until the sun goes down to decide,” Rumael said. He vanished right before Emilio’s eyes.
“You have exactly thirteen minutes to decide,” Bethor said. He walked in the same direction Rumael walked and also disappeared.
Emilio sat and looked at the setting sun. The pink was turning completely to purple at the horizon, but he could still see the faint outline of the sun forming an arc over the Pacific. Seagulls flew past sailboats and cruise ships. People moved along on top of the ships paying no heed to the seagulls above. Emilio shoved the plate of food across from him and wept.
The sun was gone and Bethor stood beside Rumael, book in hand.
“It’s time Emilio Palacios, make your choice and be content,” Rumael said.
“Time to leave your mark on a person,” said Bethor. He moved over to sit beside Emilio once again but sat on his right hand side.
“You know, I’ve told humans a lot of things throughout my life, but there is one thing that I told them that was never a lie. Do you want to know what that one thing is?” asked Bethor.
“What?” said Emilio.
“It sucks playing God,” said Bethor.
“You know, for a piece of shit angel, you are okay,” said Emilio.
“I know I was pretty bad on you before, but that was because we had to test you, we had to make sure you didn’t flake out on us like so many others,” Bethor said. He patted Emilio on the back and stood up once more.
“Have you made up your mind Emilio?” asked Rumael.
“Yes, yes I have,” Emilio said.
“Than say whom it is you are choosing and it will be done,” Rumael said.
“I choose no one,” said Emilio.
Both angels looked at him and shook their heads.
“You have to choose, it must be done, there is no backing out from this choice,” said Rumael.
“I have made a choice, not to choose. If I can’t control my own life, what makes you two think I can control the life of another?” Emilio said. He stood up and started walking.
“Where are you going?” Bethor asked.
“He is going to eat your soul, you have to stay here,” Rumael said.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. That is what I believe the Almighty would want, not to have us humans being forced into making choices by creatures who can only do two things, either obey or disobey,” Emilio said. “Besides, we are in L. A. it ain’t like anywhere else,” Emilio said. He walked away from Bethor and Rumael.
“You think he really does believe he can’t control someone else?” Bethor asked.
“I don’t think so, I know he doesn’t believe that, and that makes his life worth living. If he didn’t believe that he would have chosen his girlfriend, found out she was going to marry him, find out she was going to cheat on him and die in a car accident with their baby. Would you live that life Bethor?” Rumael asked.
Bethor remained silent and sat back down.
“I thought not. Let’s go, we have to go tell his girlfriend the same story, besides, I hate L. A., too many stinking people,” Rumael said.
Bethor stood up and walked alongside Rumael. The sun was gone and the stars came out.

this was done while I was at Loyola Marymount, it was even in the English Department's literary magazine. It is still one of my favorites, and it was written in about two hours.

Bakersfield

2006-10-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

Mr. N spun the wheel of the Lincoln Continental so that it kicked up dust in the face of the man sitting on his porch. The man coughed once and took another drag from his cigarette. He spat onto the swirling dirt and waited for the man in the Lincoln to come out. The door creaked open and freshly shined black shoes touched the gravel ever so lightly. Then they crunched the ground roughly as he made his way towards the man at the porch. He didn't even close the door.
"What are you doin' here? You were supposed to be in Antarctica with Mr. K," said the man at the porch. He looked up at Mr. N