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 Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:34 pm
These are the many short stories, unfinished novels, and poems that I have written in my life. Enjoy if you wish.
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Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:38 pm
(I shall begin with my unfnished novels, please do point out any mistakes. And do not mind the grammar, it is to match the audience of today. Also, the thoughts, which were origionally in italics, didn't appear in the posts because I derived them from my computer database. Also, there are to many for my patience.)
Cyber Shield
By: Divad de Sel
Chapter 1:
Platoon A, Team Blue, Squad A, 5 minutes into the Spire Arena:
As Platoon A’s leader led his four squads down the cold, rusted ramp way he noticed the peculiar scent of – nothing. It was a monstrous, odorless, cybernetic arena.
Oddly shaped, with twists and turns and cylinders, pillars, platforms, spires, and bars and rails; a maze of possibility or disaster.
When Squad A reached the bottom of the ramp they secured the area and they motioned for the other squads to follow. Although they knew they had to wait before the enemy platoons entered the giant, dark arena, they were restless, eager, and nervous.
Baxter, a man whose bearded, crisp face was hidden behind a black and blue helmet, shared his thoughts with his squad leaders, “Alright the plan is to get a good read-out of the arena, secure the closest areas, and dispatch squads onto high ground to hide and wait for the opposing force. Squad A, do a reconnaissance and wait for the signal.
Hopefully they didn’t bring their big guns. Squad B, get all demolition experts to set explosives in big areas and get bazookas aimed at big spaces with limited escape routes leading to it, at a birds eye view.
Squad C and D, lay down cover fire and get snipers aiming at doors and through holes.”
The platoon leader had the plan all worked out in a second as he moved his platoon into the dark unknown of the advanced and cybernetic tunnels and jungles of The Spire.
“Hopefully we’ll all make it out safe and sound.” Even though the thought relieved him a little he knew better than to expect the best.
When push comes to shove lost hope isn’t a great thing to have… especially when you don’t know what your enemy is thinking.
Even with these depressing thoughts in his head he calmed himself down and moved towards his awaiting troopers of Squad A. As the smooth black armor, with its lines of blue, neon light, of the squads moved to do their jobs, victory was all that Simon thought about.
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Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:41 pm
The Burning Clock Tower
By Divad de Sel
Prologue:
Our hero’s story begins in a small village past the desert known as the Barrens, the frozen, unnamed mountains, the kingdom of justice, and the dark towers of the Harume Empire, and into lands only explored by a group of travelers known as the Four of Lore. The quiet, peaceful village lies just on the border of the Barrens, only divided by a simple wooden gate. The small rocky paths, and plain country houses are dominated in the middle of the village by its absurdly tall, gothic clock tower, where the three oldest relics of the village rest, as the bells send a wave of continuous noise for miles to come. Our villain’s story begins somewhere a little viler however…
Chapter 1
As King Ozi walked across the old, rusted catwalk, he noticed a mysterious, blue light coming from his chambers in the ancient barracks of his keep in Turgesh Kane in the dark, misty woods of Lee Hail. Lord Ozi was tall, thin, and had many scars across his ragged, aged features. He was extremely old but looked the age of fifty and always wore a black cloak. His gaze was unreadable under his dark visor. The city of Turgesh Kane is filled to the brim with screams, shadows, blood, illegal activities, starvation, and corruption. This place is as new as a dead Tron… So what if I get good pay at this rundown outpost, I’ve done so much work that I should be promoted to Baron and shipped to that Gin Blane castle in Raz Arak…
He entered his dark, slimy room and saw the source of the strange light. He was getting a message from the emperor of the Harume Empire, Lord Yang. His short, table like message pod, illuminated everything in the room, causing shadows to jitter around, and produced a holographic image of the Harume Empires symbol of an eye, as it generated in its humming mechanical tone, from of years of no one operating it. Then a figure hidden by shadows was displayed in the image of the holograph. “Lord Ozi, your presence is needed in the council fortress in Han Lein.” The figure was not Lord Yang; it was just another stiff sending a message out to the council members. I wonder how many messengers we’ve gone through… Once those fools are told that a high priced message needs to be sent, they jump for the job, but they forget that all their friends that hear anything about a council ends up dead. Lord Ozi thought in wonder. “Tell Yang that I’ll be there,” Replied Ozi. “Yes my lord.” And with that the old, dented machine shut off, the light gone and the shadows taking control of the room again. And Ozi thought and thought about what he could do to get that promotion, putting the council in the back of his mind.
I still have access to those cards like the others… I bet those old fools left a couple around here before I slit their throats. And if that’s the case then I could put this mission into action and get that promotion during the council. Thinking his plan out, and going through the possible outcomes, he walked around his chambers, looking for the cards in his thoughts. “There you are you little freaks. I knew that they just left them lying around.” In Ozi’s hands were four, red sets with three cards in each set. “So which set do I use? I guess location could help me choose.” Going along with his plan he walked over to a torn, dirty map on the right wall of his chambers which showed which areas of land were controlled by the Empire, the Rebellion, and the Independent countries, cities, towns, and villages. “Ohh, a little village. All alone. And it’s only seven leads south. They should get there in at least five days. I guess I’ll send something that will make them lose their guard and have to rebuild.” Grinning, Ozi chose the set he wanted, took a knife into his hands, and pricked his finger allowing the warm blood to drip onto the card while he laughed insanely in his lonesome as the monster grew and grew and grew.
Day 1
As Teku walked across the stony path in the small village of Clock Work he noticed a small, torn, dirty flyer on the wall of a straw roofed house. Teku was fourteen years old, his green eyes matching his brownish blond hair, His gray clothing barely making him a shadow among the looming houses and markets in the ally. The flyer carried the emblem of the dark Harume Empire. Apparently the empire was trying to recruit some new soldiers to join in on their evil conquest against the Rebellion. “Those little…” He carried the sentence off as he saw his oldest, best, most serious and intelligent friend walking down the ally to his right a few meters ahead. Ren always had a blue glow making his face seem angrier than he was. He wore a black hat, and the outfit of a ninja. His white hair always making him blend in when he was around elderly people, which some weren’t even as bright as him, his white eyes always making him seem blind. Being an uneventful day like always Teku approached his longtime friend, hoping that he would know what would ease him of his boredom.
As Ren walked about the corner of the dark ally hoping to find something that would ease him of boredom he came across a small, black cat. Ren was fourteen and somewhat of a genius at his age. Being somewhat superstitious he narrowly avoided the cat as its green eyes watched him intently. “The fox may intimidate the rabbit but the rabbit’s quick feet are lucky,” Ren spoke to no one but himself wise words for not allowing himself to emerge into a horrible and unlucky day. “Hey Ren!” Ren turned and saw his oldest and messiest friend walking towards him. “Do you know anything that can make my day eventful,” Teku asked. “Be patient and events will come your way my friend.” Ren replied with a relaxed tone. “Ohh, okay, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” And with that Teku ran off leaving Ren alone with the cat again. “What ever.” Ren mumbled not caring about what the following day would bring.
As Tek strolled around the market place of Clock Work Village with his brown messy hair matted to his head by the suns beating rays, his brown eyes scoping the windows for something to buy, and his ragged leather shirt was ruffled by the wind and his boyish face grinned with from the delightful day that he was enjoying. He was thirteen and known as a goofy clown, as he looked for some thing funny to make a joke about. He was Teku’s brother but people still couldn’t believe that a good kid like Teku could be related to a clown like Tek. So as he was strolling along he saw some one in the window of the hotel known as the Great Sleep. In the window was Luna Valentine, whom Tek worshiped like a goddess. She had black hair and green eyes, and her skin was smooth and tanned. He always tried to impress her with his jokes but to no avail. The old woman that lived in the alchemy district of town said that she was as dimwitted as a person who thought that people wore hares on their head. But Tek didn’t care; he was put into a trance from her beauty. “That old hag can have a heart attack, “I don’t care what she thinks.” So as he was trying to think like someone that’s romantic, Tek ran to the nearest flower shop.
As Sin walked down the construction part of town she gazed at all of the tools like they were toys, the smell of saw dust filled the air and the sounds of yelling, conversation, and anvils the only noise around. Sin was fourteen, with black hair, soft skin, blue eyes, and liked to build. She was transfixed with construction since she was a child. Most of the stages, signs, bird houses and fences in Clock Work were repaired or built by her. Her friends Tek, Teku, and Ren always helped her build big projects. Sin would build and follow the strategies given by Ren while Teku carried the supplies and Tek painted. Since they met Sin had a crush on Teku, Ren was like a brother to her, and Tek was, in her words, comic relief. Sins day so far had been normal, and she hoped that it would stay that way. “Well enough dilly dally I have to find a seven packs of nails, twenty nine pieces of lumber, a saw, some buckets, and some buckets of paint.” Sin was going to build a small secret get away place with her friends. So Sin walked into a hardware store named Franks Anvils. As she opened and close the door the tiny bell attached to it jingled through out the store. As it jingled, a big, dirt smudged, heavily muscled man came out of the back of the store carrying numerous tools. “Well hello there Sin, what can I do for ye’?” Frank asked. “Just need seven packs of nails, twenty nine pieces of lumber, a saw, some buckets, and some buckets of paint,” Replied Sin. Sin was a regular to the shop since she was four when she wandered in by accident. “Well all the supplies are in the back, go get what ye’ need.” Frank watched out for her since she accidentally ran into one of the customers and the customer tried to slap her. Frank had stopped the customer, picked him up, kicked open the door, and threw him outside. “Just put it on my tab,” Sin said as she walked out of the store carrying her supplies. “Can do Sin, have a nice day!”
Day 2
As Teku sat waiting on the train stations -He rarely slept at his house and mostly preferred the quiet of the station- bench waiting for his friends, he noticed that some of trains hadn’t come back from outside of the village. “It’s just a few short stops… where are they?” His question was answered when train B3 entered rumbling into the station. It was dented, banged up, scratched, and burned. “What happened?” Teku asked as the driver came stumbling out confused and burned. “Leave… the village… the… monster is… coming… fire… screams, earthquakes… death…an-… an-…” His raspy sentence was never finished as the train conductor shook violently and let out a long sigh, marking his death. “What happened to you…” Teku murmured as the station doors flew open.
As Ren neared the train station to meet with the others he saw a banged up, burned, and scratched up train called B3 enter the station. “Interesting…” Ren mumbled under his breath as he now sprinted towards the station. “I wonder if the others are okay…” Ren said with tremendous worry in his voice for his friends as he pushed the colossal doors open. “What the heck is going on!” Ren screamed at the top of his voice, his white eyes growing wider as he saw Teku bending over a burned, and dead train conductor. “What did you do!” Ren yelled at his friend in anger. “I didn’t do anything! He said that something attacked the train!” Teku yelled. “We have to hide the body now!” Ren said his mind unable to think of anything through the confusion. “We can’t we have to tell the village and warn them!” Teku argued. “Why!” Ren asked in confusion as he realized that there was something bad going to happen soon. “He said that something was going to attack the village.” Teku replied his voice tired, calmer, and softer. That’s when Ren realized that things were going to get louder, more painful, more confusing, and worse as he saw his friend breathing heavily, his breath lost in the confusion and decided on a course of action. “All right here’s what we do…”
As Tek trudged through the dirt to the train station, his hopes crushed, he finally saw the looming building of the train station. He was still feeling down from the market place earlier. After he had gotten the flowers for Luna Valentine he entered the hotel and gave her the flowers and started stuttering like a fool his feelings for her. He almost passed out when she started laughing at him. “Stupid girls, who invented them?” As he neared the station close enough to see the inside of the station. He stopped in his tracks his mouth gaping and he ran toward the burned train that was once B3 before it was banged, burned, and scratched like it was now. He then spotted his brother and Ren standing over a something. “What happened?” The words slipped out of his mouth as he saw the dead, crumpled up corpse of a train conductor. Ren and Teku turned toward him with looks of worry and sadness across their faces.
After she dropped off the supplies at her house, Sin decided that she should grab a bite to eat before heading off to the train station to meet up with her friends. The Great Sleep has a small restaurant; I could get some food from there and head off. As she entered the Hotel she noticed Luna Valentine talking to one of her friends. “…And he just stands there stuttering and opening and closing his mouth… It’s like he was poisioned or something.” She said to her friend. “Who are you talking about?” Sin asked curiously. She hoped that it wasn’t Tek she was talking about; almost everyone besides Luna knew that he had a crush on her, “Your goofy friend Tek. He came in with flowers and was all sweaty.” Luna replied in disgust at Sin. “Eww,” replied her friend in an annoyingly high tone. “Personally I thought that Tek and you were in love,” Luna said in a snobby tone. Her friend giggled and Sin grew angry. “Why don’t you try being nicer to him you little harpy! You don’t deserve him anyway!” And before Luna registered what was going on, Sin was beating on her as her friend squealed in fright. As Sin exited the hotel she felt better than she ever had before. I’ve always wanted to do that. And as she thought that she skipped in the air and strolled off to the train station. I hope that those boys don’t get in trouble without me. And with that in mind Sin rushed to the train station now.
Day 3
His mind set on the other day Teku gazed out at the mountains where train B3 made most of its stops. Every one was building the get away house quietly with grim looks on their faces. When Tek came he immediately called for assistance and we carried the body to the doctor. The doctor said that he could only tell us that the train conductor died from massive trauma and a mental breakdown. It had to be something that had a lot of fire power and had giant clubs and swords. Forgetting about the tragic events of yesterday Teku stared working on the task at hand. Ohh well, it could’ve been a wildfire that looked like a monster. I bet that we’re all going to be fine- Ya and you and your friends are all rock people- What an amazing world. As he was arguing with himself he felt a great feeling of dread fall upon him and a massive amount of doubt that most people would be seeing morning.
As Ren walked home in the raining, cobblestone road called Knaak Street, in the lake district of Clock Gear, it occurred to him that most of the village was empty. Usually kids ran, yelled, and played in the streets, while adults walked, held conversations, shopped, and ate. But today no one was in the puddle filled streets except for himself. That was until he came to halt near the Law District outside of the Council House. It was a tall, cottage looking building and was claimed to have a gigantic pit in its dark underground caverns that was used to judge, interrogate, torture, and keep prisoners in.
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Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:42 pm
Tales from the Surface of the Sun
By: Divad de Sel
Prologue:
The sirens flared, wailing their high pitched, ear piercing screams. The cabin rocked and shuttered, the floor sliding beneath the feet’s of the crew, each one struggling to hold on to something so as not to be felled by the tremendous tremors that riveted through the ship. Pipes and cogs groaned and creaked in protest from the ever increasing pressure and ferocity that buffeted the Anninhilus, and computers and terminals flashed brightly and died, showering yellow sparks across the floor of the small room. The hatch behind the three, grey jumpsuit clad crew, opened, revealing a fourth, grease streaked faced, engineer, who fell to the floor from the intense shuddering. One of them ran to his aid but was thrown to the side as if swatted by a large, invisible hand. He landed into a console, his back opened up by the sharp corners. He howled in pain and crumpled to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Another pipe broke above him, sending sparks across his back and shooting scolding hot water across him, washing away blood to reveal his spine. The sparks clung to his uniform and sizzled into a large inferno, making the already burning room that much hotter. The doomed man shot up and ran through the hatch and down the narrow, pipe embedded corridors of the star carrier, falling down to the steel grating beneath his feet, dead before his face pounded against them. The water systems, slowed by the impact of the unknown object, finally activated and sprayed a mist above him, quenching the fires. His newly burned jumpsuit now garbed a skeleton, covered in blackened, crisp flesh. On his back, the faded name Arnold Garbens could be read, water raining down on it until the system finally realized that the fire hazard was extinguished and turned off. In the other room, a pipe shot out from the ceiling, impaling a blond haired woman in the chest, before her to, fell dead. The woman in the chair beside her corpse, whom was struggling to steer the craft into her control, yelped as the ship passed through another layer of the atmosphere of the planet Solaris Six. “Oh Christ, oh Christ, oh Christ,” the grease faced man muttered below his breath, wide eyes staring at the desert below which rushed up to meet them, growing in size until it dominated the view port. They both screamed as the ship ploughed into the sand and rocks, the thought to be impervious glass breaking and raining shards upon them. The man fell forwards into what was left of this glass, while the woman was crushed between her chair and the console, the impact breaking her spine and several of her ribs. Outside, a cloud of sand, debris, and dirt rose around the dark hull of the ship, drifting downwards and sometimes disinigrating as they settled on the scorching hot hull. It sat there; as if a solemn, ominous monument to a far off god whose only need was the death of his followers. And there it stayed, for many, many, long years.
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Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:44 pm
(I believe that this is my best story, so I have saved it for last.)
Terrorist Strike
BY: Divad de Sel
CH1
“Life is just another way of death… Death is just another way of life… Live with it… Accept it… Get used to it”- Captain Leonardo Arpegio of Black Death Recruitment, to Captain Ajun Murak of Black Death Technology, on his philosophy of life.
Eastern Tip of Bermuda, Black Death Helipad, December 1st, 2010, 2400 Hours
The Loud hum of the helicopters rotating blades in the cool, dark midnight, helipad, whipping the trees with a gust of air, the sand blowing from the beach’s coast, calmed Leonardo as he inspected his troops, behind his black shirt, pants, and hood, covered with gear and weapons as he paced back and forth in his combat boots, as the helicopter slipped behind the jagged rocks.
Hhhmmm…acceptable. They won’t freeze when they see a gun on their head. They will kill and keep killing. But… will they save one of their own? That is the question… but that’s why they’re here. They are trained killers but they still have a lot more lessons.
Moving swiftly he walked down the line of black armor and black gas masks. They were in the bottom rank so they had to wear the uniform presented to them for that rank. He of course was third highest rank with fellow others … he was the soldier recruiter for the organization. His black hood and armor making him look equivalent to a cold, emotionless, killing machine, his black back pack, weapons and belts hanging off of him. “You are elite but new. You may have acceptable skills but you are on a whole new playing field. Your tests will begin momentarily, but until you fail your first exam… welcome to the Black Death.”
America, Washington D.C., Department of Homeland Security, December 1st, 2010, 2400 Hours
The sergeant was angry. Rick had seen it before, and knew the sign that his sergeant Cal Iver was angry by the way he kept tapping his finger quickly against his legs as he sat down in the giant, comfortable looking chair behind the sturdy maple desk, the book that he was previously reading, open and face down on its pages.
The sergeant was angry because Rick had answered a call about a possible suicide bombing threat in downtown New York. Apparently the call was a decoy and there was no bomb in downtown New York. Seconds later 678 people died in New Dakota. 339 Units of the NDPD, 339 civilians dead. 113 of those civilians were children.
There were two bombers: an Iraqi telephone repairman, Al Skirhati Munad, and an American taxi driver, Tomson Gundero. The Sergeant was scolding him for letting it happen. How could he have known? The call might have been real and he would have prevented a catastrophe. It wasn’t his fault that instead the call was fake and a catastrophe happened elsewhere. At least that’s what he thought.
He knew he shouldn’t doubt himself that he was right and it wasn’t his fault, that he took the right course of action. But still that was a lot of innocent lives lost for a moronic reason.
The media was feeding like sharks on this info, scraping up whatever they could like starving wolves fighting over a piece of meat. Even entertainment was taking advantage of this. Franklin Jerrald, an American Idol contestant from New Dakota, gave a long speech with many fake emotional outbursts. People didn’t care about the lost lives; it was a popularity contest to them. Stars were trying to get publicity off of it, acting like they cared; politicians were trying to get more votes for the upcoming election by getting popularity for taking advantage of this situation.
Rick didn’t even listen to the angry babbling of his sergeant. Personally he didn’t care. But it didn’t matter. The next few months would be the same besides the people trying to mooch off a tragedy. After that every thing would be normal. At least Rick Worlin hoped so.
Mali, Safo, Mobile Base A-18, North of the Niger River, December 2nd, 2010, 1900 Hours
Commander Brokan Humadin was not amused. Nobody could tell it by looking at him because of his calm features…and the black sunglasses over his hidden, steady eyes. Even if they knew about his discomfort, they wouldn’t have bothered him because of the browning by his right hip, slightly loose in its holster for easy access, in the case of a “minor” situation. The cause of his uneasiness was the threats against the Prime Minister of Mali, Luvrak Varon, which have been occurring rapidly this month. Coincidentally, this is the same month of the minister’s visit to Safo. Thus the security of his team, and thus his irritation.
The commander and his squad were at a mobile base, just south of where the minister would give his speech. The speech would be about the improvement of political and military operations and technology. But first the Prime Minister would talk about making future improvements for the areas that have been getting a lot of attention from terrorists. Ever since the death of Osama Bin Laden when his boat sunk in the Caribbean, new terrorists have been created and they have taken his place. If his followers were to join one of these cells, than they would be made a high ranking officer in their ranks. And they’d have more influence and more tricks.
“Tanks?” Humadin asked, naming something for the Prime Ministers protection. A soldier at a computer console held his thumb up to tell that the item was there. Tanks, check. “Rockets?” Another raised thumb. Rockets, check. “Helicopters?” Yet again another thumb. Helicopters check. He didn’t need to ask if the jeeps were there because he had to get here by riding one. “Submarines?” No answer. The soldiers looked up from their tasks and glanced around the room. One soldier who was still on his computer, looked up, and frowned. Thumbs down. Then the commander was in boiling hot rage. Even tough the river is far from Safo, a boat could launch missiles, or jets, and head toward this location. It was important that all bodies of water near Safo had ten subs to inspect on coming vessels.
He finally recognized the soldier at the computer console from its glow in the dark light. He was Chief Petty Officer Franj Decour. He was a good friend to the commander, but nowadays mistakes weren’t good in the military.
Usually he would just be fired, but under the circumstances that Franj knew military secrets, he would be executed. Humadin hovered his right hand over the browning and said grimly, heavy with regret, “Desole.” He pulled out his gun and shot two rounds into the head of Franj Decour, ending his life in a few seconds.
“Une Biere , deux.” As the closest trooper got the beer, Brokan Humadin slouched into the nearest chair and put his right hand to his temple. When the trooper came with the beer, he snatched it and started draining its contents. “Prenez-moi ces sous-marins maintenant,” He yelled at the soldiers, This is going to be a long millennia, he thought as he put himself back under control.
Sargasso Sea, Tropic of Cancer, the Angler Fish, West of Bridgetown, December 3rd, 2010, 1500 Hours
As Naval Captain Baxter Herman looked across the deck, he noticed a sudden slumping in the men. “ You.” He merely said pointing to one of his slouching crew members. “ Me?” The scraggly haired teen replied. “Yes you slacker, now what’s wrong with the men?” the captain asked demandingly.
Now he noticed the eyes staring at him and the boy, watching their conversation with tired, baggy eyes. They all looked ill and grim, some pale, and some green. “Sir, we haven’t slept in days,” one of the older members of the crew said to his far left. “Well I’m sorry if you’re to busy partying at night, but now you have to do your work, so get to it!” The captain yelled at the small group of men and women in their black suits and gear.
“And don’t even think about starting mutiny, because even if you kill me you’ll all be blown to pieces in a matter of seconds after my death.” He stated this because he knew that they were thinking about killing him. And, after a few examples from the past, no one would dare even think of doubting his word. So he let the consequences sink into their tiny minds. He didn’t care about his boss or the company he worked form, It was very good pay. “That’s right, don’t even try it, I know what your plans are, and I’ve-
BANG
-ugghhh, ugghh.” The teen had slipped a gun from his sleeve and shot him in the stomach, blood spurting out of his lower intestine as he gasped and gasped trying to breathe. He fell to his knees and crumpled to the deck, his head pounding to the floor, his eyes wide open in anguish and terror, the speeding beat of his heart the only noise in his head.
The angry and yet satisfied faces of the grinning crew hovered over him as dark spots crowded his vision, leaving him blind. If only he had been nicer. His heart stopped and the captain stopped breathing.
Sargasso Sea, Tropic of Cancer, the Angler Fish, West of Bridgetown, December 3rd, 2010, 1500 Hours
Rob stared down at the body lying crumpled up like a piece of paper in front of him, and took a look down at the hot, and heavy metal gun that he was still holding.
The glow of the green screen in the computer in the control room now changed to a blue light, meaning only one thing- The boss knew what had happened. As they slipped through the doors, and cautiously glanced at the screen, they saw a white hood staring at them.
My god I just shot the captain only two minutes ago. How could he have found out so quickly?
“Congratulations, I was hoping that someone would kill that money grubbing fiend. So tell me, who blasted his intestines out,” the white hood asked, the blue eyes behind it simply filled with bored curiosity.
Well he blow us up anyways… might as well not prolong the wait.
“I did sir,” Rob replied staring at the figure.
“Well fun, fun, for you, you’ve just been promoted,” the white hood stated as if he were talking to a child.
“Excuse me sir?”
“You’ve been promoted as I previously said,” he replied.
“But why, I shot an officer?”
“Yes, but this company isn’t concerned with money.”
“Just what is this company anyways?”
“Two weeks from now you will go to a certain area, the coordinates will be provided, and you’ll need to dress warmly, every thing will be explained there.”
“But I don’t understa-“
“You’ll see.”
And with that the screen went blank.
Rob lifted his head and looked around at the staring faces of his fellow crew. Harold Garrison was the one who broke the silence. “What do we do now- sir?” He had no idea what he was doing. How could he lead a crew of sailors who were out on a fishing trip for the port of Bridgetown? At least that’s what he used to think they were doing. Filled with doubts he decided what to do. “I guess we go.”
CH2
“This terrible tragedy has affected us all... all in negative ways of woe and sadness. We don’t want anymore dead. 678 innocent people shouldn’t die. If I am elected president, nothing like this will happen again in my country, when I have something to do about it”-Presidential Candidate, Senator Joe Downason, giving a speech on the New Dakota bombing to the press.
America, Washington D.C., Phoenix Park Hotel, December 3rd, 2010, 1900 Hours
As Rick walked through the door to his room, he dropped his bag to the ground, tossed his brief case aside, and slumped to his old, red couch.
He was tired after the shouting Cal gave him. He also had to get through the humility of his fellow officers, snickering, and making puns about him behind his back.
He didn’t care that they were making jokes about him, or the loud lecture. It was that no one cares about the bombing, and he was being blamed, although he had no way of knowing their plans.
He plucked the remote to the TV off of the couch and started it up. He knew what the news would be about so he decided to skip it. Instead he went to Comedy Central and decided that some comedy would cheer him up. Apparently, John Stuart was on talking about how George W. Bush could have furthered advancement into terrorists, and how to stop them.
He then decided to flip the channel to Comedy Central 2. Larry the Cable Guy was on. He didn’t mention the tragedy, so that was good for Rick. But once Larry finished a pun, the doorbell rang, annoying Rick even more, bringing him to the outside world. He pushed himself away from the table and trudged through the red carpet to the brown oak door. He peered through the eyehole and started removing the locks from the door. He pulled the door open and stared at the green eyes that had started staring at his.
“What do you want Lisa?” The girl at the door was Lisa Darrows, who was also Rick’s ex-girlfriend. They had broken up about a month ago, two days after Lisa started living with Rick.
“I came for the rest of my things.”
“I mailed them to you tw-“
“Well you might have forgotten something.”
“I checked there’s nothing else.”
As he opened the door more he noticed the arm of someone in a brown coat standing next to the door.
“Maybe you did,” replied a harsh voice coming from the direction of the unseen stranger.
“Who else is with you,” Rick asked out of curiosity.
“Rick this is Chad, he’s with the police.”
“The police? What, you think I stole something fro-“
“If you didn’t steal anything then there’s no reason for us not to come in.”
He moved away from the door and allowed them to enter. “Make yourselves at home.”
“Don’t worry son we will.”
“Don’t call me son.”
“Alright just calm down.”
As the two people walked in he shut the door behind them. As he turned they were already looking under couches, checking drawers, digging through trash cans, and peering behind objects. “Just what do you think I stole exactly?” “Nothing, just some family heirlooms.”
“Really? I thought that every thing her family owned was worthless.”
Lisa turned and gave him a cold glare and continued with her searching.
This is going to be a long day, he thought as he began locking his door.
Antarctica, Ronne Ice Shelf, Black Death Naval Base 0-5, December 4th, 2010, 0450 Hours
When Rob finished docking his boat at the wooden port, he led his crew down the frozen ramp way and across the snowy streets, the white snowflakes falling everywhere in the cold night air, and into the building that had more people entering it that the other buildings.
There were black gas masks every where he looked, as he walked down the white, smooth, metal corridors.
“Where do you think you’re going kid?”
Rob turned in the direction of the voice and saw yet another black mask staring down at him. “Uh… I was...”
“I can’t stand an indecisive child. Seeing as how you don’t know where you are going, you must be new, and because you’re new you must go to sign up. It’s down the hall, to the second left, and to the right.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Why are you still standing here? Go, go, and go!”
Rob hurried himself and his crew down the hall and to the second left as the woman continued shouting at them.
As he walked to his new found destination, he glanced up at the ceiling and the fluorescent lights that were above him. He noticed that the walls, ceiling, and floor were so clean that they showed reflections.
“Sorta like Star Wars, eh Rob?” Rob turned to see Harold turning his head around, mouth open, and eyes filled with wonder, like a kid in a toy store. He’d always been telling Rob of the days before the bombs. He was born in Arizona in 1968, and grew up in the desert. When space movies where became life, he was drawn into it completely. “Don’t get to excited Harold, for all we know we’ve been doing drug runs, Baxter might have stuffed the fish with smack for all we know.” He really hoped that it wasn’t something bad. He hoped that it might just be a fishing convention, or a cable repairman office. Who am I kidding? We’re wearing gas masks for Christ sake! Also, why would repairmen be right next to Antarctica? It’s just a frozen rock. And I don’t think that this would be the best place for a convention.
Shaking off his uneasiness, he marched straight on through the crowds. As he neared his destination, two doors parted into the wall leaving a small hatch to walk through. As he entered he noticed small groups of black gas masks, two vending machines, some small white couches, chairs, round tables, a few potted plants, and to the far wall a receptionist’s desk. It looked like the small groups were talking, and laughing. Some people had even taken off their masks so they could chow down on a light snack.
As he approached the receptionist’s desk, he noticed a tall, muscular man with a small black mustache, stone cold eyes, and tattoos all over. He leaned down on the desk, looked down at Rob and gave him the ugliest look Rob had ever seen.
“What can I do ye for… string bean?”
“Uh… I need to sign in sir.”
He backed up and raised his eyebrow up quizzically. He lloked surprised.
“Sir? Nobody around here calls me sir. And also, you don’t need anything here.”
“But the lady sai-“
“You don’t need anything here because you have everything here.”
“What does that mean?”
“This place is paradise.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because when I was in Cuba, I was homeless thanks to the new president of Cuba raising taxes. Every where the only people that had normal lives were the wealthy or powerful. Then, throughout the corruption and greed, the scandals and lies, some one took me out of there and brought me here. This place may be isolated, but it isn’t pierced by the outside world. No crime, lies, scandals, or greed. Also, there are fresh supplies. Here, religion is freely expressed; racism forgotten, prejudice abandoned, and political issues are expertly managed.”
“Who are you exactly?”
“Every one calls me Frank.”
“Why’s that?”
“My real name is Donasae Combrundero Gundregos Khaslatar.”
“Okay then, Frank it is. So what is this company anyways?”
“Oh, it’s not a company.”
“Then what is it?” Rob was now filled from head to toe with confusion and doubt about joining whatever this was.
“It’s a country. And with that let me just say one thing; welcome to the Black Death.”
Antarctica, Ronne Ice Shelf, Black Death Naval Base 0-5, December 4th, 2010, 0450 Hours
Sel Divad waited silently on the stage looking at his stopwatch and glanced toward the filling chairs of the arena, a sea of black body armor filling the unoccupied seats.
It was five minutes to the start of the speech that would be broadcasted live to all computers and TV’s in every ship or base that belonged to the Black Death and was to far away for the commanders to make it. This broadcast was going to Giza, Cairo, Memphis, Virginia, the Rio Grande, and the eastern tip of Bermuda.
Behind him, his second in command, Kahn, stood watching the growing crowd and the walkways for any snipers, while also checking that his own hand picked men stood guard at their posts. Ever since the world wide terror attack that came to be known as the Comet struck in 2008, this year has become a year where mistakes were deadlier than being a forest mouse in a nest of Eastern Indigo Snakes.
Once he saw that all of the seats were filled, the cameras operational, and everything was quiet, he approached the podium, took a deep breath of the icy air and began speaking in a booming voice.
Antarctica, Ronne Ice Shelf, Black Death Naval Base 0-5, December 4th, 2010, 0450 Hours
As Rob and his crew made their way to the now filling stadium he noticed the giant thirty-foot screens protruding from the side of the stadium. He also noticed the people walking by the perimeter of the stadium looking in all directions with M-16’s on their backs, flash bangs hanging from the straps on their shoulders, and a pair of 9mm’s in each hand. They also had very complicated and strangely made knives on their boots, in their pockets, and in their belts.
As he walked by, the sea of black gas masks and body armor rapidly grew. When he began his way toward the stadium there were only a few groups of friends talking and fooling around, but now as the stadium grew taller the Empire State Building before the Comet, the crowds became big enough to replace everyone in Asia.
He continued on, stepped up to security, had all possible weapons removed, and went on to find a spot for him and his men.
Once they were settled, Rob looked up at the stage and gasped at the face he saw- the only one not dressed in black besides the tall muscular man behind him- the faceless face of the white hood who brought him here.
CH3
“Today, we see the aftermath of the largest world wide terror attack in the history of 2008, the streets of almost all the cities on Earth burning in a giant roaring inferno, the streets resembling the images we imagine from books of Holocaust, Armageddon, the Rapture, or to simply put it the End of the World. The Outer Rim was a brand new satellite that all of Earth’s countries worked hard to build together, with every ounce of technology they had. But, Osama Bin Laden had captured workers at a base that held the satellite’s passwords. He sent us tapes of him saying to the prisoners that if they gave him the password they would be sent free. After only six of the original sixty were left they gave him the password. He beheaded them two hours later. He took the satellite and caused all nuclear devices to go off wherever they were with the push of a computer key. After the nuclear missiles were launched he set the satellite to land wherever it was over and self destruct. It landed next to propane warehouse and killed whoever the missiles didn’t kill. The only good news is that Osama died in the process”- News reporter Janice Burtman, survivor of the Comet.
Antarctica, Ronne Ice Shelf, Black Death Naval Base 0-5, December 4th, 2010, 0450 Hours
“Ladies and gentlemen from all over the world, good evening. Today is the anniversary of the Comet. Whoopie.
I have called this meeting to tell you that the construction of our new satellite, the Medicine, will be launched tomorrow at twelve hundred hours.
This new satellite will be equipped with state of the art security, brand spanking new weapons, and powerful armor.
Now I know your wondering “what if another comet happens?” Well just for your safety I’ve taken the liberty of putting the password to control it in a safe. This safe requires a key to open it. The safe is bullet proof, and the only way you can open the safe is with nine thousand tons of dynamite. And that’s not a hyperbole. I’ve taken the liberty of secretly throwing the key into the bottom of the Amundsen Sea. If you want it you need to survive the pressure, hyperthermia, and let’s not forget the wonderful wildlife.
Also, we will begin our conquest on nearby research centers and in cities, states, and countries two hundred and forty hours from now. So rest up, eat you vegetables, get your Remington’s ready, and then we’ll party.
For those new members out there, Leonardo Arpegio of our Black Death recruitment will be stopping by to check on you in five days from Bermuda. If you’re good enough you’ll be a fighter in our ranks. If you’re not you’ll do something else. Your IQ exams begin on Monday, and to those of you new members who haven’t signed up yet please do so.
Welcome to the Black Death, copyrighted Sel Divad, December fourth, two thousand ten, at o-four hundred and fifty hours.”
Once he finished his absurdly long speech, Sel Divad caught his breath and walked away from the podium, feeling victorious but only letting the feeling last for a few seconds.
Most of the pathetic creatures out there were pawns. Others he had no plans of sacrificing. To him, if one plan failed another would greet him. Every thing would work out. He just had to relax, be calm and patient.
Mali, Uptown Safo, December 5th, 2010, 1200 Hours
As Luvrak Varon sat in the blood red chair, he looked up at the soldier stating something about some seriously sick soldiers in a camp about two miles south of his location.
Why didn’t they understand that they were worthless? It is only the important and powerful that he should be worried about.
He made a brief gesture at the trooper and dismissed him. Once the door had closed and Varon heard the soldiers footsteps recede down the corridor, he pulled out his lap top from his desk, pushed his paper, pencils, files, and everything else away from the surface of its surface, and set it down.
He opened up his secret folders and noticed that he was contacted three times from his commanders. He opened the files up and reviewed each one carefully, afraid that he might miss something important. Once he finished reading them, he began typing his replies to the three individual emails. He pressed the enter button and watched the window pop up, and his gaze stood there staring at the dark haired woman, staring at the harsh, cold eyes with a swastika on her right arm.
“I see you’ve gotten my emails.”
“I haven’t had the chance to with everyone visiting.”
She tilted her head a bit; her eye’s staring frighteningly into his skull as if she were trying to decide whether he was saying the truth, or making a lie.
After a long pause she began again, “Our satellites have found a weird radioactive signal along with a large amount of various metals and electricity.”
He didn’t expect this. He simply stared at her wondering why she was telling him this even though everyone knew that after the Comet the North and South Poles had a large amount of radioactivity. “Why are you telling me this? A lot of people already know that. It’s even in history-“
“That’s not all. There have also been reports of large numbers of different boats heading towards Antarctica.”
Now he stared at her, stunned at the fact that people where actually living on that nuclear block of ice. When its radioactive levels rose, people had to abandon research centers.
“Is there any threat in this to our plans?” He asked with fear. If anybody knew about his plans or if anybody were a threat to them, he would most defiantly be dead.
As she explained everything slowly Varon knew that something bad was about to happen. Something that would make the morning sky as dark as the Crater, the spot in which the Outer Rim had fallen. It was also the deepest and darkest hole on Earth. A hole he thought went into the darkest part of the Underworld, Tartarus. Thinking of that infinite darkness he shivered a bit, now noticing that the screen was blank. He shut it and put it back in his desk. He stood up abruptly and walked to his mini bar. He fished out a ridiculously large bottle of rum and began chugging away.
The Crooked Stars HQ, Camp Auschwitz Birkenau II Island, December 5th, 2010, 1200 Hours
Meumdrid Auschwitz closed her laptop and shoved it back in her maple drawer. She pushed herself away from her desk and left her large, circular office. She strode in her leather boots to the main observatory deck of Lab-A. She stood watching through the dark one way glass as millions of workers began building machines, started animal experiments and her favorite of all… began trying to make the perfect soldier with humans. Some of the experiments were cyborgs, some robots, and some simply pathetic humans from France, America, Britain, and Canada. Behind her came the sharp and precise steps of lead general Tazui Ottawa. Meumdrid turned around gracefully and both Ottowa and Auschwitz gave each other the Nazi salute and continued observing the enslaved scientists. “General Ottawa I’m going to go check o their progress more closely if you don’t mind,” Meumdrid said to Ottowa with her patented cold and bored tone and a German accent. “I don’t mind at all, my glorious leader, you may do as you wish,” replied the scared Japanese soldier to the Nazi leader. With one final Nazi salute she walked down the stairs and came to the nearest scientist who was a Peruvian woman with black scraggly hair and small pink glasses. “You scientist, what is this that you are working on because it doesn’t look like the Proto-Bombs that I ordered you to make.”
The small woman sputtered out her words with a quick haste, “I need more time, and we still don’t have enough napalm or nuclear battery acid. The delivery man was caught in a cross fire between the Armies of the New Bin Laden and the South Indian Resistance. His truck was blown off the road by a car side bomb and a fire started. He tried to run far away from the truck but he didn’t. The truck exploded killing the A.N.B.L’s and the S.I.R’S and the delivery man. But from that we have learned that the bomb was to dangerous to take here in case of an air attac-“
BAM
The woman’s head exploded in a shower of brain, gore and blood from the shot of her large, steel pistol which she liked to call Unit 9420. A few moments after she had shot the bumbling scientist a small clean up crew of two men came, wrapped up the body like a Christmas package, cleaned up the gore, and carried the body away to be turned into a small hidden bomb that would be designed to be draped in the streets and explode at the push of a button. The men in Unit 731 will love this, she said menacingly. While this was going on she saw out of the corner of her eye that the other workers weren’t disturbed by this and continued with their work. Leaving Lab-A, she quickly turned to Lab Unit 731 were she decided to watch the experiments on the dead puppet.
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Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2009 4:47 pm
(And here lie my short stories.)
The Three Judges of COmbat
The man in the Greek armor fought the man in the Viking armor. The Greeks sword scraped and sparked against the Vikings rusted, blood red axe. Their shields were broken and left behind them as they continued their grim onslaught.
Glowing in the shower of sparks, the three judges watched the struggle with mild amusement. As the weariness of the warriors became more and more obvious, the third judge raised his glowing hands and pronounced in his deep, booming voice, “Enough.” The man in the Greek armor and the man in the Viking armor departed their weapons from their opponents and gazed up at the three looming figures. Their weapons disappeared into the endless void of Combat, their blood dried from their faces, and the injuries melted away, leaving not a scratch.
The first judge was a scrawny and ill looking man. His eyes were pink and always watery, his skin pale and ragged, his breathing heavy, and his hands, all but bones. This was the God of Plague, creator of the Codex Diseasus, and the Infectiona Traximus. He raised his wrinkled, pale, shaking hands and rasped in his soar voice, “I favor the Greek for his endurance and ability to escape my powers. He showed least sign of being tortured by illness.”
Falling back down into his seat he looked across the table at the second judge. “Anything that you want to add Chaos?”
Looking back at the pale man, the second judge glanced back and scowled at the two gladiators. The second judge was the God of Chaos, forger of armies and the Bloodlust’s Crown. The crown had been passed down by many generations and always shifted and changed to look like the rest of them all. Some soldiers had worn the crown without even knowing it and, in the flash of a bolt of lightning, went into frenzy. He was a large, burly man, tattoos of countries and continents conquering every inch of his body. He raised his large, blackened hands and said in his loud, cold voice, “I favor the Viking for his rage and ability to strengthen my powers beyond that of other normal humans. He showed least sign of hesitation to attack.”
Slouching into his chair, he and the first judge looked upwards to the last and final judge. The third judge was the God of War, father of the three queens, Victory, Honor, and Death. He looked that of any other man on the mortal plain, but his skin glowed and his power overwhelmed that of any human. He raised his strong, glowing hands and said in his deep, booming voice of wisdom, “I favor the Greek for his valor to continue fighting even though he faced a stronger opponent that was strengthened by rage. I also favor his victory over death and his honorable fighting. Thus I proclaim the champion of this war to be Greece. Therefore the role of the fallen shall be taken by the Vikings. This war is now over.”
Sitting back down in his seat, he and his two counterparts faded away into the nothingness of the void of Combat.
With a feeling of triumph, the Greek turned to his combatant’s distraught face of terror. Clutching and clawing at his heart and face, he moaned and wailed in sorrow and fell into the white, cool sand. He laid there sobbing and eventually died. Smirking, the Greek walked away, once again brandishing his now clean sword. Somewhere back on the mortal plain, an army fell in defeat and died a horrible painful death, courtesy of the gods of Plague and Chaos, while the Queen of Death cleared the battlefield for another. Earlier, the Queen of Honor watched over the war and tallied the score, the losses based on the gladiators’ exhaustion and injury. But somewhere else, an army celebrated and cheered over wine and bread, courtesy of the God of War and the Queen of Triumph. But once that was over, the wine dried and the bread staled, the buildings repaired and armies remade, the three judges would once again meet and decide out of a trial of preliminary fights, which army would compete for victory. And which army for defeat.
The Deer and the Tick
The deer and the tick go tick, tick, tick, while the deer stares wide eyed in fear. "Oh what is that horrid ticking in my ear, oh what is that repungent sound that I hear?" asks the deer to his dear, deer mother dear. She doesn't reply, but rocks back and forth, creaking with the ticking in a symphony of clicks, only aggravating the deer. The tick takes a bite, increasing the the deer's fright, as he whinies like a ninny across the woods. He trods up dirt and races through brush, all the way to a hole in the ground, falling and breaking his neck. But the tick lived on and ticked from the dead, ticking and ticking his tick, tick, tick, the sound ticking across all the woods. All the noise draws the deers from around, round and round his grave, all the way to their graves. All the way to their sad little, gravely grave graves.
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