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Steel_Fang

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1

Friday, May 27th 2005, 6:56pm

Pretty good. Sounds like the perspective of man by a superior race. Id like to see more. <img src=smilies/icon_smile.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle>
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2

Friday, May 27th 2005, 7:56pm

ok well heres chapter one, silent_Fang, somehow i doubt this is what you were expecting, its short, but far from sweet. anyway, enjoy. -------------------------------------- Chapter one Sadly for the occupant of this insignificant pinprick no one would ever notice if he did in fact drift off away from civilization. Dylan West was a freelancer; simply put he was a member of an over-crowded career, jaded by life and complacent. Staring at his HUD, he watched as the numbers changed to &#8220;Far&#8221; as he slipped away from inhabited space. Dylan was nineteen, a young age for his career choice. It was a testament to the kind of world he lived in that all hopes and aspirations were crushed. His respect for society was nonexistent, but his love of humanity was unwavering. Deep down Dylan was an artist. He was infatuated by natural beauty, and the ugliness around him made him sick. A tall lanky young man, those who knew him often spoke of him as shy and sweet. Shy and sweet, these traits got you little in life. Dylan was part of a small minority. A kind man with a large heart, he was someone who could befriend anyone. As he stared at the dark instruments littering the area around him his eyes went out of focus and through the fuzziness the world around him got dark. Like so many times before he reverted to his memories and imagination, escaping this harsh reality. His mind drifted off to a better time, just a month prior. ------ There he was, sitting in one of the many parks that littered his home, New London. It was night and he lay in the soft damp grass, staring at the stars and the occasional firey trail of a ship passing above. The air was crisp and cool, but he felt warm shrouded in his warm, soft jacket. The stars were not what he was concentrating on however. Lying perpendicular to him was a beautiful young woman. About five ten, brunette, blue eyes, fair skin, in short; she was an angel. She lay on her stomach, her head propped up on her arms. He turned towards her, and saw the stars twinkling in her vibrant eyes. He lost himself in her full smile. They had been lying there for hours, talking about whatever came to mind, laughing, smiling, like there was nothing else, nothing wrong. She was so perfect&#8230; &#8230;. So perfectly unattainable&#8230; so completely out of reach. When they had met she seemed amazingly familiar, yet he could not place her until later in the day. Then it hit him like a cargo train. Out of everyone on the entire planet, the countless millions he could have run into, this one, this one person who in such short time had turned out to be an amalgamation of that person he had been dreaming about all those lonely sleepless nights, this one, she had a catch. He finally placed her. He knew her sister. Not only did he know her, but she was the best friend of and ex. That wasn&#8217;t all, oh no, it could get worse. The two friends had since fought and gone their separate ways, so how could this possibly be a problem? They no longer talk; this wouldn&#8217;t be a problem. Is anything in life that simple? Of course not. It turns out that now, that ex&#8217;s new best friend is none other than the maiden he&#8217;s staring in the eyes, whom he is quietly listening to. Dylan couldn&#8217;t help but laugh. Fate had an impeccably ironic sense of humour. Was this how he would be punished for all those mistakes he made, all of those things he had felt so lucky to get away with. So close, yet so far. For someone who just wants to be loved again, someone who just wants to treat someone like a princess, someone who just wanted to be held, this was hell. He missed the powder soft skin, the gentile lips, the smell of her hair, and the warmth of her touch. and yet again fate had snatched it away from him Dylan was a hopeless romantic. But at this point he might as well just drop the romantic part. Everyone was right. He could befriend everyone. And that was his problem. Everyone loved his friendship and missed the rest. No one witnessed what hid within. The care and love he silently stored inside of him for that one person who always brought a smile to his face. The passion and obsession, the dedication and indulgence. the side of him few ever had the pleasure of experiencing. His ship flew ever further away as he drifted out of his dream. He hated this existence. He was sick of all of the killing; all of the impersonal deaths, the tormenting screams ringing in his ear. Dylan was sick of life, but too weak to do anything about it. Why couldn&#8217;t he be content working in a store? A bar? A lab? Why was it that nothing was ever good enough? How could he be such a hypocritical fool who wants one thing while doing the opposite? &#8220;This is stupid&#8221;, he muttered out loud. &#8220;What the hell am I accomplishing with this?&#8221; In the middle of nothingness the insignificant speck suddenly came to a halt. --------------------------------- to be continued at a later date edited for misspellings and adding a few things Edited by - [GR_Fallen_Angel on 6/2/2005 11:12:32 AM
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3

Sunday, May 29th 2005, 4:11pm

next installment: Chapter two Dylan powered down all systems. He got up out of his chair and walked through a narrow corridor to a dark room beyond. His dromedary freighter had been modified to have larger living quarters by sacrificing some of the cargo room on board. This didn&#8217;t bother him, he preferred having this extra space. It allowed him to spend extended periods of time onboard without having to stay in the cramped cockpit. He loved it out here, alone in the middle of empty space, an empty vacuum. The room was painted a deep, dark red. It had a few burnished aluminum accents and had a dim ambiance created by unseen lights. On one of the walls there was a short wide window looking out into the bleak outside. In the middle of the small room, facing the window was a simply dressed bed. As he lay down Dylan shut off the lights. The ship, with all systems off, was completely silent. Some people go their entire life without knowing what being completely alone in absolute silence. His heartbeat sounded like a drum, his breathing: an industrial fan. This was where Dylan came to think. So far away from everything there was a slim chance anyone would see him. Out here he didn&#8217;t have to worry about pirates or patrols. There was nothing in his hold, no power signatures, no reason for him to be bothered. For him this was paradise. One somewhat ironic aspect of Dylan&#8217;s personality was the fact he was a loner. When someone is a romantic, this is not a healthy trait to have. Not to say he didn&#8217;t like people&#8217;s company, quite the opposite. It was just he didn&#8217;t like how people were never honest. Perhaps this love and hate view of humanity is what made him so interesting, so mysterious. That he was a man of contradictions and hypocrisies. Unfortunately he had the curse of being able to read people too well. While some would take this as a blessing, for Dylan, it lead to nothing but heartbreak. It&#8217;s hard to survive when you cant live with the person you cant let go of. Someone so pure, so loveable, so tragically flawed, Dylan drifted through live with an unquenchable thirst for acceptance. All he wanted was to receive the love he had so selflessly handed out. Due to his demeanor or some other aspect of his personality, he had never been able to find a loyal group of friends. Throughout his schooling he had always felt like someone being accommodated, not welcomed. He was an associate, not a friend. &#8220;Friend&#8221; what a marvelously overused word. Like &#8220;love&#8221;: misused and common. The requirements for someone to be a friend in his society are as simple as knowing their name. This isn&#8217;t friendship; this is knowing someone&#8217;s name. Friends are brothers and sisters, friends are people you trust with your life and your secrets, friends are the people who help you up when you stumble, before you have fallen flat on your face. Like so many other things the idea of friendship had become diluted. Like the desensitization of death and suffering, on the other side of the spectrum love and friendship also lost much of its former emotions. While still at school, at the age of seventeen, one of the few people who actually met Dylan&#8217;s definition of &#8220;friend&#8221; died. The funeral was in a small stone church that had been built soon after the first ships landed on new London. It had old wooden pews, stained glass. The small building was constructed in a style called Ancient Bretonian Architecture. At the service he saw many people that he barely knew. People he shared a few classes with. They had maybe said half a dozen words to Sam outside of class. They didn&#8217;t know her personality or her sense of humour. They didn&#8217;t know what made her mind tick or even her favorite color. The person lying in the box, looking so serine, so peaceful, they didn&#8217;t know what she had been through. They knew of her, but they didn&#8217;t know her. While it was admirable that these people had come to pay their last respects, it made Dylan sick to think that it took his friend&#8217;s death for her to really be noticed and appreciated. He wondered how often this happened; how many times people realized what impact someone had but didn&#8217;t have the time to tell them. How many people had to thank relatives for the accomplishments of the deceased. This was one such case, one of many that had come to pass. Sadly the young mourner was certain it wouldn&#8217;t be the last. In the small room on the freighter Dylan heard his heartbeat quicken. His chest got tight and his stomach sank. As he thought about his friend, and all the other people he cared so much for who had completely disappeared from his life. A tear rolled down his cheek. Everyone he had loved, everyone who had cared about him. He cried because he knew it was his fault they were all gone. His stubborn ways and lonesome demeanor had shunned anyone and anything that had meant anything to him. His parents where so busy with their businesses they didn&#8217;t notice. When he saw them he smiled and laughed and to them he seemed perfect. To them he was a kind, accomplished person. They didn&#8217;t see the emptiness that existed within. The sadness, the despair, the desire to have someone love you because you complete them. The kind of love that you&#8217;re simply incapable of remembering a time without that person there for you. This was the kind of love people spent a lifetime searching for. Dylan buried his face in his hands. The room was pitch black. The only colors were the swirling pools of pigment in his head. The photographing memories of time he never wanted to end. The nightmares of the times he never wished had happened. Out of the small window a few stars shone and with a small flash one died out. As he slipped off into a dream-filled slumber, a large asteroid drifted past his small ship. The gravitational pull of the large object swung the ship back into motion. As its occupant drifted into the unconscious, without him knowing, the insignificant pinprick started moving again. Further and further from the civilization he had grown up in the speck slowly drifted into the infinite nothingness beyond. ----------------- i dont know when i will get the next chapter done, probably wont be for a week or so, i have exams all this week, after that it´s my summer holiday, so that should give me plenty of time to write. as always comments are welcome Edited by - [GR_Fallen_Angel on 6/2/2005 11:37:08 AM
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4

Wednesday, June 1st 2005, 9:36pm

More More! Nice. We are the Photons. Feel our explosive wrath!
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5

Thursday, June 2nd 2005, 2:27pm

ok next installment, kinda short, gotta start studying for physics exam tomorrow... enjoy Chapter three On and on the superfluous ship drifted further into the unknown. Further into the grand empty expanse that existed between systems, inconsequential space usually crossed in seconds since the advent of jump gates. Finally Dylan woke from his peaceful rest. As he rolled over and stretched he noticed he was not looking at the same constellations he had been viewing when he had fallen asleep. He quickly bolted up from the bed and rushed out of the small room into the cockpit. As he flipped the power switch back on the ship roared to life. Almost blinded by the lights he struggled to find the button to turn the intensity down. As the lights dimmed he lent back and let out a small sigh. He activated his nav-map and looked on horrified, as it showed nothing for hundreds of thousands of kilometers. He turned his ship back towards the New London system, not visible on his system map but locatable on the sector one. He set a waypoint for New London and the distance appeared as &#8220;999.9&#8221; this was going to take a while. Dylan laughed. Wasn&#8217;t this what he wanted? To be completely away from everyone? Completely alone, far from the problems and issues that plagued him. Who was he kidding; of course this isn&#8217;t what he wanted. Like so many before him he didn&#8217;t know what he really wanted. Like a child screaming for a toy, he had desired this isolation more than anything else. Now he felt like that same child, crushed by false hopes, stuck with a disappointing truth. As he flew back towards civilization the pilot began drifting in and out of daydreams. From his past to aspirations and everything in between, he ran a gauntlet of emotions for hours while he waited for the distance to pass. What was great about before he went of on this ludicrous stunt was that he was always so busy that he never had the time to be depressed and lonely except for the half an hour or so it usually took him to fall asleep. Now with hours to do absolutely nothing, he paid the price for his foolishness by enduring all sorts of flights of his imagination. Dylan felt so alone. He stared down at his control panel. Sleekly integrated into his chair it made flying simple. The flat touch pads of varying shades of yellow and orange shone dimly creating a dull orange glow around his hand. Even after seeing it so often the control panel still oddly fascinated him, reading the fading labels over and over even though he knew exactly what every one did. Crossing his arms over his chest Dylan lent back in his chair. He still had a few hours until he got back into New London space. Back he went to that night in the park. Still lying in the grass, he how had her hair resting on his stomach. Lying there with one arm behind his head while he ran his other hand through her hair. This was no longer the memory; this was what he wished that night had been. &#8220;This is nice&#8221; he mindlessly commented. &#8220;Yeah, it really is&#8221; she replied in a calm relaxed voice. &#8220;is it just me or has it gotten colder?&#8221; Dylan hadn&#8217;t even noticed until she said something and a shiver shot down his spine. He looked at his watch. &#8220;Wow, its 1:30&#8221; &#8220;Time flies when you&#8217;re having fun doesn&#8217;t it&#8221; she said with a grin on her face. Springing to her feet she continued, &#8220;come on, lets go somewhere to warm up.&#8221; As they walked through the empty park, they playfully joked with each other. Dylan tickled her on her sides, right where her elbow could clamp down on his hands. Then he swept her off her feet into his arms in a torment of laughter and giggles. He span around a few times before putting her back down on her feet, still turning in circles, as they came to a stop they were staring into each other&#8217;s eyes. The young man removed his right hand from his partners side and used it to sweep her hair out of her face stopping his hand when his thumb was right behind her ear and his fingers wrapped gently around to the back of her neck. He could feel her warmth. The heat from her soft breaths. She was so peaceful, so at ease, he had fallen for her already. Their noses slowly got closer and closer before they both closed their eyes. Turning his head sideways, Dylan felt the ground shake. He snapped out of the dream to find his ship dead in space. He was back in New London, or at least the fringes of it. His HUD was going crazy. All he saw were streaks of color a big red ring, and suddenly heard a woman in a clam voice inform him his shields had failed. He hit the afterburners and activated his turrets turning to face his aggressors. Three small molly craft had taken up a position behind him and he rained fire back on them. He activated some nanobots as one of the three ships erupted into a large fireball consuming the air supply and unused weaponry that had been held within the ship. As this happened the two other molly ships shied away. Soon a light blue haze surrounded him as he rocketed towards New London, guided by one of the multiple trade lanes in the system. The insignificant pinprick continued toward the planet before hearing a far too jubilant voice inform him that the line was full at that moment, but he would be cleared to land when it was free.
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6

Thursday, June 16th 2005, 10:06pm

Chapter Four Weaving through buildings and traffic, Freelancer delta seven dash thirteen skimmed dangerously close to the hard concrete and steel that made up his surroundings. Skillfully dancing around other ships Dylan flew past the main space hub on New London where most tourists and residents alike utilized and flew deeper into the recesses of the city. Diving under monorail bridges and skimming past balconies of multi-million credit apartments he pulled the ship through maneuvers that a ship such as his shouldn&#8217;t have been capable of making. He continued this until the buildings began getting more decrepit as he got further from the center of commerce. Turning into a small opening between two buildings he shot into a ventilation shaft that took his ship ever deeper into the city, places most people didn&#8217;t know existed. Progressing more slowly now he glided out of this shaft into a slightly larger pipe. He leveled out his ship mere centimeters above the brown-green sludge that flowed through the piping. Sweeping the area with his lights he made sure it was empty and then proceeded down the tunnel. The walls were made of old concrete, beginning to crumble after decades of neglect. Every so often the walls were adorned with bright colored graffiti where there was enough wall intact for these intricate pieces of art to be painted. There were places where the steel reinforcement was visible through the crumbling walls and glancing down Dylan observed a variety of unidentifiable masses floating down the river of filth. This was the waste of New London, the refuse the aristocratic higher archy never saw or heard about. This was the home of the social rejects and the downtrodden. it was made up of the ancient structures that had been built soon after the planet was settled. Old settlements mostly, build soon after the Britannia had landed. These towns, that were originally beyond view of the gigantic monolith had since been engulfed by the ever expanding metropolis and disappeared under the vast foundations that supported the immense structures above. After traveling down this pipe for a good half a mile he brought his ship to a stop and reversed it into a small opening it barely fit into. An old abandoned drainage shaft, it made a perfect place to store his ship and avoid paying the exuberant storage fees at New London&#8217;s spaceport. He shut down all systems and climbed out of the entry hatch. As he walked out of the pipe he heard the hatch close with a satisfying hiss. After a long uneventful walk down the main tube he ducked into another subsidiary tunnel, in a daze created by watching the sludge flowing by constantly, and the horrendous smell that exuded from it. This tunnel lead up to an old abandoned factory, which was one of the many entrances into New London&#8217;s forgotten society. A dark and dirty place, it was inhabited by cardamine addicts and criminals. As he strode down the crowded passage people in rags covered in dirt harassed him for money and food. Many were disfigured or maimed from the battles that raged constantly in the underground city between gangs vying for control. Others were empty carcasses left over from rampant drug use, eyes sunk deep into their heads, bony hands appearing out of the dirty brown sheets that engulfed them. All around him the building was rusting and falling apart, above him, a walkway hung precariously by rusting wires. He knew at any point, if too much weight was applied that it would fall. At this he began walking faster. As he got further into the complex the pathway opened into a gigantic cavernous room. Within it a large furnace burnt whatever the operators could find, most of the fuel being the corpses of the people that had been claimed by the underside. This furnace supplied the power to this dying place, billowing out plumes of black smoke. Dylan didn&#8217;t know where this smoke went, but he didn&#8217;t care, at least this place made him feel worthwhile. The power plant was gigantic, built from the remains of ships and whatever else could be found. Its tall pyre went far up into the cave, supported in place by stalactites that had grown down to it. As he approached the railing he looked down into a dark seemingly endless pit, lit up occasionally by a plume of fire coming out of a vent in the bowels of the arcane power source. The stench created by the furnace was horrendous. It permeated everything including the scarce amounts of food found around the central cavern. It rendered the food inedible, by Dylan&#8217;s standards, within minutes taking on the odor and taste of burnt flesh. This didn&#8217;t stop the other inhabitants of this place, who fought for anything that could be chewed and swallowed. Dylan turned in disgust as he past one person gnawing on what looked like a severed arm, the fingers protruding from the beast&#8217;s long mangled hair. Eventually he got to a large steel door. He withdrew a key from one of his many pockets and inserted it into the lock, the door opened with a whine of screeching metal and he slipped inside as it closed with a loud boom. Inside this room was very simple. In the corner next to the door sat and old rusting stove, ancient technology, like the furnace in the center of the city. The walls were rusting steel and against the back wall was a disintegrating mattress covered in dirty blankets. On the wall to his left was a view screen. It was old, all which was left of the original d&#233;cor of the room. About fifty years earlier the room had been one of the offices for a manager or overseer at the facility, and the age was apparent everywhere. It was the sort of place you&#8217;d expect to see a rodent or other such animal, but they had not lived in this area in decades. Those that hadn&#8217;t fled had been eaten; such a thing was considered a delicacy now. He ripped open a small silver package he found buried under the blankets on the bed. He grabbed an old dirty pot from the top of the stove and pored the indiscernible sludge into it. &#8220;Old military rations again&#8221; he muttered to himself, &#8220;wonderful.&#8221; He collapsed onto the bed and began to eat the paste, cringing with every bite. He had to get out of this hellhole. He could sell his dromedary and buy something different, but he liked living on solid ground, somewhere were he didn&#8217;t have to worry about life support. He wanted real air, no matter how contaminated it was. What he really needed was a better job, so he could buy one of the more expensive apartments in the city. He knew it was dumb, that he had such a nice ship and such a horrendous place he called home. It wasn&#8217;t always this way though. He had been a part of Bretonia&#8217;s middle class once. Back before he had accepted to carry a shipment of light arms for a man in the aristocracy, it was then he found out that the Duke William of Edinburgh was behind many of the Molly attacks for reasons still unknown to him. This information had ruined him. Within hours he was a wanted criminal and had to vanish. That was how he found this place. He bought a new identification code with the remaining credits he had. And managed to win this place in a race. The former owner died in the competition. These races were conducted through the different pipes in the area. Unlike the races in the Dublin system, nothing was foul play. Participants used whatever method they could to win a race. It was thanks to the large size of his ship that had allowed Dylan to win. He swerved his ship into his opponent&#8217;s dagger sending it hurting into a gigantic I-beam. The large metal extrusion skewered the light fighter Dylan barely outran the subsequent fireball. As Dylan began to fall asleep he heard a heavy bang on his door, and then another. He stood to go and see what it was.
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7

Friday, July 15th 2005, 1:57pm

I hope you´re going to continue this. This is good stuff. ---You´re just jealous because the voices in my head don´t speak to you!
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8

Saturday, July 16th 2005, 4:56am

real nice story hope you continue to add to it .
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9

Sunday, July 17th 2005, 5:12pm

Absolutely fantastic narrative and plot development. Two problems: <i>I´m </i> the only one allowed to go on and on about impermanence! <img src=smilies/icon_smile_tongue.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> And despair is spelled with an &quot;e&quot;.
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10

Monday, July 25th 2005, 7:30pm

I appologise if this isnt that great, i just got my wisdom teeth out, and after a painful meeting between stitches and a toothbrush I ended up writting this under acompanied by the light-headedness only hydrocodone could provide =P Chapter five &#8220;Ugh, what the hell do you want?&#8221; Dylan muttered sleepily as he opened his door. &#8220;Someone I know would like to have a few words with you&#8221; Still drowsy, Dylan only saw a large black object bobbing in front of his head. The blinding light behind it prevented him from discerning anything more. As his vision returned he realized it was a gun, and not just any gun, this thing was a cannon. The barrel of it was easily two inches in diameter and before he could respond the man wielding this illegal weapon slammed it into his face, crushing the bridge of his nose. Everything went bright white, before turning black. ---------------- Whats we doin&#8217; down &#8216;ere boss?&#8221; &#8220;All I know is some rich prick from Bretonia is offering us good money for this idiot&#8221; the smaller one replied, &#8220;turns out he was so hard to find &#8216;cus he lives in this s** hole&#8221; They were bounty hunters, the kind a person would hire to do the jobs that couldn&#8217;t be posted on job-boards. They were both unkempt and lacked any sort of formal training, but made up for it in shear brute strength and heartlessness. They both looked like the kind of guys you wouldn&#8217;t want to mess with; dirty, long mangy hair, strong build, and they wore the typical outlaw &#8220;don&#8217;t mess with me&#8221; outfits; Military boots, urban camouflage, and dirty worn trench coats, finishing the look with large, obviously illegal handguns strapped to their thighs. Even the people who inhabited this place knew to keep out of their way. These kinds of guys usually carried far more weaponry than what met the eyes, and they knew no one would care if they used them; at least no one who could do anything about it. Jake and his friend, known simply as Ox had been doing this for a while. They had a certain reputation among the criminal factions of being excessively brutal and not scared of anyone. They would take any job if the pay was right, no matter whom or what the target was. These men were considered butchers, and always used straightforward and destructive methods to achieve their goals. There are rumors in the underground bars that someone had paid them to kill their families, just to see if they would do it. Out of the multiple versions that circulate through these bars, the most common one says that they not only brought back the heads of all their family members, but all of their employer&#8217;s family as well. The men trudged through the filth towards one of the exits. Jake smirked as the people cowered as they walked past. He loved the power he had over these forgotten people, these worthless piles of filth. &#8220;Please sir could you spare some credits for a hungry old fool.&#8221; Jake stopped and turned towards the elderly man. Weak and covered in boils, it surprised him the man was even alive. &#8220;You look like you&#8217;re in pain.&#8221; Jake snarled, a hint of false compassion in his voice. &#8220;Yes, yes I am,&#8221; he replied in his raspy voice coughing so hard his entire body convulsed. &#8220;Let me help you with that,&#8221; the mercenary grinned before slamming the steel toe of his boot through the man&#8217;s skull, gore splattering all over the crumbling promenade. He spat on the old mans body and chuckled before walking off. Ox following him with Dylan over his shoulder, his chuckling could be heard until they were both out of sight. As they rounded a corner other beggars emerged from the piles of trash. It wasn&#8217;t long before they were fighting over the fresh meat the newly deceased man provided. &#8220;God I hate going into that place,&#8221; Jake muttered as they arrived at their ships. &#8220;They always stink, any their always asking for stuff. I wonder if anyone would care if we just torched the place.&#8221; &#8220;Huh, doubt it boss, dem people aint werf duh chemicals dey breave in.&#8221; Ox was not very smart. He was an oaf, a henchman, just short of a human battering ram. Close to seven feet tall his neckless figure cast a shadow over most people unfortunate enough to stand in front of him. Resembling an ape or gorilla more than a man, no one knew where Jake had found him, or what his real name was. His lack of intelligence made him a surprisingly good pilot though. His build could handle extreme g-forces that would cause most pilots to black out, or at least cause their vision to narrow. And while he wasn&#8217;t much of a tactician, his &#8220;shoot first, ask no questions&#8221; attitude along with Jake&#8217;s superior flight skills made them a deadly duo in space. &#8220;Shame the inferno would probably weaken the supports and foundations of the city above. We have too many good paying customers, and potential victims to rationalize that kind of destruction,&#8221; Jake thought out loud. &#8220;And anyway, we don&#8217;t need to draw that much attention to ourselves.&#8221; &#8220;Whuh?&#8221; &#8220;We can&#8217;t kill them all, Ox.&#8221; He replied, slowly, albeit frustrated, so his partner would understand. &#8220;Oh&#8230;&#8221; the oaf replied, obviously disappointed, his shoulders slumping. For a second Jake thought he might have seen a hint of a neck on his thickheaded companion. He chuckled quietly, &#8220;God I love this stupid bastard&#8221; he thought to himself. Finally they emerged into one of the large sewage tunnels. And headed towards their ships. The two mercenaries flew Falcons, painted a dark crimson, a blood red bird of prey adorning ships, covering almost the entire top, the details highlighted in black and various dark shades of gray. The impressive decoration was finished with a finely painted black beak, talons, and fiery eyes. These ships were easily recognized, but only the bravest or most na&#239;ve law enforcement agents would ever confront these war birds. Bristling with strangely powerful weaponry. Those who had witnessed the ships in action could attest that the paint job wasn&#8217;t the only thing that made these ships different from the stock civilian craft. Ox threw the still unconscious man into Jake&#8217;s hold. He grinned as he heard the distinctive sound of snapping bones as the man hit the steel floor. &#8220;Don&#8217;t be too rough with the little s*** Ox, he&#8217;s no good to us dead.&#8221; &#8220;Sorry boss,&#8221; he replied, looking at the ground. &#8220;Its ok, just get in and set your ship&#8217;s autopilot to follow the path we took down here&#8221; &#8220;Righ&#8217; boss, I&#8217;ll do it righ&#8217; away.&#8221; The ship rocked violently as the large man clambered aboard, struggling to get his large mass into the cockpit. Jake looked around the tube and smiled. The tubes were filling with methane gas; he could smell it. The temporary blockages they had put in the pipes for a mile in either direction had prevented it from venting out into the atmosphere; it would all go up in a fireball as soon as they activated their engines. He climbed into his ship and shut the canopy. Ox had worked for him for years; the dumb oaf wouldn&#8217;t even realize his engines would ignite the fumes. Jake didn&#8217;t want to get cremated by his partner firing up his ship, similar lapses in judgment in his past had almost taken his life, and he wasn&#8217;t going to make those mistakes again. This little act wasn&#8217;t part of their contract, Jake just wanted to have a little fun and make sure no one could follow them. It wouldn&#8217;t cause any major damage to the structural integrity, it wouldn&#8217;t be hot enough; just enough to barbeque a few of these bastards and cover up their trail. &#8220;Ok Ox, it&#8217;s going to get a little&#8230; hot in here, just activate your auto pilot and you&#8217;ll be fine.&#8221; Jake grinned as he heard his friend chuckle. A fireball rocketed down the sewage pipes and into any subsidiary pipes as it consumed the flammable gas. Jake had set the speed of their ships to keep up with the fireball and they raced down the sewage pipes, only the onboard autopilot systems stopping the large fighters from slamming into the steal and concrete surrounding them. Jake&#8217;s shields lighting up combined with the vicious firestorm erupting around him almost rendered him blind. He heard Ox&#8217;s grunts and roars of discomfort through the communication systems, barely audible over the roar of his own ship and the holocaust around him. It was obvious he was experiencing similar effects Suddenly everything went dark. Both men saw multiple white spots as they continued flying down the pitch-black pipes. As his vision returned to him Jake checked all vital systems of both ships, everything was fine. &#8220;Excellent&#8221; he thought, &#8220;within a few minutes we&#8217;ll join the traffic heading towards the docking rings. In just a few jumps we&#8217;ll be in Bretonia, collecting another million credits and enjoying some of the finest food and drink New London has to offer. &#8220;Its good to be two of the meanest assholes in the galaxy isn&#8217;t it Ox.&#8221; &#8220;Yeah boss, real gud.&#8221; The grunt responded smugly. The trip to New London was as uneventful as expected. And for once it was almost boring. &#8220;Hey boss, when do we get ta blow somefink else up.&#8221; &#8220;Patience my friend patience. Wait til we drop off our cargo at this uptight prick&#8217;s place and get a new mission. It shouldn&#8217;t be too long unless this git invites us for tea.&#8221; &#8220;I don&#8217;t like tea.&#8221; &#8220;I know you don&#8217;t you thick oaf&#8221; Jake retorted in frustration. &#8220;If he really pisses me off I&#8217;ll let you break his skull.&#8221; &#8220;Huh huh, alrigh&#8217; boss.&#8221; The pilot brought up a screen on his HUD that displayed his cargo hold. He saw the broken man huddled in a ball in one of the corners, a trail of blood showed where he had dragged himself along from the spot he had landed in after Ox had tossed him in there like a rag doll. &#8220;You still alive back there&#8221; Jake inquired. &#8220;What do you want with me&#8221; Dylan responded, weakly. &#8220;Me? Ha, I don&#8217;t want anything with you. Some rich bretonian prick is paying me far too much money to drag your measly carcass to him.&#8221; &#8220;If he wants my carcass why didn&#8217;t you do me a favor and kill me?&#8221; Dylan replied, the pain he was in now obvious in his voice. &#8220;Well perhaps you&#8217;ll forgive my poor choice of words. The git wants you alive, but unfortunately for you, he didn&#8217;t specify what condition. I&#8217;d apologize for Ox, he&#8217;s a little&#8230; heavy handed, but quite frankly, as long as I get paid I couldn&#8217;t give a rat&#8217;s ass what happens to you.&#8221; With that he shut the communications off with the hold. Not long after this conversation the two crimson fighters arrived in the New London system. A large fighter met them as they emerged from the jump gate and hailed them, &#8220;Mr. Hellmann?&#8221; &#8220;Who wants to know?&#8221; Jake retorted viciously. &#8220;I work for Mr. Williams&#8221; &#8220;Oh, you&#8217;re one of the rich prick&#8217;s cronies eh?&#8221; The man coughed, &#8220;&#8230;I guess you could say that. Follow me so we can make the exchange, but tell your wingman to get lost, one ship painted like that draws enough attention.&#8221; &#8220;I don&#8217;t like you talking about my friend like that&#8221; Jake snarled, &#8220;He goes where I go.&#8221; &#8220;Fine,&#8221; the man replied, reluctantly, &#8220;just follow me.&#8221; edited because i cant spell Edited by - [GR_Fallen_Angel on 7/25/2005 6:47:33 PM
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11

Monday, July 25th 2005, 7:42pm

Great post. Here´s to hydrocodone. * raises his glass * ---There is no more deeply moving religious experience than cheating on a cheater.
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12

Monday, August 1st 2005, 9:37pm

ok so I´m about half way through my next chapter, but, I´m stuck with a dialema... this is turning into what I said it wouldnt be, the normal evil someone whatever stuff with powers beyond the hero´s conrtol yada yada yada.... so heres a poll: do I turn it away from that? or continue on its current path (which is turning out to be about a man and his suffering in the universe)
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13

Monday, August 1st 2005, 9:46pm

continue on with the suffering!
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14

Monday, August 1st 2005, 9:56pm

hehehe, as long as I dont return to complaining about imperminance right wilde =P I´ll keep writting what I have, but I think I´m going to try and pull the story away from this.... (of course doing that I´m going to have a novel on my hands.... watch out athena, I´m comming to break your 53 page record =P note: I dont know if that is the record on here, 53 MS Word, pages, but thats a lot =P
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15

Tuesday, August 2nd 2005, 12:21am

ok well here it is, just as a warning there is some language in here, but it is needed for character deffinition, not to mention the stiuations wouldnt have the same effect without it... chaper six ------- Colonel Jonathan McDaniels strode down the dark steel corridor briskly. The man who knew of the Duke&#8217;s involvement in arming his troops had finally been caught. Now his plan would be able to go along unhindered, once this variable was dealt with. He walked into the room and nodded to the guards standing behind the captive. They saluted. &#8220;He hasn&#8217;t moved for hours sir, not after the brief time he woke before screaming and falling unconscious again.&#8221; &#8220;Thank you sergeant,&#8221; the colonel replied as he switched on the interrogation light. When the man didn&#8217;t stir he picked up a bucket of water in the corner and threw it over the captive. &#8220;Wake up you piece of sh*t&#8221; he shouted. The man stirred and looked u into the light before turning away in agony. &#8220;If he wont willingly look at the light force him too&#8221; the colonel snarled at one of the guards who forced the man&#8217;s head up and lashed it to the chair. &#8220;I&#8217;m going to ask you a series of questions Mr. West, and I expect you to answer them.&#8221; The man just sat there, dazed. The colonel walked over to the prisoner and looked down at his face. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think this man is in any condition to be interrogated sir,&#8221; the sergeant informed him. &#8220;Quiet! I will be the one who decided that!&#8221; McDaniels yelled, punching the man in the stomach. The man convulsed like he was going to throw up. Suddenly the man opened his eyes, a smirk on his face. &#8220;There, see he&#8230;&#8221; the colonel stopped as the man slumped limply. He was unconscious again. His nose flared, the interrogator was obviously frustrated, &#8220;take him to the infirmary, make sure he survives. Idiot mercenaries can&#8217;t understand simple commands.&#8221; He walked out of the room A BAF defector; Jonathon McDaniels left his post to become part of the Black Sunday Crime Syndicate, the most powerful and secretive criminal organization in Bretonia. They controlled all molly activity and a surprising amount of corsair and outcast activity in this part of the sector, as well as a variety of other smaller criminal organizations. Colonel McDaniels was infamous in BAF hierarchy, as he managed to commandeer his ship, the HMS Furious along with her escort and vanish with out a trace. No one knows what happened to his crew, whether they were all so loyal that they went with him, or whether they were all murdered. He had an impressive record as an officer, Second in his class at the academy, rising through the ranks faster than most to reach his final rank by the age of thirty-seven. The loss of three bretonian battleships, two cruisers, eight gunships, and a full contingent of fighters to a defecting officer would have been humiliating and scarring for the BAF and the High Command changed the logs to show that it had been lost in a raid by pirates. Of course that wasn&#8217;t that far from the truth. The Colonel had been sent to explore a disturbance in the Tau-Thirty-one system, and upon arrival released an airborne neuro-virus through the air systems of all the ships. He had done so from his ready room aboard the HMS Furious with a simple push of a button. Canisters in all thirteen ships released the extremely potent, but short-lived virus in clouds through every cubic inch of the ships while he sat in his ready room, safely encased in a vac-suit. After five minutes he checked the ship&#8217;s computer and to his satisfaction there were no life signs on any of the vessels. The thirteen BAF warships sat dead in space, except for a single occupant. Kilometers away a flight group of twenty armored transports received a weak signal containing a simple message, &#8220;It&#8217;s done.&#8221; Since then the BSCS had developed a sizable presence in the Edinburgh system. Relatively unpopulated and remote, the only thing most people cared about there was the presence of the Luxury Liner Shetland, which in most people&#8217;s opinions wasn&#8217;t luxurious at all. Bretonians were sick of hearing about Gaian attacks on Planetform operations and so they ignored most of the news that came out of the system. The system was dying, and that made it a perfect place for the BSCS to set up shop. Parked here, completely unnoticed, the fleet had undergone some refits to bring them to BSCS specifications. A large installation had also appeared in the system, complete with a full naval construction yard; all of this hidden within the gravity wells of the twin blue stars. Another thing the people of Bretonia had failed to notice was the hundreds of millions of credits that had left the Duke of Edinburgh&#8217;s bank accounts. But it would only be a matter of time before they found out where it had ended up. --------- Dylan woke to find himself bound to a chair in a dark room. The cool air of the room soon overcame him and he began to shiver. He had no idea how long it was since those bruits had attacked him but judging from how hungry and thirsty he was he surmised it had been a while. He then noticed his throbbing head. The burn of his injuries on top of his dehydration made his vision blur. With all of this he failed to notice his other broken bones until he shifted to check his bindings. Dylan screamed out in pain as his broken bones and other injuries overwhelmed him. Everything went black. &#8220;WAKE UP YOU SORRY PIECE OF SH*T&#8221; Dylan felt a coolness envelop him as someone in the shadows threw a bucket of cold water in his face. He opened his eyes in shock only to be blinded by a powerful bright light shining right at him. He groaned in agony, closing his eyes turning his head away from the light. Suddenly he felt pressure on his head as someone&#8217;s hands turned his face back towards the light, and then he felt a rough fabric become tight across his head as another person tied his head in place. The whole time someone had been barking words at him, but his spinning head prevented him from hearing anything more than throbs. He felt someone strike his stomach and he dry-heaved, his stomach empty from the days of starvation. He felt water running down his face, dripping from his hair. He opened his mouth and it dripped in. it tasted like blood, sweat, and dirt. He didn&#8217;t care; it was water. He opened his eyes and watched the white light turn into a swirl of color before falling unconscious again. When Dylan finally came out of his coma three weeks later he found himself in a medical bed, his entire body in traction. His head was still swimming, but he felt better. He struggled to open his eyes but stopped once he heard a voice, a female voice. &#8220;Its remarkable he is recovering after the way those mercenaries treated him.&#8221; She said to an unknown person. &#8220;Well he&#8217;s no good to us dead, when he wakes up I want to know immediately&#8221; replied a man with deep commanding voice. &#8220;Of course colonel,&#8221; the female responded. Dylan remembered that night in the park, that one fateful night. Whatever happened to her? That amazing young woman who had stolen his heart that night. All those months, maybe even years since then, what had come of her? She was probably happily dating, engaged, married perhaps; such an awesome person didn&#8217;t remain available for long. Whatever the case may be; she was light years from this hell he was in. When he first heard the doctor&#8217;s voice he had thought that maybe, just maybe he had gotten away from that pain, that suffering that was so vivid in his mind; that torment that had replayed over and over in his head, leaving his mind screaming and his body motionless. Alas, it was not to be. Thinking about woman in the park had made his heart rate quicken, which of course drew the attention of the doctor. &#8220;Sir just relax, I&#8217;m sure you&#8217;re confused as to where you are and what has happened, you should be thankful you aren&#8217;t dead after what they did to you.&#8221; The lady said soothingly. &#8220;Let me guess, I haven&#8217;t left that place?&#8221; Dylan retorted dryly. &#8220;Well, in a way. You are in the same facility, but I wouldn&#8217;t consider this room the same as the one you woke up in originally.&#8221; &#8220;And what is such a kind person such as yourself doing in such an establishment?&#8221; the patient asked in a scathing tone. &#8220;Look,&#8221; she replied, &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what it is you know, or what you did, but I believe in their cause, they are trying to do a good thing.&#8221; &#8220;That&#8217;s hard to believe.&#8221; Dylan replied, wincing in pain, &#8220;but you know what they say about one man&#8217;s freedom fighter.&#8221; &#8220;Just lie their Mr. West, the colonel will be in shortly.&#8221; &#8220;Think he&#8217;ll bring me flowers and a &#8216;get well soon&#8217; card?&#8221; &#8220;I doubt it some how,&#8221; the doctor said as she disappeared out of the room. Shortly after she left a tall man in a long black coat strode into the room. He had wide shoulders and the coat failed to hide his large arms and torso. His head was bald and lips were wrapped around a large cigar. Dylan laughed, &#8220;You have got to be kidding me&#8221; he managed to get out before wincing in pain. &#8220;What the hell do you think you&#8217;re laughing at sh*t stain,&#8221; the colonel growled. &#8220;Just that you&#8217;re the epitome of a &#8216;big bad guy&#8217; that&#8217;s all. You look like you&#8217;re right out of a novel or something.&#8221; The colonel walked up to him without saying a word before extinguishing his cigar in the sensitive skin where Dylan&#8217;s hip met his abdomen. Dylan clenched his teeth and eyelids together as the man slowly turned the cigar, burying its ashes into the burnt flesh. The colonel smirked. &#8220;You have some information that I want. The colonel snarled at him. &#8220;Sir, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.&#8221; The colonel cut the string holding the weight used to keep Dylan&#8217;s left leg up. His leg slammed down onto the bed. The captive groaned through his teeth. &#8220;I&#8217;ll ask you again, you have information I want.&#8221; &#8220;Sir, I mean no disrespect,&#8221; Dylan begged. &#8220;I apologize for my earlier comment, but before I can tell you what you need to know you need to be more specific about what you want.&#8221; &#8220;Two years ago you were at waterloo, you overheard certain information there, what do you know, and who did you tell?&#8221; &#8220;What, you mean how the Duke of Edinburgh is involved in illegal arms shipments? I told no one, that information ruined me, for no reason. Yeah, I heard it, but what could I have possibly done with it? Sold it to a newspaper? Like they would believe that. Yeah I could probably get some credits from a tabloid, but who believes that crap. I mean that story they ran about aliens with little blue ships invading Sirius, taking over Government officials? What kind of crap is that?&#8221; The colonel laughed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. &#8220;Well this has been an unfortunate series of circumstances hasn&#8217;t it Mr. West?&#8221; &#8220;That&#8217;s the biggest f***ing understatement of the year&#8221; Dylan snapped. The colonel didn&#8217;t say a word; he just turned around and walked out of the room. &#8220;What happens to me now? Dylan shouted at him. &#8220;Get rid of him,&#8221; he overheard the officer mutter to a guard as he left.
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16

Monday, August 8th 2005, 9:24pm

Ok so this, in my opinion, is the worst chapter I think I have ever posted... poorly written and thought out... I should change it, but I don´t know what I´d replace it with so Its going in so I can move on...... Chapter 7 It was weeks before Dylan could walk again. Left for dead by most on the station, the one doctor who had aided him originally brought him food every so often, but soon she forgot about him as well. He spent most of his time sitting in the dark, cold and extraordinarily hungry. After being interrogated by the Colonel Dylan had been moved to a slightly less hospitable environment in the deep forgotten sections of the station. Mechanics coming to fix the power plant or other faulty systems were his most common visitors, often slipping him some bread or anything else left over from their lunch. Left down there in an alcove, it didn&#8217;t matter there wasn&#8217;t a door between him and hallways to the vital systems. He had been taken straight from the infirmary to here, casts and all, and now, even though he had healed he still couldn&#8217;t move, left in his own filth. He had tried walking once, and only once, failing miserably. Without being able to bend his knees and having limited mobility in his hips, Dylan looked more like a penguin than a man when he tried to walk. Soon after he started he lost his balance and plummeted to the floor with out being able to prevent it. His arms were still in casts attached to his torso, holding his arms straight out. He couldn&#8217;t bend his elbows to absorb the fall and as a result most of the force went to his shoulders. Dylan&#8217;s screams of pain echoed throughout the chasms of the station. His only reply was the quiet reverberation of his own anguish. Finally a man came down to work on some plumbing. He was an old and getting past his prime, his eyes sank, and his beard covered the rest of his sad face. It was obvious he had seen a lot, and Dylan was sure most of it wasn&#8217;t pleasant. The man was small, not short, just small. His arms hung limply by his sides when he wasn&#8217;t doing anything, anything more would be exerting too much effort. Everything about him looked worn out, his jumpsuit, his toolbox, his body; it all looked over worked and over used. His skin was surprisingly dark, and he was dirty. If it wasn&#8217;t for Dylan&#8217;s current condition, he may have pitied this man. Dylan didn&#8217;t know how long he had been in this dungeon, but he knew it had been a while. The man had large bolt cutters with him and after hearing Dylan&#8217;s story was kind enough to cut him out of the casts, now black with filth. When they came off Dylan found his legs and arms debilitated and boiled. Weeks, maybe even months in the casts had caused his muscles to deteriorate, and his limbs were covered in infected boils, purple and black, oozing with a foul liquid. His body had consumed all fat and most of the unused muscle on his body, and he could barely move his limbs by the time the plumber had found him. His face sagged and his facial hair was patchy at best, his body lacking the nutrition to grow anything more. &#8220;How in hell have you survived in this place?&#8221; the plumber asked after he got the delirious man out of his casts. &#8220;I&#8217;m, uhh, I got mem&#8217;ries, good mem&#8217;ries, mem&#8217;ries of b&#8230; better times.&#8221; Dylan replied, struggling to speak, his eyes glazed. &#8220;Damn kid, it&#8217;s a damn shame you got tied up in all this. You seem like a nice kid who got dealt a bad hand, a really bad hand. Look, I&#8217;m gunna see if I can get you some more food down here and maybe some medical stuff to dress those boils. Maybe, just maybe I&#8217;ll be able to get you out of this place and you can attempt to go back to your life.&#8221; &#8220;Why are you doing this for me?&#8221; the dying man managed to get out, softly. &#8220;Because it&#8217;s something I can do, something that has some meaning.&#8221; The man paused; he was getting emotional. &#8220;I know stuff happens here the most of us don&#8217;t hear about. While the cause is good, some of the methods employed are anything but. This is my chance to right a wrong. A guy like me doesn&#8217;t get those opportunities much. You&#8217;re young; you have the potential to do great things. Look at me I&#8217;m old, worn out and just about used up. Soon I&#8217;ll be no use to anyone. All I can remember doing is fixing crap in some sh*t hole no one else wants to go into. You deserve better than this, anyone deserves better. &#8221; With that the man left. It felt like days before the man returned. With no concept of time, no windows, no clocks, hours felt like days, days like months. Dylan was so bored, so hungry, so lonely, so cold, and even colder now he didn&#8217;t have the casts as insulation. The plumber brought food and clothing for Dylan. Even though they were old, the clothes were clean, and they were a godsend after the tattered rags Dylan had been wearing for however long it had been. The food was good too. Dylan felt a surge of strength just looking at it, and he began to tear through it like an animal before the kind man warned him not to eat so fast. The shock on his body could do more damage than good. His mouth salivated as he smelt the sweet aromas and tasted the food, such a feast. In reality it wasn&#8217;t much. The food was far from sweet. It was comprised of mostly hard bread softened in questionable water and synthe paste that was starting to go stale. Synthe paste was never supposed to go stale. Perhaps it was Dylan&#8217;s delirium, but this would turn out to be the best meal Dylan would ever eat. When he finished he smiled. The food was good. This ritual continued for a week and Dylan gain strength quickly. Finally something changed. &#8220;I&#8217;m going to check and see if any transports are leaving soon, maybe I can help sneak you onto a train or something&#8221; the old man mentioned to Dylan. &#8220;Are you sure you don&#8217;t want to come too?&#8221; &#8220;Kid I&#8217;ll only slow you down, and anyway, if I go missing they&#8217;ll just come after you again.&#8221; &#8220;Thank you sir, I wish I had some way to repay your kindness.&#8221; &#8220;You can kid, do something great. Don&#8217;t do a half-assed job at anything, be proud of what you do and don&#8217;t end up like me.&#8221; There was an awkward pause. &#8220;Enough of this sentimental crap&#8221; the old man said loudly as he got up. &#8220;Have to get you out of here first don&#8217;t I? I&#8217;m going to check the Transport logs tonight, hopefully there&#8217;s something, do you care where you end up?&#8221; &#8220;Just somewhere with solid ground and breathable air&#8221;
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neuromancer

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17

Wednesday, August 10th 2005, 2:13pm

Likey. Likey very much. Keep up the good work. ---<i>Revenge is a dish that is best served cold... </i>
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18

Wednesday, August 10th 2005, 5:52pm

Whee! update. Tis good <img src=smilies/icon_smile.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle>
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19

Monday, September 12th 2005, 3:20pm

alright everyone, I´ finally got my act together and finished the update thats been sitting on my computer for weeks. hope you like it.... ----------- It was weeks before Dylan could walk again. Left for dead by most on the station, the one doctor who had aided him originally brought him food every so often, but soon she forgot about him as well. He spent most of his time sitting in the dark, cold and extraordinarily hungry. After being interrogated by the Colonel Dylan had been moved to a slightly less hospitable environment in the deep forgotten sections of the station. Mechanics coming to fix the power plant or other faulty systems were his most common visitors, often slipping him some bread or anything else left over from their lunch. Left down there in an alcove, it didn&#8217;t matter there wasn&#8217;t a door between him and hallways to the vital systems. He had been taken straight from the infirmary to here, casts and all, and now, even though he had healed he still couldn&#8217;t move, left in his own filth. He had tried walking once, and only once, failing miserably. Without being able to bend his knees and having limited mobility in his hips, Dylan looked more like a penguin than a man when he tried to walk. Soon after he started he lost his balance and plummeted to the floor with out being able to prevent it. His arms were still in casts attached to his torso, holding his arms straight out. He couldn&#8217;t bend his elbows to absorb the fall and as a result most of the force went to his shoulders. Dylan&#8217;s screams of pain echoed throughout the chasms of the station. His only reply was the quiet reverberation of his own anguish. Finally a man came down to work on some plumbing. He was an old and getting past his prime, his eyes sank, and his beard covered the rest of his sad face. It was obvious he had seen a lot, and Dylan was sure most of it wasn&#8217;t pleasant. The man was small, not short, just small. His arms hung limply by his sides when he wasn&#8217;t doing anything, anything more would be exerting too much effort. Everything about him looked worn out, his jumpsuit, his toolbox, his body; it all looked over worked and over used. His skin was surprisingly dark, and he was dirty. If it wasn&#8217;t for Dylan&#8217;s current condition, he may have pitied this man. Dylan didn&#8217;t know how long he had been in this dungeon, but he knew it had been a while. The man had large bolt cutters with him and after hearing Dylan&#8217;s story was kind enough to cut him out of the casts, now black with filth. When they came off Dylan found his legs and arms debilitated and boiled. Weeks, maybe even months in the casts had caused his muscles to deteriorate, and his limbs were covered in infected boils, purple and black, oozing with a foul liquid. His body had consumed all fat and most of the unused muscle on his body, and he could barely move his limbs by the time the plumber had found him. His face sagged and his facial hair was patchy at best, his body lacking the nutrition to grow anything more. &#8220;How in hell have you survived in this place?&#8221; the plumber asked after he got the delirious man out of his casts. &#8220;I&#8217;m, uhh, I got mem&#8217;ries, good mem&#8217;ries, mem&#8217;ries of b&#8230; better times.&#8221; Dylan replied, struggling to speak, his eyes glazed. &#8220;Damn kid, it&#8217;s a damn shame you got tied up in all this. You seem like a nice kid who got dealt a bad hand, a really bad hand. Look, I&#8217;m gunna see if I can get you some more food down here and maybe some medical stuff to dress those boils. Maybe, just maybe I&#8217;ll be able to get you out of this place and you can attempt to go back to your life.&#8221; &#8220;Why are you doing this for me?&#8221; the dying man managed to get out, softly. &#8220;Because it&#8217;s something I can do, something that has some meaning.&#8221; The man paused; he was getting emotional. &#8220;I know stuff happens here the most of us don&#8217;t hear about. While the cause is good, some of the methods employed are anything but. This is my chance to right a wrong. A guy like me doesn&#8217;t get those opportunities much. You&#8217;re young; you have the potential to do great things. Look at me I&#8217;m old, worn out and just about used up. Soon I&#8217;ll be no use to anyone. All I can remember doing is fixing crap in some sh*t hole no one else wants to go into. You deserve better than this, anyone deserves better. &#8221; With that the man left. It felt like days before the man returned. With no concept of time: no windows, no clocks, hours felt like days, days like months. Dylan was so bored, so hungry, so lonely, so cold, and even colder now he didn&#8217;t have the casts as insulation. The plumber brought food and clothing for Dylan. Even though they were old, the clothes were clean, and they were a godsend after the tattered rags Dylan had been wearing for however long it had been. The food was good too. Dylan felt a surge of strength just looking at it, and he began to tear through it like an animal before the kind man warned him not to eat so fast. The shock on his body could do more damage than good. His mouth salivated as he smelt the sweet aromas and tasted the food, such a feast. In reality it wasn&#8217;t much. The food was far from sweet. It was comprised of mostly hard bread softened in questionable water and synthe paste that was starting to go stale. Synthe paste was never supposed to go stale. Perhaps it was Dylan&#8217;s delirium, but this would turn out to be the best meal Dylan would ever eat. When he finished he smiled. The food was good. This ritual continued for a week and Dylan gain strength quickly. Finally something changed. &#8220;I&#8217;m going to check and see if any transports are leaving soon, maybe I can help sneak you onto a train or something&#8221; the old man mentioned to Dylan. &#8220;Are you sure you don&#8217;t want to come too?&#8221; &#8220;Kid I&#8217;ll only slow you down, and anyway, if I go missing they&#8217;ll just come after you again.&#8221; &#8220;Thank you sir, I wish I had some way to repay your kindness.&#8221; &#8220;You can kid, do something great. Don&#8217;t do a half-assed job at anything, be proud of what you do and don&#8217;t end up like me.&#8221; There was an awkward pause. &#8220;Enough of this sentimental crap&#8221; the old man said loudly as he got up. &#8220;Have to get you out of here first don&#8217;t I? I&#8217;m going to check the Transport logs tonight, hopefully there&#8217;s something, do you care where you end up?&#8221; &#8220;Just somewhere with solid ground and breathable air&#8221; ------- After what felt like a millennia the man finally returned. Dylan&#8217;s heart was in his throat and he could feel the adrenaline surging through his body, this was it. &#8220;Alright I&#8217;m going to have to take you the back way, hope you don&#8217;t mind getting dirty,&#8221; he said, sounding rushed. &#8220;Me? Dirty? You do remember what I looked like a few weeks ago right?&#8221; The man laughed. &#8220;Alright lets go.&#8221; They walked deeper into the depths of the station avoiding piles of trash and junk, climbing over what they couldn&#8217;t circumvent. The lights were so encrusted in filth Dylan could barely see. &#8220;Where are we going, isn&#8217;t this the wrong way?&#8221; The man laughed, &#8220;No, we&#8217;re almost to the main air cleaning center.&#8221; &#8220;You mean to say the system to <i> clean </i> the air in this place is amongst all this filth. Isn&#8217;t that a little bazaar and absurd?&#8221; &#8220;Well as you&#8217;ve probably figured out these people are a little bazaar and absurd.&#8221; Dylan followed the man to a panel on the large air duct that circulated air around the base. Checking his watch quickly he turned to Gabriel. &#8220;In 2 minutes the fan will shut down while the computer analyses the air quality. This pipe comes directly from the hanger and is the best way you can get to a transport. This pipe is part of a system meant to move fifteen cubic meters a second through that hanger, and it will only be shut down for a minute and a half. You have to get up this pipe and down another before the fan restarts. The entire trip is about two hundred meters, and if you don&#8217;t manage to get to the other end I can assure you that you will be back here passing through that fan within seconds of realizing the fan has switched on.&#8221; &#8220;You aren&#8217;t coming too?&#8221; Gabriel inquired. &#8220;Ha, you kidding me? I could never move fast enough to get to the other end in time.&#8221; Some friends of mine have disabled the security systems in the duct, and there should be a rope in there to help you get up the seventy-five meter shaft to the hanger level. Don&#8217;t worry the shaft doesn&#8217;t fork, it leads straight to the hanger.&#8221; &#8220;And if there is no rope?&#8221; &#8220;Well you&#8217;ll have plenty of time to get back here before the fan restarts.&#8221; He checked his watch again, &#8220;alright its almost time, I guess this is good bye and good luck.&#8221; &#8220;Thanks for everything, I wish there was some way to repay you.&#8221; &#8220;Kid I don&#8217;t need anything.&#8221; &#8220;Hey, I don&#8217;t even know your name,&#8221; Dylan suddenly realized. The drone of the fan stopped. Flinging the panel open the man said, &#8220;That&#8217;s unimportant, now go!&#8221; Dylan ran as fast as he could down the pipe, turning briefly as he heard the hatch slam shut. It was then he saw the fan; each blade the size of a person, he started running faster. Within twenty meters he got to a rope suspended from above. The climb was straight up. He paused in awe looking up the three meter diameter tube before realizing time was of the essence and began climbing. The exhausting climb seemed to last forever. &#8220;There must have been an easier way to do this,&#8221; he thought. Finally he got to the top, there couldn&#8217;t be much more time left. He started running down the tunnel. From behind him he heard the whine of the fan&#8217;s engine; it was restarting. In front of him he could see a grate. He sprinted as fast as he could, his feet were numb, his legs were screaming, his head pounded. He felt like his lungs were going to burst, but the fan was getting ever louder, the air started to rush past him, faster, faster, much faster than he was running. The gray walls of the metallic pipe were rushing past him. Dylan felt himself slowing; he was so close to the grate, only five more meters. He held back a scream as he took a few more steps and leaped for the grate. He prayed it was open. He hit it with a bone jarring force and it flew open. Dylan felt himself falling. -------- alright, so I know it´s a cliff hanger, this will get anyone who reads this an opertunity to bug me to continue it =P Will Dylan die? will he get recaptured? will he make it out of the station? hopefully you´ll find out before another month passes =P
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20

Tuesday, October 11th 2005, 9:22pm

alright, so this is really short, but I havnt updated in a really long time, so I thought i should before this became just a distant memory. as always criticism is always accepted, Im sure theres a few mistakes I´ll need to fix, its late.... anyway, sorry about the wait ------------------------------- chapter 9(i think) Dylan was in the park, that one fateful park. Nothing was different; yet, nothing had stayed the same. The buildings looked familiar, but nothing he had seen before. The constellations, as normal as they appeared, shone with a strange radiance he had never experienced. The grass was soft. Softer than anything he had ever felt. It wasn&amp;#8217;t rough, or sharp, it didn&amp;#8217;t make him itch and wasn&amp;#8217;t damp from the dew that was so common at this time of night. He turned towards that woman, that girl, that person who had never left his side, but she too was different. No longer that person he once knew, a new being, a new presence, a new soul, like nothing he had witnessed before. A person who was an extension of himself. He knew it without really knowing her. He didn&amp;#8217;t know her name, where she was from, but he knew she wasn&amp;#8217;t out of reach. Perfectly untouchable, but still in his arms. He felt her warmth, her pulse beating against his chest, but there she sat, and arm reach away. Reaching up to slide her soft brown hair out of her eyes, her pale gray eyes, reaching out to hold her, feel her powder soft check, but there was nothing there, nothing at all. For an instant the cold, hard feeling of steel. Dylan was confused. Dylan&amp;#8217;s dream, or whatever it was, was cut short by a sharp pain in his jaw as it met the steel floor of the hanger. His head twisted sideways, his neck baring the force of the fall. The body of the fallen man crumpled into an incoherent heap, barely resembling a human being. Arms and legs twisted to angles even contortionists would be jealous of. Unfortunately for Dylan, he was aware of none of this, for him the world was dark. Suddenly his mind erupted in a pain he had never felt. He saw a blindingly white light. This wasn&amp;#8217;t like the pain you get from walking into the bathroom in the middle of the night and flipping on the light, this pain shot through his optical never like a lightning bolt. His body convulsed violently. His mind however was in a different place. There was nothing: he couldn&amp;#8217;t see the park, he couldn&amp;#8217;t see the station; his surroundings were blank. He held up his arm and all he saw was empty space. He existed but there was no physical manifestation. He could hear voices, hundreds of them, all talking. Some were exited, others in tears, some screamed, others whimpered. What was this? Where was he? He laughed, and it reverberated, echoing through this space like a scream into a giant chasm. He heard a sound, like a voice, but nothing he had ever heard before. There was a click, like a switch being thrown, and the whiteness vanished as quickly as it appeared. Dylan found himself staring up at the vaulted ceiling of a hanger bay, his head throbbing, the taste of blood reminded him what just happened. He tried to wiggle his toes, they responded, barely. It was a good sign. As the feeling suddenly rushed back into his body Dylan realized everything hurt. His back felt wet, he prayed it was sweat. His left arm buckled violently as he attempted to push himself up. He yelped in pain before quieting himself. &amp;#8220;Surely someone would have hear me fall,&amp;#8221; he thought to himself. Luckily no one had come to investigate yet. Dylan&amp;#8217;s ears were ringing due to the fall, perhaps the room was actually really loud due to the commotion of loading a cargo train, and the machinery and engines had drowned the sound his fall. &amp;#8220;Maybe this wasn&amp;#8217;t suck a good idea after all,&amp;#8221; he mused, &amp;#8220;I was doing better in the garbage chute.&amp;#8221; Dylan rolled over and used his right arm to push himself to his knees. A dark red stain outlined where his torso had been lying, the diamonds of the textured plating glimmered dimly through the pool of blood. &amp;#8220;I&amp;#8217;m never going to get off of this god-forsaken hell-hole,&amp;#8221; he grumbled. He stood up, carefully. His knees complained, but held. Using the crates as hand holds he slowly made his way to the end of the aisle of containers. He looked into the open part of the bay where the train was; there wasn&amp;#8217;t a human in sight. Heavy lift robots were loading the train, not even a janitor was around. Dylan limped over to the train; the door to the crew quarters had been left open by whoever was the last to leave. The battered young man clambered onto the ship, knowing full well that there could be someone on board. He didn&amp;#8217;t care; it was worth the risk to get off this place, how much worse could dying be anyway?
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