This story will probably be at the forefront of my mind like L&C was last year. So I hope that this one will spark more interest. Heh heh. Well As the title would suggest this is something I began work on several years ago but abandoned until this week. I'm still trying to figure out what I'll be doing with this but it's one piece of the full story there will be four in all, I only have two planned out, but that's enough talk from me. Well more than enough really. Oh by the wayside this story is not meant to offend anyone or express any feelings held by the author it's an alternate universe and all of the world leaders and people and animals are different from those currently alive here in our universe, that said I feel kinda bad playing god with these people's lives but it's all for the greater story and that wonderful nonsense. Yeah... Clip [1/4] ASOTV: The date is the twenty first of January 2013, the President of the United States of America is dead. After harsh months of campaigning the victor stood on a podium readied to give a speech only to be shot down and killed by an unidentified sniper; as of yet no clues were found at the scene. Internal and external operatives on all sides are coming up empty in the search for the unknown rifleman. The resurgence of Near Eastern conflict spurred on by the late President’s November election, and the string of terrorist attacks in China, India, and Russia leave the world in a state of confusion and paranoia. The separate incidents can hardly be seen as isolated and connections are under investigation but the understanding of the situation is limited. As far as the world knows this is a sign of the apocalypse and the world is going to fall apart any day now; goverment insiders tend to agree with them. With the perfectly coordinated assassinations of several foreign ministers, diplomats, and other international officials perpetrated within twenty four hours of the President’s and the resurgence of widespread terror, it‘s easy to understand why. I’d like to tell you all a story, not a short one either. It’s a story of mystery, suspense, and thrills. So reader, try your best to keep reading, do your best to take interest and most importantly of all, be very sure never to post your personal information on an open forum. This is no more than a piece of advice from me to you, take it as you like it and leave it if you don’t, but as for me I’ve got a story to tell all of you. “That’s terrible.†A boy, a boy with no outstanding characteristics, physical or otherwise. He had dark brown and black hair, slouched at around five feet and six inches, and had terrible year round allergies producing dark bags under his eyes and the habit of leaving his mouth ever so slightly ajar. He was average at best when it came to sports and activities and never went voluntarily into the sun. His IQ was on average estimated to be one hundred forty-nine, with outliers as high as two hundred seventy-six and low as fifty-five. His grades were above average in school, but not by enough to be considered excellent. This boy was slumped over staring at his desktop as his head rested on his desk. He had a downcast look on his face like always and frowned the longer he stared up at the glowing screen. He lifted his head enough to glance at the clock in the corner of his screen. Four thirty-six in the AM. He had noticed how tired he was some hours ago and ignored it. He lifted himself from his chair, spun it around and flopped back into it as it came to a stop. With a push from his foot the ratty office chair moved itself back to it’s original position. He placed his hands clumsily over his keyboard and with one swift motion moved his hand over to the backspace key and held it down watching with pleasure as the word processor page emptied itself of text. He chuckled to himself careful not to wake anyone near. Then with a series of taps like rain on a car’s roof another page of text appeared. He frowned and his brow furrowed, the text he’d only just completed replacing was looking awfully appealing right now. The boy was a writer in his spare time, what of it he cared to actually use. He had several fans on the great series of tubes that were his playground eight or nine hours a day. However, his style lacked-- well, it sucked. He could never think of anything to write, nor could he ever think of anything to write about even. So he spun the chair about full circle once more before slamming his hands of the wooden desk and staring at the screen that defied all attempts at making a story. He liked writing well enough even with all of these setbacks but at times it made him want to rip hair straight off his head. He clicked the satisfying red enclosed cross at the upper right hand corner of the screen and sighed. Another window had been hiding behind it however, it was an online forum page. He X’ed that out as well leaving nothing on his desktop but a bunch of icons and a little block dancing at the lower corner of his screen insisting that he had twelve unread messages. He clicked it and let loose the page. It was a standard E-mail account with eleven spam messages and one that caught his interest. It was an E-mail from his friend at the CIA, a irrefutable genius who could hack any system. In fact he'd got his job by hacking an NSA network and altering some classified data to read “Here’s my application.†He opened the message and said a short line of text. All it said was: “The usual suspects at: Dreadnought Five, Fifty Nine, Seven Kings.†The dark haired boy’s eyes widened. It had been the first time he’d received a coded message for months, cryptography was a secret hobby of his that he’d given up on actually developing years ago, however he still dabbled every so often. If the situation called for a code he’d gladly solve it and even gleefully look at the true meaning. With a jerk back and a roll of plastic wheels he drew open a drawer of his desk where a pen and paper as well as a book of codes. He smiled inside as he flicked on his desk lamp and scribbled down the message. He also looked at the time it was sent, the username of his friend and the properties of the text. After copying everything he saw as important down he stared at it for some time. It didn’t get him anywhere so he started thinking more of past messages and inside jokes between the two. They always started hardest and most vaguely in these little games, so he looked through his message history and anything that showed up in between. He tried several methods but it dawned on him when he read an old message from nearly two years back, the fifth word of a message entitled Assault on the Dreadnought and all of the messages after it with the same topic heading formed a sentence when put side by side. After what felt like hours the boy crossed out the first word and wrote above it: “Do regret eating anything drenched near a ubiquitous grey heaven temple.†He stared at that for a few seconds before crossing it out and replacing it with, “Don’t eat government issued rations.†It was all he could think this strange message meant with his information detailed in the related messages. The government hadn’t issued anything yet, but he continued decoding well into the next day. He had just preceded onto the next two words and was looking over the information he’d written down earlier when he noticed the second word was in a different color from the first, it was a dark grey instead of automatic black, nearly impossible to see without looking at the text code or proper lighting. After several minutes of head scratching and scribbling the second word was hidden beneath a layer of ink and a fresh sentence lay above it. “Five words, starting with F, ending with e, related to the government mentioned in the first word…†the decoded message read. “Foul play is quite possible.†The second group of words came quicker, he almost instantly remembered looking through a message from five months back that he received at about nine in the AM when he was trying to decode the first message. It was a rather stupid joke about an internet war god called Wossface. The boy took that to mean that there was some manner of espionage or warfare going on via the web and the final clue was the easiest. The Seven Kings were the seven dwarf lords from the Lord of the Rings series that was excessively quoted in both book and motion picture form by the sender. “So that means, they’re building something, something big, a bulwark, a stone wall, a…nuclear bomb shelter?†He wasn’t sure what to make of a e-mail telling him not to eat government rations because of foul play and a nuclear internet war. The whole thing seemed too absurd, in fact it couldn’t have been anything but absurd. He quickly typed up a reply and sent it. It wasn’t coded, but it was vague, probably enough to keep a lot of people in the dark. Almost as soon as the message was sent a reply was waiting in his mailbox. “This better be fucking good.†He groused momentarily. By his standards it was. Another coded message translating roughly to a meeting the next week on the Mall. It was nearly impossible to think that this was a joke any longer, not after a face to face was arranged. So the boy replied again, this time acknowledging and assenting. With that final parting he shut down the computer, turned out his desk lamp and swept himself from his desk into his bed in a strange awkward sashay. He didn’t even think about school work he’d neglected to do for the next day, he just shut his eyes and fell straight to sleep.
You have a fixation. This story shows me how you can dable between things. Take that as you will.....xD. Just kidding you know I always love your stories....and it's interesting...you evil schemer.
Story line number two of Other Offices. Perspective "Misplaced courage is just foolishness, misplaced pride is simply arrogance, and a misplaced bullet is nothing at all but a horrible, horrible waste."- 1: Misplaced Courage Gunslingers really don’t have the same kind of mystique that they once carried. In the old west being one meant you could draw faster than any guy on the block and hit the mark twice as often. But nowadays with shooting’s evolution into a simple matter of point and click any guy with a scope can work for a terrorist faction on his off hours and kill more people in an hour than a trained army sniper can in a week. Skill is no longer a factor, it’s just a matter of following a prescribed strategy that someone else came up with and knowing how to handle the gun well enough to get away without being shot in the back. One honestly can’t say that it’s for the better or worse leaving things like this, but it’s a job so one cannot really complain. “Basket Case at the ready.” The cold bitter air crunched with soft static as the connection faltered in the dusty dry wind that swept across the grey hills into a starless sky. “Lenin the Impaler in support position.” The cell signal cleared up as the wind died to a whisper. “Candle Jack ready to go.” Lights flickered in the distance. “Saint Nick in offensive position.” Then came the deep rumble of heavy armored vehicles. “Fig Newton has target in sight. He‘s heading your way.” Then a man walked to a darkened window rustling the blinds slightly. “Synthesizer standing by.” The dark caravan slowed and fell into a defensive formation around a single vehicle. “McCartney of Damascus making first contact. Things are running smoothly.” There was a distinct chuckle over the patchy cell line just before the shadowed form of a harried man emerged from the slate colored complex. “Lord Byron in my sights. Purple Girl, awaiting orders.” Another man emerged, flanked by enough guards to cover his entire form. “This totally isn’t worth a hundred fifty grand.” A discontented sigh resounded only to be reprimanded a moment later. “Stop complaining-- target on the move.” But still the complaints did not cease. “So when can we go ahead and cap this mofo?” The men crowded themselves, with almost bumbling coordination, into their respective conveyances. “When the convoy reaches the block, orders are orders.” Replied an annoyed voice overlaid with the sounds of gravelly static. “Orders are stupid.” The rumbling began again as the vehicles idled in the cold. “I’m more than glad to divvy up your share with the rest.” “Agreed.” The convoy began moving slowly towards a far off gate. “Matrix is online.” Someone coughed as the convoy entered the final stretch to the gate. “Wait for the signal.” Someone else coaxed softly. “Just go already!” An impatient voice cried out as the armored vehicles picked up speed. “I said hold, this is easy money don’t get anxious and fuck this all up.” Rebuked a stern one. “Gotcha.” A sigh accompanied the concession, but the owner of the impatient voice still held. “Clear.” Affirmed a third voice. “Straight shot to the target, I’m entering the sniper field, cover my back.” There was a shuffling and a low metallic screech. “Dammit! Viceroy’s blocking my view!” A hoarse voice barked when the black behemoths stopped. “Calm down.” The stern voice returned. “Purple, end Byron. I’ve got the Matrix.” There was a gunshot and the harried man fell with what was left of his face stretched into a surprised expression. “Lenin, Damascus, you got the escape route?” The sound of metal sliding against metal resounded again, more clearly this time. “Of course.” Came the suddenly crystal clear reply. “Alright, I see you Napoleon.” -- “Casey!” The listener held the phone a good foot from their head as if it were somehow noxious to the senses. Soon, however, they returned it to it’s place by their ear and replied. “What is it?” The listener answered. “Paul’s dead.” The voice of the speaker on the other end was panicked. “It’s common given the line of work we’re in, who did him?” Came the reply. “I don’t know, but Vlad, Nikolai, and Isaac just disappeared after the last job and now ten international agencies are on my nuts about it.” The speaker nearly shrieked as their voice rose again to an almost shrill pitch. “Those three will do anything for money without regards for safety or principle, I’ll say they are the ones that did the President.” The listener replied nonchalantly taking a step up onto an escalator as they did so. “No…” The frenzy had stopped, but it was replaced by an even less appealing emotional high: terror. “What, you never heard?” This time the listener was almost surprised by the reaction. “Not until now! The President!?” The speaker hissed in a loud whisper as if this were some taboo issue. “Yeah, no big deal, I’m technically only stateside to deal with the NSA ops and get my next job.” “So you couldn’t care less?” The speaker remarked almost disbelievingly. “That’s correct. Any importance in my caring more?” The listener responded dully. “Casey this is serious shit, we’re going next!” The whisper rose again. “Maybe you, but I’m already on my way out of town, I suggest you do the same and disappear for a bit.” “So what about Cynthia and Aoba?” “They’re not my business anymore, once we dissolved the company you ceased being my problems I only talk to you now out of common courtesy Jacques.” “Fuck off.” “Have a nice-- click -- eh? That was rude.” The phone was dropped into a waste bin nearby. “Even after I said all that, I’m just scared. I mean, what’s a girl with no training gonna do against some special ops men who have a bead on my head? There’s no point in doing anything but running away like usual. Maybe the NSA boys will tell me some good news.” The young girl walked onto a plane under the name Cassandra Irons and disappeared off the face of the earth.
Well, now this is becoming grander scale, and now I want to see where this is going.I've been very busy lately, but I'm glad I was able to read this part, its somewhat delving into the grander scale. I couldn't spot any errors, but that's just me.
Story line number 3 for Other Offices. Ad Hoc Escape 1: Everyone Says That It's Grey Even in the dead of night it was possible to hear the sounds of sirens passing and see lights flashing by as the police rushed to some emergency or another from the darkened town home complex that housed a single shadowed body. This body crouched over in a corner next to a high end laptop on a threadbare carpet rubbing it’s palms together intently in the unfurnished house; it like all the others around it had been foreclosed upon in recent months and hijacking power was easy enough. “Codec set: ten grand, passkey: five and a nice dinner, watchin’ 2.8 million dollars transfer into multiple untraceable accounts offshore: priceless. And I didn‘t even have to crack a safe, this job was way easy!†The body threw back it’s unnaturally pale arms into the bluish light of the screens backlight in a motion of pure glee. But it was just in the body’s moment of exult that it was interrupted by a booming voice made to crunch with static by an out of date bullhorn. “Come out with your hands up, we know you’re in there!†The voice bellowed. It probably belonged to a portly man of at least thirty eight. With a slight grumble the shadowed body closed the laptop, guising itself in pure darkness. “Cheese it. The fuzz? Naw, only private investments are this fast, but maybe they got the fuzz too, after all I am in the illegal here. Hmm. I guess I should go meet them.†Several stumbling steps and a few moment’s rummaging later the escape route was planned and the stage was set, all that was left was to greet the audience. The door creaked open bathing the bare feet of the body in dirty yellowed light accompanied by intermittent splashed of red and blue that would reach as far up as the waist. “Show us your hands!†The bullhorn man boomed. He was joined by man more men of similar and different appearance each crowded with others behind cars, some police, some civilian. “Hey there party animals!†The figure responded, stepping out into the lights revealing a mess of baggy clothes crowned by a paper bag with two holes carefully cut out of it for eye slits. “Hands in the air!†The man yelled defensively. The body laughed haughtily before tearing a hole in the bag around the mouth area and making various obscene gestures to the crowd of armed men. “And I’ll wave ‘em like I just don’t care! Hah ha! You guys never learn do you? You gotta bring an army to take me in ya damned coppers!†Then it hit like a typhoon, first the tear gas went off, then the rest was a blur of moving units and the sprawl of pursuit. -- She was brought into a small room with a clink of handcuffs present with every stride. The room was empty save for a table and two chairs, one was already occupied by a built man in full military garb medals, beret, and all, the other chair the pale, almost grub colored girl was roughly heaved into by her armed escort of two stony face men. For several moments the two sat alone in silence after the other men took their places on either side of the first, their superior no doubt. Suddenly the girl grinned and placed her now shod feet on the table leaning the chair back so far her bonded hands could just feel the dangling chains skimming the surface of the floor. “Bullshit. Come on, you really called in a detachment of commandos to get me? I was just kidding, kid-ding.†The girl moaned nearly falling over with her exaggeration of motion. She righted herself and sat straight up without removing her feet from the table. “Quiet.†The man said as he sat, waiting for something apparently, quite impatiently at that, as one could tell by the steady rhythm of his tapping foot. “Come on. I don’t deserve this shit.†She groused even more impatiently. “Sir!†A balding bureaucratic looking man walked in with a sizable folder that the girl could only assume was one her and handed it to the leader. “Well, Miss according to the people you bombed two months ago, you do.†The built man replied tossing a photo of a terrorist bombing's after math in the Moscow Underground, one that hadn‘t run in any of the papers. “What the fuck man? Who the hell do you think I am, some kinda terrorist?†She retorted blowing the photo away with a single puff of indignation. “The records we’ve compiled thus far back it up, there’s no need to hide it.†The man countered with mock congeniality. “Quit shittin’ me, I know what I did an’ I know it wasn’t anything like that. I was laundering money two months back, and last month I was acquiring codes to hack into the treasury department, illegal yes, lethal no. You can even check my laptop provided you meatheads haven’t gone an‘ trashed my place.†The girl frowned and rolled her eyes at the plastic smile the soldier wore as he spoke, it was sickening. “All of your personal items have been taken to evidence to verify that you are who you should be.†He replied, somewhat less cordially after being referred to as a meathead. “Which I, by the way, am not. Now send me to corporate prison or whatever what I did lines up with the likes of Ken Lay and them dun it?†Just as she finished speaking the folder bearer walked back in with a harried expression and a light glaze of sweat. “Sir.†He said pulling the built man aside. “Report.†The folder man proceeded to whisper a series of things into the other man’s ear with incredible rapidity. The listener frowned at the pale girl as she smirked at him. “I see.†He replied and sent the folder man off to do whatever it was folder carriers do. Then he paused for several moments. “You’re not the one we were looking for.†He finally admitted as if it were a huge loss. “Thankyou.†The girl breathed tersely. “However, we aren’t sending you to prison just yet.†He qualified with a hand gesture that sent away the armed escort. “What you talkin’ ‘bout… Wallace, you look like a Colonel Wallace to me.†She laughed halfheartedly. “If you will.†He waved an arm ahead of himself as if to invite her to walk ahead of him. The girl snorted and acceped the invitation with some hesitation. “Sure Wallace, sure.†She bumped her scrawny shoulder into his muscular one as she passed him out into long hallway. Then the two continued on toward a large grey doubled door at the end.
I wonder what you'll do next with this story.... Each character...You've yet to present a goal, a main purpose....can't say that's a bad thing, though.
On The Other Side Entry 1: That One Guy “Hi, My name is Guy Loser, pronounced Loh-zer no matter how it’s spelled, okay?” The pin striped suited man on the patchy display of the cheap digital camera paused momentarily to adjust himself and clear his throat before continuing. He was sitting in a plain swivel chair with no armrests in a moderately sized office at a moderately sized desk with a rather large monitor sitting atop it and various other things cluttered the floor and any other surface available. “This is kinda my story I guess, I‘ll be updating it periodically to kinda document my existence… ‘cause I don‘t wanna die and I don‘t wanna be forgotten but in this line of work those two things are pretty much the most likely of things to happen.” “Hey Guy. Whatcha doing?” A face framed with wavy blonde hair popped onto the display before the camera was hastily hidden away rather clumsily. The grey suited girl who the face belonged to simply chuckled. “Scratch that, whatcha hiding?” “It’s nothing.” He replied turning to look at her. She was beautiful, at least he thought so, until she did clear her throat and, as she inevitably would, open her mouth to acerbically insult him in some way or another. “Don’t be that way. It’s not as if I can have a lower opinion of you than I do now.” She said, clearly embittered by her assignment to assist him, a lower ranked operative, in his work. “Thanks for that, but my answer still stands.” He smiled affectedly and the turned back to his desk. “Whatever, so you got anything on the target or was ‘nothing’ in the way?” She scoffed. “I got it.” He tossed a folder over and watched her stalk out disappointedly. If it was office work he couldn’t be beaten at it, in fact he wondered sometimes why he became a spy rather than a salary man or a records keeper. With a shrug he brought back out the camera and continued his entry in his digital diary. “That was Edwina Laud my polar opposite. She’s successful in everything she does and pretty nearly stands atop the department in terms of ability and missions completed. I would expect a positive transfer for her soon, maybe work abroad even. Anyways, we’ve been assigned to the same project… Gyroscope they call it. I can’t say more on it now but it starts with finding out about a girl named Chrysanthemum Florins, coded as The Hacker--by me of course--, and messing up her life as royally as possible, that folder was a dossier I fabricated based on her entire life. I couldn’t care less about the shut-in nerd thief but I don’t get why the department would.” “Hey, new orders are in.” Edwina called from the next room. “You gotta come too.” “Got it.” He turned off the camera and placed in in his bag and left the oddly cramped office. He made his way to the conference room with an slow almost hesitant gait, as he contemplated the possibilities of the meeting and new orders. When he finally arrived Edwina was sitting next to their supervisor making some sort of small talk. In fact, they kept it going on in the same hushed voices until he had taken his seat across from them and waited for several seconds expressionlessly. Since both were his superiors in seniority, hierarchy, and general standing he barely felt it was his place to interrupt. “When did you get here, I swear you’re as quiet as a mouse.” The supervisor was a brown haired woman in her mid-thirties with fair skin and a friendly face; she wore the same kind of black suit as everyone in the department and carried the air of a friendly coworker but kept a badge marking her as a section head around her neck at all times. “I apologize.” He said dispassionately. “May I hear--” “Ah yes. Your new orders have been decided upon.” He waited for a continuation before realizing he was supposed to respond somehow to this little tidbit as if he was first hearing it, which was absurd because he never came into that office for longer than it took to receive his orders. “No need to be so dry, we’re all friends here right?” “That’s right, sorry.” He apologized slightly inclining his head slightly as he spoke. “Come on, you’ll never be a field agent with that manner.” “Yeah, that’s also right.” He murmured letting his eyes drop to the side. “Okay, well orders are to look up a new target.” She said simply as she slid a folder across to him. Guy perused quickly and almost frowned for an instant. “Another kid?” “Yes. This one, however, is a bit trickier to deal with since he’s got a few friends and a bit of a paranoia to contend with.” “I’ll pull his records and take some surveillance, you can expect my work by the end of the week.” “I just want some passive analysis for now don’t get too far in and don‘t do anything too--intrusive, besides it might be a bit harder than you‘re giving it credit for being, you have a month for preliminary work and I‘ll give further instructions then.” “Understood.” Guy said slightly more stiffly as he felt somewhat insulted by the copious amounts of time given to finish such and easy task. “Well I guess that’s all then, have fun with the new assignment.” She said waving him off and examining herself in a compact mirror. “I’ll have my work to you when I’m done. I’m correct in assuming I’m no longer on the project?” Guy said almost hopeful that his tenure with Edwina was over. “Ha, you’re a funny one. This is still part of the project. Edwina will be accompanying you for most of the mission and continue overseeing your intelligence gathering. She has already received her orders regarding the matter.” Their superior laughed and returned to her examination of her face. Guy was left somewhat disheartened. “I see. Thank you. Ma’am.” He exited the room with a nod of his head and trod back to his office where he sighed and sat down in a swivel chair. “That kid has the personality of cup ramen.” The superior commented seconds after he’d closed the door behind him. “He gets his work done, I wouldn’t complain.” Edwina said dryly. She stood up and pushed apart the vinyl slats of the blinds to get a look out of the window. She quickly withdrew and plucked a handgun from her jacket and fired out the window without looking again. The glass did not shatter it merely crackled as the armor piercing round tore through it and lodged itself into the brain of a sniper across the street. She looked out the window again to examine her work, then holstered her gun and looked back at her superior. “I suppose, but it’s a bit annoying to see someone as depressed as him all the time.” She responded, putting away the mirror ad looking at Edwina expectantly. “The job isn’t what he wanted, most people have to come to terms with that or get into a different line of work.” The blonde remarked picking up the shell casing and examining it with a kind of pleased fascination. “Too late for that it seems.” The brunette replied. “That’s because he’s an idiot.” Edwina chuckled tossing the shell away as if she lost interest in it suddenly. “A useful idiot.” The woman corrected with an authoritative edge to her voice. Edwina looked at her in the eye and then walked out. “So that’s my life. Talking to a camera to impress my memory onto this earth because I can’t impress others, I can’t talk to others properly, I can’t draw or write or do anything that would get anyone to notice me, all I can do is finish the job and let it be. Life did suck when I grew up. Well looks like I’m almost outta tape. This is me, Guy Loser, signing off for January the 21st 2013.”
It was good(as always), though I'm wondering how you will integrate this. It seems like it might be a hard task. Considering how expansive this story could possibly be. this chapter seemed a bit more 'unorganized' than the others.
