Battle of Genre :: Round 2 | ACTION/ADVENTURE |
Started by: ErrorBlender | Replies: 116 | Views: 10,464
Dec 4, 2015 11:59 PM #1420840
School is kicking into high gear, I need a few more days. Your attempt at comedy might be my only chance at winning
Dec 5, 2015 4:41 AM #1420886
Eh. It's a story.
Clark (Click to Show)
Dec 5, 2015 5:22 AM #1420890
Quote from GuardianTempestSchool is kicking into high gear, I need a few more days. Your attempt at comedy might be my only chance at winning
I feel you. Work got busy af this week. I should have mine done sunday hopefully. A day late which sucks, but it's pretty good and I don't want to rush it.
Dec 5, 2015 11:09 PM #1421043
[spoiler="The Genesis of Ares"]
Prologue:
The Martians were a forsaken race.
The red planet was no place for man, let alone life. The air was a thin soupy miasma of red dust and carbon dioxide so toxic that it would kill the plants before they had the chance to die of thirst. Even the memory of water was scarce, save for the frozen ocean up north near where we lived. Worse still, the Sun, the bearer of warm life on the Earth, morphed into a cold distant reaper bringing not warmth but radiation that would shred you from the inside. From our underground oasis, we could escape all these demons, except for the most insidious and inevitable of all, Gravity.
On this little hell, you weighed only a third of what you would on Earth. Fun for perhaps a week, until your bones started to crack from getting out of bed too fast. Metabolism and digestion slows to a halt, which takes the rest of your insides and pulverizes them. At best, you could look forward to weeks of fatigue broken up by diabolical versions of the common cold and explosive diarrhea. Luckily, we’ve been in space long enough to mitigate most of these effects. A daily regimen of chalky pills, tasteless food, and strenuous activity is enough to make long term survival viable and on somedays even pleasant. Unless of course, you were unfortunate enough to be born here.
That being said, only a third of all pregnancies were full term, and of those only a third of those fully formed infants took their first breath. From that few, birth defects were the norm, and those poor children rarely ever made it to adolescence alive. The handful that did awaited a short lifetime of pain and suffering. These tortured souls are the Martians, the children of a red sky.
And because of this Martians were the most important people of our era, perhaps even all of human history, simply by being alive. Mankind’s future was the stars after all, and if we could understand how they could survive, if we could keep them alive, then humanity had a chance among the stars. If they died, so did we. In the truest sense of the word, the Martians were royalty, more important than the momentary masters I choose to leave behind.
Such was the importance of Aelita, the princess of Mars. The daughter of an engineer and a doctor, and the eldest living Martian. To say she was alive was an understatement. She practically exuded life, defying the red planet’s thirst for blood. She was strong, healthy, and vibrant, a beacon of hope among the desolation. With her all of the turmoil of living on Mars blew away with the dust. In spite of the multitude of tests, exercises, and supplements she endured in addition to our daily bread, she smiled through it all. Her opal eyes, a trait unique to the Martians, sparkling though the dimly lit caverns of Paradise. An angel born from hell.
At only twenty one, she was the youngest elected to the Council, and became its head at twenty three. True be told, from what I knew of her, she preferred the cold, harsh, and bloody desert to the warmth, comfort, and safety of the council chamber. But I also knew that she loved the people of Paradise more than anything else, so she served faithfully and passionately. She even convinced me to run for council with her and to my dismay, I was elected as well.
But who was I to refuse her? I, who owed her my life and would give my own for hers without hesitation. Is it fair to say that I loved her? That I loved the way she would curl her black locks when lost in thought? Or how she would always reach out to help a fallen soul like she did for me years ago? Then again, she was always immersed in love.
Her brethren adored her, the colonists cherished her, and her murder tore it all apart.
1:
As the first human settlement of the red planet, Paradise was unique. Granted, Limbo was the first human colony in space, but like the International Satellite Stations around Earth, it was merely a pure research station where scientist would go, test their experiments and come back within months. Unlike our home, the moon was completely devoid of any kind of useful material whatsoever. Without any kind of atmosphere to catalyze into oxygen, without any sufficient building material, and without water, long term settlement was basically impossible. Not to mention, the scaly tentacles of the nations of Earth easily hugged that of Limbo.
Paradise was different.
At best, a trip between here and Earth was about six months, and that was only when the planets were close, which happened every two years. Suffice it to say, you couldn’t simply run a few tests and take the next transit home. As in my contract, many research scientists came here for a decade or so. Even more became colonists, pioneering man’s conquest of the heavens. And despite the harshness of the red planet, children were born, the Martians, who knew no other home. Being so far away from Earth, its only influence here are what the colonists brought with them. No nation controlled Paradise, no culture dominated it, and no human settlement like this had been founded before.
Like the ancient settlements of villages both birth and death were concerns of the entire community rather than a cursory remark on antiquated articles of print media. The death of the Princess was no different. An especially murky shroud of despair hung over the settlement. Outside the morgue, I sat, barred entry to say goodbye to my long friend. Unlike the colonists, the details surrounding the death of Martians was kept highly confidential. Only the council, certain medical professionals, and specific biologists were kept privy. As both a member of council and a biologist, I was typically always informed.
My relationship with her would invalidate me from a normal investigation on its own. As a murder, the regulations become much stricter, only the head and a handful of council members were kept in the know. Necessary medical personnel were only informed on a need-to-know basis. That being said, this was only a contingency…this was only ever meant to be a contingency. Murder, on a planet devoid of life was inconceivable. I knew all of this, and yet I sat there outside the morgue, fists clenched together in rage.
I felt a cold, soft hand on my shoulder pulling me from the depths of internal turmoil. I looked up to see a pale, wrinkled face wrapped in thin grey strands of wispy hair. Cold grey eyes starred back at me, affirming my circumstances and yet reminding me to keep my own emotions in check. The old lady was councilwoman Gol, Aelita’s Aunt and one of the earliest colonists. At her behest, I waited here in this dark den of death. Nothing but a miracle would bring me here otherwise. The old woman, never one to waste time, spoke to me bluntly and succinctly. It was a nice change of pace from the droll diatribes of most of the colonists, who spent the majority of the time figuring out what they were trying to say rather actually saying it. That being said, it is also much easier to detect their sincerity.
I expected her to offer a few conciliatory remarks, thank me for waiting so long for her, and regret to inform me that due to my relationship with Aelita and various other contrived reasons I would be unable to participate in the investigation how she passed. Despite her own familial relationship to Aelita, her tenure on the council made her the provisional head, leading to a strange conflict of systems. Again, it was never truly meant to be implemented. What I didn’t expect was what happened next.
In her hands was a silvery badge with crimson outlining. Engraved in the center was the title “Arch-Adjudicator” with my name “Misha Komarov” emblazoned below. These adjudicators we’re responsible for investigation and preventing rule violations. It is important to realize that on Paradise, there is no such thing as crime and no such thing as Police. The adjudicators merely make sure the system is running and if there is a failure, how did it occur. Among its various powers, include the ability to access most high level departments without credentials. Unlike normal adjudicators, arch-adjudicators have unrestricted and unregistered access to perform their investigations. Furthermore, the role could not be volunteered for as the position is temporary and rarely utilized, only designated by the Head or Interim Head.
Taking the card from her frail hands, I could now make out the tumult of emotions under the clouds of her eyes, desperation, sorrow, grief, and anger. Their weight burdened the thin plastic card I now wore beside my heart. Without a word, I left her behind and walked up the stairs to the main pavilion of Paradise. Despite my dislike of Gol, she granted me the one thing I really needed then. The ability to act. After discovering her...like that…all I could do no, all that I was allowed to do was sit and wait. But now, I could find it on my own. I could seek out the truth for myself.
2:
Truth was dangerous.
It had the ability to warp people’s minds, to hijack their feelings. Such truth rendered many unpredictable, and when you are unpredictable, you make mistakes. On Paradise, mistakes could not be afforded. Everything was held together by a fragile strand of trust and cooperation. Imagine if the circumstances of Aelita’s death were known. Almost, immediately the question of the perpetrator would arise. From here, Paradise would already be lost. Distrust and Discord would rip through the settlements, the farms, the enrichment centers, all the way to the observatories on the surface, compromising the immune system and exposing us to the elements. Even if I gave them a murderer, the anger and hate would surely boil over and scald the colony for years to come.
So we told no one. It was public knowledge that the princess had fallen, but only a handful knew she was slain in cold blood, a secret we would take to the grave.
As a biologist who dabbled in medicine himself, I was immediately aware of what Aelita’s autopsy investigation would reveal, Acute Respiratory Failure. Her lungs, despite being stronger than any other Martian and most colonists had collapsed due to low pressure unfiltered air. They would probably also find that her blood was filled with carbon dioxide and nitrogen, almost entirely devoid of oxygen. I knew all of this, because I alone watched her die.
4:
It could only be a Colonist. This I knew from the beginning. The Martians aren’t perfect though. Despite their uniqueness and their fortune, they are flesh and blood humans like us. If this was an accident, the possibility would be there…But it is impossible for this to be an accident. To say that premeditated murder is outside of their capability, is probably the most reasonable conclusion of all.
Acute Respiratory Failure is an impossibility in our modern suits, unless of course the system was sabotaged. The portable air filters within the suits are the same underlying technology that provides breathable air to the underground chambers of Paradise, so it’s safe to say they are very reliable. If these systems had an underlying fault, it could spell doom for the entirety of life on this red planet. That being said, when we examined the systems of Aelita’s suit, the damage was extensive and obvious. The lines feeding oxygen into the filtration systems were unscarred, but those collecting waste air and reconstituting it were violently slashed. No…It only appeared to be violently slashed. Only a sharp blade could make internal cuts like that, and the killer would have needed to know how to open the filter module in the first place.
Despite the high resourcefulness of the average colonist, only a member of the engineering department would have the tools and the expertise required to open a filter module at all. In truth, this fact alone basically handed us our prime suspect on a serving tray. You see, all suits undergo regular maintenance every twenty days. During maintenance any damage or defect will be discovered and rectified. It is this same underlying principle that lies at the foundation of Paradise. An automatic diagnostic is also run daily and every time the suit is activated, but it is less accurate. Had the suits we had worn been a day old rather than fresh off the cycle, disaster would have been averted.
The murder was by chance.
I had never known Aelita to be anything less than lucky, you had to be just to survive as a Martian. I, on the other hand, was hurled to near death by an unearthly dust storm within hours of arriving. Aelita even gave me the nickname “Misha-fortune”. Perhaps, I was wrong in the beginning. The target was merely chosen at random it seems. A chilling conclusion for sure. If the murderer was doing so indiscriminately, then a second victim was inevitable. A murder can be quarantined and disposed of, but a serial killer is an epidemic. An epidemic could wipeout the colony much faster than anything this warlike planet could throw at it.
That being said, the murderer was careless. Almost too careless. Every suit is tagged and logged when activated or in maintenance. The suits in a maintenance cycle are grouped into batches and each batch is numbered and tracked by the computer systems as well. Both Aelita’s and my suits where both out of batch 7, the first batch to come out for the day. Furthermore, any engineer who logged in and had access to the suit batches did so with their own tagged IDs. Chugging through the data, I chuckled at the ease at which this case proceeded. Which was why what occurred next stropped me right on the tracks. The ID belonged to Leyla Zarathustra, Aelita’s mother.
5:
Had I been naïve? In my desperation for the truth, was I too hasty? Or was I desperate for something else, vindication perhaps? No. The clues led me here for a reason, this was either the killer’s incompetence or the killer’s overconfidence. Then again, it was just as likely that this was a dead end. If the killer used Leyla’s card to frame her, or at least, disguise himself, he still needed knowledge of how the systems work, which wasn’t exactly public knowledge. The only way he would know for sure is to talk to her. Thus I spoke to Zarathustra.
Leyla and Gol were opposites.
At first glace, the twins were identical. The same held true for every subsequent glance. The similarities end their however. Unlike Gol’s grey locks, streaks of vibrant brown in her hair defied the inevitability of aging. After all, Leyla came her much later, chasing after her older sister. Not only was she warmer than Gol, but she was clearly more motherly as well. Leyla reminded me of my own Mamochka. This woman would never harm her own daughter.
This fact was proven by hospital logs verifying her guilt. All day yesterday, she was receiving treatment for MIGS, a seasonal illness brought on by the changes in the planets gravity. Every winter, a third of the atmosphere freezes out over the poles, slightly increasing the gravity. Every summer, the frozen carbon dioxide sublimates and returns to the atmosphere, decreasing the gravity. While the change is gradual and minute, those that become sensitive to it can periodically experience MIGS. While not fatal, it results in debilitating levels of fatigue and nausea. Clearly, it was impossible for Leyla to be the culprit.
I had no choice but to consider who else could have had access. Leyla’s card had to have been stolen. This much was undeniable. Her card was used to continuously register her for treatment as per protocol up until a few hours last night. The killer would have to have taken it around that time then, because the card was used only a few moments later at the engineering department. Unfortunately, visitor registration only showed Leyla as having a single visitor, her faithful daughter Aelita. It stands to reason that Aelita’s father visited Leyla as well, but records have him working well throughout the evening on multiple MIGS cases let alone his wife’s. Suffice it to say, he had no opportunity at well.
Only Aelita, the victim, had visited the room.
Perhaps someone else had entered the room and taken her card? If the killer had engineering experience then it was feasible that he could bypass the hospital security
Prologue:
The Martians were a forsaken race.
The red planet was no place for man, let alone life. The air was a thin soupy miasma of red dust and carbon dioxide so toxic that it would kill the plants before they had the chance to die of thirst. Even the memory of water was scarce, save for the frozen ocean up north near where we lived. Worse still, the Sun, the bearer of warm life on the Earth, morphed into a cold distant reaper bringing not warmth but radiation that would shred you from the inside. From our underground oasis, we could escape all these demons, except for the most insidious and inevitable of all, Gravity.
On this little hell, you weighed only a third of what you would on Earth. Fun for perhaps a week, until your bones started to crack from getting out of bed too fast. Metabolism and digestion slows to a halt, which takes the rest of your insides and pulverizes them. At best, you could look forward to weeks of fatigue broken up by diabolical versions of the common cold and explosive diarrhea. Luckily, we’ve been in space long enough to mitigate most of these effects. A daily regimen of chalky pills, tasteless food, and strenuous activity is enough to make long term survival viable and on somedays even pleasant. Unless of course, you were unfortunate enough to be born here.
That being said, only a third of all pregnancies were full term, and of those only a third of those fully formed infants took their first breath. From that few, birth defects were the norm, and those poor children rarely ever made it to adolescence alive. The handful that did awaited a short lifetime of pain and suffering. These tortured souls are the Martians, the children of a red sky.
And because of this Martians were the most important people of our era, perhaps even all of human history, simply by being alive. Mankind’s future was the stars after all, and if we could understand how they could survive, if we could keep them alive, then humanity had a chance among the stars. If they died, so did we. In the truest sense of the word, the Martians were royalty, more important than the momentary masters I choose to leave behind.
Such was the importance of Aelita, the princess of Mars. The daughter of an engineer and a doctor, and the eldest living Martian. To say she was alive was an understatement. She practically exuded life, defying the red planet’s thirst for blood. She was strong, healthy, and vibrant, a beacon of hope among the desolation. With her all of the turmoil of living on Mars blew away with the dust. In spite of the multitude of tests, exercises, and supplements she endured in addition to our daily bread, she smiled through it all. Her opal eyes, a trait unique to the Martians, sparkling though the dimly lit caverns of Paradise. An angel born from hell.
At only twenty one, she was the youngest elected to the Council, and became its head at twenty three. True be told, from what I knew of her, she preferred the cold, harsh, and bloody desert to the warmth, comfort, and safety of the council chamber. But I also knew that she loved the people of Paradise more than anything else, so she served faithfully and passionately. She even convinced me to run for council with her and to my dismay, I was elected as well.
But who was I to refuse her? I, who owed her my life and would give my own for hers without hesitation. Is it fair to say that I loved her? That I loved the way she would curl her black locks when lost in thought? Or how she would always reach out to help a fallen soul like she did for me years ago? Then again, she was always immersed in love.
Her brethren adored her, the colonists cherished her, and her murder tore it all apart.
1:
As the first human settlement of the red planet, Paradise was unique. Granted, Limbo was the first human colony in space, but like the International Satellite Stations around Earth, it was merely a pure research station where scientist would go, test their experiments and come back within months. Unlike our home, the moon was completely devoid of any kind of useful material whatsoever. Without any kind of atmosphere to catalyze into oxygen, without any sufficient building material, and without water, long term settlement was basically impossible. Not to mention, the scaly tentacles of the nations of Earth easily hugged that of Limbo.
Paradise was different.
At best, a trip between here and Earth was about six months, and that was only when the planets were close, which happened every two years. Suffice it to say, you couldn’t simply run a few tests and take the next transit home. As in my contract, many research scientists came here for a decade or so. Even more became colonists, pioneering man’s conquest of the heavens. And despite the harshness of the red planet, children were born, the Martians, who knew no other home. Being so far away from Earth, its only influence here are what the colonists brought with them. No nation controlled Paradise, no culture dominated it, and no human settlement like this had been founded before.
Like the ancient settlements of villages both birth and death were concerns of the entire community rather than a cursory remark on antiquated articles of print media. The death of the Princess was no different. An especially murky shroud of despair hung over the settlement. Outside the morgue, I sat, barred entry to say goodbye to my long friend. Unlike the colonists, the details surrounding the death of Martians was kept highly confidential. Only the council, certain medical professionals, and specific biologists were kept privy. As both a member of council and a biologist, I was typically always informed.
My relationship with her would invalidate me from a normal investigation on its own. As a murder, the regulations become much stricter, only the head and a handful of council members were kept in the know. Necessary medical personnel were only informed on a need-to-know basis. That being said, this was only a contingency…this was only ever meant to be a contingency. Murder, on a planet devoid of life was inconceivable. I knew all of this, and yet I sat there outside the morgue, fists clenched together in rage.
I felt a cold, soft hand on my shoulder pulling me from the depths of internal turmoil. I looked up to see a pale, wrinkled face wrapped in thin grey strands of wispy hair. Cold grey eyes starred back at me, affirming my circumstances and yet reminding me to keep my own emotions in check. The old lady was councilwoman Gol, Aelita’s Aunt and one of the earliest colonists. At her behest, I waited here in this dark den of death. Nothing but a miracle would bring me here otherwise. The old woman, never one to waste time, spoke to me bluntly and succinctly. It was a nice change of pace from the droll diatribes of most of the colonists, who spent the majority of the time figuring out what they were trying to say rather actually saying it. That being said, it is also much easier to detect their sincerity.
I expected her to offer a few conciliatory remarks, thank me for waiting so long for her, and regret to inform me that due to my relationship with Aelita and various other contrived reasons I would be unable to participate in the investigation how she passed. Despite her own familial relationship to Aelita, her tenure on the council made her the provisional head, leading to a strange conflict of systems. Again, it was never truly meant to be implemented. What I didn’t expect was what happened next.
In her hands was a silvery badge with crimson outlining. Engraved in the center was the title “Arch-Adjudicator” with my name “Misha Komarov” emblazoned below. These adjudicators we’re responsible for investigation and preventing rule violations. It is important to realize that on Paradise, there is no such thing as crime and no such thing as Police. The adjudicators merely make sure the system is running and if there is a failure, how did it occur. Among its various powers, include the ability to access most high level departments without credentials. Unlike normal adjudicators, arch-adjudicators have unrestricted and unregistered access to perform their investigations. Furthermore, the role could not be volunteered for as the position is temporary and rarely utilized, only designated by the Head or Interim Head.
Taking the card from her frail hands, I could now make out the tumult of emotions under the clouds of her eyes, desperation, sorrow, grief, and anger. Their weight burdened the thin plastic card I now wore beside my heart. Without a word, I left her behind and walked up the stairs to the main pavilion of Paradise. Despite my dislike of Gol, she granted me the one thing I really needed then. The ability to act. After discovering her...like that…all I could do no, all that I was allowed to do was sit and wait. But now, I could find it on my own. I could seek out the truth for myself.
2:
Truth was dangerous.
It had the ability to warp people’s minds, to hijack their feelings. Such truth rendered many unpredictable, and when you are unpredictable, you make mistakes. On Paradise, mistakes could not be afforded. Everything was held together by a fragile strand of trust and cooperation. Imagine if the circumstances of Aelita’s death were known. Almost, immediately the question of the perpetrator would arise. From here, Paradise would already be lost. Distrust and Discord would rip through the settlements, the farms, the enrichment centers, all the way to the observatories on the surface, compromising the immune system and exposing us to the elements. Even if I gave them a murderer, the anger and hate would surely boil over and scald the colony for years to come.
So we told no one. It was public knowledge that the princess had fallen, but only a handful knew she was slain in cold blood, a secret we would take to the grave.
As a biologist who dabbled in medicine himself, I was immediately aware of what Aelita’s autopsy investigation would reveal, Acute Respiratory Failure. Her lungs, despite being stronger than any other Martian and most colonists had collapsed due to low pressure unfiltered air. They would probably also find that her blood was filled with carbon dioxide and nitrogen, almost entirely devoid of oxygen. I knew all of this, because I alone watched her die.
4:
It could only be a Colonist. This I knew from the beginning. The Martians aren’t perfect though. Despite their uniqueness and their fortune, they are flesh and blood humans like us. If this was an accident, the possibility would be there…But it is impossible for this to be an accident. To say that premeditated murder is outside of their capability, is probably the most reasonable conclusion of all.
Acute Respiratory Failure is an impossibility in our modern suits, unless of course the system was sabotaged. The portable air filters within the suits are the same underlying technology that provides breathable air to the underground chambers of Paradise, so it’s safe to say they are very reliable. If these systems had an underlying fault, it could spell doom for the entirety of life on this red planet. That being said, when we examined the systems of Aelita’s suit, the damage was extensive and obvious. The lines feeding oxygen into the filtration systems were unscarred, but those collecting waste air and reconstituting it were violently slashed. No…It only appeared to be violently slashed. Only a sharp blade could make internal cuts like that, and the killer would have needed to know how to open the filter module in the first place.
Despite the high resourcefulness of the average colonist, only a member of the engineering department would have the tools and the expertise required to open a filter module at all. In truth, this fact alone basically handed us our prime suspect on a serving tray. You see, all suits undergo regular maintenance every twenty days. During maintenance any damage or defect will be discovered and rectified. It is this same underlying principle that lies at the foundation of Paradise. An automatic diagnostic is also run daily and every time the suit is activated, but it is less accurate. Had the suits we had worn been a day old rather than fresh off the cycle, disaster would have been averted.
The murder was by chance.
I had never known Aelita to be anything less than lucky, you had to be just to survive as a Martian. I, on the other hand, was hurled to near death by an unearthly dust storm within hours of arriving. Aelita even gave me the nickname “Misha-fortune”. Perhaps, I was wrong in the beginning. The target was merely chosen at random it seems. A chilling conclusion for sure. If the murderer was doing so indiscriminately, then a second victim was inevitable. A murder can be quarantined and disposed of, but a serial killer is an epidemic. An epidemic could wipeout the colony much faster than anything this warlike planet could throw at it.
That being said, the murderer was careless. Almost too careless. Every suit is tagged and logged when activated or in maintenance. The suits in a maintenance cycle are grouped into batches and each batch is numbered and tracked by the computer systems as well. Both Aelita’s and my suits where both out of batch 7, the first batch to come out for the day. Furthermore, any engineer who logged in and had access to the suit batches did so with their own tagged IDs. Chugging through the data, I chuckled at the ease at which this case proceeded. Which was why what occurred next stropped me right on the tracks. The ID belonged to Leyla Zarathustra, Aelita’s mother.
5:
Had I been naïve? In my desperation for the truth, was I too hasty? Or was I desperate for something else, vindication perhaps? No. The clues led me here for a reason, this was either the killer’s incompetence or the killer’s overconfidence. Then again, it was just as likely that this was a dead end. If the killer used Leyla’s card to frame her, or at least, disguise himself, he still needed knowledge of how the systems work, which wasn’t exactly public knowledge. The only way he would know for sure is to talk to her. Thus I spoke to Zarathustra.
Leyla and Gol were opposites.
At first glace, the twins were identical. The same held true for every subsequent glance. The similarities end their however. Unlike Gol’s grey locks, streaks of vibrant brown in her hair defied the inevitability of aging. After all, Leyla came her much later, chasing after her older sister. Not only was she warmer than Gol, but she was clearly more motherly as well. Leyla reminded me of my own Mamochka. This woman would never harm her own daughter.
This fact was proven by hospital logs verifying her guilt. All day yesterday, she was receiving treatment for MIGS, a seasonal illness brought on by the changes in the planets gravity. Every winter, a third of the atmosphere freezes out over the poles, slightly increasing the gravity. Every summer, the frozen carbon dioxide sublimates and returns to the atmosphere, decreasing the gravity. While the change is gradual and minute, those that become sensitive to it can periodically experience MIGS. While not fatal, it results in debilitating levels of fatigue and nausea. Clearly, it was impossible for Leyla to be the culprit.
I had no choice but to consider who else could have had access. Leyla’s card had to have been stolen. This much was undeniable. Her card was used to continuously register her for treatment as per protocol up until a few hours last night. The killer would have to have taken it around that time then, because the card was used only a few moments later at the engineering department. Unfortunately, visitor registration only showed Leyla as having a single visitor, her faithful daughter Aelita. It stands to reason that Aelita’s father visited Leyla as well, but records have him working well throughout the evening on multiple MIGS cases let alone his wife’s. Suffice it to say, he had no opportunity at well.
Only Aelita, the victim, had visited the room.
Perhaps someone else had entered the room and taken her card? If the killer had engineering experience then it was feasible that he could bypass the hospital security
Dec 6, 2015 6:07 AM #1421108
Alright. End of the deadline date is today.
Error, would you be against matching people up together who didn't have opponents that finished in time and haven't messaged you about needing another day or so?
Error, would you be against matching people up together who didn't have opponents that finished in time and haven't messaged you about needing another day or so?
Dec 6, 2015 6:12 AM #1421110
Its actually amazing how none of the entries match against each other. Again.
I don't know even. I'll wait for the end of the day, Devour. Once thats over, I'll begin rematching.
I don't know even. I'll wait for the end of the day, Devour. Once thats over, I'll begin rematching.
Dec 6, 2015 6:42 AM #1421119
Spoiler (Click to Show)
The man glanced over his shoulder, then again, running to the opposite side of the vehicle. Within a moment, he wrapped his fingers around the handle and yanked the car door open.
“C’mon, Jimmy, get the fuck out of the car!” He gripped his brother’s shoulder. Jimmy rolled his head back sluggishly, producing a guttural groan. The man shifted his grasp to his sibling’s collar, hauling him out of the driver’s seat and onto the ground. A gunshot wound marked his arm. Sirens grew louder, nearer.
“Get up!” He hadn’t released his firm hold on Jimmy’s clothing. In a desperate attempt to steady him, the man pulled his brother upward and slapped him across the face.
Jimmy wobbled to a standing position. He stared his brother in the face, slurred words seeping from his lips, “I crashed the car, man… I crashed the car…”
“Don’t worry about it, Jimmy,” heavy panting slowed the man’s speech, “We gotta go! C’mon!”
The man slung a governing arm around his brother’s shoulders; his remaining hand wielded the small firearm. The two made their way toward the end of the alley. Guiding his sibling, the man could only manage a hurried jog. His gaze continually shifted in a perpetual frenzy. The piercing tone of a nearby siren seemed to echo harshly within the inner-walls of each man’s head. It was all they could hear. The police cruiser pulled into the alleyway, only to be met with gunfire. Each bullet met its mark. The windshield splintered as it was simultaneously splattered with liquid crimson. The man stood firm, a smoking barrel at the end of his extended arm. He lowered the gun and ushered his brother as they kept moving.
The pair moved from the shaded alleyway and fled down the street. Jimmy had recovered from his daze, allowing them to move at a quicker pace. The sirens persisted from afar. The weighted steps of the two brothers came to a stop as both took concurrent notice of another car, a convertible, heading in their direction. They stood, unmoving, waiting for an opportunity. It came. The vehicle eased to a halt. The duo brandished their firearms, causing the driver to cower behind the instrument panel and jerk his hands above his head.
“Get out of the car! Get out of the fucking car!” The barrel of the man’s pistol was inches from the driver’s face. The driver did his best to keep his head down as he frantically shoved the door open and staggered out from the convertible. Jimmy had already climbed into the passenger seat, his own blood soaked his arm and side. His brother sat firmly behind the wheel. The engine roared as the man slammed his foot on the accelerator. He clicked a button, causing the roof of the car to slowly slide into place.
After a few lengthy minutes of speeding, the enduring silence finally broke. Jimmy turned his head, his eyes settling on his brother. He imitated his sibling’s voice, “ ‘How’s your arm, Jimmy?’ Oh. It hurts like a motherfucking bitch, Roy. Thanks for asking.”
Roy looked straight ahead. His fists tightly wrapped around the wheel. He exhaled.
“Did you just huff?” Jimmy’s voice was sharp.
“What?”
“Just now, you huffed. You just huffed at me.”
“I was just breathing.”
“No, you weren’t just breathing. You huffed at me. As in, ‘Shut the fuck up, Jimmy.’ As in, ‘You’re getting on my nerves, Jimmy.’ ”
Roy said nothing.
“If I annoy you, tell me I annoy you. You don’t have to huff and puff until you blow me away. Is it because I got shot? It is, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry, Roy. I got shot! I’m sorry that I got shot driving your ass away from the cops!”
“Motherfu-- I can’t fucking breathe now?!”
Jimmy clenched his teeth, his expression changed, “Why’d you say it like that?”
“Because I have a lot on my mind right now...” Roy shrugged, looking between his brother and the road, “We gotta call Uncle Boone.”
“What? No! Why?!”
“Where the fuck are we gonna go, Jimmy?!” The man slammed his fist on the wheel, then quickly reclaimed his composure, “We can’t stay here. We have to go away, far away, and lay low for awhile.”
Jimmy didn’t produce a response. He just sunk further into his seat with a pout, his eyes wandered to the window.
The sirens were gone.
* * * *
“Lance, you like boobies?”
The boy looked up at his uncle, who matched his gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. The bearded man smiled, comfortably reclined in the passenger seat of the van.
“Well…?” He persisted.
The driver spoke up, “He’s too young to be into all that, Sid. His answer won’t mean anything.”
“What’s the matter, Bill? Scared your son’s into boys?”
“Let him be. He’s trying to play his game.”
As if on cue, the beeps and boops of Lance’s gameboy resumed. His eyes and attention were captured by the tiny glowing screen; they had been for the majority of the trip. The family had been driving for hours now. Grasslands had given way to desert. Lance barely noticed the transition, however, his sister did. The flat, parched land was all that was visible beyond the half-cracked window. Sarah watched it roll by, her headphones provided an unfitting accompaniment to the seemingly boundless yellows. Nothing ahead, save for blank, asphalt roads paired with the immensity of day.
Sid huffed and shifted a bit in his seat. They had been driving for awhile and he needed something to entertain himself. Unlike Lance, he didn’t have the luxury of a gameboy, he was far too old for one. He turned against his seatbelt, looking at Sarah, “Did you get anything besides clothes?”
Sarah perked up, taking off her headphones and letting them sit on her collar, “Huh?”
“From the mall, did you get anything besides clothes?” Sid repeated, nodding to the bag beside her.
The teenager nodded as she started digging through the plastic bag. It was stamped with a smiley face along with the phrase: ‘Have a nice day’. She had acquired it during her weekly mall trip. Since he was in town, Sarah invited her uncle to come along before they left to go on their mini-vacation. It was filled with outfits mostly, but she also had gotten a VHS tape of the second episode of Star Wars. She’d already seen the first and third and was always curious what happened in between. She presented it to her uncle.
“Empire Strikes Back?” Sid nodded in approval, “That’s the best one.”
Bill cut the conversation short, “We’re here.”
The car pulled into the motel parking lot. It wasn’t much to look at, especially considering it was in the middle of nowhere. ‘Turtle Run Motel’. That’s what the sign read. Bill glanced at his children, who both looked appalled. He shrugged, “We’re only staying here the one night. C’mon, let’s settle in.”
Bill got out first, then Sid. The kids exchanged glances before hopping out of the car. The plastic bag swung from Sarah’s forearm as she trotted beside her uncle. Lance tucked his gameboy away, trailing behind his father.
The room was as the family expected it to be, smallish and unkempt. Two beds, two lamps, one bathroom, one armchair, one TV. The men hurled their suitcases onto each bed, unzipping them and taking out what they needed.
Sid turned to the kids, whose eyes wandered around the space, “Why don’t you two get in your swimsuits? I could go for a dip.”
“There’s a pool?” Lance asked, a bit of surprise in his tone.
“No idea,” Sid smirked, “But if there is we’re jumping right in.”
“Shouldn’t we look for one first?” Sarah said, setting her CD player and headphones on the chair, “Like, before we get in our bathing suits?”
Sid crossed his arms, “Where’s the fun in that? C’mon, Sarah, where’s your sense of adventure? And if there’s a pool and we find it, we could hop in right away.”
“Yeah!” Lance shouted in agreement. Sarah just nodded and grabbed her shopping bag. She went to the bathroom to change into her swimsuit, she had bought a new one at the mall. The boys dug for their own in their suitcases.
* * * *
The pitter-patter of metal on metal followed as Roy shoved the quarter into the slot. He pressed each numbered button and waited. Jimmy was outside of the phonebooth, leaning against the hood of the convertible. A bandage was neatly wrapped around his limb. He fanned himself with his good arm; the heat of the desert sun seemed especially cruel today.
The recurrent ringing was finally interrupted by a click. Someone had answered. “Yeah?” A gruff voice spoke on the other end.
“Uncle Boone, it’s Roy.”
A second click was heard as the man hung up.
“Son of a bitch…” Roy dug searched his pockets until he found another quarter, he placed it in the slot and waited. The ringing lasted for significantly longer before he answered again.
“Listen, you old fuck, we need to talk,” Roy gripped the phone tightly.
Indiscernible grumbles came from the other end. Eventually, the voice returned, “What do you want, Roy?”
“Jimmy and I need help.”
Silence.
“Big help…” Roy paused, “We need you to get us out of the country.”
The old man waited about a minute before responding, “...What’d you get yourself into? What’d you do this time?”
“The usual… just didn’t go so hot this time.”
“Your brother’s with you?”
“Yeah.”
Another silence.
Roy lowered his voice, speaking in a hushed tone, “Uncle Boone, we need this.”
The line was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll send someone,” the old man said.
Roy released a silent breath.
“He’ll meet you at the Turtle Run Motel, just like we always said. Remember where it is?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Well, get there and stay quiet until they pick you up. And don’t do any more stupid shit.”
“Yeah, yeah. You owe me a quarter, asshole,” Roy hung up, stepping out from the booth. He made his way to the car. Jimmy walked to the passenger side. He stared at his brother for a moment before entering the convertible. The car started. The initial rumble of the engine settled into a low mechanical hum.
“What’d he say?” Jimmy was looking at his brother with big, hopeful eyes.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s gonna help us out.”
“Did he ask anything about me?”
“No,” the car began to make its way along the road.
Jimmy squirmed a bit in his chair, then looked to his brother once more, “Did you tell him I love him?”
“You didn’t say to.”
“Yes, I did. I said it like five fucking times,” He retorted, defensive.
Roy kept his eyes on the road. Clearly frustrated, he raised his voice a bit, “No. You didn’t say anything. I would’ve heard you if you said something, but you didn’t. We haven’t said anything since we left the city.”
Jimmy clenched his teeth and glared toward the window. They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.
* * * *
“Brothers Roy and James Palacio fled from the scene, leaving three officers wounded and two dead. The two suspec--”
The image switched to animal planet, then a viagra commercial. Bill grumbled, setting the TV remote down. The man stood and walked out of the room. He figured he should spend some time with the others, it was a family vacation afterall. Traveling cross-country hadn’t been such a strenuous task thus far, however, they were only halfway to their destination.
Bill squinted as he stepped into the sunlight. It was mid-day and everything was still bright. It wasn’t long before he found the pool, the playful shrieks and giggles of the kids was enough to locate it. Bill entered the fenced-in area and stood near the spot where concrete turned to water.
Sid made monster sounds, chasing a laughing Lance around the shallow end. Sarah emerged from the depths of the deeper side, grabbing onto the edge and looking up at her father, “Hey, dad.”
“Hey there,” Bill smiled, glancing down at her.
Sid put his hands on his submerged knees, panting.
Bill looked over, “Tired, Sid?”
“I would be if I were your age,” Sid chuckled and took in a deep breath, “I could do this all day.”
The monster sounds resumed and Lance swam away, ecstatic. Bill wandered over to the nearest chair and settled under the umbrella. He watched them play. The smile hadn’t left his face.
* * * *
“Do they have a pool?”
“Maybe. I don’t fucking know,” Roy brought the car to a gradual stop, not bothering to look at his brother as he responded. He stepped out of the convertible and stretched a bit.
“Do they have cable?” Jimmy asked, hopping out of the car.
“We’ll get a room and find out,” A beep was heard as Roy clicked his keys. The doors of the vehicle locked.
Jimmy gandered at the motel for a moment, “This place is a shithole.”
“Sure is,” Roy agreed dismissively, starting toward the lobby. Jimmy followed close behind, his eyes wandered around. There was nothing besides the motel, asphalt, and desert. His expression projected disgust. Roy picked up on it, turning to his brother before entering, “Why don’t you go and try to find the pool?”
“What if there isn’t one?” Jimmy tilted his head a bit.
“Hope there is,” Roy wiped sweat from his brow to emphasize his point, “It’s hot as fuck out here.”
“You’ll get the room and all?”
“Yeah, Jimmy. I’ll handle the room.”
“Okay,” he nodded, venturing off in search of the pool.
Roy entered the lobby. He stepped to the vacant front desk, resting a forearm on the countertop. The man waited a moment before ringing the service bell.
* * * *
Lance was the one that noticed him. The man was standing by the pool entrance, watching the family swim. The boy waved at the stranger, who did nothing in return. Bill looked at his son curiously before noticing him. Jimmy was just standing there, staring. He almost appeared hungry, ravenous. He watched them as a vulture would. An abrupt hush pervaded the space.
“Hey,” Sid called, an attempt to break the awkward tension.
Jimmy clenched his teeth and slowly walked away from the pool area. The family exchanged quick glances.
“Creepy guy…” Sarah muttered, treading water.
They waited a moment before carrying on with their fun. It wasn’t long before Bill stood, announcing that he was going back to the room. Lance and Sid were preoccupied with their game, however, Sarah acknowledged him with a goodbye. Bill disappeared beyond the fence, catching a glimpse of Jimmy before entering the room.
He wasn’t discreet at all, but he wasn’t trying to be. Jimmy’s eyes followed Bill until he escaped behind the numbered door. The man took a few steps backwards before turning and walking off to find Roy.
* * * *
“What the fuck’re you talking about, Jimmy?” Roy opened
Dec 6, 2015 6:49 AM #1421120
I wait for the entire day to end so no worries, Tsar.
BoG R2: Action/Adventure || Tsar Bomba VS devi is up! Give them some votes and CnC!
BoG R2: Action/Adventure || Tsar Bomba VS devi is up! Give them some votes and CnC!
Dec 6, 2015 7:14 AM #1421125
I'm only 117 words into mine. I won't be finishing before you put up the next round
Dec 6, 2015 9:55 AM #1421152
Oh. In that case I'd like to pit my story against someone else. Screw waiting another week or two when I worked so hard to make sure my story was done on time, despite how much of a struggle it was to do. Rokon can face the original opponent of whoever I get re-matched with.
Dec 6, 2015 1:15 PM #1421193
I can wait for tempest. I can wait.
Dec 7, 2015 3:13 AM #1421400
Mine's going to be late as well unfortunately. I'm about 400 words in, but It needs to be refined and finished.
Dec 7, 2015 6:10 AM #1421428
As for me, I'm trying to put together something, but it just doesn't... Flow. But I'll get it done, Procrastinator's honor.
And Devour, wanna pair up with this lazy bum? Give me 2 days and it shall be done.
And Devour, wanna pair up with this lazy bum? Give me 2 days and it shall be done.
Dec 7, 2015 6:21 AM #1421433
I'll begin reshuffling later when I get back home. I apologize for those who don't have their opponents yet.
Dec 7, 2015 7:24 AM #1421439
I think you ought to make writing time three weeks in future, Blender. Always gotta take people's "life stuff" and "2lazy" into account.