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Triad

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Thu Jun 01, 2006 10:35 pm

OOC: This is, as should quickly become obvious, a story of Zhelir's actions prior to his arriving at Metro. Feedback and comments are welcome.

Chapter 1: The Shooter

Unknown
New York City, NY
11:23 P.M.


A man with a dark future and a damned soul sat calmly within the confines of a room bearing great resemblence to a police interrogation chamber. His emerald green eyes had a placid, almost vacant look, one distinctly charactaristic of a man deep in thought. the cold steel table swam in and out of focus as he wondered vaguely what was to come next. His body had been trained, built up, and genetically enhanced, but what for? He guessed that was the point of this "meeting."

Specialist Zhelir Darkfall, age 20, was a military man. He'd dedicated the last two years and any hope of ever becoming a Christian to the Marines, and yet had never been viewed on the battlefield. His history was one of training and preperation, for the most dangerous, most vital, and perhaps his real value, most illegal operations the Powers that Be could throw at him.

As the door slammed open, Zhelir jerked his head up, his lengthy black hair just clearing his eyes -- one of the benefits of being on this side of the law was that he wasn't required to adhere strictly to the pettier rules of the military, such as dress code -- in time to reveal a thin man, dressed in an expensive-looking black suit, trimmed with violet, with a black undershirt. He wore a pair of thin rimmed glasses containing two circles of glass just larger than the hazel eyes they covered. The man sported a light fuzz both atop his head and on his jaw line. He had a distinct air of superiority to him, despite the vast difference between his thin frame and Zhelir's own well-muscled figure. He sat down across from the Specialist, fixing his eyes to Zhelir's.

"I'm not going to give you a bunch of bullshit and runaround, so let's drop that pretense right now. You don't and won't ever know my name, and you don't and won't ever know whom I work for. If you need something to fill either gap, 'Uncle Sam' will suffice for both, as they both hold a grain of truth."

His well-cultured voice was nothing of a shock given his look, nor was the amount of authority his voice contained. Zhelir nodded, not dropping his own gaze, and replied, "Fair enough. Let's move onto a set of much more relevant questions, then: where the fuck am I and what the fuck do ya want me to do?"

The stranger seemed to consider this for a moment, giving almost a hint of a smile -- Zhelir sufficed that to say the man was pleased with Zhelir's lack of pretense and dumb-playing.

"You're in a specialized facility in New York City, the closest you will ever come to anything we might consider a headquarters. What we want you to do at present is meet two other men aboard a boat that leaves in -" he paused, checking a silver band across his right wrist, containing a blue watch face. Omega or Rolex, by the look of it. "- fifty six minutes. Once the three of you are gathered and on your way, you will be filled in on the details of your first assignment."

Zhelir nodded, catching the envelope the man slid across the table to him. Even as he did, he caught Uncle Sam's movement, his right hand coming up over the table, reaching for his own. In a whirl of flesh and cloth, Zhelir'd caught the man's wrist and, with a shocking amount of effort, whirled him around and slammed him against the wall, pressing the stranger's own wrist into his back, effectively pinning him in quite a painful position. As opposed to a squeal of pain, the man gave a laugh, the first sign of any real emotion Zhelir had seen.

"Good. They said you were the best they had to offer, but I had to be sure." And with that, the man shoved back, hurling Zhelir from his feet and into the opposite wall. Vague colors shifted before his eyes as the world went from a hazy blurr to a black nothingness.
STAVE: Commala-come-ki,
There's a time to live and one to die.
With your back against the final wall
Ya gotta let the bullets fly.

RESPONSE: Commala-come-ki!
Let the bullets fly!
Don't 'ee mourn for me, my lads
When it comes my day to die.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Fri Jun 02, 2006 11:26 pm

Chapter 2: The Stalker

Phoenix, Arizona
3:43 A.M.


Slowly he crept, his footsteps making not a whisper, his breath caught in his chest. These last few steps, they were where the true wonders of his art came out. Foot by foot, his avaricious hands outstretched, one holding the hilt of a long, brutal looking blade, the other angled low, for his victim's purse.

Aaron Shorr, age 24, leaped. Silent as the grave, he latched his free hand to the purse while the armed one slipped across the youngish woman's throat, ending her well-to-do life. As she whirled on the spot, blood spurting from a massive slash through the jugular, she had time to take in his features. A rather handsome young man, albiet a bit on the short side, with short-cropped orange hair and eyes of a deep amber. His clothes were simple and, as of just recently, bloodsoaked. And that was the last thing this nameless number in the crowd ever witnessed.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Two mornings later...

Same shit, bigger pile. The morning was dark, misty; perfect conditions for a combination murder/theft. His feet padded gently along, tracking the movements of a thinish man in a very fine-looking suit. It would be a shame, he reflected, to drench it in blood, but what must be done must be done.

Closer and closer he moved, not daring to take more than a breath every thirty seconds or so. Now the blade had returned to its throne within his right hand, gleaming hungrily in the pale moonlight. The mark's watch gleamed, as well, reflecting a treasure that was surely a Rolex. Aaron smiled: he would be collecting that particular paycheck this evening, as well.

Or so he thought.

Even as he lunged, he knew something was amiss. He was nearly upon his target when the stranger, with speed and power unthinkable to one of his frail-looking build, whirled around, bringing his right hand back for a devastating backhand, of which the killer caught full force. He was thrown back into the brick-and-mortar wall of some obscure bar, his world swimming in and out of view, before he was hefted from his seat and thrown against the opposite wall, his hand limpening and releasing the well-used blade. Before he could make so much as a move to rally himeself, the surprisingly strong stranger was before him, pointing a Sig Sauer at Aaron's chest. His frantic mind couldn't recall the specifics of the pistol, but at this range, specifics meant dick.

"Good evening, Aaron. I trust you've been enjoying yourself these past few nights?" The man's voice showed no sign of fear nor anger. It was very clear he had planned this out, both by his words and his demeanor.

"Been a blast up 'til now. Who are you and what do you want?" His intended the words to come out harsh, brave, defiant even, but the fear creeping into his voice turned the retort feeble and timid.

"I am Uncle Sam, for wont of a better name, and I want you to shut the fuck up and listen. In two days' time, you're going to board a boat with two other men. The three of you will work together to achieve whatever goals we should deem fit to place upon you." He extended his free hand, holding out an envelope, presumably containing the boat tickets. As Aaron sent a tentative hand to retrieve it, however, the hand released the envelope, and instead enveloped his own wrist.

With an almighty jerk, the thief was jerked upward and to his feet, directly into Uncle Sam's skull. Their foreheads met in a sickening crash, and Aaron's world instantly dissolved into blackness.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Thu Jun 15, 2006 12:27 am

Chapter 3: The Bomber

Grand Rapids, Michigan
7:22 P.M.


It was always the smart ones that went the furthest astray. The stupid ones, they killed one or two folks before the cops came down on them. The smart ones, though, they killed kill dozens, even hundreds if they possessed real talent. It was the smart ones the world needed to fear and, more importantly, respect.

But until that happened, Caleb Bruntswick, age 17, was going to do all he could to punish those who wouldn't respect him. He wasn't strong, but that didn't matter. He wasn't popular with the "in" crowd, but that didn't matter. He was a fucking genius and an explosives expert to boot, and that did matter.

It was to the latter of his two morst treasured traits that he tended to on the evening of his recruitment. Vigorously flipping through page after page of a notebook containing the most wild and lethal of his explosive experimentations, the high school student didn't even register the sound of his door opening. Sweat beaded under his dirt blonde hair, threatening to pitch headlong onto the worn pages and marr their contents. The recruiter, remaining yet unannounced, could barely contain a laugh, having spotted the kid's attire. He had fully expected to come upon another low-rent anarchist that just happened to have a couple of useful talents. He had not in the least expected the sight before him: just another kid, simply put. A pair of worn-in jeans, a faded t-shirt of no big interest, and a pair of sneakers, not name-brand.

He knocked lightly on the door. The kid jerked and whirled around, spilling what appeared to be alluminum shavings across the notebook he had been rifling through. They made eye contact for a solid ten seconds before the kid spoke.

"My parents call you about me?"

The Recruiter said nothing for a moment, contemplating the words. Evidently, the parents know he harbored a genuine gift -- if you called the knowledge of how to vaporaze a school full of children a gift.

"No, they did not. I'm here because, unlike the ignorant fucks that you're most likely going to use that --" he paused to peer over the kid's shoulder at the various ingrediants scattered across the desk, "-- thermite on, I and those above me appreciate the gift you've been given."

The kid appeared to size him up, weighing his words and mulling them over. "Cute, but manipulation isn't the card you ought to play with me. Cut the shit and tell me what you want." He turned back to his work.

At this, the recruiter had to smile. Had he been so arrogant as a kid? Probably. "All right, I'll be frank. I work for an agency that deals in protecting our country and gaining the upper hand over those that might eventually pose threats in the most illegal of ways. 'The ends justify the means' holds no truer purchase than with us. We want you to help us."

"And what do I get out of it?" No bullshit about how he was just a kid, that surely someone could do the job better than he. The kid was a fucking piece of work, all right.

"You get to carry out just whatever you'd planned on carrying out on your school completely under the radar."

The kid paused, appeared to weigh these words as well, and said, simply, "All right."

The Recruiter turned and left.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Sun Jun 25, 2006 12:28 pm

Wow, this is really good. Sorry it took me so long to get to it. I'll probably be a better help later on in the story, but so far so good.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Hybrid on Thu Jul 13, 2006 11:10 am

Wow, that's really good ^_^

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby MeiaGisborn on Tue Aug 15, 2006 4:41 pm

First thing I want to say is, spell check. XD Some of them are just typos, but I don’t want to assume that this is all written in a hurry, because there are quite a few spelling mistakes here. I’ll point out the first few ones, including the grammatical mistakes and leave the rest up to you.

A man with a dark future and a damned soul sat calmly within the confines of a room bearing great resemblence to a police interrogation chamber. His emerald green eyes had a placid, almost vacant look, one distinctly charactaristic of a man deep in thought. the cold steel table swam in and out of focus as he wondered vaguely what was to come next. His body had been trained, built up, and genetically enhanced, but what for? He guessed that was the point of this "meeting."


“Resemblance” and “characteristic” were spelt wrong. I also think perhaps an “a” would do nicely before “resemblance.” I believe a semi-colon is more appropriate before the “but what for?” since it’s a continuation of the other sentence and I believe there should be a more distinct pause there.

His history was one of training and preperation, for the most dangerous, most vital, and perhaps his real value, most illegal operations the Powers that Be could throw at him.


“Preparation is spelt wrong.” Also, I believe instead of capitalizing “Powers” and “Be” to make it stand out, it could be put in quotes or italicized. Though I understand why you capitalized it as a name, though if you still want that to happen like that, you should capitalize “the” and “that” since its all part of the saying.

Hmm another thing is “comma’s.” You might be using it a bit too much. What I always think about when I use punctuations is, “what purpose do they serve?” Most of them serve as a pause, break, or breath for the readers. Some as asides or interjections to further explain something. Just thought I should mention that.

His well-cultured voice was nothing of a shock given his look, nor was the amount of authority his voice contained. Zhelir nodded, not dropping his own gaze, and replied, "Fair enough. Let's move onto a set of much more relevant questions, then: where the fuck am I and what the fuck do ya want me to do?"


This will be a good sentence to note some of the comma use. Like the first one used could be eliminated and replaced with a period. The third and fifth commas could be eliminated completely as well. That’s up to you though.

Vague colors shifted before his eyes as the world went from a


Huh??

A rather handsome young man, albiet a bit on the short side, with short-cropped orange hair and eyes of a deep amber. His clothes were simple and, as of just recently, bloodsoaked. And that was the last thing this nameless number in the crowd ever witnessed.


“albeit,” and no “a” before “deep.” Hyphen separating “blood” and “soaked” I believe is the right way to write that. Also the “and” is not really needed.

"I am Uncle Sam, for wont of a better name, and I want you to shut the fuck up and listen.


“want of a better name?” or “wont?” Not sure if its a saying I'm not familiar with or what.

He had not in the least expected the sight before him: just another kid, simply put. A pair of worn-in jeans, a faded t-shirt of no big interest, and a pair of sneakers, not name-brand.


I believe that part should be reworded. The last sentence does not really connect to the rest, as it should be. Perhaps, like this, (though, once again, its up to you):

He had not in the least expected the sight before him: just another kid; simply put, a pair of worn-in jeans, a faded t-shirt of no big interest, and a pair of sneakers, not name-brand.


At this, the recruiter had to smile. Had he been so arrogant as a kid? Probably. "All right, I'll be frank.


WORD suggests “as” instead of “so arrogant” and I agree; as well as a period after “probably.”

Anyway, I like the story so far. It reminds me a bit of LXG. Everyone has a skill to contribute and I like things like that. You also have an interesting style of writing. You add a bit of wit and sometimes very short sentences that say so much. Very nice.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Wed Aug 16, 2006 12:07 am

A few things, as much for the benefit of the reader as in the defense of my writing.

The spelling mistakes come compliments of me not having Word on my computer, and Spelling Cow not working on GWing. Mixing up vowels is easily my worst area in English.

I do have a tendency to overuse commas, but there are considerably fewer instances when they are not needed than it may seem. 90% of the time, the intent of the comma is to create a pause, even if it may seem unnecesary to create that pause. Overusage is something I've targetted in revising as of late, though.

And it is spelled "wont," that was a word I'd misspelled as "want" for a long damned time. =P

Other than that, I tend to agree with most of it, and it's appreciated. Expect more to this story when my work hours calm down.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Wed Aug 16, 2006 11:28 am

Meia, I have to disagree with your last one... "Had he been so as as a kid" doesn't work, but "Had he been so arrogant as a kis?" definitely works, because he's comparing the kid to how he was as a kid.

And, it is "wont". "For wont of a better" is the original spelling, but it's become quite common to see "for want of a better" in more recent writing (after 1980ish it started popping up everywhere... I read too much...).

Definitely agree with capitalizing all of The Powers That Be. Seriously, when I'm doing something like that in my mind, it's caps, not italics. Sometimes, it's bold and caps, sometimes just all caps like THE POWERS THAT BE, but in this case, I think I'd go with The Powers That Be.

Ah semantics, grammar, and connotation...

I hate editing for those reasons.

Oh! The vague colors bit, I understood it when I read it in context... which I can't find at the moment.

PS. Zhelir, I really think you should get something with spell check somewhere. Come to think of it, doesn't gmail do spell check? ::goes and looks:: It does! You don't have to send it to use the spell check. Just find where the spelling errors are and change it in the original document.

And word's grammar check is a bull. Sometimes, it even asks you to take a perfectly grammatically correct sentance and change it around so that, not only is it no longer grammatically correct, but it also has the exact opposite meaning, or no meaning at all...

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby MeiaGisborn on Thu Aug 17, 2006 1:37 am

miyumi wrote:Meia, I have to disagree with your last one... "Had he been so as as a kid" doesn't work, but "Had he been so arrogant as a kis?" definitely works, because he's comparing the kid to how he was as a kid.


I'm not sure what you mean here. I think you're agreeing with me and Microsoft Word. XD

If not let me give you his sentence and what word suggested, so you don't confuse what I mean.

Had he been so arrogant as a kid?


Word suggests

Had he been as arrogant as a kid?


Not much is changed and I understand the comparision, but its grammatically correct, according to WORD, to replace that "so" with an "as." It also sounds better to me anyway.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Thu Aug 17, 2006 5:23 pm

ah, okay, that makes much more sense than what I had thought you were saying...

The second one actually seems to be comparing him to kids in general instead of the specific kid, but they do both work.

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