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1  Original Writings / Announcements / Re: Original Writings is dead! LONG LIVE ORIGINAL WRITINGS!! on: December 22, 2008, 03:31:21 pm
Very lazy writer checking in.

Have been wanting to write something now for ages so perhaps I'll get to it.
2  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / The Last Homo Sapien - Just an exercise in creative stretching on: July 03, 2008, 01:46:38 pm
Adam watched as the Earth spun. The Sun crept up behind it and cleared his vision with blinding light. It was a sight that first  seen one century ago was still enough to instill a sense of wonder into any human traveling in space. Appropriately, it was a human that would watch the sun grace the earth one last time.

The radio brought Adam back to the present. "Angel One, bombers incoming from the north, stop day dreaming!"

Adam said nothing in reply, bringing his broken flight visor back down to block the sun from searing his eyes. He ignored the cracked shards of the eye piece as it pricked his face, drawing blood. He kicked his thrusters into full burn. In the darkness of space, gun fire lit the void as Humanity fought its last stand. In orbit above the Earth the Mohican fired off into the darkness, its assailants darting away into the shadows. One was too slow and flared with a white brilliance before descending into the atmosphere, a burning orange star.

Horned ships took their time to pick the Mohican down piece by bloody piece as fighters and bombers danced frantic across the hull of the wounded super cruiser.

"Glad you could join the festivities Angel One."
Was that Angel Three he wondered? Did Eve survive? His thoughts scampered as he reached for them and a sudden migraine blocked him from his own head.

Adam coughed in response as blood fought its way out of his throat. Only one thing mattered. One last time, he told himself. Just one last fight. He entered the maelstrom, his fighter screaming as its cracked hull threatened to buckle. He pushed the engines harder.

"Angel One, enemy bomber at 2."

He saw it, revealed by an explosion as one fighter rammed into another, causing both to explode. The bomber soared through the smoke and metal unharmed, and continued to glide through. He bore down on the bomber, both hands clutching the blood slick flight stick. He pulled the trigger.

Auto cannon fire erupted from the front of his fighter, bright red magnesium tracers illuminating the night. The bomber swayed and spun, dancing its way out from under the hail of bullets. Adam kept his own finger down on the trigger. Luckily for him the bomber pilot seemed new and continued on in a straight line.

This should be easy. So why can't I hit it? He wondered.

Perhaps its fate. Another voice offered.

Seconds passed as his ammunition flew aimlessly into space, the counter on his display counting down at a frightening pace. He watched as the bomber, fire trailing from one pointed wing from a lucky shot, let loose with a missile. He watched the bomber swerve away as its payload streaked forward. Another realization hit him like a sledgehammer and he yanked hard on the flight stick, his fighter turning a hard 90 degrees before spiraling away into space.

Moments later, as he sped away from the Mohican he heard the bomb impact with the wounded super cruiser. Voices over the radio went panicked, their volume rising in one last attempt to be heard before it all went quiet. The resulting explosion tore everything apart. Enemy and friendly ships nearby were caught in the Mohican's death throes as its novum reactor went into critical overload. Adam covered his ears as the universe as the humans knew it died.

His fighter held together, by luck or design and was spun into Earth's upper atmosphere. Adam opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears. The glass canopy over the cockpit had shattered and the flight stick lay at his feet. His fighter threw itself forward as its engines continued to burn.

He gazed up. Above him burning steel filled the void. He watched as an injured enemy ship, similar to a spear in form, headed straight for the sun engines blazing. He could just make out the twisted metal that had once made up its command deck. Gas leaked into space from its mid section, an alien combination of volatiles elements and compounds. It accelerated straight into the sun, piercing the core.

He watched at first as the outside burned, its outer hull peeling away like shed skin. Then he watched with wonder as a ball of fire emerged, ripping its way out of the ship in a birth of fire and steel. It joined with the sun, and for a moment it seemed like the sun swelled to double its size. And then, with a tortured roar no living being would ever hear again, it imploded on itself.

Adam could only stare helplessly as the shock wave, a blaze of red, orange and searing white engulfed the earth. He wondered how many dead. He wondered how many would live. He only needed to watch as his home world was stripped of life, ripped from it as the all consuming fire ravaged and raged across its surface before he had his answer.

He wept as the shock wave continued on, towards his accelerating fighter, his hands gripped around the broken flight stick as he willed himself forward.


Just a short story written in a spur of the moment, comment and critique at will. Remember, the harder you hit, the more I learn  Wink

3  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: The Slightly Random but still good for creative reasons thread. on: June 23, 2008, 12:23:14 pm
The Paranoid and the Salesman. When these two twisted, brilliant minds come together then only logical conclusion is the Cryptex. Once a secure form of storage, a treasure hidden behind an impenetrable puzzle, it was lost in the swirling currents of history as man turned to better security innovations, most involving big men with even bigger sticks.

It has returned once more but in the most unlikely of forms. As a movie collectible. Who knows how many older Crpytex's scoff at the shiny new model, where the old guard existed as undecipherable conundrums to keep secrets behind a facade of steel and words the new guard merely exist as a novelty, a better looking, shiny model but nonetheless shallow and lacking soul.

And now, for a word that dosen't require Google.

4  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: Witchfire Trilogy Anyone? on: April 11, 2008, 10:07:51 am
I've always wanted an excuse to learn how to play D&D, however my current pool of tabletop friends are more concerned with mass army movements and the chucking of not just a few, but bucket loads of dice.

Should I read the links up top, and read it all?
5  Original Writings / Suggestions, Questions & Comments / Re: Looking for people seeking Asylum. on: April 11, 2008, 10:04:42 am
Cheers! That'll do nicely.
6  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: The Slightly Random but still good for creative reasons thread. on: April 11, 2008, 10:02:37 am
Mass extinction has never been much of a motive for villains these days, but remember those old mustache twirlers? Those chronic kidnappers of old? What happened to the villain who wanted nothing more than the destruction of an entire species, a penultimate end to those meddling do-gooders and their inevitable offspring?

Indeed, now all we have are the so-called 'anti-heroes' and the villains who actually have a proper purpose to drive their devilish schemes. No longer will the audiences of the world simply accept that the bad guy is right and properly **** in the head.

Bad or good? I have no idea. Perhaps there was no method behind this early madness. I'd like to keep going but I've missed the train of thought.

Next Word : Frustration
7  Original Writings / Suggestions, Questions & Comments / Looking for people seeking Asylum. on: March 23, 2008, 01:00:21 pm
Just a quick question, is there a way to advertise this place in our forum signatures or something with a non-intrusive yet ever so inviting banner?
8  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: The Slightly Random but still good for creative reasons thread. on: February 08, 2008, 11:24:35 am
A couch, a member of the family of objects to which being lazy comes naturally. Unfortunately, people who are around or on the couch seem to aquire said trait. People soon become one with the couch, forever slouching, eyes unfocused fingers forever tapping in an effort to find a chanel that does not suck complete ass.

Otherwise couches make good cover, the choice piece for goons and henchmen everywhere, forever the shield against the otherwise metaphorical or literal sword of the carefree hero/heroine. Though the stone wall and the sandbag are arguably much better at stopping bullets the couch is much better at being lept behind.

Fail to vault over a couch and the only thing that might happen is you land on the comfy couch seat. Fail to vault over a stonewall leads to a mild to serious concussion and the possibility that the bullets that you were running away from might actually hit you. This is unfair since bullets are fairly indiscriminate in their choice of targets but who's to complain? Not I.

Phew, I think that's 5 minutes. Next word is...

9  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: The Slightly Random but still good for creative reasons thread. on: January 14, 2008, 08:37:13 am
Destiny, a creation of the human mind or in fact an omnipresent diety, ever watchful and ever spiteful. Indeed, this question has plagued us (or the ancient greeks at least) for an age and more. If indeed it is but a creation of the human mind, it could be easily conquered. Simply to shut it out and that would be that, another myth slain.

But it wouldn't explain anything would it? The Overdog and the Underdog, the million to one chances. And Luck, which is seemingly slanted on a daily basis judging on who god feels like playing with today. But I digress, Destiny in itself seems to have been spawned by the mother of all creation, the human mind, but much like its siblings has fully grown into something much more.

It intervenes at every step and infiltrates every facet of the overly superstitious human mind. Opressor or saviour, it thwarts the evil and rewards the good (rarely vice-versa, that honour belongs to luck again, that fickle mistress) forever the universal scale. Perhaps Destiny is Justice, the two making homes on opposite sides of a coin. Perhaps it would explain why it is so haphazard in its own implementation, after all, Justice is blind, perhaps Destiny is too.

That's pretty **** wordy. Lots of psychobabble there. On that note...

Next Word - Psychiatrist.
10  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Fighting for a Cause (Temp Title) on: January 14, 2008, 08:30:42 am
Just a quick glance, will get to the details in a later post.

On fast type -
Wall of Text! use more spaces between those lengthly description paragraphs.

"Don't rush me, Alex, I'm not in the mood after that rude awakening."

Seems a bit strange that, despite ace-ing english, Matt would use 'rude awakening' in his speech. I know it's a minor thing, since in Literature every talks 'smarter' but for a teenage boy growing up in new-age Spain I doubt it'd be used in everyday conversation.

Apart from that quick glance - It starts off quite slow dosen't it? France vs Spain though, definitely an interesting Idea.
11  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 14, 2008, 08:20:45 am
Chapter 3 – The Recipe calls for Thickener

They walked along in crisp silence. As they entered the elevator going down Tammy noticed Dalton closing fast behind. As the doors shunting slowly to a close, neither Tammy nor the Inspector raised a finger to press the neglected open button. The elevator began to descend. A couple of minutes max? Tammy thought.

“Funny that.” She started. The Inspector kept a careful watch on the descending number. “A young orphan girl plucked from the streets straight into the lap of luxury and the fast track to a good, law-abiding career.”


“Very lucky for someone to fund her lodging and education.” Tammy noted passively.

“Strangely enough, there are men and women who actually still maintain a measure of compassion and charity.” The Inspector replied, the tone never straying from the completely emotionless.

“Yeah. Strange that they should specifically pick a nameless orphan on the street and not simply donate. And then take the trouble to make sure she got into a good course and fund her lodging.” She pulled her hat down. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Who indeed?” the Inspector smiled. The door chimed open and they strolled out onto ground level. Policemen could be seen at every corner, nook and cranny, a spillage of orderly blue among the cobbled stone streets. Now and again the snap of a camera drone would mark the collection of another picture which was destined for strict scrutinising. Several journalists danced among the crowd their own hand-carry camera’s firing away furiously as policemen did the jackals at bay.

Around the large circle of activity however were men and women who hadn’t the time to be interested. They picked up whatever the blast wave hadn’t knocked over and destroyed. Several old air-lift transports lay upturned as their engines gave one last salute to the skies.

Fires were mostly under control, several labour-men moving robotically among the smouldering rubble of nearby shacks and cottages caught too close to the blast. Among the destruction was an old Buffalo, the antique mechanized armour having fallen into a copse of fallen buildings, its thick steel hide having saved it one last time.

Tammy strained her ear. If you blurred out the sound of camera’s snapping away you could just about hear a woman sobbing in the distance.

“Come on then,” The Inspector lead with a slow step. “Let’s meet the press.” They waded into the sea of long noses. While Tammy had to push and shove her way through the Inspector waltzed through them without any trouble.

The MP on duty raised a hand to deny access but once the Inspector lifted his hat the MP backed away and let them through. Inside the circle of police men it was a much more orderly affair. Men talked in groups about theories while others scanned the ground.

A tired looking sergeant intercepted them.

“Inspector.” He said with a quick nod. “Prompt as always.”

The Inspector smiled brightly. “And you George, look like ****.”

George sighed. “It’s been some day. Press caught wind of the hit before we did so we’ve been spending the day clearing them out.” He glanced towards the tide of reporters trying to break in. “Well, keeping them out anyway.”

“So, report?”

George coughed. “Well sir, the late governor was out for a walk. As far as we can tell as he reached the end sir he and his bodyguard were hit by the blast. Nothing was left sir. He motioned behind him. The ground was tar black, a dirty great smear. In the middle the stones were still smoking.

“Nothing was left save the Governor’s boots sir. We reckon he was caught on the edge and his boots were thrown out with the shock wave.”

“What will you’re report say?”

George shrugged. “Accidental death sir. There is no evidence of foul play or tampering of evidence sir.”

The Inspector nodded. “Well, looks like you’ve got this wrapped up nice and tight.”

George shook his head. “Pity, everyone like the old man.”

“Can I look at the boots Sergeant?”

George cocked an eyebrow at Tammy. “What for?”

She shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

George gave the Inspector a questioning look. Tammy wasn’t police. The Inspector nodded. 
George waved. One of the faceless blue men hurried forward and handed Tammy an evidence box. She opened it and made a quick inspection. Then she shook the box. The Sergeant made to grab the box but the inspector got to his arm first. He smiled. “Let her do as she likes George.” George pulled out of the grip but did nothing more than stare at the ground and rub his wrist.

Tammy, blissfully ignorant, took one last look and handed the box back. George glanced at her impatiently. “Find anything?”

Tammy looked thoughtful. “Tell you later Blue Bell.”

The Inspector smiled. “And now George, we’ll be having a look around. Tell you’re men will you?”

George nodded and as the Inspector and Tammy faded away into the crowd he sighed with relief.


“I’m assuming you found something?” The Inspector said idly as the broke free of the seething mass. Tammy grinned. “Well, nothing on the boots. A cleaner pair of boots I’ve never seen.”

“So nothing wrong then?” The Inspector’s tone was level but it was asked like a teacher to a student. A test.

“The position is wrong.” Tammy continued after a moments thought. “If the top was singed that means the blast hit the governor head on.”

“We know that’s impossible; otherwise there wouldn’t be boots to examine.”

“Or… that his boots were at the blast edge, further away from it than the Governor anyways.” Tammy continued.

“You think he liked to walk bare-foot Tammy?” The Inspector prompted.

“So he must’ve been lying down. But that makes just as little sense.” She growled, having reached a proverbial dead end.

“Little sense indeed.” The Inspector smiled wanly, pulling his hat over his eyes so she wouldn’t see them gleam. “Come on then, let’s go hunting.”

“For what?”

“His air-lift. I doubt Gaspode’s chief of security would let him use the mass transit, not at that time of day anyway. So many people…”

”So many places to hide a weapon.” Tammy finished for him. It was an unwritten rule of the Outer Colonies. Might made right. If you had the money and contacts to get rid of the person ahead of you in the social line and you were tired of waiting, why not?

Tammy stopped in her tracks and stared at the Inspector. “You think someone off’d him?”

The Inspector grinned. “Let’s call it a hunch shall we?”

EDIT : Been real busy lately, this has been real fun to write though, good stress reliever. Anyway, more as soon as I get to it, I'll fix the Grammer errors soon hopefully.
12  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 11, 2008, 01:49:13 pm
That is some serious grammer.

I'll get right on it.  Tongue Next chapter is up next, hopefully it'll shed some light into what kinda story this really is. And maybe the chapter after that too if i can get around to it (lots of explanations and fleshing out there)

By the way, thanks for taking a look! I appreciate it.
13  Creative Writing / The Blackboard / Re: The Slightly Random but still good for creative reasons thread. on: January 09, 2008, 01:29:17 pm
Pleasantry. What can I say about Pleasantry? It keeps to itself, which is pleasant enough (har har) but why? Why does it sit in a corner nursing a solitary beer when other words are out dancing and partying all night long? Does it have any friends? What does it like?

What does Pleasantry, find pleasant?

Maybe I should get to know it. Introduce it to something with nice curves. Like Curvaceous. She's a nice girl, not too big except where it counts. But maybe that's not its thing. Maybe it perfers... words of the same type? Pleasantry Nice. Pleasantry Awesome. Pleasantry Great? Nah, maybe not.

Ah well, it's ****. Except it isn't. (har har)

Bad jokes! They ain't pleasant. ry. Ugh. I think I see it now. With such an attention **** for a sister, it's no wonder Pleasantry gets such little spot-light. Why use pleasantry when you can use pleasant? I mean, it's shorter, nicer to say and only charges you 2 syllables. Maybe if Pleasantry would just lower it's standards, it could get just as many men as pleasantly, the poor man's pleasant.

Ah well, I tried. Next word : Trebuchet

14  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 08, 2008, 08:30:35 am
Story has been quick fixed, thanks Spainops!
15  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 08, 2008, 04:14:30 am
Chapter 2: Men and Women of the Urban Jungle

The tavern grumbled. People watched with disapproval as she stood over the ruined table bloody yet defiant. Yet they watched nonetheless. After all, what idiots they’d be to miss out on free entertainment.

“I said,” Pausing to swipe the blood off her cheek. “pay for my drink.”

The drunk at her feet could only cough in reply, the bloody saliva running down his shirt. She picked him up off the floor with little effort.

“So, you going to give me the money? Or am I going to need to force it out from you?” She said with a feral smile. The patrons who were watching could see the predatory gleam of sharp teeth.


She leaned in closer. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

The drunk spat in her face. “**** you.”

She sent him flying, crashing into another table. The spectators yanked from their front row seats stood up angrily. Their hands reached into folds in their jackets. Their faces told her they were roaring to go, but their body posture was wary.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you boys.” She said with the same feral smile.

The tavern door burst open. The Inspector peered inside with a wide grin.

“Well well, what’s going on in here?” He tutted.

The ruffians at the table took a step back. Putting some jacked up bar **** in her place was one thing. Messing with brass from the PD was another matter entirely. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Nothing Inspector, just a little… Barroom brawl that’s all.” The bartender said with a sweaty forehead and a nervous grin. The other regulars followed suit, laughing weakly.

“So I can see.” The Inspector said with a sunny grin.

Dalton peeked around the corner. The woman stood tall, a wide-brim hat concealing the mass of dirt-blonde hair that had been hastily put into the ramshackle ponytail. She had a trench coat on so it was impossible to tell what she actually looked like from behind but a small bulge around the back told Dalton she was probably packing heat. She hadn’t turned around but lazily dusted herself off.

She then strolled over to the laid out drunk with deliberate slowness and spat on him. The drunk only groaned but did nothing else. She turned around like a predatory cat, her wild smile still on her face.

“Inspector! Hadn’t expected to see you here!” She said in a cheery voice. She finished her victims drink in one fell gulp. Evidently not satisfied she stole his nearby companion’s drink too with little resistance before prowling out the door. The Inspector let it fall back in after she passed, the regulars inside going limp with relief.

The Inspector smiled wryly and shook his head. Dalton took a moment to look at the woman from the front. She had positioned herself on a nearby wall and had produced a cigarette from one of the dark folds in her coat and lit it up with apparent glee. She certainly wasn’t ugly, that was for sure. Very much a down to earth beauty. Sparkling green eyes matched the rest of her homely face. Well, what would’ve been homely if it wasn’t for the recently healed scars and an ancient looking indention that peered out from the neck before disappearing down the shirt. The feral gleam in her eyes had disappeared, lost in the flickering flame of the lighter. The look on her face was familiar, he had seen it before on some of the kids back in the orphanage.

She savoured the cigarette, letting the smoke roll out into the crisp winter air. The inspector waited patiently nearby. She sighed once, it came out as white smoke before being dragged away. The feral glint returned and she pushed herself off the wall, throwing the cigarette away into the snow.

“So inspector!” She boomed enthusiastically. This was completely different to the worn innocence Dalton had observed but minutes ago. It was almost like she had switched places with a different person. He shook his head, no, you saw her in the bar. It was exactly like this. Big cat, small cat.

“I think you can guess why I’m here.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Come to drag me along into another one of you’re investigations huh?”

He grinned. “Don’t see why not Tammy.”

She glared at him. “Don’t call me that, only my mother would call me that.”

The Inspector shrugged. “Well she’s gone. Only me left.”

Dalton could see she tightened a bit. Surprisingly though, she smiled back at the Inspector. “True enough. Ah well, wasn’t like I had anything planned today.” It was only then she noticed Dalton. She peered at him like one would peer at a bug under a microscope.

“Who’s this?”

Dalton jumped in before the Inspector could talk for him. “Dalton mam, junior investigator for the LCPD.”

She laughed. “Junior investigator huh? Looks about right.” Dalton turned red. “Well, my name’s Tammy. I’m a woman.” She grinned at Dalton’s confused look.

“She’s unemployed right now.” The inspector filled in.

“Haven’t done a proper job for as long as I can remember now.” She proclaimed proudly.

The Inspector sighed. “Which shouldn’t be an achievement. She’s a lone gun, muscle for hire.”

She grinned at Dalton. “That’s right. Don’t judge me yet kid, you should see me when the **** hits the fan. I’m downright amazing.” Dalton nodded crisply. “I’m sure you are mam.”

“Polite sonovabitch isn’t he? Where’d you pick this fruit cake up?” She continued turning back to the inspector. The inspector shook his head. “I’ll tell you later, we’ve got someone to see.”

She sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”


When the trio had shoved their way through the crowds at the mass transit system they arrived to a scene bustling with activity. “Looks like an insect hive.” Dalton commented from his raised vantage point, staring down from the elevated walkway. Air foil transports buzzed overhead.  Even further up was the strangely violet sky and past that one could see the faint gleam of stars.

“Only the workers.” Tammy replied. A figure nearby talking to a police detachment noticed them and proceeded to walk over. “Ah speaking of which, here comes the queen.”

The Inspector smiled warmly. “Ah, Koroleva! It’s been too long.”
The young woman blushed slightly. “Inspector.” She said with a quick, tense nod.

“Wait a minute, Koroleva?”

“Yes.” She said turning to face Dalton with a small smile. Dalton grinned widely. Koroleva’s smile quickly turned from forced pleasantry to genuine pleasure. “Weasel?”

Koroleva launched into like a tiny rocket. The Inspector grinned. Tammy turned away. “Hey Red, it’s good to see you too.” Dalton smiled, ruffling Koroleva’s red hair which she scowled at but did nothing to stop.

“I take it you two know each other?” Tammy inquired.

“Heh, Re - Koroleva used to stay at the same church as I did. Well, that was before someone paid for her education and then the last time I saw her she was heading off to Gold District on the fast track for officer duty. Who knew!” Dalton laughed. “I always wondered if the Koroleva on Brass staff…” Koroleva laughed with him and punched him playfully.

“You haven’t done too bad for yourself either Weasel,” She said, playing with his small Junior Detective’s clasp. “I didn’t know you were accepted into the academy!”

The Inspector pulled his hat down. “Who knew indeed? But I’m sure there are more pressing matters to attend to Lieutenant?”

Dalton coughed and Koroleva quickly detached herself. “Erm. Yes sir. I expect you’ve heard about the Governors death?”

Tammy grinned. “Who hasn’t cupcake?”

Koroleva nodded. “It would’ve been a messy business sir. However, we have several eye-witness reports that confirm that he was hit by a stray cannon shot. Unfortunate sir, but life’s like that.” She said with a shrug.

Dalton frowned. “Messy? Why?”

Koroleva sighed. “Next Prime Seat elections are only a few days away. Plenty have to gain from the Governor’s death. He was fairly popular and it was pretty much a certainty he’d get re-elected. As it stands the Red Sun and the EFA parties are both now in the forefront of the race.”

“Quite so. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if we look at the scene Lieutenant?”

Koroleva frowned. “You doubt the witnesses sir? They’re backed up with what my grunts on the ground have found out. Traces of his DNA were found on the ground around and in the cannon smear. The only thing left was to clean up the smoking boots.”

“None the less, I would like to have a look. With you’re permission.” He said with a brittle smile, the tone just a notch too polite. To Dalton’s horror and growing admiration Koroleva took the aggressiveness in stride with a sunshine bright smile. “Not a problem Inspector, I’ll tell security to let you through.”

As the Inspector and Tammy left off at a brisk pace, Dalton lingered behind. Koroleva brushed her hair. “You know Drake joined the Grenadiers?” Koroleva nodded. “It was the only option left, no one wanted to take him in or fund his education.” Koroleva turned away and sighed. A tense silence gripped the air.

“You could’ve sent a message you know.” Dalton whispered. “And tell you what? That’d I’d never be coming back?” Koroleva shot back bitterly. Dalton smiled. “We missed you, but we were all happy.” He laughed. “Should’ve seen Sandra’s face, she was so pleased when we found out where you went.”

“What happened to them?” Koroleva asked tentatively.

It was Dalton’s turn to sigh. “Sandra was gunned down in the streets, some petty mugging. They never found the Runner. Paul was last seen drinking himself to oblivion in the Pits some time ago and no-ones heard from him since. Art’s been and gone, he’d do anything for another go in the Sim Pods. As for Drake and Athena? They were both serving on the Valiant. He was a Grenadier on duty and she was acting Comms officer. Still were on May the 13th. And you know what? I didn’t see you at a single one of their funerals. Not a one.”

“I… I didn’t know. I didn’t have the time to check.” She responded weakly. Dalton refused to let her off the hook. “Well, then make the time. Lieutenant.” With a small impersonal nod that hurt the Lieutenant more than any word or physical wound ever could he walked away.

- C & C of any kind is welcome. Just fire away.
@ Bakerman - It's a mix of sci-fi and steampunk for the rich and the not so rich respectively. I haven't fully planned it out myself but there's a chapter in my head which will hopefully help me flesh it out a bit.

EDIT - Quick fix thanks to Spainops.
16  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Re: Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 07, 2008, 03:51:53 am
Heh thanks guys. Go ahead Syphon, what's mine is yours etc etc.

Oh and Rincewind, any and all judgement is fine. You can say you hate it! Just tell me why.  Wink

Working on the next update but don't stay glued to the screen.
17  Creative Writing / Critiques Corner / Introductions, And a Story to Chew Up on: January 06, 2008, 03:17:59 pm
Hi Guys, another amateur writer here. A friend guided me here telling me that if I was looking for ideas and criticism this was the place! The story that follows is still a work in progress but as it continues, I hope the style of writing improves. It's a Mystery set in a sci-fi setting. Murders, Mass Transit Trains and Railguns!

Scathing C & C is welcome.

On the Edge


You had to hand it to them, Gaspode thought grudgingly. They might not have been human but they sure did know how to wage war. He crunched his way through the soft winter snow, his jackboots leaving deep impressions in the white mess.

“Top of the morning!” One of the residents called out in cheerful greeting. Gaspode smiled back and offered a small wave which the resident accepted with an enthusiastic smile and nod. It was important to keep up appearances. If the governor looks confident, the people feel confident. Walking on Gaspode watched as the town continued with its daily routine. People set up market stalls, children ran in the streets and guards mixed with old ladies to gossip about news from the front. The mass transit entrance swallowed up people and spit them out at a frightening rate.

In fact the only way one could tell they were under siege would be from the occasional flare as orbital cannons bombarded them from on high, every now and again an errant shot would make it through the shield during its maintenance cycle and obliterate some poor sod who had pissed off lady luck. Thankfully it had only happened here and not in the city. Here on the outskirts were where the most primitive civilians lived and one less mouth to feed was always good.

Some people feared it and stayed cowering in their houses whispering prayers and lighting candles. Others went about their daily routine. If they got hit, they got hit and that was the end of that. But the outskirts were on edge. The Brute hadn’t struck in some time. But most weren’t worried about being hit.

After all, the chances are a million to one, the governor reminded himself chuckling as he reached the end of his morning walk, his bodyguards waiting impatiently at the end of the walkway;

Of course, million to one chances have a frightening tendency of beating the odds.
Call it fate. Call it luck.

So when the ruby red glow of the cannon after effects faded away and the people had stopped cowering under wooden cart stalls and in building doorways they could all agree on one thing. The Governor would never again bet against a million to one chance.

Chapter 1: Trench Coats and Sidekicks.

“Goddamn did you hear?”

”Christ, shut-up. Everyone’s heard.”

“The evangelicals are saying it’s a bad omen.”

“When have they ever said otherwise? They never liked the old man, not since he and the inspector caught onto their ‘charity’.”

The three police recruits, willing as they were to chew the cud had not yet picked up on the fact that the inspector was behind them, silently watching, listening.

“Yeah, but what are the chances?” the other recruits laughed nervously. Humans by nature are superstitious beings. “Honestly guys, hit by a stray orbital cannon shot? On the only day off he has had in months?”

“Perhaps, he was just unlucky.” A gentle voice chimed in from behind.

The three paused as they were, eyes wide as dish plates and hands gripping their mugs tightly. None dared turn around.

The inspector stepped past them to refill his own mug, oblivious or perhaps revelling in their shock. “Well,” He said smiling, turning to face them. “perhaps very unlucky.”

One of the recruits, refusing to be cowed, piped in heroically. “But sir, you have to admit, to be so unlucky he must have…” He struggled. “Must’ve walked under a thousand ladders and perhaps opened a warehouse full of umbrella’s indoors. Sir.” The inspector cocked an eyebrow. The recruit trembled slightly, as if he was now staring the down the barrel of a loaded gun.

“True, true.” The Insepctor continued, nodding sagely. “To have so many circumstances, play out so well in perfect tandem is highly…”

“Suspect.” The recruit added dangerously.

“Very good.” The inspector said with an approving smile. “Name?”

The recruit saluted smartly. “Dalton sir.”

“Come with me.” Dalton nodded happily. “As for you two, I believe you have some work to do?” The other two recruits nodded quickly and left just as fast, relieved to be away from the inspector.

The inspector lead the way with a brisk step, sipping once more from his steaming mug before donning his leather trench coat. Dalton hurried from behind, struggling as he was to keep pace and put on his own police duster at the same time.

“If you don’t mind me asking sir,” Dalton mumbled as he wrestled with his blue police duster, with the ominous feeling that he had just passed some sort of trial. “Where are we going?”

The inspector looked around, a twinkle in his eye.
“We’re going to go meet some friends and talk to a dead man.”

EDIT - Updated.
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