City of IF

[Quincunx]

Prologue

Mister Sebastian Whitmore was slowly losing his mind. Not in a sense that he was going insane, but in a more literal way. He felt as if every day another piece of his mind just dropped away, never to return again.

Fortunately he still had the piece of his mind that remembered his name, Mister Sebastian Whitmore, but he didn’t know how long that would last—he had lost his age and home quite a while back. Ahh well, one could suppose that this junkyard was his new home, though it was less of a yard and more of a city. A city that spanned so far around him that Mister Sebastian Whitmore was beginning to wonder whether he had ever been anywhere that wasn’t it, and beginning to doubt he would ever get out of it.

A thundering came across the sky and Mister Sebastian Whitmore knew it was time to call it a day. He looked at his watch (watch? What a funny word. That can’t be right) and it told him it was seven twenty-two. However it had been seven twenty-two for quite a few days now and Mister Sebastian Whitmore had started to distrust the device. With an annoyed grunt he tore it off his wrist and threw it into one of the many mountains of scrap and junk around him.

He needed to find food and shelter. There were numerous rats around and various other creatures of debris that would serve well as a meal. He also recalled seeing a tower of still-full oil barrels not too far back, which was a good thing too since he was running low on twigs to burn (trees were as scarce as one would expect in a junkyard). Maybe he should double back to where the oil barrels were and set up camp beside them. But first things first: rats.

Mister Sebastian Whitmore stood silently, ears perking up to spy out any sound of scurrying. There to the left he could hear movement in the wreck. He turned, searching for the familiar rodent shape, and saw with his almost black eyes a flash of pink tail.

‘Huzzah!’ he exclaimed and lunged without any thought after the rat, scrambling through the refuse and grabbing wildly with hungry hands.

Alas to no avail. The rat had gotten away with a squeak of victory. But Mister Sebastian Whitmore was not yet jaded. He followed quickly after it, from junk heap to junk heap, faster than his waning body seemed capable.

It was in his sprinting stage when Mister Sebastian Whitmore heard the cry. At first he thought it was just thunder, until he realised that the cry sounded far too human for the clouds. He halted, rat forgotten. Were there other humans in the waste or did he merely imagine that cry? He was losing his mind after all; a fact that Mister Sebastian Whitmore was very much aware of.

But the cry continued, although now Mister Sebastian Whitmore recognised it as not a cry but a crying—a child crying. He couldn’t believe his ears and, a few seconds later, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Pink, cold and naked was a baby laying in a heap of rusted, scrap metal only a few metres away.

Mister Sebastian Whitmore was no longer alone.

***
1

The clocks were kept in their own separate little pile. Although Scrap had no idea they were called ‘clocks’, and even if he did he wouldn’t have known how they worked or what they were used for. Especially considering all of the ones he ever found were broken. He did know, however, that they did marvellously as the heads of his friends, of which he now had over a hundred.

Skinny hand resting on skinny hip, Scrap contemplated his haul. That day’s scour had granted him his largest bounty of potential heads since he could remember. He had far more heads than he had originally anticipated, and not enough arms, legs or other body parts—or rusted pieces of metal that faintly resembled body parts—to go around.

Perhaps if he gave all of his new friends two heads instead of just the one…

No, Scrap knew that would not do at all. All his older friends would get jealous of the newer batch and they’d each insist on having another head as well; and Scrap definitely did not have enough heads to go around for every single one of them.

Never mind. He would just have to keep the heads safe for later. One could never have too many one-headed friends anyway.

Scrap dumped his bony bottom on the cold and dusty ground and began to construct his latest companion. But before he even had a chance to pick out a head (there were so many to choose from today) a loud clang reverberated in the distance, followed by a hoarse bellow of his name.

‘Scrap! Eatings!’

Scrap dropped what he was doing and jumped to his toes and began skipping towards the shout, the hardened soles of his naked feet taking no notice of the rubble below them.

In the dirty light of dusk a hunched figure of a man—covered almost head to toe in rags of cloth—came into focus. Scrap could see a withered hand peeking out from underneath the torn fabric and poking experimentally at a carcass of some unknown creature, which lay feet up on a length of orange-hot metal.

Scrap sniffed the burning air and felt a fat drip of hungry saliva emerge from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t wipe it away but let it slide all the way to his chin and drop to the floor of its own accord.

‘Mister!’ Scrap said, calling the hunched man by the only name he knew him as. ‘I found many heads today.’

Mister looked up and Scrap could see through slits in cloth the tiny, glossy black beads that were Mister’s eyes.

‘You will make many more friends?’ Mister asked, smiling. Scrap could tell that Mister was smiling due the slight tightening of the fabric around the area where Mister’s mouth would be.

‘Over a quadrillion,’ said Scrap with a nod. A ‘quadrillion’ was the biggest number Scrap knew. But only because it was the biggest number Mister knew, and it was Mister who had taught him how to count (though never up to a quadrillion, no matter how much Scrap had pleaded).

The two of them sat to eat. Scrap, his lanky back leaning against an empty barrel of oil, gnawed at his half of the carcass with an animal ferocity.

‘Scrap, look what I found today.’

Amber eyes lifted as Scrap looked up from his meal. Before him Mister was clutching a large, heavy, black object in his hands. Scrap could tell it was heavy because it was weighing down Mister’s frail arms.

‘What is it?’ Scrap asked in awe.

*******************************************************

So... What d'ya think? My first Storygame here so any critique is welcome.

The decision point is pretty obvious: What object is Mister holding?

I have my own idea (hence the miniature description of the object) but I can probably write anything to be honest. Even something that doesn't fit the description (which I can always change later) if enough people want it. The floor is open!

[LordoftheNight]

Hey Quin - welcome to IF.

Nice start to the story there - looks interesting. I'll be following this one.

As for the DP, perhaps he's found some sort of rifle? Rusty, and probably all out of bullets nonetheless, but still looks threatening enough.

[Lilith]

A book of Grimms Fairytales.. only they are much more .. twisted in nature and a bit... sadistic, shall we say?

Well done for a first SG, Quincunx, well done!

[Chinaren]

I like the cut of your suggestion lordy, but instead of a rifle... a bomb. A big fat hairy (well, maybe not hairy) bomb.

Nice start Q!

[Christalnightshade]

I say it should be a mustard bomb, or a mother rat! Liked this story, it's a shame he is called scrap, but I understand where it comes from, since he was found on the junk.

[Smee]

Haha, great to see you writing, Quin. And a totally bizarre and unique start you have too. I love it.

I'm assuming Scrap and Mister are our characters from the prologue years later, but perhaps not. Very intriguing.

Some ideas...

- A bowling ball, the perfect head for an extra special friend that could be more 3D.

- A large umbrella (who knows what they might do with that, but upside down could be a nice rain water collector)

- A bear trap!

As a rule I don't like these sorts of Decision points, but that doesn't matter for now. I'm looking forward to more.

Happy Writing. :)

[LordoftheNight]

Chinaren wrote: I like the cut of your suggestion lordy, but instead of a rifle... a bomb. A big fat hairy (well, maybe not hairy) bomb.

Nice start Q!

I was actually going to say a bomb, but decided an empty gun might be more likely to be left lying around.

[Quincunx]

Thanks everyone for the feedback. I've narrowed down the choices to the following:

- Gun (loaded)
- Gun (empty)
- Bomb
- Book
- Umbrella
- A new head for Scrap's friends
- Bear trap

Sorry if I missed anything out and if I' took a few liberties with the suggestions. If everyone thinks it's looking okay then I'll get a poll up.

[The White Blacksmith]

What if it's a map holder? A large one, perhaps, with a few maps inside?

[DeadManWalking]

How 'bout a cell phone?

They're both completely mystified as to what it is

then someone calls...

Just a suggestion though.

Good job!

Wish I could write this well when I first came to the city.

[Quincunx]

I've put up the poll and thanks everyone for the suggestions. There are quite a few so there's a lot to choose from. I'm liking some of the newer suggestions better than what I originally had planned o-)

I'll leave the poll up until Tuesday morning.

[Masterweaver]

Vell vell vell, another scrapyard, no? Only not as high-tech and graphic as Agronaut's. But, given that this is a promising beginning, and given Agro's Agro... Well, I say good louck to you! I am deeply impressed and hope to meet some of Scrap's friends soon. ESPECIALLY if they talk!

[Quincunx]

Thanks for the compliment :)

Masterweaver, I didn't realise there was another scrapyard-set SG. I got the idea whilst watching reruns of Scrapheap Challenge on the good old TV, heh. I ought to go have a look at that story...

[Smee]

It's here... a graphic SG. Very cool, although sadly the author is absent.

[Quincunx]

Rightio, I've closed the poll and it looks like the Mobile phone has won! I'll try and get the next chapter up within the week and perhaps change the description in the first chapter a bit.

Thanks for voting!

What object is Mister holding?

Gun (loaded) 0% [ 0 ]
Gun (empty) 0% [ 0 ]
Bomb 0% [ 0 ]
Book 14% [ 1 ]
Umbrella 14% [ 1 ]
A new head for Scrap's friends 0% [ 0 ]
Bear Trap 0% [ 0 ]
Map holder with maps 14% [ 1 ]
Mobile/Cell phone 57% [ 4 ]

Total Votes : 7
Who Voted: Chinaren, DeadManWalking, Lilith, Masterweaver, Smee, The White Blacksmith, Z

[Chinaren]

Good stuff Quunx.

However, just a hint here.

Most people read the first chapter or two of a Sgame, gratis, as it were. However I would remind you to follow a couple of other peoples' as well. The reason being twofold.

One is they'll get to recognize your name and it helps exposure of yours, and two, people feel more obliged to comment on yours if you have done the same to them.

[Smee]

Hmmm, I'm dubious as to how the mobile phone might have battery power left for use! As such, it'll just be a useless lump.

I get the impression it's been some considerable time since the baby was found (it's grown up) and I also get the impression that this dump isn't visited by other people, otherwise these two would likely have been taken in. So there's no way the battery could have survived that long in working order.

Unless we're looking at magic powering it, in which case this story opens up into a whole different way of thinking.

I think we should have voted for umbrella. ;)

[Quincunx]

Important Note:

This story was born out of procrastination and now the dreaded realisation has occurred to me that I can no longer procrastinate any more. Therefore, although I love JunkCity, it must be put on hiatus.
Once the exams are over and the Summer has begun then I'd happily start again; change a few things round here and there to make the story seem fresher from the get go.
I'll see you all soon.

[D-Lotus]

Darn, now that I've read the first chapter... :(