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Heavy Metal - Chapter 23: To Serve and Protect

 
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PostPosted: Sat Sep 24, 2011 11:29 pm    Post subject: Heavy Metal - Chapter 23: To Serve and Protect Reply with quote

Heavy Metal
Chapter 23
To Serve and Protect



Frost laced clouds filled Tyrone’s nostrils as he leaned out of the side of the Cessna, breathing deeply of the high altitude air. Below him, through his goggles, he could see the peaks of the Swiss Alps reaching up as if to claw their plane from the sky, but they were flying at such a high altitude above those craggy pinnacles that the efforts of the European mountains were futile.

Floating over his own shoulder, the ghost of future Tyrone had been anxiously waiting for this moment, to reliving his favorite event in his career of serving the demonic madman the underworld had come to know so well as ‘Lucky’.

Sure, Tyrone had invited some political complications with the occasional midnight stroll down the Vegas strip. Of course, had he the discipline on such evenings to keep from picking out a straggling female, taking her down a back alley, and raping her to within, or beyond, an inch of her life, he wouldn’t have brought such heat on his boss.

However, since Tyrone had proven so effective at putting out these sorts of fires, silencing any voices of opposition and suspicion, and for more than just his own simple agendas, Lucky couldn’t help but keep this military monstrosity close to his side as his valued right hand operative. Tyrone enjoyed being the top dog on the team and needed to understand very little of what they were really trying to accomplish to get the thrill out of the role.

This mission, however, was so international that it had inspired a lot of questions from the giant when tasked. And once the answers had been forthcoming, Lucky had revealed to his private warrior a great web of conspiracy and conquest that had been afoot all along. Much of it went beyond Tyrone’s need to know, but he’d felt honored to have finally gotten a glimpse into the mind of the madman he served.

Apparently, Lucky had been buying his way to the top. Thanks to his dearly departed Father’s involvement in secret society and global politics, Lucky had tabs on and an understanding of the web of real power in the world.

As he was guided by the Lord of Hell, given command over many allied denizens of darker dimensions, the power to never lose a gamble, an undefeatable juggernaught killer and other superhuman assassins and operatives at his beck and call, and with an understanding of the rights of power granted to him by his heritage, Lucky had rapidly climbed to the top of a global power structure generally reserved for the ranks of secret society elite.

There were many in the way of the power Tyrone’s boss sought, many laying claim to it before Lucky could get anywhere near it. And Lucky’s own Father had put a virtual host of opponents in front of his son’s ability to lay claim to his most potent birthrights. But when you can win any bet, it’s not difficult to sort out who stands in your way. Before long, Lucky had his ‘hit list’.

Those whom he couldn’t BUY out, he usually managed to gamble out. Tyrone smiled as he considered the recent memory of Lucky’s favorite game. Gambling for majority ownership of yet another Las Vegas Casino empire, Lucky bet the shareholder to a game of Diabolic Roulette.

In this game, Lucky’s opponent was handed a 6 shooter revolver, five chambers armed, one empty. Lucky himself had the same weapon, though his own was crafted of a gold-steel alloy, filled with five empty chambers, one bullet.

Smiling at each other, both sure in their own eminent victories, they spun their revolvers and clicked them shut, held them to each other’s foreheads and counted down from 10 to fire simultaneously. It goes without saying which gun had spun to an empty chamber every time.

Tyrone had always enjoyed these displays of Lucky’s power, taking pleasure in knowing how these outcomes would go before they played out. Tyrone’s faith in the Darklord was total.

At this point in his life, the Bouncer was on a high and nothing could bring him down… literally. The cold air dusted a puff of cocaine off the tip of his nose as it tore past his skin.

Frigid temperatures like this didn’t disturb Tyrone. He’d never been quite game to test a finger dipped in liquid nitrogen, guessing even his body could shatter when frozen so thoroughly, but short of a complete freeze, deeply negative temperatures didn’t cause any concern beyond a slightly notable slowing as his body gelled a bit in extreme cold.

But he shivered at the thought of the conflict to come nevertheless. He was doing this voluntarily, he reminded himself. Lucky couldn’t TELL him to do this one or it would invalidate everything. Lucky had been thorough to explain how spiritual laws would be very much enforced by the Hebrew ‘God’s’ magical powers, as they usually were. If Lucky had any hand in this, aside from simply suggesting the act, his ability to take the seat of the man about to be dispatched would be denied him.

And this was the one, the final target. Tyrone’s quarry held THE position Lucky had been searching for all along, the one he had managed to put himself in the position of being the next to fill, thanks in part due to his Father’s blood-heritage.

The globalizing power of the Red Shield culminated in one council of twelve individuals, beyond all its many faces, the Catholic Church, La Cosa Nostra, the Council on Foreign Relations, the Trilateral Commission, the Illuminati, the Brotherhood of the Freemasons, the Eastern Stars, the Federal Reserve Board etc… On and on the list could go.

Each member of the council represented one of the twelve tribes of Israel. Lucky’s Father had, himself sat on the council in the highest position, that of the Levite tribe, the heritage shared by Moses and passed down by Aaron, his brother.

This was the priestly class, the one that was given to operate the Arc of the Covenant itself on behalf of the Red Shield inner council. Of course, the rest of the world went on believing the Arc had never been found. They wanted it this way. Through the Arc, the council maintained constant and close ritualistic contact with their God, Jehovah.

Just because Lucky had such a heritage didn’t mean he was ultimately the one to replace his Father. No, at the express wish of his Father at passing, Timothy Benson Hatfield had been denied even awareness of the council’s existence. But now, there were none left who qualified to fill the chair, none left with the blood to be found.

Some of those with the heritage had been discovered drowning in their own frothing bile, poisoned through two mysterious pinpricks in the throat.

Others had been found hanging from the walls of their abode, stuck there to the drywall by millions of tiny needles that gripped the skin, their eyes lolling back into their heads, throats slit.

The hearts of some of the bloodline had simply ceased to continue functioning. Upon close inspection crystallization of the blood inside the heart itself had proven the culprit.

Just as mysterious, some who would’ve qualified to take their place on the council for the Levites were found in alleyways with gashes in their temples as if a tire iron had been shoved cleanly through their skulls.

But many were simply, at first, deemed the victims of suicides; gun in hand with a single head-on, point-blank shot through the skull. Inevitably, the suicide premise would break down into a complete mystery as it would be determined that if they had committed suicide, there would have been a round in the chamber.

Somehow, none of these murders, worldwide, had ever been solved, despite the hordes of fortunes in gold stock that invariably would be found in the coffers of the deceased estates. These were some of the wealthiest individuals on Earth that were coming up dead. Many had been far wealthier than anyone could possibly have guessed as their money had not seen circulation since they had inherited it.

Surely, throughout Lucky’s war, the council must have known what was happening, though for whatever reason, they seemed powerless to stop it up to now. Tyrone had always wondered why, if that council had such a direct line to God, Lucky could continue to make any progress in this quest at all? Was it possible that the ‘spiritual laws’ bound them into not taking action against another of the blood? Lucky never did personally kill anyone that hadn’t simply lost a foolish gamble they knew they were making.

But this, being the last step in the plan, meant that Lucky had been wise to keep his prime operative out of the limelight of the council’s concerns. Always had his other soulless companions carried out these murders. Barring their ‘God’s’ purported omnipotence, the council couldn’t possibly be ready for such might and power as was the dominion of the Bouncer, for never had Tyrone been revealed in this quest. He’d been called upon to clean up countless messes and overcome multitudes of opposing interests, yes, but never had he been called to take action in this core effort to, well… take over the world.

Knowing what was at stake, Tyrone swallowed hard as he saw his target appear over the next peak, a multi-billion dollar homestead hugging the side of an Alpine cliff.

Claude slipped under the Bouncer’s arm to get a glimpse of the passing terrain. “It’s beautiful, no?” he shouted over the wind. This extreme sports ‘air boarding’ tour guide was alright as far as French people went, Tyrone figured. But he was ignorant of the purpose of the flight nevertheless.

Claude gasped as Tyrone turned and winked at the instructor and, without parachute nor snowboard, suddenly threw himself out of the plane at the side of a passing mountain. The instructor’s shouts of alarm were torn away on the wind.

Tyrone plummeted peacefully, falling thousands of feet on his back with arms outstretched as if he were a child throwing himself into a snow angel.

As he hurtled in at the wealthy estate, automatic weaponry trained in on him with laser precision. Apparently approach from the air had been given due consideration when security established the home’s defenses.

Bullets harmlessly tickled Tyrone’s backside, though one did rip off his goggles in passing, forcing cold wind to set his eyes watering.

But just before impact, the stuttering fire came to an end as bullets deflected back with likewise precision into the automated weaponry, tearing the security measures from their mounts, forcing bind-ups and ruining bullet feed mechanisms.

This brought a momentary silence just before Tyrone smashed through a foot of snow and ice, tearing through the steel roof, rending metallic rafters, denting the entire frame of the home inward, threatening to shred the home in two by the time he rebounded off marble flooring, ricocheting back off the oaken ceiling and landing on his feet in a combative crouch.

“I knew someone like you would come,” uttered a thick German accent from a tall, proud, graying man, Hans Frederique, Tyrone’s quarry. Dressed in a long black trench coat with sable fur shoulders, Hans tagged the Bouncer with a single laser from a device that appeared much the same as any television remote.

The result, however, was a hailstorm of bullets shelling the brute from automatic weaponry housed in secret compartments flipping open all around the home. A team of twelve mercenaries in black jumpsuits leapt into the room from behind couches and walls, even from the shattered remains of the chimney. Soon, they were all dead of course. Tyrone smiled as the bullets stormed on, rebounding off his rubberized flesh, knowing they would only be making his job all the easier.

When the smoke cleared, however, the Bouncer cocked his head quizzically. Hans still stood before him unscathed. How, Tyrone wondered.

“You don’t think the Angels would let one of their Stewards of Earth die so easily do you?” Hans replied simply. “You’d be mistaken if you believe my GOD would forsake ME!”

“Well, pal,” the Bouncer roared, “Your God ain’t the ONLY God, even if he claims to be!” Thundering across the rubble of shattered marble beneath his feet, Tyrone leapt at his foe, deflected aside by an unseen, invisible barrier.

“From the Moon, they watch over me. And they protect me with their powers of telekinesis,” Hans explained to Tyrone as the giant came to his feet with a bewildered look on his face.

“Guess that means we gotta press those ‘powers’ to the max then, huh?” Tyrone shouted as he began pummeling like a street boxer at the calm, impassionate Hans.

Each blow bounced off an invisible shell but Tyrone could tell that after a time, the barrier eventually pressed inward, and a bead of sweat began to form on Hans’s face as he started taking steps back with each punch. The German Jew suddenly turned to flee, a look of panic crossing his distinguished features.

Tyrone snarled in delight and gave chase when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a shape approached from beyond the window, streaking towards him like a missile, shattering through what straggling glass clung to the frames.

A gleaming armored warrior, aglow with holy radiance, reared back, brilliant ivory wings outstretched for balance and visual effect, and slashed at the Bouncer.

Three rapid slices drew crimson lines across Tyrone’s cheek, shoulder and haunches. The flaming blade in the newcomer’s hand, glowing with the vengeance of the sun itself, could apparently injure even the impervious!

“Protect me Al’An!” Hans could be heard crying out down a hallway as he vanished down a rent flight of spiral stairs.

The Bouncer spent a moment in sudden terror, overwhelmed by the fact that he had suddenly come face to face with a creature of legend, a mighty angel! He had been warned many times of the damage these beings, these ‘gods’, could deliver him and now that he could taste his blood as it oozed through his cheek across his lips, he couldn’t deny the truth of the warnings.

But he hadn’t come here, of his own volition, to fail his one friend, to lose his chance at being the Warlord of the New Earth, to fall prey to a freaking ‘bird-man’! Ducking another slash, he stepped back and bellowed in fury. Then he bent to a knee and lunged savagely at his foe.

As he shot forward at Al’An the angel, a gleaming golden sword blade pierced his shoulder cleanly through. Snarling in pain, eyes piercing into the glowing dawn of the angel’s gaze, Tyrone snatched out and grappled his opponent’s sword arm, pulling such that the blade plunged deeper through his flesh.

The angel flashed a momentary look of concern and tried to pull back but the Bouncer’s might was too great and the angel’s surprise too acute and debilitating. Pulling the feathered man into a bear hug, Tyrone was certainly not outmatching his opponent in weight class. The angel was clearly as large and muscled as he and as the holy being began to overcome his shock, it pushed back with increasing might.

But the angel lacked something Tyrone embraced, murder in his heart.

The sword through his shoulder radiating agony through his skull could not deter Tyrone from reaching both ham-fists around his enemy and latching on with all his might at the roots of the angel’s wings. He stretched, rent and tore the appendages from the holy warrior’s body, blood sent spraying across every surface in the room.

Al’An howled in agony and Tyrone reared back and snapped forward, head butting the angel in the nose with savage bloodlust, sending the messenger of God to a knee.

With reverence, hatred and respect, Tyrone slipped the blade from his shoulder, held it aloft, and looked towards the sky with vengeance as he plunged the gold spike down through the heart of his godly foe.

Moments later, after tearing his way into the panic room, the Bouncer had caught up to Hans, pinning his prey up against the wall, angelic blade to the Earth Steward’s throat. “If you kill me, you will be committing one of the few sins my Lord Jehova will never forgive. You WILL lose your powers, and your life, and you WILL spend an eternity in suffering. Repent now! Spare me! We can save you yet!”

“I invite your God to prove his power,” Tyrone muttered confidently as he thrust the blade forth.

For just a moment, as he paused to watch the dead councilman hanging on the wall of his own home by the golden blade of a murdered angel’s sword, the ethereal Tyrone heard Hans’s threat echoing throughout the room.

With a chill transcending the Alpine air creeping up his ghostly spine, it began to occur to him what he was currently experiencing. In real fear, he suddenly began to wonder if he were soon to understand the reality of Hans’s curse.


~


As a silvery metallic spike thrust through Lieutenant Barnsworth’s chest and punctured the safety glass of the one way mirror that separated the interrogation room from the viewing compartment, Police Chief Garmen turned to General Sternheim in a panic.

Gripping at the grizzled soldier’s lapels, the Chief of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police looked pleadingly into the General’s eyes and begged, “You MUST do something about this!”

Apparently, the fact that the Prospector had been revealed to truly be a product of supernatural influence had been too much for Chief Garmen to handle.

“You want ME to save YOU?!?” General Sternheim snarled as a glowing azure apparition appeared through the smoke beneath the sparking overhead light panel that intermittently flashed enough to show the murderous zombified Prospector pulling his pick out of his newest victim.

Nodding frantically, Garmen pled, “What do we need to do to put this guy down?”

“Oh FUCK no,” shouted Sternheim! “I am NOT going to babysit your corrupt pansy-ass! You brought this on yourself with your OWN greed! What the hell do you expect to get when you allow yourself to be bought by the Devil himself? Huh? A pat on the back and a fucking promotion?!? This is YOUR mess, Garmen! Oh, and…” as Sternheim turned to calmly depart the viewing room, he motioned beyond the shattering mirror, “meet Billy. I’m sure you two will get along.”

As he slammed the door shut behind him, he could recognize the telltale tones of spectral six-shooters sending icy projectiles through a hated foe. Sternheim smiled as he took pride in knowing that the Chief was getting what he deserved, but a bead of sweat formed on his brow in consideration of how quickly he’d have to move to make this work.

Tearing off down the hallway, he plowed through police officers responding to the alarm, explaining the problem was “thataway” with a grunt and a thumb gesture.

Rounding the corner on his way towards the solitary confinement cells, he nodded as, according to his expectations, the lights overhead went out. Surely the Prospector had found a way to cut the power for Billy’s sake. Soon the ghost would have slain most of the city’s finest. “Corrupt bastards deserve everything they’ve earned,” he told himself though he knew some few may have been worth saving.

As he ran, he shouted into his com device, “STICK! We got the Prospector launching an escape here! I’m headed for the solitary cells to get Private Tyrone Myer. Send Kape in. I’m gonna need the muscle to get that brute outta here!”

“Uh, sir, speaking of problems, I was just about to let you know…” returned an uneasy reply from the Stickman.

“Know WHAT?!?” Sternheim roared.

“We’ve got incoming, Sir, two red dots picked up on the scanner. The cops are all headed inside so I knew something was up! It’s like a sale on doughnuts was suddenly announced! Of course, the revolving red alarm light and screaming siren were my first clue… Anyways we got two others sneakin’ up behind the building here an’ we ain’t got any coppers watchin’ the place. Kape and I got our goggles on and I got the satellite feed taggin’ em. We should be able to snipe the bastards before they even realize they’ve been spotted.”

“Watch out for them, Stick, I have a strong feeling I’ve met those two before. Deal with it quick pal, cuz I really don’t think I’m gonna be able to lift Tyrone on my own. I got an orange pill in my pocket of course but I’m NOT game to get that sick right now, you know?”

“Sure thing, boss. You know me! If I’m gonna do something, I’m gonna do it quick!”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve blasted my way through to Tyrone then,” Sternheim affirmed.

~

Pulling his pick free from the wall, the Prospector was thankful he could see where the main power line fed through to the station and that he could puncture it from there. Single story buildings were always so much easier to disable than most. And of course, he DID serve the Lucky one.

Behind him, Billy’s revolvers put an end to the lives of those spilling into the room in futile efforts to contain him.

Now that the halls were darkened, they could move on. Squinting, he panned around in search of a particular quality of glow that would indicate the worth he knew his most valuable companion would radiate. Yes, there! Even through the walls, he could see the radiance of the Bouncer’s unholy blessings.

“C’mon, Billy,” the Prospector shouted as he reached down to grab some firepower from deceased officers filling the doorway, “we got a buddy to free!”

Stepping into the hall, bullets immediately tore holes through his flesh. But as they caused him no pain, he simply turned and fired at those brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to stand their ground and take aim at his undead form.

Billy, behind him, continued to send a volley of ethereal bullets that, for whatever reason, never seemed to require reloading. The Prospector smiled as he recalled the days of their lives, when their gunfights were always tempered by the ever-present need to reload and conserve on ammo. Even to this day it was liberating to just unload without fear like this.

Marching down the station halls as an unstoppable force, the Prospector continued tracking the aura of his companion through the walls.

He paused shooting at approaching police officers for a moment as he suddenly caught sight of something just as curious, another glow of intense value approaching the Bouncer, something hanging from a man’s belt, a military man by the auras surrounding the rest of the man’s gear. This new item of worth he’d spotted… it was something of a key, something he would need to achieve his final objective. The quality of an object’s value-aura could tell so much.

“C’mon, we gotta get a move on Billy!” he shouted as he began to run.


~


Following the General’s orders, Stickman and Kape cautiously emerged from the stealth angled chopper they called the ‘Mobile HQ’.

They kept their eyes glued to two red dots highlighted on their goggles that indicated approaching enemies. Circling back behind the chopper, they knelt to a sniping position, waiting for the dots to manifest into visible persons.

But the dots seemed to stay back, for whatever reason, cautious of further approach. The individuals those dual dots represented appeared to be hidden behind nearby buildings, waiting.

“How do they know we’re watching them, Kape?” Stickman whispered the question towards his companion.

“Ba-ah?” Kape shrugged.

“Me neither. All I can tell is that they seem to realize we’ve got a bead on ‘em somehow cuz they were just about to come around that corner up there and then stopped. Something’s damned fishy about that ain’t it? It’s like we’re trying to catch a drug dealer on shrooms here.”

“Baa-aah?” Kape asked upending the last of his bleat.

“You know… they just know shit they ain’t got no damned right to know!” Stickman explained.

Leaning over, he motioned for Kape to begin approaching the dots when their foes suddenly started to move back, retreating as if they knew what he was about to do. “What the fuck? Is this some kinda telepathic bullshit?” Stickman mouthed.

Then, just as suddenly, the dots vanished from view altogether. Stickman stood and tapped at his helm, calling for Kape to, “Stand there and keep a watch out buddy!” He jumped in the chopper and checked the com device. Apparently the link to the satellite was somehow broken.

“Damn!” he slammed his fist down on the com panel in frustration as he looked up to see some terrified police officers stumble out of the backdoor to the station, running off in horror. Kape was watching the retreating officers in equal fascination, but just as the blue shirts disappeared around the front of the building, a blur out of the corner of Stickman’s eye leapt the perimeter fence.

“Shit!” he cried silently as he waved to Kape, “Pull it in buddy! Whoever it is just made it inside the compound.

A rumbling explosion went off inside the building and, as expected, a crackling gruff voice shouted across the com, “Alright, Stick, I need Kape NOW! I got the bastard in my sight.”

“Ok, sir, but I ain’t taken care of our problem out here yet and…”

“Dammit, Stickman,” Sternheim shouted, “Take the fuck care of it on your own and send me my God-damned mule NOW! We ain’t got time for this shit! Believe that!”

Kape turned to Stickman, clearly having heard the whole conversation. The gray-furred soldier bleated, “BAAHAAH!” and darted towards the Police facility, barreling through a few more retreating officers, guided by Sternheim shouting directions to reach him.

Apparently the General had mentally mapped out the whole station while inside. Sternheim’s strategic memory had been a big part of what had earned him his rank.

Meanwhile, Stickman swallowed, realizing it was going to be up to him alone to guard the HQ. “Ah well,” he sighed. “They didn’t rewire my entire nerve system for nothin’ I guess.”


~


One of the benefits of being the General in command of the Future Weapons Division of the United States Army is that you end up having complete and total access to the coolest new toys. C6 was just such a tool. Reaching into his cargo pants, he pulled free what looked to be a miniature super soaker, two distinct plastic holding tanks mounted on a water gun.

Pulling the trigger released streams of unique chemicals from each tank to mix across the back wall of the Bouncer’s holding cell, beyond which lay the open yard.

Now, when that wall would be struck with significant enough force where the mixture stained, such as delivered by the projectile power of a bullet, the entire patch would explode with the force of a standard plastic explosive. Sadly, being the second application of it, he would need to reload for any further usage.

As Sternheim shouted out commands to Kape as to how to traverse the route, he could only pray that his goat-headed soldier didn’t run afoul of the Prospector and his spectral gunslinger.

But Kape made it to him without a hitch, though Sternheim heard a bleating, startled cry as his soldier apparently caught sight of that undead duo along the way. The General uttered a rare thanks to God that enough of Vegas’s finest had been so brave as to at least throw their lives down to slow the deathly duo.

As Kape leapt through rubble into the holding cell, the General shouted, “Pick up Tyrone and use his body as a blast shield. We know he’s nearly impervious. This way we don’t have to get any closer to those two Wild West hooligans down the hall. I’m glad that ghostly one didn’t get a shot off on you!”

“Baaaaaaaaah!” Kape nodded in agreement.

But as soon as Kape bent down to hoist the cocooned Tyrone, Sternheim noted that the gunfire down the halls had gone silent. “Uh-oh,” he warned, “Quick! Hold him in front of us!”

Kape backed up with the Bouncer thrust in front of both of them like a tower shield. The black man in the cocoon was twitching madly, his face contorted in pain and… what was that? Fear?

Sternheim wasted little time pulling his pistol and laying a shot into the far wall. Striking the mixed chemical bath he’d applied there, the ultra-modern explosive lit off with destructive fury, blowing all three of them back into the hall.

Sliding to a stop, Kape threw Tyrone off him just in time to look up into a shimmering apparition of a spectral gunfighter, azure pistols aimed at his goat-skull.

Having a preplanned strategy in mind, Sternheim spent no time considering how to react. He rolled and shot a flare through the spirit, spilling flaming brilliance which forced the paranormal being to screech in anguish and vanish!

The burning ember of the flare seared within the ribcage it had lodged into beyond the spirit. The Prospector snarled at the duo with yellow teeth and enraged eyes before rearing back and throwing his pick at Sternheim.

Rolling to the side Sternheim managed to avoid being skewered on the sharp end of the blade, merely clipped at the beltline. Meanwhile Kape reached out and grabbed the miner by the ankle, rolling to hurl the unholy zombie down the hall where the pick had skittered to a halt. The animate corpse struck the concrete wall with a sickening thud.

Sternheim, glancing over to realize that the Prospector lay momentarily still, paused to consider that he could most likely obliterate, or even capture the Prospector in this moment of weakness, but he couldn’t be sure if the miner was currently incapacitated or just acting it up for the time being. Could he even do something really lasting here? He didn’t have another flare if that gunfighter were to return. Was it time to cut his losses and simply get Tyrone out of there or should he press on with the fight? And to what end? To capture the Prospector if possible? To kill it IF possible? Was it worth it?

_________________

CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...


Last edited by Thunderbird on Sat Nov 19, 2011 3:11 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Tikanni Corazon
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PostPosted: Sun Sep 25, 2011 4:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hey TB! Another fab chapter, that was well worth the wait! Huge though, I have to say. Wink


Though he went through alot of shit when he was a kid, I'm really hoping The Bouncer gets what he deserves. The part where he killed the angel was horrible. I mean, I had a feeling it was coming, and I also had a feeling that he might rip his wings off too, but it was nasty.Wink I'm actually liking Sternheim alot more as the story goes on. I didn't dislike him anyway, but I'm certainly warming to the character as we get further in. And, of course, still liking Kape. And Billy, who is, quite frankly, awesome!



For the DP, just get out of there with The Bouncer. Get to Stickman, and in turn, he might have more supplies, at least another flare or two to get rid of Billy should they continue to be persued.


Looking forward to chapter 24! Keep up the good work! Smile

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.... there is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham....
Black Beauty by Anna Sewell, 1887


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PostPosted: Sun Sep 25, 2011 10:21 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

After a long wait finally the next chapter!

I really enjoyed the writing. I like the Tyrone character, he's very "to-the-point." I love how he just murdered the angel without a second thought to the angel's warning.

I'm gonna say that Sternheim should get Tyrone out. Regroup and live to fight another day.
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PostPosted: Mon Sep 26, 2011 6:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks for reading y'all!

I'm glad you all enjoyed it. I know it was long. But I have a few questions for you for the benefit of self-improvement, if you don't mind me asking.

1) Did you feel I ended up 'narrating' too much of the plot in the first section or was it ok that I breezed over so many important details that were at the 'heart' of the entire story? Would you have preferred I took the more patient road and delivered more of Lucky's war in scenes rather than in summary? Would it have made it easier to understand? Was it understandable in the manner it was delivered? Did it come across as if it leapt gaps in the overall conspiracy theory too wide for mere narration? Or was this digested fine and in fact best to keep this material to a minimum as it would have both droned on and confused at best if pieced together with more scenework?

2) I was thinking perhaps the Angel/Bouncer fightscene may have been a bit too rushed. I abridged some of the scenework for brevity (which this chapter needed as it had so much ground to cover) and to give a sense of the speed in which the whole thing played out. But in retrospect, I wonder if I should have elaborated more and if so, on what do YOU think I should've elaborated more on?

3) Did you feel that the General's reaction to Chief Garmen's pleas were justified or was he just being an asshole? Were you at all confused by any of the scenework at play there or did you get a pretty clear vision of what was taking place inside the police station and out? How did the mention that we're soon to understand a bit more about Stickman's 'superhuman' nature come across?

Anyways... feel free to answer any, all, or none of the above... they are just the questions the author has on his mind about how this critical exposure chapter comes across.
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PostPosted: Mon Sep 26, 2011 8:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I have no problem with your writing style. I think your writing and formatting is impeccable.

A personal preference I have is that I find single-perspective stories more engrossing (when I say single perspective I don't mean first-person just that the story follows a single character) than stories following multiple characters. I think that in SGs where the time elapsed between chapters can be long, it's hard to remember all the characters and their various stories. Whereas if you follow a single character then it's easier to slip back into the story.
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PostPosted: Mon Sep 26, 2011 9:52 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks for the reflection Muad! It's funny... I just gravitate towards multi-character... I try to avoid it (I really didn't mean to go there this story when I began it to be honest) but its just how things seem to end up...
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PostPosted: Sat Nov 19, 2011 3:12 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Now polling! Hopefully new chapter over the Thanksgiving weekend coming up! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Tue Nov 22, 2011 11:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow... so I may have 0 votes from IF on this before I start writing it huh? huh...
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PostPosted: Wed Nov 23, 2011 1:25 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Sorry for the late vote Tbird. I voted to take a risk and try and kill the Prospector. Always take chances when you have them I say.
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PostPosted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 12:12 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

No need to apologize Muad. Thanks for the vote though Smile (I've just been sad to see how much ground I've lost in terms of readers and voters here on IF is all... but I know I've brought it on myself with really long chapters.)
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PostPosted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 6:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I think the problem is the number of chapters there are. I really think everybody needs to sit down and discuss whether a SG should be treated exactly like a novel. I personally feel that an SG should have a chapter limit simply because the readers peter out before long. Also if the turnover rate of SGs is high, it'll make the site more exciting.

Sorry for the rant on your thread. red
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PostPosted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 7:19 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

lol! Don't worry! I love debates on my threads, no matter the topic matter Smile

I'd have to say though, I write SGs to facilitate the writing OF a novel. That's the whole point for me. I couldn't imagine trying to get through the authoring of a novel without some input along the way. I suppose it comes from my RPG roots. I've come to be reliant on the fact that player participation makes for such a much better tale by the time its said and done.

That said, I have some ideas as to how I might be able to make things more inviting for folks from the current chapter point. I mean, Marvel was able to pull off 300+ chapters with their comics without anyone feeling like they needed to start from the beginning to follow the whole thing effectively. Every issue gave an entry point for a new player and I think I need to adopt that philosophy somehow.
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Prospector Down! Billy's out of the picture for an indeterminate amount of time and a sudden return could be lethal. Take advantage, run or other?
Get out immediately to secure the Bouncer as our captive, get to the chopper for more supplies and enjoy the warding from Billy provided by the sunlight outside.
50%
 50%  [ 2 ]
Take the risk and attempt to kill the Prospector before taking flight with the Bouncer.
25%
 25%  [ 1 ]
Grab both the Bouncer and the Prospector (hoping to keep him incapacitated) as prisoners and get out.
0%
 0%  [ 0 ]
Author Only Vote
25%
 25%  [ 1 ]
Total Votes : 4
Who Voted: Muaddib, Thunderbird, Tikanni Corazon, Whisperer

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