Page 1 of 1


Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2016 9:27 pm
by Welsh halfwit
It’s a foul day as I slosh in half a foot of water through the door I just opened and flood the carpet before I force the door shut and it’s just a small scale river under the faulty seal. I shuck off my coat and drop twenty pounds in weight as it lands with a splat on the floor. It’s been the same for days since weather control got a virus in the satellite three days back. Three days of torrential rain. Welcome to scenic Calderon. I sigh and slouch my way up to my apartment where the rain thunders like a six year olds drum kit. I had to shop, didn’t I? I needed provisions. I needed to check the computer as it’s saying I have a message. The bounty profession’s been paying really well. So well I had to take a second job teaching criminology at a night school to make ends meet. This’ll be interesting, I tell myself as I look at the half dozen or so unmarked essays I need to mark before tomorrow night.

Well, this is going to be pleasant. It's an 'observe and report' gig for a Commander Postain. For them that don't know, the Unites Security Council is kind of a big thing out here. They keep the peace (sometimes), they fight the wars when they can't keep the peace and they go around waving flags and being slightly marvellous in their own estimation. And Commander Postain is the local head of that. He has the Battleship Rodomont. And he wants me. I chug back half a litre of warm energy drink. This is my livlihood. Sorta.

The target's name is Keffry Yates and he works in the colony surveyors office here in Caldera city and he's been doing some shonky work around the sector that leads Postain, a Rottian with a backside where his face should be, to believe someone's paying for his work. There's a lot of money in bad work as it means better colonies for others. I affected an entry to the office building using a delivery officers’ outfit and a box of five thousand paper clips for mailshots (it’s because it’s cheaper to reuse than replicate) and attached a device to his computer to forward a copy of all his mails to my home computer. It works, despite the wi-fi in this city being toast thanks to a ship crashing on my girlfriend and her city district a few years back. Sales of USB and Ethernet cables rose exponentially in the days and months after and traffic accidents dropped.

As it was I came across the mails linking to this meet at this café and I’m across the street in the parking lot, sat in a car that once ran drugs. At least I think it did. I didn’t get this thing for cheap from any police impound; I got it for cheap after the last owner drank himself to death on the back seat. The drugs connection would explain several things about this car, though, including why there are so many compartments hidden in the upholstery and why the metal is almost an inch thick. She does nought to sixty in four minutes and can take a missile straight on. Back to the case though. I’m sat there, taking photographs and storing them on my newest acquisition, a hard drive designed to look like a Disk entertainment system for the car. No Wi-fi so I’ll take it up to my old computer later and run it through the system and see what hits. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this female Mican before and I wish I had microwave to pick up what was being said. He’s angry and she’s determined and my camera is recording video. The Council have tech that might be able to provide translations based on mouth movements. She’s poking him now and it probably hurts based on how she’s pointed her nails and… Oh, whilst he’s looking at that hand imprinting his chest, the other hand’s sprinkling something on his food.

I leave the car in the bay and get out, into my special raincoat. It’s split to the waist at the back for freedom of movement and I hat my head and glove my hands against the breeze before taking out my cold cup of coffee shop coffee and heading down and out. The wide brim protects me from most of the CCTV around here but, frankly, most of the cops here know this outfit anyhow. The street is all hustle and bustle and that makes it somewhat easier to get pushed off my feet and collide with the lady. I make the accusation that someone pushed me as I try to dab coffee off her outfit unprofessionally, making more of a smear. She’s shouting about how it’s OK and everything and the people are milling around between us and the cameras. That’s how no-one sees what’s going on. My particular brand of Mican can use our tails as an extra hand with one finger and that tail’s pulling the phial she just used from her pocket and hiding it under my coat as I stand up. I might only be four foot or so tall but I feel at least six feet tall right now. I offer to pay for the cleaning and she replies that I couldn’t afford it so why don’t I just run along? Ah. She has a couple of musclemice coming out of the interior now and their eyes flash ‘I know what you did’ so I’m just going to run along. Really quickly. And they’re going to come after me too as, spooked, Keffry goes the other way. I hope he’s not bitten that sandwich.

I leg it to the left, around the corner of the car park and enter via the stairwell there to sprint up to the car as the white furred mini gorillas grunt their way up behind me. My mind runs through various paths of escape but settles on the primary one of CAR!! I practically fall over my feet when I get to the correct level and they make up ground as I hit the car hat first. I still have enough time to flip the phial into my one hand and take the keys in the other to open the lock. I press the button and it’s close enough that it actually works, unlocking the door. I scramble in and lock the doors as the grunts arrive and try to smash the cars’ windows. I think they hurt their fists as I try to get the Chunkmobile started. Nope. I try it again. It refuses. They’re trying to shake the car free now. They have about as much chance of that working as I do this bloody ignition. Now one’s drawing an energy pistol. Great. I’ve never tested the energy resistance of my window. I’ve never needed to as the ignition roars. Strange, the side window is clear. I look out at the fallen figure of the goon and figure I have energy reflective screens on this thing. Huh, I tell myself as I push the ship into sail and pursue a goon around the parking level; you learn something new every day.

I dropped off the antidote to the paramedics attending Keffry and headed on home to find out who he was meeting. It's the sort of revelation that would make your blood run cold if it hadn't already curdled in your veins at the name that you thought was evil legend. Or, at least, likes to show itself as Evil legend. I upload the file and get ready to leave when the door to the hallway opens. And when I say 'opens' I mean nearly rips off the hinges and has the handle knock a hole in the wall.
She's polite and asks if she can come in. Mind you, the reports all say that about Agnetha Thurso. She offers to improve my room by destroying the computer but decides not to after she sees the files are already gone. She's not fooling me with benevolence. She's dangerous, with two guns under her coat and her goon... she calls him Morris... has arms that could crush metal like butter... Morris? Really? Was Leslie taken? Is my knife still in the back pocket? Yes, I can feel it. He’s bigger than me. He’s taller than me. He’s meaner too. That leaves my tail. They always forget my tail... OK. Maurice wants to fight. Seems he was in love with the other guy. The one who shot himself whilst trying to shoot me. Life's fair... I take in one of the first things I learnt in combat lessons. When a behemoth is coming at you, back away fast! I flip backwards and have my tail grip the handle of the knife. As i stand on my hands, halfway through the flip, I use the tail to throw it at him and hear it whistle past my own ears on its' way as I complete the flip.

Pity I missed his head. I know a certain Tiger who won’t be too happy with my accuracy but the heck with it - I won't tell him. Morris moves quite quickly for someone with the muscles in his head and he’s trying to swat me within a few seconds of my regaining my feet. He catches me a slight blow and puts me across the sofa so I’m not sure if that smell of vomit is coming from me or from the Sofa. It could be either. Miss Thurso simply steps aside as Morris throws the sofa at me. He actually throws it! I wonder if he’s just infected himself with something? It hits the wall as I throw myself low under it and pick up a serrated knife from the kitchen that had got stuck under there. It’s stained with all kinds of stuff – as I am now. I really need a cleaner. I pass between his legs and stab the ‘blade’ into his leg. It grates across the meat and I really hope it hurts. I used to coat blades in whatever happened to be lying around – Bleach, Washing up Liquid, turps or Arsenic, I’ve used them all but not on a knife I eat with, that’s just begging for an own goal. He grabs me by the flanks and hurls me up into the ceiling. My teeth vibrate as I hit the roof and I grasp at the lampshade as I fall past it. My unexpected weight breaks the light from the ceiling but the cable holds and I put my small boots into his large face before booting my knife further into his shoulder. Again he grips me as my tail pulls the blade free, drawing blood with it as Morris slams me up against the wall. His arm looks like it really hurts and, as he tries to strangle me – he has strong hands - I put my boot into the wound. He yells again and drops me. I flip the knife into my hand this time and get into a combat stance, ready to fight again as his fist comes in on my face, knocking me slightly bandy. I get up and face him again and he's back to trying to strangle me.

That's when Agnetha calls a halt to the combat, saying honour is fulfilled and it would be stupid to waste a potential asset like this. I'm not sure if I'm more offended or Morris. But she points out that I work for that most honourable thing in intelligence services - money - and a smile cracks her face as she adds that I'm a decent - but unimaginative - fighter and an infiltrator. She says I have Coludda. I don't know what she means until she translates it to 'The Iron Wheels' and I think she's talking about my fortitude before I realise she's actually named my car. Before I work that out - too busy rubbing my throat - she's out the door, having given me a message for Postain. He won't get her. She's too protected. She's going to make Yates pay for it with his job tomorrow. Or with his head. I check my watch as I send Postain my invoice with couch added and realise I only have three hours before I'm due back in the school. I sigh. I still have three papers left to go.

How the heck am I gonna explain the bruises? And the voice that would make a Dalek proud?


Posted: Fri Nov 18, 2016 11:43 pm
by Welsh halfwit
So, any thoughts?


Posted: Wed Nov 30, 2016 3:28 pm
by Jarlath
unless done intentionally with the character's thought's
For them that don't know
'those who' instead of 'them that'

keep wording consistent
Some sentences are a tad long and could be broken up.

Otherwise fun concept!

Just my personal opinion, take it for what it is worth.