so the one writing challenge i decide to come back to is a fanfic? motherfucker. i am LOATHE to write fanfic... oh well, better get to work...

I was just struck with the idea of running one of my old stories through the blender and giving it the MST3K treatment. Probably not a good idea, but the notion amuses me.

I've been stuck on one scene the past few days.

The deadline is Wednesday? Cursed final weeks of classes. I havent found any time to get to work. I really wanted to do this one too.

I think I'm gonna do a Superman piece.

I like how the word count went way up for the fanfic challenge :lol

Timedog said:

I think I'm gonna do a Superman piece.

I like how the word count went way up for the fanfic challenge :lol

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figured since the story has to stand on its own I needed to make a concession.

ronito said:

figured since the story has to stand on its own I needed to make a concession.

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i get why, but it's funny at the same time.

This challenge is a lot more difficult than I initially expected. Which is probably because the series I'm into now aren't as inspiring as the series I was into when I was a kid. That's not really surprising, but it does make things slow going. Hopefully, I'll have a topic by this afternoon.

ok gents time's running out, maybe this'll be the first victory by default we have (assuming someone submits something). I am going to submit something, I am I am I am.

ronito said:

ok gents time's running out, maybe this'll be the first victory by default we have (assuming someone submits something). I am going to submit something, I am I am I am.

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I will be submitting something, even if it's a bit rushed.

ronito said:

maybe this'll be the first victory by default we have...

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Not as long as I'm around, it won't be!

Fuck defaulting. I have half a piece done already, and should be up tonight!

I don't think I’m going to make it. I thought posting in this thread would have given me some motivation. I guess not. =(

Xenon said:

I don't think I’m going to make it. I thought posting in this thread would have given me some motivation. I guess not. =(

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fuck it, post something rough.

Title: Sonic Boom
Word Count: 913

Fuck ‘em. I’m not gonna save those helpless sons of bitches, at least not for another couple hours. I am starving, and pulling an all-nighter saving Pedophile Jim from 5-alarm building fire he started because he was rubbing his stick too hard just doesn’t sound that appealing right now. For the time being, I’m gonna sit back, relax, and try my hand at the whole Emeril thing. It’s time to get at some food, goddamn it!

I was at Brenda’s apartment last night and I found and subsequently stole her famous grilled chicken recipe. There’s nothing that special about Brenda in the looks department, but I’ll tell you what, the bitch can cook some chicken! Metropolis can fall to shambles all around me, and as long as a plate of her chicken is sitting in front of me, I’m in heaven. I don’t need her anymore, though. I am now in possession of one of the greatest treasures the world has ever known. I’m actually quite convinced that Brenda found this recipe in an Egyptian burial tomb scrawled out on papyrus paper in some ancient Wingdings font. This is the type of shit that needs to be hung up in a museum, it’s that good.

Here we go. I’m firing up the grill with my laser eyes. Fucking lasers—so cool! I usually don’t cook for myself, but I’ve never failed at anything ever before in my life, so don’t worry, I got this. I normally eat at Burger King. I have a lifetime unlimited supply of food there after they ran a promotion for the last movie based on my life. The royalties on that one from the movie studio were pretty shit, but there was a mysterious freak acid rain storm that fucked up the executive producers Ferrari, hahaha, so I’m calling it a wash!

Where’s that recipe again? It’s not in my tights! Fuck, I better X-Ray scan the old igloo to find it. Oh, right there on the coffee table right next to my Marbs. Perfect. Okay, so first off ¾ a cup barbecue sauce. Sweet Baby Ray’s NIGGGAAA! I love this shit! Mix it together with ¼ cup frozen orange juice concentrate, a tablespoon ground ginger, and 2 tablespoons of brown sugar. Yeah, let’s make it 4 tablespoons of brown sugar. Supes has to have his sugar. That sweet, sweet brown. Reminds me of this black girl Carmella I was hooking up with for a minute. Had nice chocolate skin and a big ol’ bubble butt that I terrorized. I humped her from here to Antarctica—literally! I simply can’t resist a nice round ass. Chicken and Ass, damn, I should make a rap album.

Now I need to grill the chicken for 30 minutes after brushing it with butter, but fuck that, I’m a bit of an impatient dude, if you haven’t noticed. I think I’ll just fly into space right quick and speed up the earth’s rotation, thus speeding up time. It’s a great technique for curing hangovers. Ta-da! Time to brush on that delicious, delicious sauce I made earlier, and then….aw fuck this shit, I have to wait another 20-30 minutes. Here, let me speed up time again to about 45x and I’ll tell you another story during the (much shorter) wait.

Somehow, somewhere, humanity got the idea that my body was invulnerable to everything except Kryptonite. It’s for the most part true, but you know that saying about black guys? Well apparently white women have to same effect on us Kryptonians. They’re not green or glowing, but the thought of my dick ripping a hole in the fabric of some panties sure does make me weak in the knees. I met this girl Jennifer when I was out clubbing—big breasts, nice butt, dog face. Pretty much the usual. She was dressed pretty conservative, actually, but I X-rayed that shit and found a smorgasbord of incredible curves. I get her all liquored up, we get back to her apartment and………wait. OH FUCK! THE CHICKEN IS BURNING!

God, this shit tastes bad. Burnt, chewy-ass poultry. Blech! Fucking Brenda gave me a bum fucking recipe. Seriously, fuck it; I’ll just make some toast. Damn, Brenda is good in bed though. Last night I had her flopping around like a fish out of water. People don’t know this about me, but you know that whole eye laser ability I have? Well, I can shoot lasers out of my dick too, makes girls cum so quick. Hahahaha, nah just kidding. I wish! I’ve actually got a pretty small dick compared to most humans. A big dick isn’t really necessary for me as a Kryptonian, not when I can move my hips so fast that it causes a fucking sonic boom to erupt from her pussy. When I railroaded Jennifer I had to pull out when I came. Her pussy felt so good I was afraid I was gonna kill the bitch. I ejaculated so hard that it left huge gaping holes in her roof—not that she complained. I think she was too busy turbo-cumming to notice. It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a 900 mile per hour cumshot!

Now where was I? Fuckin’ A! The toast! There’s smoke everywhere. Now if there’s one thing, one single thing on this planet that you’d think I couldn’t possibly fuck up, it would be toast, but I’ll be damned if this motherfucker doesn’t get distracted when thinking about pussy.

Ok, I think this idea I have is starting to come together. Will write tonight.

double post

The Tortoise and the Hair

words: 1,814

I've finally had an idea!

This is not going to be a good one for me. I'm not feeling this one at all, but I'll submit anyway.

ZephyrFate said:

This is not going to be a good one for me. I'm not feeling this one at all, but I'll submit anyway.

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yeah do it. ride the snake.

How long do we actually have from now? I've been bogged down with work and assignments, so I haven't had a chance to write anything yet (but the idea's been percolating).

Ya got until tomorrow night. I'm doing this story instead of the essays I need to write for Thursday.

viciouskillersquirrel said:

How long do we actually have from now? I've been bogged down with work and assignments, so I haven't had a chance to write anything yet (but the idea's been percolating).

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It ends tomorrow at midnight pacific.

I just finished writing mine out. I'll edit tomorrow and see if I can make it work.

The Tide Comes For Everyone
Word Count: 1988

When the Conception occurred, humanity was annihilated. Consumed by the power of Kagutsuchi. Earth's replacement became the Vortex World, a place filled with bloodthirsty, violent demons all seeking power and status in a world where nowhere was safe. I love this world, I thought to myself, overlooking the destroyed remnants of Ikebukuro atop the Mantra HQ's tower. I had been given the form of an overly large crow, and the name of a war goddess in the human world. I do not understand why I was governed this form, or this name, but that does not matter in this world.

“Badb Catha, what do you make of the rumors of the Demi-Fiend?” A voice asked, fluttering along breezes to reach my perch high above.

“They say he has the power of Reason, sir. I find that to be incredibly fascinating! What we could make him do if he simply joined us!”

“Do not get too excited. The ways of Yosuga are not for everyone. He could very easily be swayed by some other philosophy. Only certain demons seek to kill and devour their way up the social ladder.” The voice replied.

Gozu-Tennoh, our leader, preached the ways of the strong. 'For only the strong can outlive and outwit the rest of this world. The weak shall perish so that only the strong can inherit the world.' Some may think that he has no real power. He sits upon a throne he created for himself, and is entirely statuesque aside from his multiple faces and penetrating stare. However, here in Ikebukuro, he gave us a reason to live and for that we are ever indebted to his goals.

“What can a figure like the Demi-Fiend do with the power of Reason, my lord?”

“He can shape this world into anything he sees fit. He can overpower and use Kagutsuchi to replace this world's abomination with a shining light of hope. The light above us is the only reason we exist. This world is ours for the taking. I will rule over a new kingdom of chaos, with his power.”

“Simply wonderful, my lord. I shall tell the others about this new possibility! I am so excited, my lord!”

I unfurled my wings, long and wide and black as death, and soared high above the ruins of the city. The light of Kagutsuchi warmed my soft and careful descent downwards. I could see the other side of the world from here, as the Vortex World wrapped around itself into a globe around the wonderful white light. I've never known what Kagutsuchi really is. It's been there since we were given life, but... what is its true purpose? What will it give us that we cannot give ourselves? We are not human. We do not need to depend on machines and technology and other such nonsense to live a life that is worth something. We make our path for us. Demons and demons alone can fix this mess of a world.

There was no day or night in this world. The very concept of a dynamic world with a sun and a moon did not exist in such a place. It is eternally bleak in this place and no one says a word. I landed outside the stairwell that lead down to the mall area of the city. An Oni stood by the entrance, constantly wiping his chin and looking out towards the desert outskirts.

“Demons are being killed near. One of the candelabra taken. Angels say something is coming.”

“Is it the Demi-Fiend?! Oh how I have longed for this day! You should test his prowess. It could prove to be worth your while to see just how powerful this half-demon is.” I said, licking my beak and fluttering my wings nervously.

The Oni swung at me with his spear, clipping off several feathers, drawing blood that spewed like a runny faucet along the ground.

“What was that for?!”

“You want us to die in name of the lord. You want to sacrifice us to the Demi-Fiend.” Once again, the Oni wiped drool off his chin. The filthy demon can't help but eternally slobber all over this place, can he? Maybe he deserves to die. Gozu-Tennoh would look down upon such slovenly behavior.

Amidst the dust of the desert wasteland around Ikebukuro, a lone figure walked lithely, continuously buffeted by its sandstorms. Accompanying him were various demons that had never been seen in the area before. A floating woman in green with a fan across her face, as if blinding her. A floating angelic demon in full armor, carrying a sword with both hands. Even a Mikami, the floating paper like serpents that float aimlessly around, followed in the figure's stead. The figure itself was a boy, almost entirely human aside from the full body tattoo that glowed with intensity. It almost seemed to undulate in brightness as the figure walked. He had an air about him that seemed to not only radiate power, but also that of... blankness. A slate that had no writing on it. As if he could be used as a tool for anyone. Perfect. I took to the skies once again, sand battering my wings, the wind picking up even more as the figure got closer to the city.

He is here. I whispered to myself. Another voice whispered it back, as if summoning me back to the tower. No, I have to witness his power.

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In Gozu-Tennoh's chamber high above the bleak, destroyed Japanese city, at the very top of the Mantra Headquarters' tower, the statue awaited the ascent of the Demi-Fiend. He could feel every inch of the battle raging downstairs. The Demi-Fiend was using the demon slaves under his command to fight Thor himself, a powerful Norse God of the human world. Each hammer blow and lightning strike reverberated its power throughout the city. Within minutes, however, the power dissipated. Thor had been bested, but not killed.

A half hour later, the door to his chamber opened. A small human figure pulsating with raw energy throughout his full body tattoo emerged.

“I can grant you power beyond imagining. If only you would serve the ways of Yosuga...”

The rest of the conversation was unheard by me. I flew helplessly in front of the tower entrance, but all she could hear was the silence and the occasional breeze. After a short time, the door opened, and the Demi-Fiend appeared, even more powerful than before. He left as casually as he entered. He glanced at the bird eyeing him cautiously. I was terrified. That black, empty stare. What exactly is he? What is he capable of?

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Time passed slowly but surely along the quiet streets of Ikebukuro. Rumors of the Demi-Fiend spread everywhere, and many were fearing for their lives. I fluttered down into the underground mall, with its multiple levels, deserted shops, and restless demon inhabitants. A Nekomata, a feline humanoid with sharp claws, snuck up behind Badb and nearly made the bird shit itself.

“One of my friends was enslaved by the Demi-Fiend. What d'ya know, scavenger?” The feline said, purring lightly while licking its hand slyly.

“I know as much as you do about him. He has the power to enslave us and make us his tools. He also, apparently can use Reason. The Mantra can finally rule this world and destroy the insensate weak that pervasively populate this ruined world.”

Explosions occurred from around the central square. The resulting shockwaves decimated parts of indoor mall and several demons lay dead. Many in several pieces, as if thrown into a wood chipper. Badb flew out from the mall entrance and noticed red beams of light decimating the area around the Mantra headquarters. When the beams of death dissipated, red drops of light began to emerge from the cracks in the ground. I could feel my energy being sapped away even at this proximity. What kind of magic is this? Our forces... our whole army... wiped out with a single move.

“Badb... I need you. I need all of you. I am dying...”

“My lord!!” I cried out. Flapping my wings with power and urgency I rushed back to see the dying lord of the Mantra dissipating in front of me. His power was being crushed and destroyed in front of my very eyes. The statue's face split in half, falling, crumbling to the floor, as the Demi-Fiend entered.

“You! You killed my lord!” I screamed at the Demi-Fiend, who said nothing and ignored me entirely.

A figure then arose from the ashes of Gozu-Tennoh. She was another human, similar to the boy, but yet somehow entirely different. She could speak whereas he seemed entirely mute. She spoke of raw power, of killing the weak and propagating the strong. She attempted to proselytize the Demi-Fiend with the ways of Yosuga. She is bastardizing our Reason. She killed our Lord just so she could have power herself. Why would my Lord let himself be killed? Her figure morphed into a demon's. Her face became half-encased in a black tree-trunk texture that ran down her right arm that extended far in front of her. Her hair became white from its original brunette. Instead of being a regular human, she had transfigured herself entirely into a demon bent on destroying all that came before her. The Demi-Fiend seemed unsure in joining her, especially after the chaos she had just created. She laughed and merely told him to decide soon, for even though she had power she needed an avatar to make Kagutsuchi create her ideal world, or die in the process. The demon girl disappeared, and the Demi-Fiend glanced at the remnant head of Gozu-Tennoh.

“You would refuse my Lord and yet play into the hands of another, stronger force. Maybe that is the way of Yosuga... kill or be killed...” I muttered to myself.

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The streets of Ikebukuro were not just dead. They were practically silent. Very few demons stayed around. With Gozu-Tennoh dead, and the Mantra headquarters nothing more than a sepulcher of dead or dying wastes of flesh, Ikebukuro held no value. They had lost the war and their Reason had been usurped by a murderous, vengeful witch.

Those who stayed had connections with demons in other cities. Stories of Asakusa's Manikins (humanoid creatures composed of mud and clay, and infused with the remnant emotions of humans) being outright slaughtered by the girl, who named herself Chiaki, spread around and further terrified the remaining demon populace. No word had been said about where the avatar might be, or what Reason he felt he should fall in line with. The world's fate was in the hands of a half-demonic boy, who could use demons as weapons, who could change the world with the power of Kagutsuchi. Whispers in the wind again.

“Gozu-Tennoh?”

The zephyrs answered.

“The boy will change this world in whatever way he deems he can. That is the true power of Reason. It is philosophy that creates religions, creates kingdoms, creates societies. Our dreams may not be fully realized. He may opt for a more pleasing route. The power of human empathy combined with the primality of the demon world. A powerful force far above anything we could ever imagine. When the world changes, do not fear death. It is inevitable for all of us.”

Kagutsuchi suddenly erupted in chaotic waves of bright light. I looked up as the “moon” itself began to fall apart. As it fell apart, bright pillars of light collided with every inch of the Vortex World.

No. No. He did not choose Yosuga. He chose the destruction of creation itself. He has forsaken us all for a greater, darker goal. I suppose the tide comes for everyone.

Fade to white.

yeah boy! PUMP IT UP!

Here's my entry, weighing in at a meager 700 words:

Bork?!
by Link Man

The Hero of Time stood before the door to the dungeon boss's lair. To get here, he had braved the wrath of countless goblins and skeletal Stalfos knights. He had slain the ice dragon in order to obtain the legendary Goron's Hammer. He had solved the mystery of the king's tomb and acquired the big key. He had even crossed a bottomless cavern using nothing but a grappling hook. As he slipped the key into demon-faced lock, he could scarcely imagine what kind of monstrosity stood between himself and the trapped sage.

The door slid up into the ceiling, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond, its far end cloaked in shadows. The hero stepped forward with trepidation, his blade held at the ready and his shield raised. A few more steps, and the door behind him slammed shut with a deafening crash. He was trapped, but still the beast remained hidden in its veil of darkness. Sweat formed upon the hero's brow, but he stood his ground, waiting for his enemy to make the first move.

Seconds passed, and then minutes. The beams from the chamber's high windows rose ever so slightly. Still the hero waited, straining to hear even the slightest of sounds. Finally, he concluded that the chamber was simply a dead-end, a clever ruse of the evil wizard Ganon. He turned back towards the door through which he had come, yet it was nowhere to be found.

It was then that he heard it; a faint scratching sound coming from behind. He spun around quickly, his weapons raised in defense, and yet he saw nothing. A moment later, though, a small chicken, or cucco as the people of Kakariko called them, emerged from the shadows. No fearsome beast, no devilish monster, simply a red-crested rooster pecking the ground.

The hero puzzled over his dilemma. Could this really be the master of this hellish dungeon, or was it a trick, perhaps bait to distract him from a fiercer monster? He quickly concluded that the former must be the correct answer, but this opened yet another conundrum for him. Could he kill an innocent, harmless creature, even if it meant freeing the sage?

He steeled his resolve and raised his blade, the bane of evil, which had slain whole armies of Ganon's monsters. His morality would have to be put on hold where the realm of Hyrule lay concerned. With a quick slash, he cut through the tiny chicken.

Nonplussed, the cucco looked up at the hero and simply said, “Bork?!”

The hero was taken aback. He had swung with all of his might and with truest aim, and yet the chicken had not even been scratched. Enraged beyond anything he had yet felt, he bounded toward the fowl in a flurry of attacks. His blade etched lines in the air itself, his whole body a blur, as feathers filled the air.

When the plumage settled, the hero was leaning upon his sword's hilt, sweat streaming down his face and steaming into the air. Yet there also stood the cucco, unharmed but looking extremely angry. Slowly, it raised its beak and wings towards the sky, and in that moment time stopped for the hero.

His memory took him back to a day in the Kokiri Forest when he was just a boy. A chicken had wandered into the village from the Lost Woods, and the child-like Kokiri, having never seen one before, had decided that it was an evil monster. The bravest of the Kokiri grabbed a stick and started beating it, but his attack only acted to annoy the bird. Finally, having had enough, the chicken lifted its wings and beak towards the heavens and let out an almighty squawk, summoning hundreds of its brethren to its aid. The birds swarmed the brave Kokiri, and he survived only by shutting himself in his treehouse.

The Hero of Time had no place to hide, however. He raised his shield and readied his sword, charging its magic for a spin attack, but he knew he stood no chance at survival. His last thoughts, as the ruffle of feathers grew louder and the chamber darkened to pitch, were, “Forgive me, Zelda.”

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Man, I'm having trouble with the breathless sincerity this thing requires. It's really hard not to be snarky. :lol

I had trouble with my entry merely because I had to confine it to the way Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne tells a story. There isn't very much in the way of colorful dialogue and it really grounds itself in serious philosophical terms.

Thanks for the enthusiasm, Timedog.

By the way, your piece had me laughing like fucking crazy. God damn classic humor. :lol

AWESOME GUYS

Is that a Nocturne fic I see?

It is indeed. My new favorite RPG ever.

TimeDog: Fucking lasers - so cool! That line is a winner. It personalizes the character so well. That was so awesome. See, this is why I decided on fanfiction to get crazy fun stuff like this. Well done.

Ward: Is that thing about the Greeks and Christians and turtles true? Love the tone of the dialogue though I couldn't tell the speech patterns apart. A bit more action in dialogue would've been handy something like Scully rolled her eyes, or she said looking off into the distance uninterested. You had 200 words left so it might've helped. As it is, it sorta feels static. Though I love the last line.

ZephyrFate: Black as death! Argh! Cliche alert! I felt really lost. Too many new names and locations with little explanation all at once. It seems like the word limit was your worst enemy here. Too much in a small space. I'd really like to see what you'd do if you had a bit more room to really let the story spread its wings and fly.

Linkman: At first I was like "oh man, not one of these." That was until the bork. I really liked the concept. Editing would've gone a long way to help. Also the tone never really did it for me. I know what you were going for, but it didn't work for me. it seemed like a funny idea being delivered by a not funny tone.

finally got an idea. Will have to write it up after work.

Oh god, I know. I was running on very limited ideas, and Nocturne is a very complicated game... but that was the first thing that came to mind when I thought fanfiction. Next challenge I will return to form (i.e. like Ukelele Woman) and get back into my style again.

Man, it's hard to emulate crappy writing without sounding like crap yourself.

Cyan said:

Man, it's hard to emulate crappy writing without sounding like crap yourself.

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Ah, so it's based on one of mine.
---------------
I guess this is kinda like fan-fiction:

Speculator said:

Bump thread? *Gulp, but i am interested in what else NeoGaffer filmmakers are up to.

Just finished our 2nd real full length short (not counting ones I shot on a whim) for a school project from my first production class . It's loosely based on Ambrose Bierce's "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," Jacob's Ladder, and influenced by DumbNameD's "Along the Rails" short story from the NeoGaf writing contest.

It was shot using an HV20. Film was shot in less than 3 days and edited in around 2.5days....would've turned out better if I wasn't using friends and used actors (except for some of the performances)...scheduling sucked hah and we got rusty.

Vimeo - Bittersweet: A Short film by The Brothers Cho *lowest HD quality

mirrors:
YouTube - RTF 318 Project #3 Student Film: Bittersweet *minor ghosting


ENJOY!
-The Brothers Cho

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Guess I should start something for this go-around. Hmm...

ronito said:

Ward: Is that thing about the Greeks and Christians and turtles true?

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Seems to be. I googled "turtle symbolism" before I started, hoping to get some good hits and that is what the first link stated.

It was too late. The sentry gun lay in smoldering pieces at the Texan’s feet, the saboteur responsible long since vanished. The engineer’s heart sank. He had left on a routine five-minute ammunition run. The spy must have slipped in behind him with a magnetic sapping device. Thankfully he had left the briefcase full of intelligence documents alone, but the Texan knew that others would try to force entrance into the chamber now that the automatic gun was neutralized. It was never the spy’s job to spirit the stuff away, the suitcase itself was wired. Removing it would send out alerts all across the base and whoever carried the documents would need reinforcements and a lot of luck to get it out. A lot of luck was something the Texan needed; he knew he didn’t have much time.

Gathering up the assorted bits of steel, he began anew. Building sentry guns of this type weren’t particularly difficult once the Texan learned how, but he knew that it was all about maintenance. When the frontline shifted at that one key moment, all that remained to hold back the invading force was his shotgun, wrench, and turret.

Most enemies had the decency to wear colours, but not the pesky saboteurs. He knew how to handle spies when they came knocking, but this one must have watched and waited for an opportunity to walk in unnoticed. The Texan resented the fact that some of the saboteurs could do this so easily, strolling past an entire unit of armed soldiers and loitering in the bowels of their base. If only he could see the smug bastard walk back into his view, he’d put buckshot through that paper smile.

The turret began taking shape, its auto-assembling bits twirling and clicking into place under the watchful eyes of the Texan engineer. His wrench clanged against the metal skeleton, speeding the process along. It was partly his design, but he might just shrug and smile if asked. The engineers designed everything and shared everything. A minute passed, and the room once again had its watchful sentinel.

The engineer stepped back to admire his work. He pushed the brim of his hardhat up, sweeping his moist forehead with his fingers. The turret had always been his favorite piece of military hardware. It was efficient and packed a punch, sporting two fully automatic gun barrels and one missile launcher. Its targeting heuristics were unparalleled, unmatched. The lynchpin of its deadliness lay in its ability to swivel around its base, allowing it to engage threats quickly at many angles. The turret sat at one of the two entrances into the intelligence room, and would surprise anyone who chose the wrong entrance.

The crisis now over, the Texan looked to solving the next issue in his mind: logistics. Without an ammunition and metal dispenser near the turret, the engineer’s supply lines would be dangerously long. Without metal, he wouldn’t be able to maintain the turret for more than thirty seconds, and if an attack occurred, he would be cut off by the well-armed intruders. The solution to both dilemmas was the dispenser, a handy fridge-shaped appliance that periodically spat out metal, ammo, and health boosters to the hands of grateful comrades. In the event of an assault, an upgraded dispenser could keep the turret supplied and undamaged against all but the most determined foes.

The Texan slid the wrench into his belt. He walked away from the intelligence room, moving quickly through the hallway into the wider room beyond. A small cache of ammo had been tossed onto the floor in a corner, and was now the focus of the engineer’s attention. As he reached out to lift it from the floor, the sound of footsteps behind him arrested his attention.

Fingers quivering, he froze. Two figures scurried towards the intelligence room. Cool navy colours wrapped around their shoulders and chests. The Texan knew they weren’t friendlies but instead agents of the Builders Leage United, his organization’s bitter and hated enemy. He identified the threat: At the lead was a hulking frame of a man who lugged a massive chaingun in front of himself, the second was a smaller man, a man of Germanic descent and who was fitted in long, clinical dress. A curious and smoothly-chamfered gun was in his hands, outputting a warm stream of first-aid-to-go to the hulking monster in front of him.

They had seen him. The chaingun spat hot rounds to the far end of the chamber and the Texan dodged and weaved, the resupply metal wedged into his belt. He dived into the intelligence room, scrambling to set up position behind the gun. He didn’t have enough metal to fast-track a dispenser, so this would have to go to the gun. He could only hope that the two trespassers would decide to walk right into it.

They rounded the corner and the turret whirred to life, letting loose a salvo of rockets and bullets. The large man backpedalled, avoiding most of the barrage. He cried out in an impressive voice, effortlessly stringing together outrage and an insult or two in Russian. The Texan knew he would be back in a moment, healed and very angry.

The barrel of the brute’s chain-gun slid across the corner carefully, peeking out into the gun’s field of view. The turret did not stir from its back-and-forth sensor sweeps. The Russian laughed and fired, spraying a cascade of rounds into the sentry gun. The Texan’s wrench went to work, exhausting his scant supply of metal.

The Russian could keep this up all day if he wanted to; he had immediate access to any ammunition stores outside of the intelligence room. The engineer had no such luxury, once the metal he had with him was gone, the sentry would continue to take damage and inevitably fall apart.

The Texan decided to take a gamble. When the Russian moved away to resupply his weapon, the engineer slipped away from the turret and walked into the other entrance. As the footsteps signaled the pair’s return, the Texan waited. The sound of the massive chain-gun spinning up triggered him into action.

Like he had hoped, the pair had used the same door twice. The pair was also arrayed like he had hoped, medic to the back. It was this medic who now had his back turned to the Texan’s shotgun. He fired twice and sent him skidding across the floor. The Russian turned slowly and received several blasts. By the time he fired his own weapon, the engineer had ducked back into the intelligence room unscathed. Bleeding and without his medic, the Russian decided that sticking around was no longer prudent.

The Texan was able to scavenge the medic’s healing apparatus for metal to repair the gun, but he still needed more for that dispenser he wanted. He couldn’t count on being this lucky every time, and a dispenser would be handy in a pinch. If that Russian somehow miraculously survived, he’d be back in no time at all with new friends in tow.

The Texan poked his head out into the hall. All quiet. A flamethrower-clad comrade silently chased an armed enemy on the opposite end of the hallway, but the room remained lifeless. The Texan weighed his risks. The nearest resupply cabinet wasn’t more than thirty seconds away, and it looked like a perfect lull. He’d take it.

The Texan walked away from the gun, making paces toward his goal. A pitter-patter of footsteps advanced on the intelligence room. The comrade was dressed in a fire-suit and mask, carrying what appeared to be a fire axe in both hands. The footsteps seemed to echo, and the newcomer paused to listen. Nothing. He moved forward again, and the footsteps echoed once more. He turned only to find a short man with a hard-hat bearing down on him. The Texan’s hand slipped to his belt, fingers curling around the steel wrench. He brought it above his brow and the figure grappled at his belt, fumbling for a previously concealed butterfly knife. The wrench impacted dead center on the intruder’s skull, the camouflage rippled and broke, the saboteur groaned as his legs collapsed. The Texan brought the wrench down again and finished the job. He paused for a moment and took a breath, leaning over the body. He fished for treasure in the spy’s pockets and found a pack of cigarettes. Poking a cigarette under his lip, he tossed his wrench to himself and smiled.

Just came across this thread yesterday so this was unfortunately the best I could do on short notice

He sat with his eyes closed clutching tightly the cushions of the chair. He could feel the oil of his sweat causing his grip to give as the ship vibrated and jerked. It had been 2 long sleepless days at high warp to rendezvous with the Orion space liner Majestic Breeze. What scared Egon was the speeds that they were traveling - with a malfunctioning deflector system. But what scared the crew was the prospect of taking the old rusting Federation scout so far into the lawless Triangle, a region that spanned the expanse between the Federation, Klingon, and Romulan empires. Out here a ship could go missing and that’d be that - the rules of the Federation didn’t apply. Normally he wouldn’t have taken this big a risk - but this time the reward was too great.

“Egon, we’re ne-”, the ship suddenly jerks to one side as the vibration from the ceiling grows louder and slowly subsides as Egon opens his eyes. Before he can reply he’s jolted forward out of his seat - the lights fade and the room is bathed in the amber glow of emergency lighting.

The eerie silence is broken by the crackling of the com system.

“Bridge, Br*hiss*…impul*crackle* manifold on fire. It wil*crackle*….”

Egon snaps to his feet and quickly takes in his surroundings. Anton, a tall slender Andorian struggles to stand from the navigation chair. He graps the side of his head and groans. His tattered Star Fleet Uniform has seen better days.

Next to him at the helm station sits Ben, an a caramel-colored human male wearing a set of dark headphones and sun glasses. He grasps a joystick attached to the main helm console.

He removes the headphones and shades, then slowly releases the joystick.

“Phew… we’re here…I wonder if I broke the warp speed record for traveling without a navigational deflector”, he says in a relieved voice

‘Yeah, but can we get the hell out of here!’ Egon thinks to himself as he slips back into the captain’s chair.

“Good. Anton, check with Smock in engineering and see if we can still get the job done”

Normally on a ship of this size there would be plenty of people to tell him just that, all waiting eagerly on the bridge for a chance to look good in front of the captain and get that promotion or commendation.

“I’m on it…”

He sprints to the turboshaft at the rear of the bridge.

“Hey guys”, he remarks, “do you guys smell impulse coolant?”

He grins slightly as he steps into the lift and is whisked away.

“Ben, that was some good flying… we’re going to need some more of it in about 10 minutes… take a quick breather, but be ready to get us moving again”

***

Flames danced along the wires attaching the matter/antimatter inducer to the main power system. Smoke billowed from deep down in the bowels of the warp reactor as fire suppressant sprayed from the ceiling. Smock looked with great fascination at the display of light and color through the mask of his environmental suit. He glanced at the diagnostic tools on his wrist to see that he had 2 more days of power in the suit. Far more than he’d need he imagined.

He thought back to his days on Vulcan in the fire caves of Varis Majoris when he would spend hours watching the lava shape the Majoris Praxis valley below. Watching the fire burn the walls of engineering was much like that.

“SMOCK - WAKE THE FUCK UP!”, he snaps back to reality. Before him an angry figure in an environmental suit stares at him, his hands still shaking him.

“Sorry Anton - I was… distracted. We’re in good shape. These fires won’t last much longer without life support and pretty soon - “

“Can we get the fucking ship moving again - that’s all we want to know! That and weapons… do the weapons still work! DO THE ENGINES AND WEAPONS WORK!”, Anton’s voice echoes over the environmental suit communicator

“Certainly, outside of the fire everything should be operational…. except for the impulse engines, we’ve got something wedged into the manifold. No way we can fix that so we’re maneuvering with thrusters only”. As he looks at the Andorian he can tell that he only really cares about the warp drive and the weapons.

“Okay, I’m going back to the bridge - charge the weapons and turn off anything else we don’t need except for warp drive and life support on the command deck”, Anton tries to sprint away but is delayed by the infrequent action of the magnetic boots as they regulate his motion across the floor.

***

Shane Donivan had captained the Majestic Breeze for the past 20 years. He was a grizzled old Orion with greying hair and two synthetic legs, his originals having been contributed to a fight with Klingon raiders some 5 years prior. If not for a Federation rescue - most assuredly his life would have been taken as well.

“Captain Donavan, we’re nearing the rings of Plaides - slowing to give our guests a good view.” remarks the mechanical voice of the automated helmsman. The Breeze was one of the long line of nearly entirely automated cruise ships operated by the Orion Free Trade Alliance, one of the few Orion clan bodies that didn’t participate in widespread piracy.

Shane leans back as an Orion slave girl emerges from beneath the console in front of him. She pants feverishly then lays on the floor next to him in a fetal position, waiting for his duties to be over so that she could return to hers.

“Captain Donavan, identifying one ship near the rings bearing 247- heavily damaged Federation scout *BEEP BEEP BEEP* Weapons are charged but vessel is pointing towards large rock formation in the rings *BEEP BEEP BEEP* environmental systems are erratic *BEEP* multiple hull fractures and breaches *BEEP* fires detected in multiple compartments *BEEP BEEP* few life signs.”

“A very interesting situation… why would a Federation ship be out this far. Let us steer lear of them and prepare our defense less whatever hunts them hunts us”

***

“EGON HE’S NOT COMING OVER HERE!” Anton was certainly true to his Andorian warrior spirit - the anticipation of impending combat was causing him to behave erratically. “WHERE THE FUCK IS HE GOING!”

Egon sat in the captain’s chair. He leaned forward and looked at the cracked viewscreen as the Breeze twinkled in the distance. He crossed his hands and sighed “well shit - he’s going to make this difficult - hold our position”

Egon presses the comm button on the captains chair but nothing happens. He presses it again, and a third time before there is a response.

“This is Smock - please realize that it takes a while to move in these environmental suits”

“Fine Smock, drop us to everything but emergency power. Charge one photon launcher and turn everything else off. Then thrust us gently so that the rotation of the rings will bring the Majestic into firing position. Might be best to blow a few bulkheads on the port side aft”

“Fascinating”, Smock replies. A few minutes later there is a slight jolt and the helm console registers that the ship is rotating towards the Majestic.

“Anton we’ve got one FP-6… that’s a big torpedo… “

“I know I know…. I won’t blow up the whole ship like the last 2 times”

“ANTON, LOOK AT ME” Egon says with a slight laugh

The Andorian looks back with a big grin on his face.

“ANTON, I need you to not destroy them with this shot.” Egon motions two fingers from his eyes to Antons - “Hit something they don’t need - don’t blow them up - do it with one shot. We’re here right?” Egon performs the eye-to-eye motion again.

“R-i-g-h-t…”

***

“Captain Donavan, ***BEEP BEEP BEEP*** change in Federation ship aspect ratio, turning slowly towards us ***BEEP BEEP BEEP*** no power being emitted from ship at all including weapons ***BEEP BEEP BEEP*** scanning ship registry **BEEP** Scylla class *BEEP* unable to identify registry due to significant hull damage - best estimate H127499”

“That sounds strangely familiar. Where have I heard that before. Was that one of the lost ship registries from Star Base 10? Hmmm… Bring up that information from the registry database and tag her visually for reference. I’m sure someone from Starfleet will be interested in what happened to her.”

“Captain Donavan, ***BEEP BEEP BEEP*** detecting transient projectile”, Donavan turns to the sensor display, “approaching from bearing 047”

“Impatient bastards! Shields, warp speed, MOVE!”

***

Egon looks off into the distance as the Majestic disappears in a blueish white streak of light. As the light faded, in its wake is the unmistakable visual of of an incoming photon torpedo.

“The FUCK !?!” He slapped on the communicator “SMOCK” then again “SMOCK, don’t reply just spin up the engines and the weapons!”

Deep in the pit of his stomach he knew something was wrong. Space was big, very big and the chance of two ships running across each other in an unplanned circumstance was rare, but three - no three just didn’t happen. Three was a bad number when you’re planning to hijack another ship. His expression changed from one of elation and anticipation to one of sheer horror.

It was then that the first shot slammed into the ship - the force of the explosion threw him from his chair backwards to the turbolift. A secondary explosion on the starboard side of the room filled the room with debris and shortly after rigid combat reinforced pylons fell from the ceiling onto the chair where he’d been sitting.

He scurried into the turbolift. As the door closed he was lifted from the floor from an explosion that was clearly from some decks below. The force of the explosion threw him up against the ceiling and then to the floor. He could feel the lift free falling through the shaft, as it fell the car began to fill with smoke.

He could hear the screeching of the emergency braking system trying to slow his descent as another loud explosion could be heard above.

“Emergency stop” he cried, hoping to not be crushed from falling 30 decks to the shaft floor. With a loud blast the turbolift doors opened.

It was so cold, so dark and so cold without an environmental suit. He struggled to breath and to move as he drifted effortlessly through the void of space. So many things he’d do differently if he could do it all again, he thought. But screw it - this was the way he chose to live it and with the last of his strength he forced a smile so that whomever found him would know that although he died - he had no regrets.

Here is some stream-of dialogue that I typed up real quick. I didn't have much time this week... As such I don't have any supporting text although if it were in script form it would definitely have some action to help the pacing. Still, I kind of like it:


Eating Disorder



‘You know you’re like the fifth shrink I been to.’

‘I read your file.’

‘Balls.’

‘Well you didn’t look very threatening in those photos.’

‘I think my cheeks were pinker.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I just had a rapper phase.’

‘Seems like that’s sort of recurring for you?’

‘Rapping?’

‘Phases.’

‘Isn’t that life?’

‘Your phases are kind of unique, Kirby.’

‘Are they?’

‘Who else does what you do?’

‘...’

‘So, how was rapping?

‘Do you follow the game?’

'Rap?'

'Sure.'

‘I know of it?’

'Well I gobbled up Weezy and Kanye.’

‘You ate Kanye West?’

‘By mistake.’

‘He had that Wire song..?’

‘And he’s got decent beats, but that’s about it.’

‘Did you produce then?’

‘Nah.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t like the taste of douchebags.’

‘What about Weezy, or Lil’ Wayne right?’

‘I just got stoned bunch before having this urge to play the guitar.’

‘Guitar?'

‘Solos, mostly.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Yeah, but I guess guitar is about learning scales or some shit.’

‘It’s about discipline.’

‘Which is not my forte.’

‘Did you ever get collect any discipline?’

‘I tried eating some Green Berets once.’

‘Did you get some there?’

‘Yeah I did along with some stab and bullet wounds, and a fucking crew cut.’

‘Then where did it go?’

'I looked like a tool with a crew cut.’

‘You know, for someone who can attain any human characteristic,
you sure are picky.’

‘As I should be. It makes sense.’

‘It doesn’t make sense to murder people.’

‘It does if you’re Duncan McCloud.’

‘You’re not Highlander.’

‘Close enough. You said it already, there can be only one – and I’m fucking unique.’

‘Only in the way you kill, Kirby. Otherwise you’re just another sociopath.’

‘Well I actually had some semi-remorse today – is that normal for a
sociopath?’

‘Sure. What happened?’

‘I walked by some elementary school, and then like, ate a bunch of kids.

‘...’

‘I saw them playing this game, like four square or what not... But they were having fun and they looked ignorant to the shit, the real shit, and I then I got all pumped to regress, you know?’

‘How is that remorse?’

‘I guess it was more regret, but it's something?'

‘So you regretted eating them?’

‘Well, I mean, I was looking for innocence or something like simplicity. Instead, I just fucking wanted to go build legos and have seven flavors of soda at once. Shit was not inspiring. Do you know they make diet, caffeine-free, vanilla cherry, blueberry clobber, pepsi mint soda? I certainly do!’

'...'

‘But fuck though, I mean, that’s a start, right? Regret?’

‘No, Kirby. Your start was coming to me because you wanted to stop killing people.’

‘I don't know about that.’

‘I think you do.’

‘That’s what the others’ said too.’

‘I'm very well versed.’

‘I want you to make me stop feeling like shit.’

‘I can do that, you just have to let me.’

‘Well did you see what happened to the other four people that said exact thing to me?’

‘You killed them.’

‘Then why the fuck did you offer to help me?’

‘Well let me be frank with you Kirby; why the fuck did you kill them?

‘Well…’

‘Why would you kill the people that want to help you?!’

‘Think about it.’

‘Think about what?! Killing is the wrong way to fix yourself Kirby!’

Kirby laughs.

‘What?!’

‘If I really want to know how to do that, I could just eat you up, assume your power, and give myself advice that I already know because I’ll have assumed it. So if you can help, that’s probably not a good thing.’

‘Oh.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

‘Well I don’t how to help you yet.’

‘But see, I think I’m getting there, and like, I know what my chart looks like. So if I got maybe, one more bit of psychological knowledge, who knows?’

‘That’s not the right idea.’

‘Why? Cause you’d die?’

‘What do you think? I’m here to help you.’

‘Well, you’d still be helping me, although you wouldn’t exist.’

‘That’s not preferable.’

‘It is for me.’

Oh that conch?
It's from an old neighbor that travelled the Earth
It's from some city in Australia,
I think it was Perth.

He was a nice chap.
My neighbor, that is,
But he lost it when Lenore died
The beloved wife of his.

He locked himself up
Up there in house
And read books of old lore
and pined for his spouse.

And this he did
For so many years.
All alone in that study
with his books and his tears.

Until one day it all changed.
He came out one early morning,
said "I've been visited by a raven,
And I am done mourning."

Where did the raven come from?
What it do? What did it say?
My neighbor wouldn't talk about it,
it's a secret to this day.

The weeks that followed he sold all that he had.
Out went the books, the bed, the fine furniture made of leather
out went everything in the house.
All except a single black feather.

"Where will you go?" I asked
he smiled as he said.
"I'll go everywhere and see everything,
enjoy life 'til I'm dead."

That was the last I saw of him.
That much is true.
But he sent me little treasures
before he was through.

The conch you've seen
That skull's from Argentina
That painting's from Italy
From Chile that Concertina.

Walk with me through my house
Take a look, come and see
At all the momentos
my neighbor sent me.

A wig from Florence,
From China, a dishpan.
From Sweden, a doll,
A mask from Japan.

A hand from Kenya
A crab from from some shore
Horns from Mexico
A screen from Singapore.

But there's still so much more
Come with me let's go out,
There's so much more to show you
So many small treasure's about.

Here's a bush from Tibet,
It blossoms in December.
The one next to it is...uh...
from somewhere I don't remember.

Those rocks are volcanic,
That plant's from Brazil
He sent me that Spanish bench
right before he got ill.

After dozens of adventures
the old chap finally died.
His body was returned
and laid next to his bride.

One final mystery
is his epitaph most surreptitious.
"Quoth the Author." It says,
"That raven was delicious."

I know the meter's all messed up and some rhymes are forced but that's all I got right now. Going for a Dr. Seuss vs. Poe thingy. Oh well, at least I got something.

I think we'll get a lot of written in haste, repented at leisure pieces this evening.

Almost done proofing mine. Hopefully someone gets the series I'm writing from.

ronito said:

Linkman: At first I was like "oh man, not one of these." That was until the bork. I really liked the concept. Editing would've gone a long way to help. Also the tone never really did it for me. I know what you were going for, but it didn't work for me. it seemed like a funny idea being delivered by a not funny tone.

Click to expand...

Edited.

The Abbey Code (1995)

Stomach churning, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon stared at the shambles of a classroom before him.

Music History Professor David Heinlein lay on his classroom floor, dead of a stab wound to the stomach. But that was not the odd thing about the scene. Heinlein lay as though posed—he was on his side, with one leg slightly in front of him, and one slightly behind. It almost looked as though he were walking. A strip of white tape lay beneath his feet. Above his head, words were written in the shallow carpet.

Written in blood.

To the left of Heinlein's head were the words, "BIGGER JESUS." To the right, the direction he was facing, "MAXWELL TOGETHER."

"What do you think?" asked the cop, staring at Langdon.

A frown creased Langdon’s face. "I'm not sure why you called me. I'm an expert in religious symbology, but 'bigger Jesus' means nothing to me."

"How about this?" The cop picked up a small piece of paper, and handed it to Langdon. On it were two words, "FIND LANGDON," and a symbol.

Langdon couldn't quite make it out. "I think that's—yes, it's a Rosicrucian cross. What could that mean? He must have been trying to send me a message."

"Message?" said the cop. "I think it's pretty clear. You killed him."

"What?" Langdon recoiled.

"Why else would he have written your name there?" said the cop. He turned, pulling out his walkie-talkie. "I got our man. Send over another car."

In an instant, Langdon made his decision. As the cop put down the walkie-talkie and began to turn back, Langdon punched him in the jaw. Hard.

The man went down like a sack of potatoes.

Langdon ran.

*

Unseen by any of the police swarming outside, a dwarfish, hunched figure crept out into the middle of the classroom. The cloaked figure bent over Heinlein's body, and nodded to itself. From the depths of its cloak, it pulled a bright blue spray bottle and a damp cloth. A quick spray and a quick swipe with the rag, and the bloody words were gone. A crooked finger reached out from a deep sleeve, and traced a red symbol into the carpet where the words had been.

A fish.

*

Langdon put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He was in excellent shape for someone his age, an athlete's physique on his six-foot frame. But that escape had taken a lot out of him.

What he needed was time to think. The clues Heinlein had left were pointing at something big, he could feel it. It was right there on the tip of his mind. Bigger Jesus. Maxwell Together. What did they mean?

He sat on a nearby park bench.

Bigger Jesus. There was a 100-ft tall statue of Jesus in Rio de Janeiro, he recalled. Christ the Redeemer. Could that be what Heinlein had been referring to?

But then, Christ the Redeemer wasn't the only giant statue of Jesus out there. There was another one, somewhere in... Ohio? Jesus' head and shoulders appeared to rise from the waters of a lake. Since the rest of the statue was only implied, he wasn't sure it was quite as large as Christ the Redeemer.

Langdon brooded. Couldn't his friend have left him a better clue than "Bigger Jesus?" He couldn't think of any possible Christian symbology it related to. The Rosicrucian cross, now, that was more concrete. It represented salvation, and was a symbol for the human body. It was used by any number of organizations, from the Freemasons to the Scientologists to Oral Roberts University. But the cross had been scribbled on paper rather than written in blood like the other clues. That implied that it wasn't as important as the words.

A pretty jogger smiled at him as she ran by, and he smiled back. He could hear Hard Day's Night blasting from her headphones. She must have had it on loud, for him to hear it at that distance.

Langdon sat up straight. Bigger Jesus. Bigger than Jesus? Could it really be that simple?

He stood from the bench, and walked quickly away. There was someone he needed to see.

Immediately.

*

A small, hunched figure watched Langdon as he strode away. It nodded at the jogger, who nodded back and ran off.

The figure leapt up onto the bench and stood there for a moment, a manic grin on its shadowed face. It placed a tiny, stylized red miniature at its feet.

A fish.

*

It had been a long time since Langdon had spoken to Professor Toirrat. But upon hearing of Heinlein's murder, the tall, gangly Frenchman had agreed immediately to meet Langdon at a nearby cafe.

Toirrat stirred his coffee, peering into it thoughtfully. "So. Your own expertise was not enough." He looked up. "Or perhaps I should say, it was not the right kind of expertise. But you were right to come to me. I agree with your interpretation of Heinlein's words."

"But... why?" Langdon was confused. "Why would a dying man, rather than identify his murderer, write a coded reference?"

Toirrat's mouth twisted, and he looked back down at his coffee.

"And why them? Why the Beatles?"

"Ah," said Toirrat. "Now we come to it. You have encountered conspiracies before, I think?"

Langdon nodded.

"Of course you have. You are a religious symbologist. Conspiracies and religion are so deeply intertwined that I think one could not get along without the other."

"I wouldn't go that far," said Langdon.

"But I would. And Beatlemania often resembled a religion. Lennon himself made the remark that the band was bigger than Jesus."

"But what does this have to do with conspiracies?" asked Langdon.

"There are many mysteries about the Beatles. Lennon stirred up a great controversy with his 'bigger than Jesus' comment, and yet he became a Christian himself before his apparent death. No one knows why."

Langdon sat up. "Wait. What do you mean, 'apparent death?'"

The Frenchman took a sip of coffee before answering. "Like Elvis before him, many did not believe that John Lennon had truly died. While still with the Beatles, Lennon once said that he believed he would die by being 'popped off by some loony.' Years later, that was exactly how he apparently died. Coincidence? Or planning?" Toirrat raised an eyebrow.

"But." Langdon had a hard time finding words. "Did Heinlein have some knowledge of this? Is that why he was killed?"

"Perhaps," said Toirrat. "But there is another Beatles conspiracy, one far better known. And it is to this that Heinlein was referring with his cryptic message. Heinlein was in a walking pose, with a white line under his feet, no?"

Langdon nodded and gripped his cup tighter.

"As on the cover of the Beatles' Abbey Road. The four Beatles in a walking pose as they cross the street. And of course, Come Together and Maxwell's Silver Hammer are tracks from that album."

"But what does Abbey Road—"

"A moment, Langdon. I'm getting to it. You have heard of the 'Paul is dead' theory? Several of the later Beatles songs have references to the death of Paul McCartney. Encoded in symbolic lyrics, or messages revealed when the track is played backwards. But the cover of Abbey Road has the clearest symbolism. Paul is out of step with the other Beatles, and is the only Beatle walking barefoot. The lack of shoes is an Indian symbol of death, and being out of step shows that he is in another world. The conclusion is that Paul was dead by the time Abbey Road was released."

"But how could that be? If Paul was dead, who was it on the cover? How did they keep recording songs?"

Toirrat smiled. "The fifth Beatle," he said simply.

"The what?"

"Brian Epstein, their manager. Frequently referred to by the other Beatles as the fifth Beatle. This was not just an affectionate title—he was called this because he often stood in for one or the other of the Beatles in their shows. In disguise."

"Epstein died in the sixties."

"Not so, Langdon! Paul died in the sixties. He died suddenly—may have been murdered, in fact—but the Beatles had to go on. So Epstein faked his own death, and took the place of Paul. And later helped Lennon fake his death too."

Langdon stared into his coffee. "What does this have to do with Heinlein?"

Toirrat sat thoughtfully for a moment. "He found something. Proof of Paul's death, maybe, which someone else wanted kept buried."

"But the only ones who would have proof of Paul's death would be Epstein, and..." Langdon trailed off.

Toirrat nodded. "Yes. Epstein... and Lennon."

Langdon pondered. "Heinlein wouldn't have left it there, without another clue. But the only other message was the note to find me, and the Rosicrucian cross."

Toirrat's eyes widened. "The Rosicrucian cross. Of course! How could I have missed it? Bigger Jesus! And he talked to Lennon before he vanished. Helped make the conversion."

"What? Who did?"

Toirrat stood suddenly. "Your pardon, Monsieur Langdon. I will be right back." He swept from the room, pulling a phone from his pocket.

*

Langdon frowned. It had been fifteen minutes, and Toirrat had still not returned. He froze. Were those sirens in the distance?

Without warning, a small, cloaked figure sat in the seat Toirrat had vacated.

Langdon stared. "Are you—"

The figure shushed him. "Just call me Tom. That man you were speaking with is very dangerous. I came to warn you."

"So." Langdon quivered with rage. "That cross. You killed him, didn't you? Scientology killed Heinlein to protect the Beatles."

Tom's lip curled. "Don't be ridiculous." He looked from side to side, then said more quietly, "It is true that Scientology was created and still works today to protect the Beatles and their secrets. But we do not kill. Heinlein was getting too close, yes, but we would simply have made sure he was steered in another direction. No, it was that man you were just talking to who killed Heinlein. The traitor."

"Toirrat was a traitor? How so?" Langdon wasn't sure he believed any of this.

"He joined Scientology many years ago. Most of our members not at the highest level don't know the true purpose of our organization, why we do what we do. But he did. He knew, and he joined us to discover the secrets of the Beatles. He was obsessed with them, especially Lennon."

"So you found out and chucked him out?" Langdon was getting nervous. He could swear he heard sirens getting closer.

"Yes. We found him going through our most secret files, and he was banished. We caught him before he found out too much."

"Like where John Lennon is hiding."

Tom's eyes glittered. "No one knows that for sure. Not anymore. He left the protection of Scientology shortly after he faked his own death. None of us know where he went."

"But Heinlein found out. Or was on the verge of it."

"We think so. And so did Toirrat. That's why he killed him. But he didn't get the information out of Heinlein before he died."

"But he got it from me." Langdon frowned. "Or... he got something. Who converted Lennon to Christianity?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "An evangelist preacher. Oral Roberts, I believe."

Langdon's mouth fell open. That was it. It all made sense. John Lennon had spoken to Oral Roberts, and been converted to Christianity by him. Oral Roberts University's symbol was the Rosicrucian cross. And it was Oral Roberts who, before building a medical research center for his university, had a vision of a 900-ft-tall Jesus telling him to build it. Jesuses didn't get much bigger than that.

Langdon wasn’t sure what Toirrat planned, but he knew he had to get to the Oral Roberts Medical Research Center first. He stood.

"Where are you going?"

"To stop Toirrat. And save John Lennon."

The sirens were getting louder.

It was just like old times.

Ash Ketchum was torn. He stared at the field where his rival's final monster stood, on its last legs and steadily succumbing to a burn inflicted by Ash's now fainted charizard.

The enemy rhydon stared back at him, its strained breaths the only sound in the empty space of the gym. Sweat trickled down his neck. He had always sweated more from the back of his head, though he never figured out why.

He delayed as much as possible, but neither of his choices were terribly palatable.

"So what's it to be, Ketchum?" called his opponent from across the field. "Are you going to bring out your last decrepit pokemon already or are you gonna forfeit?"

The taunt was too much for him. He couldn't allow such an insult to go unanswered. "Pikachu may be old, Gary Oak, but he is not decrepit! We'll show you what we can still do! Pikachu, I choose you!"

From behind him, ran a pikachu, a species of mouse pokemon that could use electricity. It ran into the ring and stood at the place the charizard had, facing down its rival.

This pikachu, called Pikachu, had once been a champion, but had long put battling behind him, spending most of his time in a breeding centre, adding to his growing brood. He had been considered a wunderkind, much more powerful than a typical pikachu should be and now his fecundity was a main source of income for his trainer.

He got up, steely and determined, though the ravages of age were clearly showing in both his appearance and agility. His yellow hair was no longer as sleek as it once was, fraying around his tail and his cheeks, once orange, had dulled in colour over the years and he no longer moved with the delicate grace of his glory days, but did so slowly and deliberately.

His opponent was a rhydon, a bipedal rhinoceros species of pokemon that was completely immune to electrical attacks. In any other circumstances, an ageing pikachu would present no barrier at all. Presently, however, he was tired and weakened by his previous battle and would eventually succumb to his burn. Given the circumstances, they were more or less evenly matched, though even a weakened rhydon is still dangerous.

Gary, the rhydon's trainer, assessed the situation and reacted, commanding his rhydon to attack using a move known as an Earthquake. His rhydon, however, had used this attack various times previously in the last battle and was too weak now to do anything more than pound the ground ineffectually.

Seeing this, he countermanded "Hit it with a Rock Throw!"

The rhydon picked a stone off the field and hurled it at the pikachu. It narrowly missed its target, making the hair on the pikachu's tail billow with the force of its movement. A moment later, the pikachu reacted, moving away from where the stone hit.

Ash saw now that he had made a grave mistake. Pikachu's reaction time to that attack had been simply atrocious for even a freshly hatched Pichu, let alone a former champion. Pikachu was in real danger. Still, it was too late to back out now and all he really needed to do was wait until the rhydon's burn finally overwhelmed it.

"Pikachu! Use Double Team!"

The pikachu began to move quickly from side to side so as to create multiple images of itself to fool his opponent and disguise his real location. It was a trick it had picked up years earlier and one that Ash ordered used whenever he wanted Pikachu to avoid an attack.

The rhydon was now confused. There were now multiple rivals and it didn't know quite which one to aim for. His trainer, however, knew just what to do. "Rhydon! Use Swift!"

The rhydon opened its mouth and a series of stars issued forth, these came out in a quick stream, and quickly moved in a single direction toward the leftmost image of the rival pikachu.

It was a direct hit. The pikachu squeaked in pain.

"I knew you'd pull that old trick sometime, Ketchum, so I taught it to Rhydon as a secret weapon, just in case" sneered Gary at his rival.

Ash was distraught. Even though the Swift technique was relatively low-powered, coming from a rhydon, even one suffering from a burn, it could still cause a lot of damage. "Are you OK, Pikachu? Can you keep going?"

"Pika pi!" came the reply. The pikachu had now gotten up.

"Good! Because we have a secret weapon of our own! Pikachu, use Surf!"

The pikachu began a long, angry wail using its familiar call, as though summoning some unknown monster from the deep. "Piiiiiikaaaaaaaaaaaa...."

There was a pause.

"CHUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!"

The final call was nearly deafening, accompanied as it was by a roar. From the ground as if by magic, there came a flood of water. It filled the field, drenching the sand and stone thereon and flooding it like a pool. Suddenly there came a great wave from one side, with the pikachu surfing its crest on its belly.

This wave picked the rhydon up like a toy and threw it against a rock. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the water subsided, leaving behind only wet sand. Rhydons, being dry land creatures, were extremely susceptible to water-based attack. It had fainted.

Pikachu stood alone on the field panting, its hair soaked. Pikachus were not able to be taught the Surf attack through conventional means and most authorities on the subject thought it impossible. Nevertheless, this pikachu had managed it after winning a tournament many years ago. It was a move Ash and Pikachu rarely employed because they found it useful to keep it secret, but it had done the job.

Gary was the first to speak. "Rhydon!" He called it back into its pokeball to put it into a state of suspended animation and looked up at Ash. "I don't believe it. I have waited for this day for years and I still can't defeat you! You are still somehow the only trainer to ever best Gary Oak!". His voice went quieter. "Well, I suppose my grandfather was right... I should put more trust in... anyway... Thanks for the match, Ash. You can see yourself out, can't you?"

He turned and walked away, toward the door to the gym's office.

He looked back down at Pikachu, still panting. "We did it! No, wait, you did it! You didn't think you had it in you anymore, but you did it! We sure showed them!"

"Pikachuuu!" cooed the pikachu, delighted by the praise. It opened its mouth to speak again. "Chuuu......"

Pikachu collapsed.

---

The trip to the Viridian City Pokemon Center happened in a blur. Ash couldn't put Pikachu into a ball, for it had always hated going into suspended animation. From the moment they met, he had never put him inside one and he had long ago promised that he never would.

His car careened through the streets, ignoring speed limits and traffic lights and all the time muttering under his breath. "... should never have accepted a rematch... What was I thinking suggesting we only use our original team?... wouldn't have happened if Butterfree or Pidgeot were still around..."

Pikachu faded in and out of consciousness. He seemed in pain during the short bursts of lucidity. He occasionally moaned "Pika piii...." as if to reassure Ash that it wasn't his fault.

But it was. Ash knew that he should have forfeited.

They pulled in and parked, ignoring the command of the police officer who had followed him for the final few streets. She was shouting herself hoarse, but Ash didn't care. He rushed inside and shouted at the nurse behind the counter for help.

After admitting Pikachu, Ash had somehow managed to not get arrested. The news was not good, however, when the nurse finally emerged from the surgery.

"I'm sorry sir, but Pikachu is old and he might not make it. The strain may have been too much. We've done all we can now."

Ash struggled to say something, anything.

"You may go in to see him now."

He rushed in. He wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet. They'd had twenty long years battling and training together with both of them finding and losing love and living life along the way. They had shared in the glory of victory and more often, they had shared the bitterness of defeat. Mostly, they had shared a friendship that had lasted most of both of their lives.

They had lived for the thrill of battle and the glory of victory. Now it would appear that Pikachu would die doing what they loved the most. Ash sat down beside Pikachu.

"Pika piii...." moaned Pikachu faintly. Ash put a hand on his paw.

"I'm here, Pikachu. Don't worry, we've been through worse. I know you're going to pull through!"

Pikachu shook his head. "Piii..."

"But you can't die! Not yet! You're my best friend and I can't lose you!" Ash's voice, though much deeper and more gravelly than it had been in his youth was cracking audibly.

"Pika." said Pikachu pointedly. It reached up a paw and pointed at his jacket.

"What are you pointing to? My pokedex?"

Pikachu nodded. Ash pulled out the device and opened it. It brought back memories of a time long ago when he had promised an old man that he would help him make an electronic guide of all the different pokemon species in the world. It opened like a book and out tumbled an old and faded photograph of a girl with short red hair wearing a yellow shirt and cut-offs.

Pikachu grabbed the photograph and moaned again. "Chuuu...."

"You want me to find her? But, we haven't spoken in years... not for years... not since that day... she might not even want to see me again."

Pikachu shook his head. "Pika pii... Pika pika chuu...". He closed his eyes.

Ash panicked. "Wait! Pikachu! Wake up!"

But it was too late. Pikachu had passed on.

----

A few weeks passed. The burial service had been sad, attended by many trainers and the owners of Pikachu's numerous progeny. Dozens of Pikachu's children lined up along the plot at the breeding centre and sang. Their sad, child-like chanting had given it an eerie feel, but it gave Ash the chance to say goodbye properly.

Today though, he made a decision. He got into his car and started the engine. He headed out his driveway, up through the road past Viridian City and Pewter City, where his old friend Brock lived with his wife and their twelve children and finally, took the tunnel through Mount Moon to Cerulean City. Ash looked down at the flowers on the passenger side seat. He had a date he needed to keep.

OH hell yeah! A Pokemon fanfic! Fuck yeah!

Deleted due to TOS changes. Of course it was fanfiction so it's not like it matters.