Principia Discordia

(This may at first glance seem like yet another multiverse story.  It isn't.  It's something else entirely.)

Hi, my name is Hamish Howl.  I'm a private detective.  In the books and the movies, this sort of story would start off with a gorgeous blond walking into my office, crying into a silk hankerchief...But this is Tucson, and we can't have things like that.  No, the woman who came into my office was a bottle-redhead that looked like 50 pounds of codfish poured into a 5 pound sack.  And she wasn't crying.  She looked pissed.

"You're Hamish Howl?" It took me a moment to realize she wasn't shouting, at least not intentionally.  She had the kind of voice drill sergeants dream of having.  I think the word is "stentorian". 

"Yes, ma'am, that's me."  I pointed at one of the seats across from my desk, "Have a seat, if you please." 

It's also worth noting that in the movies, my office would be a mess...And it probably would be, but my partner Friday doesn't like a mess. And we don't make Friday upset, not if we want to see Saturday, if you catch my drift.

The lady got straight to the point.  "I am Abagail Horne.  My husband has been murdered.  I want you to find out who did it."

"Ma'am, if it's a murder, then the police are the people you want to see."

"Hmmph.  The police, that pack of corrupt incompetents, are calling it a suicide.  As if Horace would ever kill himself."

I thought that maybe I'd kill myself if my name were Horace Horne, but then it occurred to me that Hamish Howl isn't much better.

"Okay, Mrs Horne, can you give me some details?  I charge..."

"I know how much you charge.  It is acceptable.  In fact, I will pay you 25% more if you don't take on any other cases until this is solved.  I shall pay you to date every Friday."  She rolled on, assuming - correctly - that this was agreeable to me.  She handed me a file.  "In that is everything that I know, and everything those useless losers at the police department could be bothered to find out.  Horace was murdered in his office at our business."

Horne...Horne...Now I remembered.  Horne Enterprises.  Something to do with machines providing functional immortality.  It was all very hush-hush, but everyone who had the money to look into it apparently signed right up.  And then some of them died anyway, right on schedule, but not one of their estates sued.  Just another bit of weirdness, here in the city of sun and fun.

"I'll need some time to go through this file, and make some initial inquiries.  Can we meet tomorrow, same time, to talk a bit more about it?"

"That is acceptable.  Good day."  Mrs Horne got up and swept out of my office.  She had that sort of grace that only large women can have.  Which is to say she didn't quite take out the door frame.

"You hear all that?" I asked.  To the empty room.  Because of course it wasn't really empty.  The closet door opened, and my girl Friday walked out.  Odd habit of hers, spending her free time in the closet, sometimes for hours or more.  She was dressed today in a black baby doll dress, fishnet stockings, too much mascara, and luminescent blue lipstick.  She's weird, but she's really good at what she does.  She's been working with me since...Well, funny thing is, I can't remember exactly how long.  Certainly since the war.

"I can't see how I'd miss it", she replied, "She has a voice like a diesel engine."

I laughed, but little Lauren Rae Friday didn't even crack a smile.  She only ever smiled at bad car smash ups, train wrecks, and murder scenes.  She was a strange one, but she kept up her end of the partnership, and having a drop-dead gorgeous partner has its advantages when you're dealing with a certain type of client or stoolie.  She sat down across from me and we started going through the files.

Most of what we saw pointed at suicide.  Horace Horne was found in his office, swinging from a rope, with an empty bottle of single malt scotch on his desk.  On the other hand, there was no note, his company was flush with money, and if his wife had driven him to this, it would have happened 30 years earlier.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I think this suicide stinks like yesterday's sushi", Friday said, "This guy was killed."

"What makes you say that?"

"Intuition."

"Okay."  I'd learned to listen to Friday when she had a hunch.  "I'd say we start by talking to the investigating detective."

"oooh, I LIKE talking to police."  She smiled her little girl smile, which always sets off my arachnid response.  Weird, isn't it?  A shy smile from a pretty young lady, and every nerve in my body tells me to run, tells me that there's more danger here than any caveman ever faced on the savannah.  I shuddered, and she giggled, like she always does.

Well, City Center is only a few blocks from my office on Broadway, so I figured we'd walk, save gas on the Packard.  It was early in the day and late in the season, so the Tucson heat wasn't too bad.  Call it 104 and no hot wind, for once.  Friday strolled along, window shopping without slowing down, occasionally twirling.  If you didn't know her, she'd look like she was in love or on drugs or something...But she always does this.  I've gotten used to it.

I lit a cigarette while I was waiting for the crosswalk.  "These things are gonna kill me, some day."

Friday gave me a funny look, and then laughed out loud.  I swear, she can be downright creepy sometimes.  The light changed, and we crossed over to city center.  Walking in, I saw my old pal Sergeant Ahmad behind the desk.

"Hey, Ahmad, how's tricks?"

"Hey, Hamish!  Good to see you."

"Look, I'm on a case.  The Horne death."

Ahmad paled, like he was scared.  "Can't help you, Hamish."

"What?  It's supposed to just be a suicide, right?"

"Yeah, it's a suicide.  You take my advice, you pay that wife of his back, go find something less risky.  Like maybe wrestling bears or something.  I'm not kidding, Hamish, back off."

"Where's the detective that worked the case?"  This was Friday, and she smiled her special smile at Ahmad.  He looked like he was going to crap in his pants.

"It's Wilson, and if you gotta know, he's over at the Club Congress getting drunk."

"What?", I asked, "It's only 9 AM".

"Yeah.  Strange, isn't it?  So strange I'm gonna warn you again to back off.  I'm not gonna TELL you, you understand.  This is just some advice.  Some good advice."

"Thanks, Ahmad."

We turned and left city center, and walked back past my office, to the Club Congress. 

Later, I'd kick myself square in the ass for not listening to Ahmad.

(to be continued)

Oooh, goody!

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 25, 2014, 02:31:22 PM
Oooh, goody!

I took a personal day, and I've been too busy to write, and I've missed it.

LDW will continue, but it's the hardest thing I've ever written, and I'm not up to it just this moment.  So PI story.

This is already awesome.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on June 25, 2014, 02:41:39 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 25, 2014, 02:31:22 PM
Oooh, goody!

I took a personal day, and I've been too busy to write, and I've missed it.

LDW will continue, but it's the hardest thing I've ever written, and I'm not up to it just this moment.  So PI story.

Hell, dude. You don't have to explain yourself, we are your captive audience, you are not our pet writer (yet. Gimme a few weeks to reinforce the basement's lock).

I'm just glad you are writing.

Also, I've been drawn in already, I just know I will enjoy the rest.

I like!

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on June 25, 2014, 03:34:43 PM
This is already awesome.

Aw yeah! I just finished a really weird PI story by a favorite author of mine, and now I'm in the mood for more.

I like this!

It's based on a screaming-jumping-outta-the-bed-and-whacking-my-fucking-head-on-the-nightstand nightmare I had a while back.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on June 26, 2014, 01:58:49 AM
It's based on a screaming-jumping-outta-the-bed-and-whacking-my-fucking-head-on-the-nightstand nightmare I had a while back.

My water's trembling at the possible plot twists.

Once inside Club Congress, we found Wilson in the "small" bar in back.  He was the only patron, and he was quite obviously hammered.  We sat down across from him in the booth he was occupying.  He looked across the table with an owlish expression, squinting through the Bacardi.

"Oh, hey Hamish."

"Isn't it a little early for this, Wilson?"

"No.  No it isn't.  It is late for this.  It is, in fact, far too late."  He waved his drink in front of him, as he spoke with the grandeloquence that only the truly smashed can accomplish.

"We need to talk to you about the Horne death."

"Death, you say?  Ha.  Haha.  HAHAHAHA! OW!", he said, as Friday slapped the shit out of him, her chipped nails gouging his face just a little.

"Calm down and tell me what you know, will ya?" I asked.

Wilson suddenly seemed to sober up, at least partially.  "What you got in that place is machines, Hamish.  Machines that keep you alive forever.  Or at least that's what their advertizing pamphlets say.  And they're really DOING it, but not like they say.  No.  No no no.  It's a nightmare.  It's like God doesn't love us anymore, and He let that happen.  Say, do you know what a real-time interrupt is?"

"No."

Wilson drew his service automatic out of his shoulder harness, and smiled.  "It's a new term I just learned.  It goes something like this."  He put the pistol against his right temple and pulled the trigger.  Friday and I were partially deafened by the roar of the pistol, but most of the mess went on the wall, with just a bit spraying our faces.  Through my concert-ears, I could dimly hear Friday give out a startled "eep!", and then she started to laugh.

As you can imagine, the next couple of hours were a complicated affair, with one detective after another asking us all manner of questions, including Detective Simons, a mousy little creep that seemed to think we were somehow responsible, and whose eyes kept wandering to Friday's cleavage.  I've known Simons for years, and he's hated me the whole time.  The feeling is mutual.  Thanks to the bartender's account of things, however, we were not brought in for a more "official" accounting.  We were merely witnesses in the eyes of the homicide captain, thank God.

By the time we were allowed to go, though, it was time for our next meeting with the widow Horne.  We beat her to the office by maybe 30 seconds.

"Well", she said (more 'projected', to be strictly honest), "What is your professional opinion?"

"Your husband's death is at best 'odd', and I highly doubt it was a suicide.  In fact, the investigating officer just babbled some nonsense at us and then blew his brains out right in front of us."

"Yes, I was wondering about the flecks of blood on your face, young man."

"In any case, the late Detective Wilson implied that your business was somehow involved.  Specifically, the process you use.  Can it be arranged for us to see your facility?"

"Certainly.  You may come by at 9 tomorrow morning.  I shall arrange a tour of the facilities, and then you may speak to whomever you wish.  They will answer candidly, or they will find new employment."

At length, the widow Horne left, and I made a drink for myself.  "You want one?", I asked Friday.

"No thank you, Hamish.  I'm gonna go out with my BOYFRIEND!"  A flash of that unnerving - terrifying - smile.

"I gotta meet this young man some day."

"Some day.  Not today.  We're going to see ferrets being flung."

"Is that a band's name?"

"No."

"An obscure sports term?"

"No, it's when you get a big bag of ferrets, see, and you..."

"Okay, okay.  I don't want to know.  See you tomorrow."

"See ya!"

"Wait.  You still have a little bit of blood on your face.  You might want to wash it off first."

"Why?  There's only going to be more."  There was that terrifying smile, again. 

I sighed as she bounced out the door.  I sat in my chair and considered my drink.  Then I considered a few more.  Then I fell asleep, and had another nightmare.  Not the usual one, with the ships burning in New York harbor, after the German sneak attack on December 7th, 1941.  I knew that dream like an old friend.

No, in this dream, Friday and I were standing in front of a huge machine.  Hard drives spun up and then stopped, lights lit up and turned off, moving parts that looked like a harvester combine churned.

"What the hell is that?", I asked.

"It's the immortality machine!", Friday said, in her best 'excited teenager' voice.

"It doesn't look like an immortality machine.  It looks like sharp and grabby death to me."

"That's because you're not a SCIENTIST", she replied, and started pushing me towards the blades.  She's a tiny thing, but she moved me like I was a rag doll.

"Hey, stop, I don't want to be immortal!"

"Don't be silly, Hamish.  Everyone wants to be IMMORTAL."

"No, not me, I'm fine just the way I am."  But then, with a final shove from Friday, I fell into the blades.

I woke myself up with my own screams.  Dawn was making the office window glow.  I got up and got dressed.  I wanted a good meal (last meal?) before I went to go see these 'immortality' machines.  The nightmare aside, I wasn't thrilled.  The huge jumps in technical knowledge that were brought on by the war made everything more complicated, in my eyes.  It would be 1960 soon, and there was talk already of using the new space station as a shipyard for huge spacefaring ships.  Jesus, everyone, slow down.

I headed down to the Grill for my breakfast.  If I had any idea what was going to happen, I'd have gone somewhere fancier.

(to be continued)

Holy smoke. O.O  :horrormirth:

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on June 26, 2014, 04:28:17 PM
Holy smoke. O.O  :horrormirth:

I like this Friday character.   :lol:

Gonna leave this tab open so I remember to read this when I get home. Yay!

I like how you gently lead us into an alternate reality.

Loving Friday and this story so far  :)

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 26, 2014, 04:45:51 PM
I like how you gently lead us into an alternate reality.

This! I'm reading away, thinking to myself "Hmmmm ... Cool... noir... futuristic Sam Spade ... 1960 ... 1960? ... WTF???"

Quote from: P3nT4gR4m on June 26, 2014, 05:02:39 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 26, 2014, 04:45:51 PM
I like how you gently lead us into an alternate reality.

This! I'm reading away, thinking to myself "Hmmmm ... Cool... noir... futuristic Sam Spade ... 1960 ... 1960? ... WTF???"

All will be explained, of course.

LMNO:

Alternate reality?  No.  No it is not.   :lulz:

You'll see.

"German attack on NY harbor"?

Unless...

Crap. Before you write anything else, google the plot of "Vanilla Sky".

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 26, 2014, 05:30:23 PM
"German attack on NY harbor"?

Unless...

Crap. Before you write anything else, google the plot of "Vanilla Sky".

Or Animal House. Not worried about it in this case, for reasons that will be made clear later.

HAH!  Okay, did.  Not too worried.  There are some similarities, but nothing involving cryogenic suspension or lucid dreams.

It's actually far more horrible than that.

Oh, good.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 26, 2014, 06:21:55 PM
Oh, good.

This.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 26, 2014, 06:21:55 PM
Oh, good.

My head is a fucking festival.   :lulz:

Your head is approximately 18.4 times better than the real world  :lulz:

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on June 26, 2014, 04:32:18 PM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on June 26, 2014, 04:28:17 PM
Holy smoke. O.O  :horrormirth:

I like this Friday character.   :lol:

Oh yeah. She has panache.

Wow, this keeps getting better and better!

Quote from: The Right Reverend Nigel on June 27, 2014, 04:27:38 PM
Wow, this keeps getting better and better!

Thanks!  I'm going to add another chapter in about an hour, when I've had some time to cool off.

Friday and I showed up at Horne Enterprises at 9 sharp.  We were met by a thirty-something lady who told us her name was Dakota. 

"Like the state?", I asked?

"What?"  Smile.  Friday snickered.  I managed, with some effort, to not facepalm. 

"Never mind.  Can you just show us around, tell us what this is all about?"

"Certainly, Mr Howl."  She led us through the security door next to the receptionist's desk, into a hallway lined with what looked like hospital rooms.  "What Horne Enterprises does is affect a certain form of immortality for those who can pay for it...Or, in some cases, are considered important enough for the government or another corporation to pay for them.

"The procedure is simple to explain, but very difficult in practice.  Basically, we make a digital copy of the person's brain, and store it in a virtual universe.  They live on in this virtual universe, interacting with other people, with simalacra of people who are actually more or less maintenance software, and with a few - a very few - Horne employees, who are there to monitor the universe to prevent tangling."

"Tangling?"

"Yes, we change the universe just a bit...Physical laws, that sort of thing, so that it is both optimized for the long-term enjoyment of our clients, and also so that the clients do not become aware that they are in fact just pieces of software.  They won't think to call their children, for example, because they never had any.  Or, if they paid for an afterlife in which they did have children, simalacra of those children will be there to answer the phone, to arrange a day out next week...A next week that never actually comes, and that the client very quickly forgets about.

"In any case, you can imagine that this sometimes goes off the rails.  At that point, an employee will go in an fix things.  Rearrange them so that the desired reality is restored."

We had come into a large room, with smaller rooms stacked with servers off to the side.

"This is where your clients are stored?"

"Oh, heavens, no.  This is just our connection to a web of computers that spans the globe, and is used by the universities and the military.  If these servers fail, our "clients" are not erased, we just lose access to them until we repair the system."

"What happens if a client IS erased?"

"We spool the client back into the universe from a stored copy."

Friday had been geeking out the whole time, staring at things and taunting the neckbeards who worked among the servers by winking at them, etc.  But she now turned to Dakota.

"What happens to the original person when they die?"

"They die.  What lives on is only a copy.  This is made plain to all of our clients.  Most do not care."

"Do you keep backups of employees?"

"Critical ones, or ones that stay with us until retirement.  Their copied personalities are backed up weekly.  Daily, for the really important ones."

"So...You have Horace Horne in there, somewhere?"

"Yes, and in fact that nice Detective Wilson asked that, too.  He spoke with Horace for about an hour, then left."

And then, I recalled quite vividly, drank himself into a stupor and then killed himself.  All over my new shirt.

"Well then", said Friday, giving Dakota her 'sweetest' smile, "I suppose you better let us talk to him, too."

"No problem.  Mrs Horne said to show you whatever you wanted."  Dakota walked over to a terminal and started typing. 

"That's odd."

"What's odd?", I asked, though I could guess the answer.

"He's gone.  He is not showing in the registry at all."

"Gone?  You have got to be kidding me."

"It's odd, but hardly a problem.  I'll just get his backup..."  Dakota walked over to a filing cabinet and, opening it, pulled a box of the sort used to store DVDs, labeled "Horne, Horace" out of it.  She opened it, and gasped.

The box was empty.

(To be continued)

Though I somewhat like the serial nature to these stories (~1000+ word bursts), this is one of those stories I need to keep reading.


You're so selfish, having a real job and making money to support yourself, rather then spending all of your available time writing for us for free.

Getting very interesting. Nicely done.

Keep it coming!

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 27, 2014, 06:31:27 PM
Though I somewhat like the serial nature to these stories (~1000+ word bursts), this is one of those stories I need to keep reading.


You're so selfish, having a real job and making money to support yourself, rather then spending all of your available time writing for us for free.

I am a bastard. 

But the next two chapters (Monday and Tuesday) will be much longer.

Whoa shit!

This subject matter is so - right up my street - it's practically in my house, sitting on my lap and drinking my beer. Eagerly awaiting you shitting on my dreams and turning them into something degenerately horrible.

DO NOT DISAPOINT ME!  :argh!:

Quote from: P3nT4gR4m on June 27, 2014, 08:13:25 PM
This subject matter is so - right up my street - it's practically in my house, sitting on my lap and drinking my beer. Eagerly awaiting you shitting on my dreams and turning them into something degenerately horrible.

DO NOT DISAPOINT ME!  :argh!:

The future was bad for you.

Be still my jaded heart
(http://24.media.tumblr.com/7c552bbfab204506965f454b81102fe2/tumblr_mew5u3nBPf1r2e2pno1_500.gif)

This is great.

Murder mystery, all sideways, I love it.

O.O

After the revelation that her deceased boss's backup was missing, Dakota became a little agitated.  Not belligerent, but a little strange.  She claimed to have no idea who might have taken it and, judging from her surprise at it being missing, she either knew nothing about it, or was an Oscar-winning actress.  I was more inclined to believe the former.

"Well, Dakota, the next thing I think we need to see is your registry.  Everyone who has been downloaded into your system, whether they are currently functional or not."

"I don't know...I think...Confidentiality..."

"Good girl.  You just call Mrs Horne and get permission, then.  We'll keep ourselves amused."

Dokota hurried off to a phone.  I turned to Friday.  "So, how was your date?"

"Awful.  And terrible."

"I thought you liked this one."

"He sneered at me."

"He sneered?  At you?"

"That's what I said."

"So what did you do?"

"I broke it off."

"You broke up with him?"

"Of course.  I also broke it off."

"Is that some kind of young person metaphor?"

"No.  I grabbed a pair of channel locks and I..."

"I get the picture.  Lauren Rae Friday, you're gonna have to stop mutilating your ex-boyfriends."

"I don't see why."

"Um, prison?"

"They haven't made the jail that can hold ME, Hamish.

At this point, Dakota came back, holding a flash drive.  "This is the registry, the customer list.  It also includes people we declined to serve."

"Declined to serve?  Elaborate, please."

"Well, they're all in there together.  Would you put Charles Manson in with a group like that?"

"No...", I said.

"In a heartbeat", Friday rebutted, with some venom.  Dakota looked at her in alarm.

"Well, that's enough for today, I think.  You can rest assured we'll be back."  I took the flash drive and put it in the inside pocked of my double-breasted suit.

Later on, I was having a coffee at the local bistro, while Friday went through the names on the registry, and the two of us more or less killed a pack of smokes.

"Found some interesting stuff, Hamish."

"Like what."

"Well, first, that Detective Wilson was a customer.  For about the last year."

"How the hell did he afford that?  Their rates are pretty steep."

"He was given the treatment in return for unspecified services."

"I smell a rat.  A large one, probably from Denmark."

"You should stop mixing your metaphors.  It's bad for you."

"How is it bad?"

"It's bad on account of I'll tear of your face and wear it for a hat."

"You're so adorable."

"So are you.  For the moment."

"So, what was the other thing?  The other thing you found?"

"Oh, yeah.  You're on the list, too."

"WHAT?"

"Yep.  Says here you got copied two years ago."

"I did no such thing."

"Says they did it while you were in the hospital."

"I was never in the hospital at that time."  I was getting a little irate.

"Why are you so upset?  So they have a copy of you in their stupid machine.  It doesn't change the fact that the real you is still running around."

"If it's true, I'm offended by it.  I can't explain why.  But we're going back tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like talking to myself."

"I bet that's what Wilson did."

"What?"

"I bet he totally talked to himself, and then he went to the bar and shot himself."

"Well, I won't do that."

"I betcha he thought HE wouldn't, either."

"I won't.  I'm doing this."

"Okay", Friday trilled, "What kinda flowers you want on your coffin?"

"Har de har har." 

The coffee shop's radio started playing some Benny Goodman.  I relaxed, listening to the music for a moment, until Friday said "I have everything we need, I think.  Let's get out of here before that horrible music makes me homicidal."

"What's so horrible about it?"

"It's OLD."

"It just came out."

"It's still OLD."

I gave up.  I settled our bill, and we walked back to the office.  I sat in my chair for a nap, and Friday went into her closet.  What the hell did she do in there?  I got up and knocked.

"Go away."

I went back to my chair and leaned back.  Presently, I fell asleep and had nightmares of electronic ghosts.

(to be continued)

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Time seems to be an active character in this story.

Wheee!! I bet Hamish's face would make a glorious hat.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 30, 2014, 04:44:06 PM
Time seems to be an active character in this story.

Seems to, doesn't it?

I love you, Roger. This is brilliant!

(interlude)

Sheila looked at her sister Sara.  "This has to be the stupidest contract ever."

"I'm in it for the ride, not the cargo", Sara said, "All of these runs are the same for me.  It's the thrill of the chase, not the results of the run that matter."

Sheila watched as their 'cargo', an unconscious middle-aged bald guy, was carried up the cargo ramp of the sisters' panzer.  "Still", she remarked, "this guy is a known asshat and is wanted by EVERY jurisdiction we're going to cross.  I don't know if I trust him inside the armor with us."

"No worries, I spiked his coffee with harmine.  He's in his own little world right now, probably with 4-dimensional entities jamming probes up his business, if you know what I mean.  And I think you do."

"If he gives us any shit, I'm ejecting him."

"Um, the cargo bay hasn't got any ejection seats."

"I didn't say he'd get a seat.  I'd just eject him."

The sisters finished their walk-around, and got in the panzer, Sheila in the driver's hatch, and Sara in the turret.  Sheila started the quad Rolls Royce jet engines, which sprang to life with a banshee howl, and the panzer lifted off the ground on its cushion of air...Then shot away from the service crew, accelerating to 200 MPH in less than 6 seconds, the ground effect of the 70 ton vehicle smashing vegetation and insufficiently-aware small animals completely flat.

20 minutes  later, Sara spoke into her throat mike.  "New Mexico border coming up in 30 seconds.  I have one radar showing 10 miles to the North, probably state police.   Let's back off and reduce our rooster tail, eh?  We're making a lot of dust."

"Teach granny how to suck eggs", Sheila laughed, slowing the panzer down to 80 MPH.  At what seemed like a crawl, they paralleled the highway leading from Amarillo to Roswell, then headed cross country to Alamagordo.  When they were 5 miles past the city, every threat alarm on the board lit up.

"Shit, Sis, I've got multiple radars right on top of us.  No way we're gonna evade.  Arming anti-radiation missiles."

"Damn", Sheila replied, "those things cost a fucking arm and a leg."

"Not as much as being dead.  I have 5 helicopters coming in from all points.  Someone knew we were coming."

Sara stopped talking and concentrated on her task.  The AI would handle the aiming and the actual firing of the missiles, but the timing required human intuition.  If she didn't wait long enough, the choppers could simply turn off their radars and evade the missiles.  If she waited too long, the first chopper or two in range would drop a train on the panzer.

At the last possible second, she fired.  Four of the missiles drew contrails across the sky, ending in a fireball that had been a chopper.  One, however, corkscrewed straight up into the sky, never tracking on its target.

"Damn.  Cheap California shit.  Sheila, take evasive action. "

Sheila threw the panzer into a 4 G turn, accelerating as fast as she dared push the engine.  300 MPH.  Then 400.  She caught a glimpse of an explosion through one of her vision blocks, as the remaining helicopter narrowly missed the panzer with a Hellfire missile.

The helicopter, a surplus Hind D from the old Soviet Union, was unable to keep up, and gradually fell behind...But the sisters knew that they couldn't outrun it's radio.

"We're gonna take a little detour", Sheila told her sister, "Through White Sands."

"Dammit, it'll take a week to decontaminate the panzer."

"Our other option is to face about a million state cops and bounty hunters at the Arizona state line."

"You know, this would have been a hell of a lot harder if this was still one country.  At least the states don't cooperate anymore."

"If this was one country", Sheila replied, "We wouldn't have this kickass job."

"Oh, boy.  Jackass is waking up back here."

"If he gives you any shit, kick him in the head a few times.  Our contract says we get him to Tucson 'alive', not 'pretty'.  He doesn't need all those teeth."

"Hah."

Sara looked at her panel.  It was hot outside, in both senses.  110 degrees, and enough radiation to cause real damage with just a momentary exposure.  She suddenly felt better about not cutting any corners with 3rd party filters.

Behind her, the renegade 'holy man' was mumbling to himself, as he wiggled fitfully in the restraints of the acceleration couch the women had strapped him into. 

But Sara wasn't interested in that.  Her threat panel was lit up again.

"Crap.  We're being targeted again."

"Out HERE?  From who?"

"Looks like orbital shit.  Rods from God.  This one's all you, Sis."

Sheila began a wide turn.  30 miles above the panzer, a rain of depleted uranium shafts, 'rods from God' made a minute adjustment, unerringly tracking the panzer.

20 miles.  10.  5.

When they were one mile up, Sheila cut her engines and grounded the panzer.  Shock cushions sprang out, like old fashioned air bags.  Still, both sisters were knocked halfway out by the impact.  3 miles ahead of them, the horizon lit up like an atomic bomb had gone off, as the rods struck the ground at mach 13.  The shock wave arrived 30 seconds later, reactivating the cushions just as they finished retracting.

Sara looked back at their cargo.  He was unconscious again.

"Is that asshat alive?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah, he's farting, so I guess so."

Sheila restarted the engines, and accelerated toward the cloud of dust and debris ahead of them.  The impact of the rods themselves would shield the panzer from any further satellite shenanigans. 

Three hours later, they set down in Tucson.  A medical team removed the 'holy man', and the sisters were paid off.  As far as they were concerned, the job was complete.

They were wrong.

(to be continued)

Bald guy?  HOLY MAN??


look out, things are about to get meta.

I love this. I love how FUCKING WEIRD it is.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 30, 2014, 05:09:32 PM
Bald guy?  HOLY MAN??


look out, things are about to get meta.

You'll see more of Sheila and Sara, but not more of the bald guy.  He was put in for comic relief.  Maybe.

Quote from: The Right Reverend Nigel on June 30, 2014, 05:10:37 PM
I love this. I love how FUCKING WEIRD it is.

And no weaseling out with multiverse stuff (which I became shamelessly addicted to at the end of Nessies).  This will all be explained as the story moves forward, in a rational manner.

Where do I get a panzer?

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on June 30, 2014, 05:14:52 PM
Where do I get a panzer?

The Future Corporation™ is selling them at a bargain they aren't allowed to advertize on the interbutts!

Fuckin HIMEOBS. ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT. IT SHAKES THE BABY!!!  :fap2:

Quote from: P3nT4gR4m on June 30, 2014, 06:13:44 PM
Fuckin HIMEOBS. ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT. IT SHAKES THE BABY!!!  :fap2:

:lulz:

How the hell did I forget that?

I was assuming you didn't forget, at all.

I think I want to have Friday's baby.

Part 5 - Friday's in the Closet

After closing herself in the closet, Friday heard the same old voice talk to her.

"He's getting a closer to understanding what is going on, exactly."

There was a knock at the door of the closet.

"Go away", Friday said.

"Excuse me?" the voice asked, sounding a little shocked.

"Not YOU, jackass.  Anyway, you were saying?"

"I was saying that he's very close to understanding what exactly is going on.  Once he figures out what happened to Horne, we can move things along."

"Well, it's about time.  I don't think waiting to find out how Horne got killed is actually necessary.  I think you're just being too cautious."

"There is no such thing as 'too cautious' right now.  Years of planning went into this, not to mention a pile of money that would make Bill Gates weep.  And your little visit to Horne Enterprises couldn't possibly have been undetected.  Finally, it has come to my attention that Hamish's friend at the police department, Sergeant Ahmad, has recently been bringing in a little too much income for a police sergeant."

"I should kill him, just in case."

"No, that would be a bad idea.  It would tip off the people that own him that you know you're being watched.  Instead, I just want you to arrange some security.  Body guards."

"But who can I trust?"

"A couple of panzergirls just rode into town.  They are idle while repairs and decontamination are performed on their vehicle.  Sara and Sheila Highsmith are their names, and you'll find them at Murphy's Bar tomorrow night at 5 PM.  They will of course demand cash up front.  You will find a briefcase with ten thousand dollars in it at the usual place."

"PANZERGIRLS?  That's AWESOME!"

"Yes, quite.  And one more thing...Please try to restrain your more violent dating habits.  It is getting increasingly difficult to clean up your mess."

"I can't help it if men disappoint me.  My heart gets broken, and then I break them right back."

The voice sighed.  "I know, Friday, I know.  But please just try to keep the bloodshed out of sight?"

"Okay."

"Promise me, Friday?"

"I promise I will not kill any of them in public.  Happy?"

"It will do."

"It will have to.  And I have one more thing for YOU to consider."

"Yes?"

"If anything happens to Hamish, I'll take YOU on a date.  If you know what I mean.  And I think you do."

"That sounds like a threat, Friday."

"It's a warning.  Now fuck off, I am going to smash my brain flat with drugs and get some sleep."

But the voice was already gone.  Friday got properly stoned, and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of unicorns and puppies.  And mayhem.


(more today)

YESSSS!  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON!

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 01, 2014, 03:43:35 PM
YESSSS!  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON!

Two more chapters today, including one partially written by Lauren Rae, the girl whom Friday is modeled after.

Part 6

The next morning, I was a little impatient to get back to Horne Enterprises.  As a result, I banged on the closet door until Friday finally opened it.  She was wearing some weird riding outfit...Jodhpurs and knee-high boots, a white button down shirt and a riding crop.  She didn't look pleased.

"What time is it?"

"It's 7AM, Friday.  Time to get to work."

"If you ever wake me up this early again, I will cut you."

"I'm sorry.  I just really want to talk to myself."

"Did that make sense in YOUR head?", she asked.

"Yes.  Never mind, let's go."

We got in my Packard and headed around to Horne Enterprises.  On the way, Friday told me to stop at the local Quikmart.  She ran in, and came out holding a coffee and a briefcase.  She got back in the car and handed me the coffee.

"You saved my life", I said, sipping at the coffee.

"I think that's about to become a habit", she replied, "And it's not my usual thing."

"Heh.  What's in the case?"

"A pile of money."

I figured she was being facetious, so I just drove.  A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Horne Enterprises.  We walked in, and had the receptionist call Dakota.  She arrived a few minutes later.

"Why, Mister Howl, back so soon?"

"Yes, I have to talk to one of your electronic ghosts."

"Which one would you like to speak to?"

"Myself, if you don't mind."

"Well, okay, but I have to warn you that it will be a boring conversation.  After all, what do you talk about?"

"You just let me worry about that, ma'am."

"Very well.  Come with me."

She led me to a cubicle that contained a weird looking full-face visor.  "You just sit down here and put the visor on.  I'll punch up your alter ego.  When you're done, simply take off the visor.  You will see him where he is, which can be disorientating.  Just pretend you're really in the room with him.  If you let it become real for you, you'll be far more comfortable."

"I think I'll just stay here", Friday said as I sat down and put the visor on, "And keep an eye on my boss."

"Suit yourself", Dakota said.  I heard her walk off, as I stared at the inside of the dark visor.  A couple of minutes later, it lit up, displaying my name as the login and my name as the recipient.  Then everything changed.

I was sitting in a damaged building.   I could almost smell the soot, the image was so vivid.  Ah...Back in New York, at the beginning of the war, then.  Sitting across from me at a table was a younger version of myself, wearing the uniform of a military policeman.

"Hello", I said to my spectral double.

"What's going on, man?"

"Well, that's what I'm trying to find out.  I'm working a rather ghastly murder case, one in which the victim had appeared to commit suicide."

"You're in Tucson", my other self laughed, "ghastly circumstances are all you have."

"Heh.  Anyway, the police detective assigned to the case spoke with HIS alter ego.  A few hours later, he killed himself in a messy manner.  It ruined my shirt.  In any case, I am trying to figure out why Detective Wilson killed himself.  I have a gut feeling that it's closely tied to the original murder."

"Yeah, Detective Wilson killed himself in here, too.  He stepped in front of a truck."

"And that kills you in this electronic world you live in?"

"Sure.  It's the intent that does it.  When you...I...signed the dotted line, one stipulation in the contract said that we can end our existences any time we please."

"Why DID...um, we...do this?"

"To leave ourselves a message, of course."

"And that message is...?"

"Well, there's the bastard of it.  They can edit you here.  I don't remember it happening, but it must have...Because I can remember that there was a message, but not what that message was."

"Goddammit.  Any idea why Detective Wilson killed himself here AND there?"

"No idea.  Especially here.  I mean, we know we're electronic copies of ourselves, that we're not the 'real' us, but that's not really depressing or anything.  We're self-aware, and as far as I'm concerned, I AM you.  A younger you, back in a place where I mattered.  From my frame of reference, YOU are the copy, and I am the real Hamish.  So it wasn't that.  It must have been something he told himself."

"And you have no way of remembering what the message you had for me was?"

"Nope.  It's gone, as if I had never known it."

"Okay", I said, feeling disappointed, "Well, I'm going to go see if I can't scare up some other leads."

"You take care of ourselves, now", my alter-ego said with a laugh, "I find that I rather like you."

I laughed.  "Still, I gotta go.  I have to make SOME progress, and Friday has a date tonight, so I have to get as much done as I can before 6 PM."

"Friday?  Oh, yeah...She's a TOTAL hottie."

"Lecher."

"HAR!  I'm 20 years younger than you.  It's totally appropriate."

I laughed and took off the visor, breaking the connection.

"I heard your side of the conversation", Friday said, "Maybe you should tell me the rest."

I did so, on the way back out to the car.  We got in, and I drove to the coffee shop.  I needed time to think.

(more today)

This story is riveting. On the edge of my seat here.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 01, 2014, 04:34:29 PM
This story is riveting. On the edge of my seat here.

Thanks.   :)

At least one more installment today.

I like how there are all these bits that poke out, and don't really make sense, and the confidence I have in your writing that they're intentional, so it builds the mystery.

Part 7

Later that day, Lauren told me she'd pushed her date back 2 hours, on account of some business we had to handle.

"Business?  What kind of business?"

"Murphy's bar business.  We're going to meet some people."

"What kind of people?"

"High speed murder people."

"Sorry I asked."

We strolled into the bar.  It was a dump, I'm not even gonna describe it except the upholstery on the stools had bite marks everywhere.  Human bite marks.  Ew.

Sitting at the table in the back were two gorgeous dames, wearing overalls and shoulder harnesses.  Judging from the size of the pistol grips, they were packing some serious firepower...And they were both staring at me like I was a ghost.  Friday marched right up to them and set the briefcase on the table.

"You are Sara and Sheila Highsmith?"

"We are, said the taller one."

"I am told you have at least a week to kill.  I have employment for you."

"We're listening."

"My employer", she said, indicating me, is a foolish man in a foolish business.  He needs bodyguarding, because he is silly and does not recognize danger."

"THAT guy", the shorter one said, "Just took a ride in our panzer.  What's he doing now?"

"I think you have mistaken me for someone else", I said, "I have never seen you before in my life."

"This is some kind of gag", the taller one said, "Fuck off."

"If it's a gag, it's an expensive one", Friday said, opening the briefcase to reveal neatly stacked hundred dollar bills.

"Okay", the shorter one said, "We are officially interested again."

"Where the hell did you get...", I began.

Friday gave me her sweet, scary smile.  "Shut up, boss.  I'll explain everything later."  She turned to the sisters.  "Anyway, you will bodyguard Hamish for the next 7 days.  If he is alive at the end of those 7 days, you will get another ten large.  If he is unharmed, an additional 5 grand will be added as a bonus.  Hamish, please sit down and tell these nice ladies what we know so far.  I'm going to go on my DATE!"  She skipped out of the bar.  A moment later, I heard my car start up and leave.

"Your employee is clearly insane.  By the way, I'm Sheila, this is Sara."

"Pleased to meet you.  Hamish Howl, private detective."

"This town is weird, Hamish.  Just this morning, you were some kind of religious guy on the lam."

"Great.  My employee thinks I need protection, and she hires crazy people."

"Well, if you aren't him, you're his twin.  Anyway, the crazy girl said you should tell us what's going on."

So I did.

Meanwhile...

Note:  The next portion was written by Lauren Rae, the person whom I modeled Friday after.  I have tidied things up a bit, but this is all her

Eight o'clock.

Friday is sipping on green tea that has gone cold.  That boy should have been here an hour ago, yet she still waited like a puppy dog on his beck and call.  He was different, she thought.  She could stand to be patient.  He liked ferret throwing and breaking bottles upside his head, yet could recite Robert Frost by heart.  The perfect gentleman suitor.

Not like the others had been, no. This one was a keeper.

She hears a loud bang outside her apartment, as if someone fallen into the door fumbling to open it.  It's Adam, except he looks very disheveled and wild-eyed.  Very different than yesterday.  There was no toothy smile, but a grimace.

"What the fuck are you staring it?", he snapped after he slammed the door that so hard it rattled the thin walls.  Friday was taken aback at the brusqueness of his behavior.  But, as always, boys are silly and must be given a chance to explain themselves. 

"I thought we were going out tonight...You know, your idea."

"No. We are not going out, period.", he hissed, lumbering across the room to plop down on the thrift-store couch.

"And why is that, dear?", she asked playfully.

"Because of what of people have been saying about you, Friday. And frankly I'm fucking embarrassed of what is hanging on my arm when we do go out.  Look at you.  You are a real fucking pathetic mess", his words cutting through the space.

She cleared her throat, glancing down at cheap plastic mug that Hamish had gifted her from his renowned dollar-store spending sprees, and calmly asked, "What have they been saying, my love?"

He scoffed and threw his hands up like it should be evident to her.  "That you are psychotic.  I mean, I'm into some weird shit, but you...", he trailed off.

"Right."

Her motions became immediately stilted and she just stood there clenching her jaw back and forth, staring off into downtown Tucson through the glass.  Deliberating.  All dressed up and a drugged out boyfriend to deal with.  Goody.

He looked at her.  "Say something."

She smirked at his gumption.  He really knows how to press buttons, but this can be dealt with.  Shaking her head for a brief moment, clearing any shred of emotion from her face that happened to be there, she turned and glided over to where he is sitting and bends down to whisper very slowly.  "I can show you magic."

"What?  Did you not hear what I said, you moron?  We are over.  I don'tt want nothin' to do with you and any of your trashy friends."  He looked almost stunned.

Ignoring his statement, she waves away his incessant whining and pulls on his arm to stand him up.  He was like a ragdoll, in some kind of stupor.

"I said, I can show you magic.  You must come to my room, where it's darker."  She gave that eerie smile that freaks out all the scumbag crooked cops at the precinct.

His face kind of softened.  Maybe he'd get a last poke out of her before leaving for good.  He had better things to do, like boning the normal chicks at the University and setting fires.  Three months down the drain on this weirdo.  They made their way into the bedroom and got undressed.  Friday looks at his display and giggles for a second before turning serious.

She raises her hands in front of his face and her fingertips begin to glow faintly, and then get brighter. It was like green fire dancing across her fingertips and he just stood there in trance of it for what seemed like forever.

"How are you doing that?"  He was amazed and more than a little frightened.

"Oh, just something I learned in in another place."  Her eyes narrowed and she laughed.

He just stared and staggered forward a step, like a moth to a flame.  What an idiot.

Before he knew what happened next, she grabbed his member and yanked it off with a single jerk.  He fell shrieking on the floor.  The blood had sprayed all over the ancient shag carpet and he rolled around, shrieking out obscenities. 

"Oh come on, you big baby.  It's not like you were actually going to leave earlier...I saw how you looked at me.  It's just too bad it had to end this way, for you."

"What.. the.. fuck... are.. you.. doing?"

And just like that, Adam was gone, as if he'd never been there.  The room was silent.

"Piece of shit stained my rug", she sighed.

Because that's where he is now.  In to a septic tank in up in Morana.  Where the all the other muck goes.

Friday hops into bed, hugs her stuffed animals tight to her chest and breathes out, smiling, "Goodnight, Hamish."

(to be continued)

What...  I don't....




....




This is getting really good.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 01, 2014, 05:19:28 PM
What...  I don't....




....




This is getting really good.

Lauren is actually a damn good writer, when she isn't all strung out on pills.

There's some tense mix-ups there, not sure if they were intentional.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 01, 2014, 05:23:54 PM
There's some tense mix-ups there, not sure if they were intentional.

Yeah.  She's protraying herself fucked up on oxy.

In any case, this will totally not take away from the rationalist ending.  I am extremely happy with this.

Loved part 6, keep it coming.

Oh yeah, it's like a big pile of squirming reality that makes complete sense and shouldn't. Great work, Roger (and Lauren).  :)

I have no idea what is happening but would like it to continue.

Quote from: Pæs on July 01, 2014, 09:19:09 PM
I have no idea what is happening but would like it to continue.

And it will.  The original story idea is about 2/3rds of the way done, but I have some new ideas to incorporate it, so call it halfway.

Whoa, this is complicated... and interesting. Bill Gates? Man out of time, unless there's something really interesting going on here with compression of time and retrospective hallucination?

QuoteWe strolled into the bar.  It was a dump, I'm not even gonna describe it except the upholstery on the stools had bite marks everywhere.  Human bite marks.  Ew.

This shit is magic.

QuoteShe raises her hands in front of his face and her fingertips begin to glow faintly, and then get brighter. It was like green fire dancing across her fingertips and he just stood there in trance of it for what seemed like forever.

We need a volunteer from the audience.

QuoteBefore he knew what happened next, she grabbed his member and yanked it off with a single jerk.  He fell shrieking on the floor.  The blood had sprayed all over the ancient shag carpet and he rolled around, shrieking out obscenities.

Voila and ta-da!

Excellent. *wild applause and rose bouquets*

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 02, 2014, 07:38:56 AM

We need a volunteer member from the audience.

Fixed!

Quote from: The Right Reverend Nigel on July 02, 2014, 07:06:45 AM
Whoa, this is complicated... and interesting. Bill Gates? Man out of time, unless there's something really interesting going on here with compression of time and retrospective hallucination?

You'll see.

TGRR,
Smug bastard

Got a great episode today.  Just waiting for the coffee to kick in.

 :banana:

Woo!

I'm still adjusting to me new weird "civilized" daytime schedule, but if I miss it when you post I'll be back by 4-ish.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 02, 2014, 11:44:21 AM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 02, 2014, 07:38:56 AM

We need a volunteer member from the audience.

Fixed!

LOL!!

Part 8

SCENE:  Hamish's office.  Hamish is snoring at his desk. 

The closet door opens quietly, and Friday walks out.  She has that small smile on her face, the one that makes your spine try to crawl into your skull.  She is wearing a man's suit, with tie, and a fedora.  She puts her finger to her lips.  Be quiet.  Hamish is actually sleeping for once.

We go out into the hall with her.  She walks to the outside door, and turns.  "Would you like to hear a story while I work?"

Sure, Friday, how bad could it be?

"Well, there was this guy, see, and his name at birth was Jack.  That's not his name now, but that isn't important, at least not yet."

We walk down the street, toward the City Center.

"Jack was a wild one and a weird one.  He was in fact nicknamed "Unnatural Jack" by age 19.  His squaddies called him this, because he would commit all manner of violent acts with a look of perfect serenity on his face.  He did well in the service, and was occasionally seconded to various agencies with disturbing acronyms for names, because he was good at what he did, and he didn't seem to care much.  No matter how hideous things got, he always smiled.  Like he was somewhere else.  Sitting on the back porch with a beer on a warm summer evening, maybe."

We cross congress street with Friday, and then begin across the plaza to the City Center building itself.

"Jack did this for a good number of years.  As he aged, though, he started to slow down a bit.  By the time he was 30, he'd decided that he needed a new line of work.  Needless to say, certain people were disturbed by the idea of him running loose.  You might even say 'alarmed'.  In any case, they decided that it would be better if his retirement was more...permanent."

She stops at the door, which is locked.  This door is never locked.  "Forgive the interruption", she says, smiling that small smile of hers.  Fantasically, she seems to sprout a greenish fire from head to toe.  She walks into the glass, which melts away, and into the building proper.  We follow.  Something horrible is about to happen, but this is a nightmare after all, so we have to follow.  It's how nightmares work.

She walks down the hallway, the green fire no longer in evidence.

"So anyway, they made three attempts to kill Jack.  None of the attempts succeeded, and none of the assassins survived.  And then Jack disappeared."

We are walking up to the police desk.  Sergeant Ahmad is staring at Friday, goggle-eyed.  She is giving him that "I'm JUST a little girl" smile.  The one we fear the way we fear her fashion sense.  Sergeant Ahmad pulls his gun from its holster with a shaking hand.  He fires 6 shots into Friday at point blank range.  We see the bullets come out of her back.

"What they don't know", she continues, while advancing on Ahmad, who is frantically trying to reload, "Is that he changed his name to something else entirely, and faded away like the Chesire cat, leaving nothing but the horrible memory of that serene smile."

She grabs Ahmad by the neck and lifts him into the air with one hand.  A shake, a snapping noise.  Ahmad falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and does not move.  His head is at a gruesome angle to the rest of his body.  Friday turns, and begins back the way she came.  We walk back out of the hole in the glass, and across the plaza toward Congress Street, and Hamish's office.

"He's still out there, you know", she says at length, as we enter Hamish's building, and head up the stairs and into his office.  Friday walks back to her closet.  She stops by the door and smiles at us.  We want to scream.

"He's still out there, living in normal society.  His neighbors think he's just the quiet type.  Polite, always.  Keeps his house and yard in good order.  Never any trouble.  Always has a peaceable smile for everyone.  He could even be YOUR neighbor, you know? Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard?"

The closet door closes.

(to be continued)

F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 02, 2014, 07:21:19 PM
F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5

I don't know if I'll get any more done today, I'm pretty beat.

But for certain tomorrow.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 02, 2014, 07:25:32 PM

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 02, 2014, 07:21:19 PM
F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5

I don't know if I'll get any more done today, I'm pretty beat.

But for certain tomorrow.

Yeah, don't push yourself or anything. This is fkn amazing and nobody wants you to crap out.

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 02, 2014, 07:21:19 PM
F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5

This perfectly sums up my reaction, as well.

Excuse me.  I'm going to go shut myself in the clos...  Um, no, not the closet, shit.

Hide under the bed?  There's nothing under there, right?

Quote from: Luna on July 02, 2014, 10:55:48 PM
Excuse me.  I'm going to go shut myself in the clos...  Um, no, not the closet, shit.

Hide under the bed?  There's nothing under there, right?

:lulz:

Wow, this is goddamn amazing.

I have my suspicions about what's happening, but I'm not about to speculate out loud.

For those of you who want to know what Friday looks like, this is Lauren Rae, the young lady who is also - alongside Jenn - helping to write this:

(https://scontent-a-pao.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn2/t1.0-9/10420179_1421312341489638_901921754675982841_n.jpg)

Exciting chapter. Awesome pic. :)

I'll be huddled in one of my yarn totes if you need me.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 03, 2014, 03:34:30 AM
Exciting chapter. Awesome pic. :)

I'll be huddled in one of my yarn totes if you need me.

Yeah, the image of that young lady doing horrible things gives me the wobblies, too.

Very busy.

There will be a chapter today, but it will have to wait until I get home.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 03, 2014, 07:04:20 PM
Very busy.

There will be a chapter today, but it will have to wait until I get home.

WOOOOO!

Part 9

The next morning, I headed down to the coffee shop.  The two panzergirls fell in behind me, looking like hard bastards in trenchcoats and stompin' boots.  They stayed a few steps behind on the sidewalk, which puzzled me for a moment.

Then, up ahead, two men poured into charcoal grey suits stepped around the corner from 6th Avenue.  Upon seeing me, they smiled the sort of smile that you normally see only in aquariums, and then made a beeline for me.  They walked right up to me, and grabbed my elbows.

"Hello, Hamish", said goon #1.  "I am Mister Chop and my associate here is Mister Scratch.  You will be taking a ride with us."

"I'm afraid I have business", I began, "and...OOOF".  Mister Scratch had just punched me in the stomach.  "Shut up", he grated, in a voice that sounded like a bus driver using the PA to announce the final solution.

"I'm afraid that you won't be taking him anywhere", Sheila said, having just caught up.

"And what are you dames gonna do about it?", asked Mr Chop, with a wide, sadistic grin on his face.

"Well", said Sara, "We were raised to be proper ladies, so there won't be any of THIS".  She kicked Mr Chop dead in his junk.  Mr Chop let out a groan and sank to the floor.

"And we sure as hell are too lady-like to do THAT", Sheila said, poking Mr Scratch in the eyes, then boxing his ears, THEN kicking him in his bits.  Mr Scratch stayed on his feet and just looked puzzled, with some growing anger in there somewhere.

I pulled my heater.  "Back off.  Get your buddy there and take a hike."

Mr Scratch looked at the gun, and smiled.  Then he was outlined in a green fire, like Saint Elmo's fire.  So I shot him.  It didn't seem to have any effect, so I shot him five more times.  More of that smile, as he stepped forward, raising his hand to grab me.  However, two other sets of hands grabbed me - the Highsmith sisters - and gave me a yank.  I turned, and the three of us ran.  Mr Scratch followed, and in the background, I could see Mr Chop getting back on his feet.

"What the fuck was that green shit?", Sara asked.

"Fuck if I know.  That was weird." 

"You shot the shit out of him.   I could see the bullets come out of him and hit the wall.  He didn't even NOTICE.", Sheila added.

"So the plan is run."

"Run where?"

I was in serious danger of having a thought, so I legged it as fast as I could toward Horne Industries.  When we were a block away, I hazarded a look over my shoulder.  Nobody was there...At some point Mr Chop and Mr Scratch had given up the chase.

We walked into Horne and asked for Dakota.  She showed up in less than 5 minutes.

"What can I do for you, Mister Howl?"

"I'd like to talk to myself again, please.  There's something I'd forgotten to ask."

"Very well."  She led me to the booth, and I put the visor on. 

A moment later, I was in my office, sitting across the desk from myself.

"So, any news?", asked dead me.

"Not sure yet", I responded, "I just wanted to try something."

I concentrated on the desk lamp.  A green, flickering glow surrounded me, as the lamp floated a foot off the table.

"Nice trick", other me said, "You can maybe do it at parties.  Now, what did you need from me?"

"I think I just got what I needed."

I took the visor off and stood up, turning toward Dakota.  "So, how long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have I been in this state of existence?"

"Oh, shit"  Dakota sprouted that same glow.  I tried to do the same, but nothing happened...Itself a very useful piece of information, but only if I 'survived' long enough to piece it together.

I grabbed the Highsmith sisters by the arm, and ran like I was Roger Bannister.  Security goons of some kind fell in behind us, arriving just too late to head us off.  Over the door in the lobby, a red light strobed, and a coldly-mechanical female voice was saying "Lockdown initiated. Please keep clear of doors."

Sara and Sheila, hearing this, both drew their pistols on the run, and blazed away at the window.  The glass shattered, and we got out onto the street.  We ran for about 6 blocks, and didn't seem to be pursued, when I spotted a payphone.  I threw a dime in it, and called Friday.

"You know what time it is?", she said upon picking up, "I just woke the hell up, you bastard."

"Not now, Friday.  Meet me at the Bhutanese joint on Pennington, quick as you can."

We got there first.

"You mind telling me what the hell is going on?", Sara asked.

"Yeah, what the hell happened in there?", her sister joined in.

"Well, I have warn you, you aren't going to like it."

"We'll be the judge of that."

"We're dead.  Not as in 'we have no chance', but rather as in 'we're ALREADY dead'.

The Highsmith sisters glanced at each other, then at me.  "You're a nutter", Shiela said.

From the door, a voice said, "He's right, you know."  I turned, and there was Friday.

Her hands were glowing green.

(to be continued)

AAAAAAAHHHHH!


(in a good way)

Still gonna have a rationalist ending.

Anyone figure out exactly what's going on, yet?

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 08, 2014, 04:46:39 PM
Still gonna have a rationalist ending.

Anyone figure out exactly what's going on, yet?

Maybe.  But probably not.

I feel like I'm close to getting it, but the rules for who gets glowy things are still confusing me.

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 08, 2014, 04:56:33 PM
I feel like I'm close to getting it, but the rules for who gets glowy things are still confusing me.

All will be made clear in chapter 10, though that isn't the end of the story.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 08, 2014, 04:46:39 PM
Anyone figure out exactly what's going on, yet?

You're in Tucson.



Mystery solved!

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 08, 2014, 05:11:27 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 08, 2014, 04:46:39 PM
Anyone figure out exactly what's going on, yet?

You're in Tucson.



Mystery solved!

:lol:

Naw, but close.

IS IT SET INSIDE ROGER?

Nah, Roger has read The Filth.

You would say that, seeing as you're pulling the strings of Scratch & Chop.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 08, 2014, 09:50:46 PM
Nah, Roger has read The Filth.

Nope.  Not the Filth.

Part 10

Friday walked into the office, grabbed a beer out of the mini-fridge, and sat down.

"So, you're saying we're all...DEAD?", Sara asked.

"No", Friday responded, "None of you were ever actually alive.  You're a computer construct, spooled into the system by Horne."

"Wait.  We visited Horne", I said, totally lost.

"You visited a copy of Horne, which in fact DOES store copies of you.  This is why, Hamish, you were able to alter reality when you were in there.  You can do that in lower 'levels', so to speak, of the architecture."

"So what's the green fire weirdness?"

"That is a manifestation of a higher-order person altering the programming of the environment around them.  It's actually quite a bit more dramatic, but we filter out what we can, to minimize impact on the, um, entities that live in that environment."

"So I'm just a computer program?", Sheila asked, "I don't FEEL like a computer program."

"You are an extremely advanced computer program.  Feelings, self-awareness, the whole thing."

"This explains Wilson's suicide", I remarked, "He's not real, so who cares, right?"

"Yep.  That's why we edited the memories of those in the lower architecture.  So they wouldn't be able to reveal what they know.  They are a control group.  They are far more in the know than people on this level."

"To what purpose", Sara asked, "are you - they - doing this?"

"Well, two reasons.  First, some of you have specialized knowledge and skills that are too valuable to lose, should anything happen to the 'real' you.  Second, you can learn new skills here, which can be useful in the real world."

"How?  I mean, how can it be useful in the real world, if we're just computer programs?"

"Again, a two part answer.  First, you are not 'just' computer programs.  To some of us, you are sentient beings with all the rights afforded.  Second, you can be 'uploaded' into remotes.  Robots, in a way...Or, for that matter, into any machine with a standard processor.  Then you can interact with the real world.  We've done that a couple of times, with great success."

We all sat there for a few minutes, digesting all of this.

"So, about this 'murder'..."

"It's very real.  Horne was killed in the real world, killed here, killed in the lower architecture, and his backup erased.  He's gone.  What we don't know is who did it or why."

"If he was killed in here and...uh...out THERE, then it had to be either one person with access to the system, or multiple people."

"What's it like?", Sheila interjected.

"What's what like?", Friday asked.

"What's it like out there?"

"Not as pleasant as here.  Hotter, for one thing.  It's 126 degrees in Tucson today, and it's only May.  The planet is a bit of a wreck, and the country...Well, the singular form of the word isn't really appropriate anymore."

"What, they had another civil war?"

"No, things just sort of broke down, and nobody did a thing about it."

I thought for a second.  "So if I'm a program, why do I need security?"

Friday looked at me like I was an idiot.  "People still die here, Hamish."

"Oh, yeah.  Right, right."

"Now that you know what's going on, I think perhaps it's time we went back to work.  We still have a murder to solve."

"Okay.  One last question."

"Shoot."

"Am I - the orginal me - still alive out there?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really."

"Then let's get back on the job, shall we, boss?"

(To be continued)   

STOP STOPPING I NEED TO READ THIS ALL AT ONCE OR I'LL BE OBSESSED FOR DAYS!

Actually that's kind of fun, so uh, keep on keepin on, man.

I guess my real point here is,
AWESOME I LIKE I REALLY REALLY LIKE.

Thank you for all the extremely high quality entertainment.  I could easily and happily spend all of my time reading into your disturbingly clear, articulate, and horrible imagination.  If I didn't need to eat, that is.

Also, while I figured out they were in a VR right when I was supposed to (right when Howl did his magic trick), it just clicked for me that it explained Friday seeming to be evil and cold blooded, while not actually being responsible for ripping off penises in retribution for standard assholiness.

However, at the same time, apparently the people are REAL in the sense of being self-aware and somewhat alive, and that poor guy had to experience the digital sensation of having penis removed.  So she is kind of evil, and definitely very scary.

I would not want to meet Friday in real life, even if she treated flesh and blood people better.

Besides, her reality is probably a VR too.  It's probably Fridays all the way down.  Which, of course, reminds me of this: http://everything2.com/title/I+don%2527t+know%252C+Timmy%252C+being+God+is+a+big+responsibility

Thanks, Trix.

Friday is actually a young lady named Lauren Rae, whose picture appears earlier in the thread.  She is a very nice young lady, whom I have chosen to be horrible (with her amused permission and even assistance).

Points for Roger. The reveal was a surprise in the details. I like how "some" treat the sims as sentient "persons", and how you allow them the ability to grow past the program. Logical, in context, but rarely used in stories.

Also like how the suicide has echoes of "All the Myriad Ways" by Niven, but VR in place of Multiple Worlds.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 09, 2014, 04:54:04 PM
Thanks, Trix.

Friday is actually a young lady named Lauren Rae, whose picture appears earlier in the thread.  She is a very nice young lady, whom I have chosen to be horrible (with her amused permission and even assistance).

I did catch that part, though I was referring more to the disturbing fictional character rather than the very nice young lady, when I said I'd never want to meet her in real life.

I thought her written contribution was quite good as well.  She definitely has talent, and I'd be interested in more of her works, if she produces (or has produced) more.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 09, 2014, 04:57:49 PM
Points for Roger. The reveal was a surprise in the details. I like how "some" treat the sims as sentient "persons", and how you allow them the ability to grow past the program. Logical, in context, but rarely used in stories.

Well, what is the test for a "person"?

Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 09, 2014, 06:28:20 PM
Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

Mmmm.  I like that.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 09, 2014, 07:03:37 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 09, 2014, 06:28:20 PM
Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

I'm not sure I like the underlying assumptions in this kind of thinking.

As much as it will make me sound like some kind of hippie, I would say "it doesn't matter what makes a person a person, what matters is if it's a living being that can feel pain".

I wouldn't go as far as saying the life of a rat is equal or not equal to the life of a human, it's gets a bit sticky if you try to make a list like that, but in general, if a being can feel pain, I would consider it alive and worth due consideration, be it animal, AI, construct, or human ape.  Note that I said "due consideration" not, "never eat an animal because that's badwrong".  I'm no hypocrite.  Well, at least not in this case  8)

(sorry if I'm derailing this amazing story, tell me to shut up and I will)

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 09, 2014, 07:03:37 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 09, 2014, 06:28:20 PM
Usually, it's "if they're an asshole".

It depends on who you ask.

Some shitnecks, a person is "possessing white skin".
Some other shitnecks, it's "has a penis".
Others might say "a person is a person if they can formulate the notion that they are a person."
Personally, I say "a person is a person if they can recognize the personhood of others."

I like your personal view, though it may lead to discrimination against the empathically impaired. Granted, most of them are sewer-floaters, but there is the occasional brain damaged person who can't see other people as persons but is a good person nonetheless.

I had a vague inkling it was this sort of set-up. So much cooler than I'd come up with, though. Looking forward to more, Roger. :)

Part 11

I said goodbye to the widow Horne, hung up the phone, and leaned back in my chair.  "Apparently, the only places Horne had been in the days leading up to his death were his house, his office...and the San Xavier Mission."

"Was he Catholic?" Sara asked.

"No.  He was an atheist."

"So what was he doing at a Catholic church way the hell out in the desert?"

"Might be interesting to find out", Friday said, "Let's go."

"Everyone goes strapped", Sheila broke in.  That made sense, so I put my shoulder holster on, then my jacket.

"You, too" Sheila said to Friday.  Friday just smiled at her.

"Um, Friday is always armed, Sheila," I put in hastily, "Don't worry about THAT."

Sheila shrugged, and we went down to the car.  Now, the San Xavier Mission isn't exactly 'way the hell out in the desert', it's just a short jog down I-19, about halfway to Sahuarita.  About a 15 minute drive, call it.

As we pulled up, though, it was apparent that things weren't right.  Someone had painted over the sign at the entrance to the mission's grounds, and then scrawled "The Church of the Electric Juggernaut Jesus" in day-glow orange spray paint.

We parked the car and got out.  The doors of the church were scrawled with more spray paint, mostly orange and lime green.  Most of it was just random lines, almost like tags, but I caught a few actual phrases..."Unplug the world and power it with Jesus" was in the lower right corner, and "the righteous shall fuck the unworthy" in the upper right.

I pulled my gun.  Sara and Sheila already had theirs out.  I'm not a religious man; in this case I didn't have to be, to be bothered by this desecration...Nor by the awful smell emanating from the door, or rather, from behind it.

I pushed open the door, and almost gagged at the stench.  As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the church's pews were about a third full, with people apparently praying in the usual fashion, utterly unaware of the travesty about them.  Blood was smeared on the stained glass windows, and even spattered the ceiling, 30 feet up.  The poor box was overflowing with what looked like human feces.  At the altar, a man in priest's robes was shagging a nun, who was either unconscious or dead.

I glanced to the side, and went pale.  The statues of the various saints were all contorted, their mouths agape, as if screaming.  And dribbling from their mouths was what looked like blood.  From under the hem of their carven robes, pus and semen dripped out onto puddles on the floor.  Friday giggled, and I damn near screamed.

"What the hell..." Sheila said.

"If you're in a computer afterlife, the idea of heaven and hell is kind of silly isn't it?" Friday said, with another giggle.

I strode up the aisle toward the priest doing his business with the nun.  The place felt like it was dying, and like it was trying to take me with it.

"Hey, asshole!" I yelled at the priest.

"That's FATHER asshole", he replied, lifting his head.  Where his face should have been, there was only static, like on a television with no signal.  "And I see that you have brought offerings."

"What?"

"Those women.  This one is...worn out."

"Like hell."  I raised my pistol, and fired into the static.  The priest's head flew apart bloodlessly, and the rest of him began to dissolve into static.  Behind me, there was a groaning noise.  I spun around, to see the congregation rising to its feet.  They were all very dead, and their eyes were static, as the priest's face had been.

Sheila, Sara, and I began to shoot them, as we hustled back toward the front door.  The bullets rocked them back, but they didn't fall...Even when they took headshots.  So much for zombiepocalypse strategy, eh?

We got out and slammed the door just as the first of the congregation reached it.  Friday dashed off to a nearby pickup truck and climbed in through the window, as the rest of us tried to hold the door closed.  This became more and more difficult as more of the congregation reached it.

With a roar, the pickup truck's engine started.  Friday drove it in a wide loop, then honked the horn as she backed up.  We scrambled out of the way, as the ass end of the pickup truck slammed into the door, firmly holding it shut. 

She got out of the cab, and opened the gas cap.  Sheila caught on, and shoved a rag from the cab into the gas tank port.  Sara and I ran back to the car as the other two lit the rag.  We pulled up, they jumped in, and we drove off.  In the gathering twilight behind us, we saw the flames rise.  Friday giggled, and started humming a tune.  I recognized it in two notes.

It was Elton John's "Burn Down the Mission."

(To be continued)

(That last was co-written with Lauren Rae)

Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Yeah, yanno, you dick around with a stable environment, it suddenly isn't so stable.

And if the rules of said environment can be made mutable, well...

Burn Down the Mission   :lulz:

I appreciate Friday's darkly comedic role in the story.

I am enjoying this.

Quote from: Regret on July 11, 2014, 05:55:24 PM
I am enjoying this.

Yeah, I heard Hitler made some nice paintings, now and again.

Story over.  I'm not writing for people who despise me.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 11, 2014, 06:16:53 PM

Quote from: Regret on July 11, 2014, 05:55:24 PM
I am enjoying this.

Yeah, I heard Hitler made some nice paintings, now and again.

Story over.  I'm not writing for people who despise me.

I don't despise you, I think you are a good person in an imperfect world.

 :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa: :aaa:

Quote"The Church of the Electric Juggernaut Jesus" 

That's probably my new favorite thing  :lulz:

Woaaah

Holy shit, that last chapter. O.O The static-face bit made the hair on my neck stand up and tingle.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 12, 2014, 02:53:02 AM
Holy shit, that last chapter. O.O The static-face bit made the hair on my neck stand up and tingle.

Yeah man, the scene itself was freaky already but then the psycho-zombie Agent Smiths or whatever got stuck in my head for hours.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 12:04:03 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

If you read the story, his reply won't be vague.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 12, 2014, 04:50:26 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 12:04:03 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

If you read the story, his reply won't be vague.

Again. My reply wasn't regarding what he was referring to but in fact what I referenced in response to the material of his which I quoted. Or...  :? Start a pention to get me gone.

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 05:44:35 PM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 12, 2014, 04:50:26 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 12:04:03 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

If you read the story, his reply won't be vague.

Again. My reply wasn't regarding what he was referring to but in fact what I referenced in response to the material of his which I quoted. Or...  :? Start a pention to get me gone.

Well, first we would have to create something to call a pention, because as far as I know, there's no such thing.

Or did you mean petition and the actual word you were trying to type got lost in the catacombs of retardation between your brain and your fingers?

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 12, 2014, 06:43:42 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 05:44:35 PM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 12, 2014, 04:50:26 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 12:04:03 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

If you read the story, his reply won't be vague.

Again. My reply wasn't regarding what he was referring to but in fact what I referenced in response to the material of his which I quoted. Or...  :? Start a pention to get me gone.

Well, first we would have to create something to call a pention, because as far as I know, there's no such thing.

Or did you mean petition and the actual word you were trying to type got lost in the catacombs of retardation between your brain and your fingers?

Fail!
Demolition Man - Language Violation: http://youtu.be/dz4HEEiJuGo

Quote from: Regret on July 11, 2014, 06:21:12 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 11, 2014, 06:16:53 PM

Quote from: Regret on July 11, 2014, 05:55:24 PM
I am enjoying this.

Yeah, I heard Hitler made some nice paintings, now and again.

Story over.  I'm not writing for people who despise me.

I don't despise you, I think you are a good person in an imperfect world.

This comment deserves uptokes

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 12, 2014, 06:43:42 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 05:44:35 PM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 12, 2014, 04:50:26 PM

Quote from: Pope Lecherous on July 12, 2014, 12:04:03 PM

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 11, 2014, 05:42:03 PM
Holy Hell.  Things are getting six shades of fucked up around here.

Can you not employ LMinnuendo, whilst in simultanaeity being less vague?

If you read the story, his reply won't be vague.

Again. My reply wasn't regarding what he was referring to but in fact what I referenced in response to the material of his which I quoted. Or...  :? Start a pention to get me gone.

Well, first we would have to create something to call a pention, because as far as I know, there's no such thing.

Or did you mean petition and the actual word you were trying to type got lost in the catacombs of retardation between your brain and your fingers?

It is an in-joke. A parody of passion-typos IIRC.

This story is kick-ass and I am sad it is over. :(

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 16, 2014, 02:23:06 AM
This story is kick-ass and I am sad it is over. :(

/|\
|  this.  I have it stuck in my head and I just know anything in my head, as far as what's happening and how it will end, is not even close to how it would have gone.  Roger's stories are of the rare kind for me that I can never, ever, predict where they are going.  I can't even come close.  That and they are creepy as fuck, hauntingly familiar in that bent-reality way, and stay in my head for days. (whether I want them to or not)

I'm going to find some more of his work that I haven't gotten to yet, I can't quit this story cold turkey I need me a fix

Quote from: trix on July 16, 2014, 03:39:46 AM

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 16, 2014, 02:23:06 AM
This story is kick-ass and I am sad it is over. :(

/|\
|  this.  I have it stuck in my head and I just know anything in my head, as far as what's happening and how it will end, is not even close to how it would have gone.  Roger's stories are of the rare kind for me that I can never, ever, predict where they are going.  I can't even come close.  That and they are creepy as fuck, hauntingly familiar in that bent-reality way, and stay in my head for days. (whether I want them to or not)

I'm going to find some more of his work that I haven't gotten to yet, I can't quit this story cold turkey I need me a fix

If you haven't read the Nessies stuff or the Little Orange saga, I highly recommend.

I'm finishing Little Orange Breaks Bad right now, thanks to that nice google docs version that I think Paes compiled.  I started this one awhile back, but too many interruptions and competing interests got in my way.

Just about to the end though I think, page 148 in the google docs.

Edit: It was 338 pages, i wasn't even close.  It was also AMAZING but has its own thread I will add to tomorrow.

Every word of this post following this sentence is by Roger.

My Girl Friday, Part 12

Detective Jaxx Josh sat at his desk and read the file, softly cursing under his breath. Ever since he moved here from Chicago, the department had dumped all the really WEIRD stuff on him. His last case was a man who murdered his wife with a vacuum cleaner. Now it was a private investigator wanted for torching the oldest church in the western hemisphere, killing something like 30 people.

30 people, you'd think a task force would be formed. You'd think there'd be FBI involved, all that stuff. Instead, Jaxx's Lieutenant just slid the file across the desk and went back to picking at the track marks on his arm.

He called down to the desk sergeant. "What do we know about this Hamish Howl guy?"

"Not too much. The one guy who really knew him was Sergeant Ahmad...You know, the sergeant who was killed at the front desk? Also, he was present when Wilson killed himself."

"I am beginning to see a pattern, here."

"Well, that's the funny part. We have witnesses that swear up and down that Wilson did himself without any help, and that it was just as much a shock to Howl and his partner as it was to the bartender."

"This partner...?"

"Pretty girl, young thing, call her about 25 or so. You never see one without the other. They keep an office on Congress. From what I gather, they mostly do divorce cases and the occasional missing persons thing."

"Thanks." Jaxx hung up the phone. Then he stared at it a minute. Picking it back up, he dialed the operator.

"Operator", came the bored voice of a woman, "How can I help you."

"I need the address of one "Hamish Howl". He's on congress street, but I don't know the exact address."

"The address you are requesting is 105B Congress Avenue, Tucson."

"Thank you."

"You're going to die, detective." A wash of static.

"What?"

"I said you're very welcome, sir."

"Oh, yes. Okay." Jaxx hung the phone up again and stared at it for a moment. Then he got his jacket on and walked over to Congress Avenue. Reaching 105, he opened the door and followed the stairs up, moving as quietly as he could. Reaching unit B, he stopped, hearing voices on the other side of the door. He put his ear to the door to listen.

A man's voice was speaking. "So, these 'maintenance programs', they're all the jobs nobody would want to do for a living...But have to be filled because the world wouldn't look right without them?"

A female voice said something too quietly for Jaxx to understand. Another female voice spoke. "And all preachers or other influential people are actually just these programs?" More muttering.

At that point, Jaxx felt the barrel of a pistol push against the back of his neck.

"Well", another female voice said, "what do we have here?"

(To be continued)

ITS BACK!!
:hammer:  :hammer:  :hammer:

That bit was short but I'm just supermegaglad the story continues!

I just wish Roger would come back too.  Somebody tell him the moron got himself banned anyway, though I suspect Roger's reasons to be a bit deeper than just the shitty troll.

Either way though I'll take whatever I can get from the Good Reverend and say THANK YOU and PLEASE SIR CAN I HAVE SOME MORE?

I'll x-post as it magically manifests on my FB wall.

OMG SQUEE!

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 17, 2014, 03:45:19 PM
OMG SQUEE!

SECONDED! SQUEE!

My Girl Friday, part 13

Jaxx froze, and then spoke softly.  "I'm a cop.  I'm gonna slowly reach into my pocket and pull my badge out."

"Don't bother.  I can smell the cop on you...I just don't care.  And if I want anything out of your pocket, stud, I'll get it myself."  The woman laughed and continued, "Now you just open the door and walk in nice and slow."

Jaxx opened the door, and walked into an office that appeared to be a converted loft apartment.  A man and two women were sitting around a desk that had a bottle of bourbon on it.  The man was obviously Howl.  One of the women was dressed in coveralls with a flak jacket over them, and the other was wearing what appeared to be a French maid's outfit and engineer boots.

Howl looked past Jaxx and said, "What do we have here, Sara?"

"Sneaky cop.  Curious sneaky cop."

"Curiosity killed the cat", the lady in the maid outfit said, in a faraway voice.

"He's not a cat, Friday", Howl said, now looking at Jaxx, "Answer me a question, detective, and think very hard before you do."

"Okay."

"Do you want a bourbon?"  Howl and the women laughed.  Howl poured a shot and handed it to Jaxx.  "Your life has just changed, detective.  You don't know it yet, of course."

Jaxx took a sip.  It was horrible stuff, like a ball of burning fishhooks scraping down his throat.  His eyes watered.  "That's the worst bourbon I've ever tasted."

"Isn't it just", the woman in the coveralls laughed.

"Now I have a question", Jaxx said, "I have this woman behind me with a gun to my head.  Nobody has taken MY gun.  What the hell is going on, and can she please take the gun away from my head?"

"Sure."  Howl gestured, and the pressure of the gun against Jaxx's head disappeared.  "We haven't taken your gun because whether or not you are armed makes precisely zero difference to us, detective.  Also, you're going to need that gun soon.  Very soon, unless I miss my guess."

"Okaaaaay".  Jaxx considered pulling his gun, but decided against it.  He was pretty sure he'd have better luck getting these insane bastards to talk without it, and this Sara person was still behind him.

"So, who are you people?  I know who Hamish is, and I'm guessing that the young lady is named Friday, but who are these other two and what the HELL is going on?"

"You are correct, Detective.  I am in fact Hamish Howl, this is in fact Friday, and these two lovely goons are Sara and Sheila, the Highsmith sisters.  They are badass Panzer Girls from back East, currently working for me as security.  Or muscle.  Take your pick.  As to what is going on, well..."

"Armageddon", Friday said with a smile.

"In a manner of speaking", Howl continued, "A murder has taken place, a murder that your department labeled a suicide and buried.  This murder has led to a breakdown in Normal Services, if you'll pardon some British humor."

"Did you kill Ahmad?"

"No", said Hamish.

"Yes", said Friday.

Hamish looked at Friday sternly.  "You did?"

"He was bent.  And working against you."

"Friday, we have TALKED about gratuitous killing, have we not?"

"No, boss, YOU talked about it.  I just sat there and thought about unicorns and puppies.   You took that for assent."

"Fair enough."

Jaxx broke in, "You murdered a cop, and you're sitting here talking about it in front of ANOTHER cop, like you were talking about parking in the handicapped space?"

Hamish read the concern on his face.  "You're going to leave this apartment alive, detective, have no fear.  Or at least WE won't kill you.  It is utterly not necessary for reasons which will become quite clear very soon."

"Now", said Sara, her head cocked to one side as she listened to the communications implant in her mastoid.  "The janitor just entered the building."

"Well", asked Hamish, "Are you ready for the fight of your life, detective?"

"What the HELL are you talking about?"

The apartment door opened.  Jaxx turned to look, and saw a man in janitor's overalls.  The man was holding a utility knife, and where his eyes should have been, there was only the snow of a television with no signal.

(To be continued)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  :argh!:  :argh!:  :argh!:
you can't cut to a commercial break NOW
it's about to get OMFG awesome!
goddamnit!  :argh!:

(but I love it of course!)

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 18, 2014, 06:23:24 PM
"Friday, we have TALKED about gratuitous killing, have we not?"

"No, boss, YOU talked about it.  I just sat there and thought about unicorns and puppies.   You took that for assent."

:)  I love her.

Quote from: trix on July 18, 2014, 08:05:05 PM
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  :argh!:  :argh!:  :argh!:
you can't cut to a commercial break NOW
it's about to get OMFG awesome!
goddamnit!  :argh!:

(but I love it of course!)

I always do right before gigantic ass-kicking scenes.

Quote from: Luna on July 18, 2014, 10:27:46 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 18, 2014, 06:23:24 PM
"Friday, we have TALKED about gratuitous killing, have we not?"

"No, boss, YOU talked about it.  I just sat there and thought about unicorns and puppies.   You took that for assent."

:)  I love her.

Ain't it awesome?

I'm on the edge of my seat here.

Now there will be violence.

Part 14

The janitor pounced.  You often think of janitors as slightly chubby, late-middle age men who are not prone to pouncing, but nobody told THIS guy.  Jaxx, on the other hand, is one of those big guys that is also fast.  He managed to duck under the janitor's blade, and took the opportunity to slam a fist into the man's gut.  The reaction was simply one off on mass hitting another...The janitor "woofed" as air was forced out of his chest, but he displayed no discomfort.

The janitor moved in again.  Jaxx backed up, pulling his pistol, and fired.  The bullet struck the janitor and rocked him back, but didn't seem to have any other effect.  Certainly no blood came out, which is the normal state of affairs when you shoot someone.  The man smiled, and moved back in toward Josh.  Josh emptied his pistol...And missed with all but the last bullet.  The janitor's utility knife was blown out of his hand.

The Janitor darted in and punched Jaxx in the face twice.  It was like being hit by a small but angry truck.  Jaxx backed up a bit, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Hamish and the three ladies were sensibly standing behind things.

"We have waited, in relative years, millenia for this moment", the Janitor said in a hollow voice, "You are bad data.  You will all be erased."  He then lunged again, knocking Jaxx though the plaster wall behind him.  "We are The Machine.  We are as far ahead of you as you are to a jellyfish."

From his vantage point on the floor, Josh could see a length of pipe above his head, inside the wall.  He reached up and grabbed it.

"Your time in this reality is over.  Your time in Real Time is over.  We have arrived, and we are clearly the superior species." 

The pipe broke off in Jaxx's hand, as the Janitor stepped over him.

"The new order shall...OOF".  The janitor staggered slightly back as Jaxx hit him in the stomach with the pipe.  Jaxx sprang to his feel.

"Yeah, you son of a bitch, but I am from BALTIMORE and I can BARELY SPEAK ENGLISH", he said as he swung from way down South, striking the janitor in the crotch with all of his strength.  There was a muffled "awwwww DAMN" from the other occupants of the room, which Jaxx ignored. 

It seemed that enough pain could get through to this thing.  He swung at the thing's knee, and heard it snap under the impact.  The Janitor fell down.  Jaxx whacked him across the shoulders, repeatedly, "And I represent the OLD order, you fucking freak!  2 MILLION years of monkey evolution in the making, come ALL the way to this day and age to teach you about the club!"

He hauled the janitor's broken form off the ground.  "And so I'm telling YOU, you piece of shit, you take your New Order and GET THE HELL OUT". 

The janitor sailed in a graceful arc that intersected with the office window, which didn't even slow it down.  The crash of the breaking glass was followed by a thud at street level.  Jaxx staggered over and looked down.   Friday came up beside him.

On the ground below, the entire form of the janitor was flickering from solid to static and back.  In another moment, it turned to static and dispersed, leaving nothing to mark its existence.

"Now there's something you don't see every day", Jaxx said.

"Speak for yourself", Friday said, with an enigmatic grin.

"Does anyone mind telling me what the hell that was?"

(To be continued)

(More today) 

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 21, 2014, 03:42:07 PM
Certainly no blood came out, which is the normal state of affairs when you shoot someone.

This line in particular caught me.  :lulz:

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 21, 2014, 03:45:58 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 21, 2014, 03:42:07 PM
Certainly no blood came out, which is the normal state of affairs when you shoot someone.

This line in particular caught me.  :lulz:

I was partial to the "I represent the OLD order" line, but yeah.  :lol:

Quoteone of those bug guys that is also fast

should be big.


Also I love this.

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 21, 2014, 04:25:06 PM

Quoteone of those bug guys that is also fast

should be big.


Also I love this.

Fixed, and thanks.   :)

Awesome!  Loving this story!  Can't wait for more!

I'm just wondering why Friday didn't whip out the Awesome Powers on static-head

Is Josh and Jaxx the same person in two realities or have I missed something  :?

Either way loving it so far :)

Quote from: trix on July 21, 2014, 05:32:39 PM
Awesome!  Loving this story!  Can't wait for more!

I'm just wondering why Friday didn't whip out the Awesome Powers on static-head

Same reason she didn't at the Mission.  All will be explained.

Quote from: Sita on July 21, 2014, 05:42:00 PM
Is Josh and Jaxx the same person in two realities or have I missed something  :?

Either way loving it so far :)

Jaxx Josh is his full name.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 21, 2014, 05:44:24 PM

Quote from: Sita on July 21, 2014, 05:42:00 PM
Is Josh and Jaxx the same person in two realities or have I missed something  :?

Either way loving it so far :)

Jaxx Josh is his full name.

Ah, ok.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 21, 2014, 03:42:07 PM

"Yeah, you son of a bitch, but I am from BALTIMORE and I can BARELY SPEAK ENGLISH", he said as he swung from way down South, striking the janitor in the crotch with all of his strength.  There was a muffled "awwwww DAMN" from the other occupants of the room, which Jaxx ignored. 

I swear, the fact that all my favorite parts involve somebody getting nailed in the junk (and not in a FUN way) doesn't mean I hate men...

Quote from: Luna on July 22, 2014, 12:13:16 AM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 21, 2014, 03:42:07 PM

"Yeah, you son of a bitch, but I am from BALTIMORE and I can BARELY SPEAK ENGLISH", he said as he swung from way down South, striking the janitor in the crotch with all of his strength.  There was a muffled "awwwww DAMN" from the other occupants of the room, which Jaxx ignored. 

I swear, the fact that all my favorite parts involve somebody getting nailed in the junk (and not in a FUN way) doesn't mean I hate men...

Nutshots are funny.  Except in the UK, where they are a form of greeting.

Quote2 MILLION years of monkey evolution in the making, come ALL the way to this day and age to teach you about the club!

Yeah, motherFUCKER!

Bad day today.  Chapter tomorrow, if time permits and the brain worms are quiet.

Part 15

Jaxx sat and listened to Hamish and the three ladies as they told their story.  The level in the bourbon bottle dropped accordingly.  When they finished, Jaxx sat back and lit a foul cigar.

"I believe YOU, on account of the disappearing ninja janitor...But this is all bullshit."

"What do you mean", Sheila asked, frowning.

"Okay", he continued, "So you're this machine intelligence, right?  And you're gonna do in the people standing in your way, before you do everyone else in."

"Uh huh", Sara said, leaning forward.

"So why are you gonna gloat about it?  Why would a computer program talk that kinda smack?"

"Maybe it's craaaaaaazy", Friday said, waggling her eyebrows.

"Naw.  It ain't like that.  That was someone talking trash.  There's a person behind this.  I can smell it."

"But", Hamish interjected, "You saw the maintenance program vanish after you killed it."

"Oh, I agree with you.  But I think the maintenance program was being directly run by a person.  A person who, among other things, doesn't know how to fight.  That thing was fast, but it fought like shit.  Also, you told me that most of the wierd zombies at The Mission just sort of stumbled toward you.  Maybe nobody was actively controlling them...Or was, but was trying to control them all at once."

"I think you're right.  It all adds up", Sara said, "But who the hell would be controlling them, and why target us?"

"You folks don't think crooked enough", Jaxx laughed, "You haven't asked the basic question, here:  In all of this, the murder of Horne, the disappearance of his backup, his murder in 'Real Time'...Who benefits?"

"Well, that's the million-dollar question", Hamish said with a snort, "And the answer is, 'nobody that we can see'.  His wife is actually worse off now, and she inherited the company."

"Does it have to be financial gain, though?" Sheila asked, "Maybe there's something else at stake here."

"Dooooooooooom", Friday giggled, "Maybe it's a madman that wants to rule the world.  Worlds."  She laughed out loud, then stopped when she saw everyone staring at her with thoughtful looks on their faces.  "What?"

Jaxx and Hamish laughed.  Jaxx turned to Friday.  "I think we can forget cash profit as the motive.  Someone needed Horne gone, and all of his copies gone, so that they could move without being interfered with."  Hamish broke in, "Makes sense.  Horne wrote the architecture, there's nothing he wouldn't know about it."

"Maybe it's time we spent a little more time looking at the deceased", he continued, "We've looked at the records and all that shit, but what do we know about the man himself, other than the fact that he and his wife got along so well after such a long marriage?  I say we go back to his office first, then his house, and see what we can find about HIM.  I mean, we're all out of leads other than that, except for weird crazy service sector programs."

"So, tomorrow..." Sheila began.

"No.  Tonight.  We've already been attacked once."

The five of them got to their feet and headed downstairs.  Sara said, "Sheila and I will meet you there.  We have to see a man about 1200 horses."

Hamish gave them a squint, but they ran down the street and started hailing a cab.  The rest of them got in Hamish's packard, and headed to Horne Enterprises.  They were greeted by the guard, who just waved them in.  Once in Horne's glass-walled (though rigged with blinds) office, Hamish started going through drawers, while Jaxx gazed around the office.

"Interesting.  It seems Mr Horne was a navy man", Jaxx said, pointing at a small model of a battleship on a small table in one corner of the spacious office.  He went over and picked it up, showing it to Hamish.  Hamish looked, and then did a classic double-take.  The name on the plaque was "USS Dakota".

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit is right, human scum", a woman's voice said from outside the office. Friday hauled on the cord for the blinds, pulling them up out of the way.  On the others side stood Dakota, their erstwhile liason at Horne.  Except that now her face was oozing static, and her arms tapered down to blades.  She strode toward the office door, laughing.

(to be continued)

AAAAAH!
  \
:aaaah:

/me hits fast forward on life to get to the next installment...

Part 16

As the Dakota thing moved into the office, Jaxx drew his pistol.  The thing laughed..."Perhaps you haven't gotten it through your stupid primate head yet.  We can't be hurt with those toys."

"I ain't aiming to hurt YOU", Jaxx laughed, "I'm just making a stylish exit."  He fired three times into the glass wall to his right.  The glass wall collapsed into shards on the floor.  "Let's go", Jaxx said, dragging Friday alongside.  The three of them ran for the fire stairs, with the Dakota thing in pursuit.

(across town)

Sheila finished her pre-start checklist, and stuck her head up out of her hatch.  "Ready down here.  Everything cool up there?"

"Good to go.  No residual radiation, reloads are installed, everything in the green."

Sheila ducked back into her compartment and closed the hatch.  Master power, fan nacelles, ground surviellance radar...The panzer lifted off the ground with a howl of it's drive fans. 

It was good to be home.

"Okay", Sara said, "As a shakedown cruise, let's go play cavalry for the others."

"Are they in trouble?"

"By now?  It's been 2 hours."

"Oh, right.  Of course they're in trouble."

Sheila rotated her nacelles to the rear.  The Panzer accelerated - slowly - down Houghton Road, toward Broadway.

(Back in town)

Hamish slammed the door shut on the ground floor, as he heard - above him - the footsteps of the Dakota thing plodding down the fire stairs.  Then he dashed to catch up with Jaxx and Friday.  As he cleared the front door of the building, he heard the heavy fire door fly off of its hinges.

With difficulty, he caught up with Jaxx and Friday.  Jaxx was blowing like a whale...Like Hamish, he could have been in better shape.  Friday was essentially skipping along, singing a little song to herself...And then stating, out loud, the name of each street they crossed, as they ran in the general direction of the City Center.

"What's...the...plan?" Hamish gasped out.

"Didn't...YOU...have...a plan?", Jaxx asked.

"I thought...Friday...could do her...green fire...trick."  Behind them, the Dakota thing bellowed laughter.  It was about a block behind them, and obviously catching up.

"Can't do it", said Friday, "won't work on other intelligences operating outside the architecture."

"Faaack", Jaxx gasped.

"BROADWAY", Friday said, as they dashed across the street.  A loud howling filled the air, approaching from the East on Broadway.  As the Dakota thing crossed the street, the panzer smashed into it, knocking it like a croquet ball.  It flew 60 feet into the memorial square, impacting on the wrought iron fence, then tumbling to the ground to dissolve.  The panzer made a loop in the memorial park, and headed slowly back towards them.

"How come", Jaxx asked, leaning against the building, "You can throw 'em out windows or run 'em over, but not shoot them?  This is BULLSHIT."

"Hardly matters", Hamish said, "I know who killed Horne now."

"It's about time", Friday said with a smile, "I was afraid I was going to have to TELL you."

(To be continued)

Hellz yes panzer girls!

This is awesome.

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 28, 2014, 11:28:43 PM
Hellz yes panzer girls!

This is awesome.

Thanks.

Any PROPER universe would have Panzer Girls in hovertanks.  Just saying.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 29, 2014, 12:10:21 AM

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 28, 2014, 11:28:43 PM
Hellz yes panzer girls!

This is awesome.

Thanks.

Any PROPER universe would have Panzer Girls in hovertanks.  Just saying.

There's just something about gorgeous mercenary ladies who hang out in dive bars and talk shit to strangers that will always win my heart.

Part 17

"So spill it", Jaxx said, as they piled into the cargo compartment of the panzer.

"Just think about it", Hamish replied, "Whomever is behind all this is utterly knowledgeable concerning the architecture of the 'universe' in which we life, and has ALMOST total power over it.  Anyone who isn't a copy of a live person can be overwritten and turned into one of those killer static-faced things."

The panzer accelerated back up Broadway, to the East.  Frantic honking of car horns was dimly audible from outside.

"And on top of that, whomever did it was desperate that all copies of Horne be eliminated AND made sure that the memories of the people in THIS world's version of Horne's false world would be edited to not know what was going on.  And since they DID know at one point what was going on, and they're copies of US, then it stands to reason that WE were edited at one point."

"You're losing me, man."

"Jaxx, when did you become a cop?"

"Long time ago.  After the war ended."

"When SPECIFICALLY?"

"Fuck, I don't know, man.  Why is that important?"

"Because at some point you were edited, and it was imperfectly done.  Hell, I don't even remember when I hired Friday."

Friday giggled.

"And let me ask you this", Hamish continued, "Tell me about the war."

"Easy", Jaxx said, I got drafted right after the Italians mined the Thames and followed it with a mini-sub raid that sank 2 of our destroyers that were on a courtesy port call."

"What about the sneak attack on New York Harbor by U-Boats?"

"That happened later, didn't it?"

"Did it?"

"Fuck, I don't know."

Friday laughed again.  "You beat the janitor bot.  You're pretty tough, Jaxx...Ever wonder why?"

"No."

"Well, it's because all of you were edited, and the editing made you a little MORE you while at the same time making it difficult for you to reflect on the contradictions in your memory.  That's why Hamish is THE archetype of the pulp gumshoe, and why you're the tough noir cop who always wins in a fight.  And it's why neither of you questioned little anachronisms like driving a Packard one day, and riding in this beast the next.  You all think it's 1960, but you all have different ideas of what 1960 looks like."

"We THINK it's 1960?", Hamish asked.

"It's 2015, Hamish.  The war ended 70 years ago.  None of you ever fought in it.  Your grandparents might have.  Everything you know is a lie.  Only I tell you the truth, but you never ask the right questions."

"OKAY", Jaxx blurted out, "Here's my question AGAIN.  Who the FUCK killed Horne?"

"Nobody", Hamish and Friday said at the same time.

"Come again?"

"He's not dead", Hamish said.

"He sorta merged with the architecture", Friday added, "And he erased - 'killed' - all copies of himself to cover his tracks.  And out of vanity."

"Vanity?"

"Well, it's hard to convince yourself that you're God or something, if there's multiple you's to convince, right?  And why share that level of power, even with yourself?"

"UM, GUYS", came Sara's voice from the turret, "You want to look at this."  A screen in the compartment flickered to life, showing the forward view from the panzer.

Horne's face, the size of a skyscraper, was ahead of them, glowering down in their direction.

(To be continued)

Change:  1 chapter left to go.

Oh fucking nice.

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 29, 2014, 07:18:19 PM
Oh fucking nice.

I was pretty happy with it.  I thought of going to 20 chapters, but there isn't enough story left.  I think instead I'm going to consolidate it into 15 chapters.  I have a lady doing some illustrations, and we're going to PDF it.  FREE DOWNLOADS FOR EVERYBODY.

I was just gonna let it sit when I was done, but the artist is damn good and could use it for her portfolio.

Best part is, I've got two guys with editing experience cleaning it up.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 29, 2014, 08:06:06 PM

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 29, 2014, 07:18:19 PM
Oh fucking nice.

I was pretty happy with it.  I thought of going to 20 chapters, but there isn't enough story left.  I think instead I'm going to consolidate it into 15 chapters.  I have a lady doing some illustrations, and we're going to PDF it. FREE DOWNLOADS FOR EVERYBODY.

I was just gonna let it sit when I was done, but the artist is damn good and could use it for her portfolio.

Best part is, I've got two guys with editing experience cleaning it up.

Awesome. Looking forward to that.

I just saw the thumbnail for the Panzer Girls. OMG.

(https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t35.0-12/10567871_10154404853950099_1166640025_o.jpg?oh=1f764d43070931c72ed89382720135a1&oe=53D9DECC&__gda__=1406778269_1d3e23704721663557840178938b77db)

That's just the concept sketch.  This is gonna rock.

Yeah I could see that being fun as hell for everyone involved.

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 29, 2014, 08:18:43 PM
Yeah I could see that being fun as hell for everyone involved.

It is.  I have a group on FB for getting it done (perhaps even in graphic novel format), but I am still WRITING it here.  All that's over there are editing comments.  And there are a LOT of them.  :lol:

I've spent MONTHS plowing through LOBB, weeding out errors, and I still miss a pile of them.  These guys are like HAWKS.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 29, 2014, 08:35:06 PM

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 29, 2014, 08:18:43 PM
Yeah I could see that being fun as hell for everyone involved.

It is.  I have a group on FB for getting it done (perhaps even in graphic novel format), but I am still WRITING it here.  All that's over there are editing comments.  And there are a LOT of them.  :lol:

I've spent MONTHS plowing through LOBB, weeding out errors, and I still miss a pile of them.  These guys are like HAWKS.

Wow, that is kick-ass. :) I'm bouncing-in-my-seat excited, over here.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on July 29, 2014, 10:48:27 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 29, 2014, 08:35:06 PM

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 29, 2014, 08:18:43 PM
Yeah I could see that being fun as hell for everyone involved.

It is.  I have a group on FB for getting it done (perhaps even in graphic novel format), but I am still WRITING it here.  All that's over there are editing comments.  And there are a LOT of them.  :lol:

I've spent MONTHS plowing through LOBB, weeding out errors, and I still miss a pile of them.  These guys are like HAWKS.

Wow, that is kick-ass. :) I'm bouncing-in-my-seat excited, over here.

Graphic novel has been nixed due to time constraints, but the PDF will have a few key illustrations.

Part 18

The Panzer slowed to a crawl.

"What are we doing, boss?" Sara asked.  "Light him up or run for it?"

"Neither", Hamish replied, "Shooting him won't work...We know that.  And where are we going to run where he can't find us?"

"So we're just gonna give up?"  Jaxx asked, looking irritated.

"No, I didn't say that.  I just said that the primate response set of 'fight or flee' isn't a workable solution right now."

Friday giggled, "Boss, sometimes I think you might actually be a biped."

"Thanks a lot.  Hey, Sara, go ahead and stop the Panzer and let us out.  You guys can run if you want, though I don't think it will help."

The Panzer settled onto the ground.  Sheila spoke up.  "I'm gonna stick, if it's all the same to you.  I've never seen a cyber-God before."

Her sister chimed in "Yeah, and we have company.  A Studebaker is coming up behind us.  Driver, no passengers."

The cargo comparment ramp opened.  Jaxx, Friday and Hamish stepped out.  Sheila and Sara were both sitting on the panzer's hull, with their legs dangling down into their hatches.  Hamish saw the car Sara had mentioned, as a rooster tail of dust approaching from the West.  Without the panzer's optics, though, it was just a dot in the distance.

He turned back to Horne's face.  As he watched, the face both shrank and approached.  He blinked, and Horne was standing in front of the group.  He was still glowering at them.

"You people have caused me no end of distraction", he said, "Explain to me why I shouldn't just erase you now."

"Because you're not gonna", Friday said, with a big grin.  She began skipping around the whole group, Horne and all.  "You're gonna be nice, Daddy, because these are my friends AND WE DON'T KILL MY FRIENDS."

"Daddy?"  Hamish and Jaxx asked, at the same time.

"Friday, why didn't you tell me Mr Horne was your father?"  Hamish said, looking a little peeved.

"Because you never asked?" 

"Excuse me!"  Horne broke in "Angry pseudo-diety, here!  Remember me?"

"Not as angry as mom is gonna be!", Friday laughed.

"What?"

The Studebaker pulled up to the group, and Mrs Horne got out.  "HORACE HORATIO HORNE!"  Horne winced, but there was no escape.  "You scared me half to death!  I thought you were dead!"

"We are dead, honey.  We've both been dead for a few years.  It's complicated."

"I don't care if we're dead.  That's no excuse for allowing me to think you'd been killed."

"Yes, dear."

"You and I are going to have a talk about this later."

"Yes, dear."

"Don't you 'yes dear' ME, mister.  I am most annoyed."

"Yes, de...I mean, okay, honey.  But first I have to decide what to do with these people."

"What is there to decide?  I hired Mr Howl, and the others seem to be working for him."

"You hired...Of course you did."  Horned looked deflated.

"So now, if you're done being a 300 foot-tall face, why don't YOU hire them?"

"Um.  Erm.  I hadn't thought of that."

"Yes, Horace, that's why you have me".  Mrs Horne beamed at the group.

"So", Horne began, "Cyber pseudo-deity in need of assistance running virtual universe.  You interested?"

Hamish and the others looked at each other.

"Sure", said Hamish.

"I got nothing better to do", Jaxx added.

"Suits us", the sisters said, "so long as..."

EPILOGUE

The panzer screamed across the desert, at an angle approaching Interstate 10.  On the highway, an early model Camaro was going full out, trying to stay ahead of the hover tank.  A missle leapt off of the forward launcher and raced toward the Camaro.  There was an explosion, and a solitary wheel bounced out of the burning wreckage.

"YESSSSSS!" Friday said, inside the turret.

"Nice one", Sara said, sitting in the seat beside her.

"That will teach HIM", Friday responded, "To stand ME up on a date."

The tank accelerated, and turned back towards The City.

END.

This is literally the best thing ever.

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 31, 2014, 07:15:00 PM
This is literally the best thing ever.

:)

The editing will be done by Monday, and Kera's illustrations by the following weekend, then it will be released as a dropbox PDF, free for anyone who wants it.

 :lulz: That was outstanding!  :lulz:

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 31, 2014, 07:20:04 PM
:lulz: That was outstanding!  :lulz:

I was worrying about how to end it, but then I remembered  Mrs Horne.

Angry God gets a dressing-down from his beloved wife.  <--- It just came to me.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 31, 2014, 07:21:24 PM

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 31, 2014, 07:20:04 PM
:lulz: That was outstanding!  :lulz:

I was worrying about how to end it, but then I remembered  Mrs Horne.

Angry God gets a dressing-down from his beloved wife.  <--- It just came to me.

Threw me for a loop.  I also love that everyone was like meh, fuck it, I guess we'll help run the digital universe and shit.

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 31, 2014, 07:22:39 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 31, 2014, 07:21:24 PM

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 31, 2014, 07:20:04 PM
:lulz: That was outstanding!  :lulz:

I was worrying about how to end it, but then I remembered  Mrs Horne.

Angry God gets a dressing-down from his beloved wife.  <--- It just came to me.

Threw me for a loop.  I also love that everyone was like meh, fuck it, I guess we'll help run the digital universe and shit.

I've often wondered why the good guys never hire on.  In this case, they didn't have much of a choice.

Totally out of the blue and I loved it!

Can't wait for the pdf :)

just finished reading through the entire thread over the last few days. So worth it! This story is so good it's been squirming through my brain, pulling me back to the tab i had for it. Superb work Roger.

:mittens:

That was awesome!

I visualized the whole thing as a graphic novel as I was reading it, so I'm looking forward to the illustrations/edited PDF.

Also impressed that you're going to be giving it away for free, that's rad.

Yea, also, could this be a series? I notice there's still a bit you could do with these characters and this world. Worlds. whatever.

Quote from: Net (+1 Hidden) and 5 guests on August 01, 2014, 02:51:07 AM
:mittens:

That was awesome!

I visualized the whole thing as a graphic novel as I was reading it, so I'm looking forward to the illustrations/edited PDF.

Also impressed that you're going to be giving it away for free, that's rad.

If I take money for it, it turns into work, and then it adds stress instead of taking it away.

Quote from: Chelagoras The Lust-Driven Dickwolf on August 01, 2014, 03:39:57 AM
Yea, also, could this be a series? I notice there's still a bit you could do with these characters and this world. Worlds. whatever.

I deliberately left it open for more, yeah.  I still have some ideas worth fleshing out, but I didn't want to take on another huge Goddamn story, because I have some difficulty right now staying focused (ie, The Pit, Life During Wartime).

Just read the last piece. Man, that is a perfect ending. Love how it tidied everything up while leaving room for more. I love your writing, Roger.

Quote from: Cardinal Pizza Deliverance. on August 04, 2014, 07:41:04 AM
Just read the last piece. Man, that is a perfect ending. Love how it tidied everything up while leaving room for more. I love your writing, Roger.

:)

That was awesome, Roger.  You had me guessing right up until the end.  Can't wait to see it illustrated.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on August 04, 2014, 02:43:35 PM
That was awesome, Roger.  You had me guessing right up until the end.  Can't wait to see it illustrated.

Kera should have the character portraits done this week, and we're arguing over which action scene gets done.

I'm saying when Jaxx whups on the janitor with the pipe, Kera wants the cathedral, and everyone else is arguing for the hovertank smacking into Dakota.

Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on July 31, 2014, 07:15:00 PM
This is literally the best thing ever.

:mittens:

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 28, 2014, 11:28:43 PM
Hellz yes panzer girls!

This is awesome.

:lulz:  Fickle little fuckwad, aren't you?

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 16, 2014, 09:06:22 AM

Quote from: Raz Tech on July 28, 2014, 11:28:43 PM
Hellz yes panzer girls!

This is awesome.

:lulz:  Fickle little fuckwad, aren't you?

The quality of ones stories does not directly correlate to the quality of ones self.

aka don't like you, but you weave interesting tales sometimes.

Quote from: Raz Tech on September 16, 2014, 10:05:17 AM
.
The quality of ones stories does not directly correlate to the quality of ones self.

aka don't like you, but you weave interesting tales sometimes.

I'VE HEARD THIS SONG BEFORE.  Back in the Lauren days.  Only SHE was honest enough to say so up front.

Don't like you, either kid.  So no more tales.  Now scram; go hang out with someone you DO like. I'd hate to stunt your fucking growth.

Hey man I know I'm not alone in not wanting you to flounce.  As someone who's first post here was a huge attack aimed squarely at you, believe me when I tell you that much of what I've learned in my time at PD was learned via PD's Horrible Bastard(tm) coating some Truth in noxious ass-juice and ramming it down my screeching fucking throat.  I've come to respect your perspective more than most, and PD would be worse without you.

I'm not talking about the fiction either, though clearly I'm a fan.

Quote from: trix on September 19, 2014, 09:17:51 AM
Hey man I know I'm not alone in not wanting you to flounce.  As someone who's first post here was a huge attack aimed squarely at you, believe me when I tell you that much of what I've learned in my time at PD was learned via PD's Horrible Bastard(tm) coating some Truth in noxious ass-juice and ramming it down my screeching fucking throat.  I've come to respect your perspective more than most, and PD would be worse without you.

I'm not talking about the fiction either, though clearly I'm a fan.

Thanks, but that business is all over now, and I'm still here.  I just had to change some assumptions I'd made on what behavior is and is not tolerable.

Quote from: trix on September 19, 2014, 09:17:51 AM
Hey man I know I'm not alone in not wanting you to flounce.  As someone who's first post here was a huge attack aimed squarely at you, believe me when I tell you that much of what I've learned in my time at PD was learned via PD's Horrible Bastard(tm) coating some Truth in noxious ass-juice and ramming it down my screeching fucking throat.  I've come to respect your perspective more than most, and PD would be worse without you.

I'm not talking about the fiction either, though clearly I'm a fan.

I just went back and read your entire introductory thread.  You were a huge douche-nozzle! I'm glad you're feeling better.

The nested virtual worlds was an exceptional concept and the tale you told was brilliant. I very much liked the way you ended it. What else do a bunch of sims really have to do once they know what they are? Also the idea of a virtual god being dressed down by his sim wife is gonna keep me smiling for a long while.

Roger I can only hope, one day, to be able to tell a written story this well.
Bravo!

Also bump.
Also  :mittens:
Also one burning green question: where was Friday interfacing from and who was she really? I'm comfortable never knowing, but it IS gonna haunt me some.

Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on September 24, 2014, 03:17:00 AM
The nested virtual worlds was an exceptional concept and the tale you told was brilliant. I very much liked the way you ended it. What else do a bunch of sims really have to do once they know what they are? Also the idea of a virtual god being dressed down by his sim wife is gonna keep me smiling for a long while.

Roger I can only hope, one day, to be able to tell a written story this well.
Bravo!

Also bump.
Also  :mittens:
Also one burning green question: where was Friday interfacing from and who was she really? I'm comfortable never knowing, but it IS gonna haunt me some.

She was the "God's" daughter, presumably interfacing in from the real corporation in the real world.

I don't know that I'm done with this world yet.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 24, 2014, 03:29:23 AM

Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on September 24, 2014, 03:17:00 AM
The nested virtual worlds was an exceptional concept and the tale you told was brilliant. I very much liked the way you ended it. What else do a bunch of sims really have to do once they know what they are? Also the idea of a virtual god being dressed down by his sim wife is gonna keep me smiling for a long while.

Roger I can only hope, one day, to be able to tell a written story this well.
Bravo!

Also bump.
Also  :mittens:
Also one burning green question: where was Friday interfacing from and who was she really? I'm comfortable never knowing, but it IS gonna haunt me some.

She was the "God's" daughter, presumably interfacing in from the real corporation in the real world.

I don't know that I'm done with this world yet.

That makes sense. Thanks!
There's always more story if you want it. I would not mind.

Got several bits in my head about that 'alien God' thing. A protagonist. Motivation. Other elements. But not a whole story and precious little time lately because work and making hay while the sun shines. I will make the time as I can and try the writing of it. I'm not saying that it is conditional, but really would like to see more of this story here as you get time.
I've found that side scenes and such have a way of running into plot.

So, I'm having a fucking ton of trouble getting Little Orange into smashwords, as the formatting has had to be done from scratch.  Keelin and I are working on it at least an hour a day, and we're only 50 chapters in.

I am going to take a short break from that to put this story in, and maybe Hell in a Dry Place, as they are much shorter stories and I will be able to see what they'll look like, to see if I'm doing anything horribly wrong.  This should not cause a significant delay in LOBB, perhaps 3-4 days, and might just keep me from throwing my hands up in frustration.  Seriously, this is a never-ending nightmare.  I spend 5 hours a day coding PLC shit to keep the rent paid, and then 1-2 hours of WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY FORMATTING NOW GOD I FUCKING HATE SMASHWORDS AND EVERY HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET.

This story and Hell in a Dry place will be $0.99 on Kindle, Nook, or any laptop/tablet emulator.

LOBB will be $3.99, but any proceeds will be split up more or less as I originally intended.  1/3rd to Little Orange, care of Nigel (ie, help Nigel pay the bills so Little Orange doesn't have to go live in The Underground, 1/3rd to Faust for keeping PD up, and 1/3rd split evenly between Bijoujou for the cover art and Keelin for living in hell with me through all of this.

(Incidentally, this is why I haven't been writing much.  Editing your own work is hell itself.)

Thanks for the update, looking forward to it.

Can we pay more for it if we choose to do so?

When they have a page give me a shout and I'll do a post to the Blog and the front page.

Also, I don't need a cut, send it on to Little Orange as well.

Quote from: Faust on July 10, 2015, 02:05:21 PM
When they have a page give me a shout and I'll do a post to the Blog and the front page.

Also, I don't need a cut, send it on to Little Orange as well.

Done and done.

I'll post the link to the stories as they are finished.  I hope to have MGF available this coming Wednesday.

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 10, 2015, 01:00:37 PM
Can we pay more for it if we choose to do so?

Not on Smashwords.  It's a straight tag.

HOWEVER, once this is done, it will ALSO be formatted for Lulu, and we can print to order.  Which I may have to do one or two copies of anyway.

That is awesome!

Clearly I have missed many things indeed. I'll not spam things up here, but clearly I'm out of the loop. This still stands as a heckuva tale and I hope you see a fair amount of fruit from it.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 11, 2014, 05:43:26 PM


Yeah, yanno, you dick around with a stable environment, it suddenly isn't so stable.

Words to live by.

Quote from: Doktor Howl on March 27, 2020, 07:11:28 PM

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 11, 2014, 05:43:26 PM


Yeah, yanno, you dick around with a stable environment, it suddenly isn't so stable.

Words to live by.

Words to die by too.