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Would this story be easier to follow if posts led with the characters and the Joes they play? | 1 | 100.00% | |
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05-07-2013, 03:13 PM | #1 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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Here’s something I worked on a few months back. I was still tinkering with it when the Boston Marathon bombings happened, and the original conclusion was a little too similar for comfort. Without the original ending the whole thing becomes a bit weak. I’ve tried a couple of other edits but didn’t come up with anything satisfactory, but I like the premise too much to simply discard it. I put it here in incomplete form, open to community suggestions for where to take it.
__________________________________________________ _ He pushed the three comics across the counter. The cashier looked away from her phone and started to ring them in. “This is a good one,” she commented, pointing to one of them. “I take it you’re a fan,” he replied, pointing to the small red hexagram tattooed on her left forearm. She smiled. “Yeah. Several of us are.” She paused and looked at him a little closer. She’d never seen in him in the store before. “Some of us do a little Joe gaming from time to time. Maybe you’d like to join us.” He cocked his head slightly. “You mean you dress up like the characters?” “No!” she laughed. “Well, we did last Halloween. Board games.” “Oh, like with dice?” “Yeah.” “Hmm. I’m not sure that’s my thing. But thanks for the offer.” She shrugged and picked up her phone as he turned away. He took a step towards the door and paused, then glanced over his shoulder. She looked up. “Tomorrow night. Six PM in the back room.” He nodded and left. ********** He flicked the blue action figure over and shook his head as everyone around the table laughed. “So do you always get the new guy to play Cobra so you can have an easy win?” One of the guys, Wade, typed a couple of points into a laptop and shook his head. “No. We usually try to have a competent enemy to make the game more of a challenge.” There was more laughter. Rox, the Arashikage-tattooed girl, picked up her Scarlett figure and put it back in a box. She pointed to a couple of rooms in the printed floor plan on the table. “You just need to learn the mechanics of a couple of the weapons so you place them better.” Bob, a larger guy with glasses and a wispy goatee, sucked back on a Mountain Dew and picked up his Leatherneck figure. “You’ll figure it out Grant. You put up a decent fight in the first couple of hallways. But you don’t play these games much, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question. “No.” Grant looked at the group, watching them pack up their figures and clean up the table. “Listen, you guys clearly like your Joe. How would you like to be in a movie?” They glanced at each other around the table. “I also like Joe,” Grant continued. “A friend of mine is good with cameras and we’ve been talking about making a short film. We shot a couple of paintball tournaments, but we want to do something a little different. We just don’t have anyone who wants to dress up and run around for a weekend for free.” There were a couple of snorts. “We started out filming ourselves doing urban exploration, and there are a couple of places that would make fantastic sets for a ‘Special Missions’ type raid.” “Do you have a script?” asked Andy, a tall lanky guy in a faded Slayer t-shirt. “Not exactly. A lot of the places we go have bad air. There’s asbestos, lots of bird droppings and so on, so you have to wear a dust filter. Ideally for that we’ll use masked-up Joes. The idea is to shoot the action, edit it, then write a script to fit the time. If it looks good then we’ll add on some footage of you guys moving as unmasked Joes and reading lines. That way a small number of actors portray a larger force. You can also dress up as Cobra characters to get the other side of the action.” “What do we have to do?” “I’ll take you guys out for one or two simple forays so you get a feel for how to move through derelict buildings. I’ll show you how to rappel – that always looks cool on screen. We’ll run through a bit of tactical movement, and then we’ll start shooting. It’ll take a few evenings and a couple of Sundays to prepare, and then maybe a solid weekend of shooting.” “Yeah – shooting. What are we going to use for guns?” asked Wade. “I have a bunch of airsoft weapons.” ********* Rick, a solidly built man with tattoos peeking out from the edges of his rolled up sleeves and around his collar, hung from a rope. The climbing harness bit into his thighs, and the height made him nauseous. This was worse than the practices they had done from the roof of the comic store into the back alley. “Come on tough guy,” came an amused voice from below. He closed his eyes and thought about the million places he would rather be at that moment. Opening them, he glanced over his shoulder into the gloom below, making out Bob, was belaying, and Ash. How Ash, the pudgiest Lady Jaye in history, had made it down was beyond him. He focussed on the wall, fractionally relaxing the grip his right hand had on the rope, and took another two small steps down the wall. His heels were on the edge of the overhanging wall, and the remaining two stories were a straight drop. He struggled to remember Grant briefing him on this. With a deep breath he flexed his knees and kicked away from the wall, opening his right hand to let the rope pass through. Feeling gravity pull him one way and his stomach lurch the other he yanked the rope hard behind his back, stopping his descent with a jerk. And then gasped as he swung back toward the wall, slamming face first into the bottom lip. He let go of the rope and grabbed his face, and fell another several feet before Bob could arrest his fall. “Goddamn goddamn mother cock *#%!” “Take it easy Rick,” called Grant from above. “Take your hands off the rope and hold them out to your sides.” Rick realised he was holding the rope in front of him. He willed his fingers to relax, and held his hands out to the sides, hanging in mid air. “Alright. Take the rope in your right hand and hold it behind your back.” There was a pause. “Good. Now slowly play the rope through your fingers.” He slowly descended the last fifteen feet. His legs shook so much he couldn’t stand still while Bob pulled the rope through his carabineer. Ash punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Woosiest Flint ever,” she chuckled, pulling off her Cuban cap and running her hand through her hair. He unbuckled his ProTec helmet and examined the scuffs around the brow. Ash put a hand to his face. “The helmet took the worst of it. But you’ve still got a scratch and a bruise. I suppose that goes with the persona.” He pushed her arm aside and walked off, slowly getting his breath under control and feeling the shakes subside while the others made the descent. At last, Grant made the descent, clearing the last drop in a single bound. “Right – time to do a little more exploring. Flashlights out.” They pulled out a mixture of elbow flashlights and maglights and shone them around the gloom. “This way,” called Grant, motioning towards a doorway. “Watch your step. There are a lot of nails and some broken glass underfoot.” “I assume we’re heading towards the stairs,” joked Andy. “Nope.” “So how are we going to get back up?” asked Roxy, glancing over her shoulder at the hanging rope. “There’s a chimney up ahead,” said Grant. Ash turned white. ******* Andy checked his grip on the sledgehammer and glanced at Bob, who nodded. He swung, striking the door just by the handle. As the door swung open, Bob raised his rifle and stepped in, turning left. Rick raised his rifle and stepped through, turning right, while Ash flowed in and went straight up the middle, a pistol extended at arm’s length. Bob slung the sledge, raised a rifle to his shoulder and followed. “Room clear,” called Rick. “Door back right. Breacher!” The team stacked and Andy approached the door, checked it quickly and pulled the sledge. Once again Bob was first man, only this time as he went through the door there were several sharp cracks. Andy froze, and Rick ploughed into him as he was moving to the door. “Damn it – “ Andy stepped back and shoved Rick through the door, and the sledge, which had somehow got tangled in Rick’s sling, was pulled from his grasp. “Stop stop stop!” Grant stood up from behind a turned-over table in the room. “Andy, Bob – give your cameras to Wade.” The two unclipped the small cameras from their helmets and turned to find Wade who was a room behind them. He quickly set up a laptop and started downloading the footage while the team members drank from their canteens. “You know what? Let’s call it a day. We’ll go back and prep for the contamination shoot.” ***************** Steve, Bob and Andy struggled into the heavy suits of Barbeque, Blowtorch and Airtight. Wade wore a Tunnel Rat costume along with a P100 face mask. He checked over the others, double checked the schematics sealed in a piece of plastic they each had strapped to their wrists, and led the way into the abandoned power plant. A narrow gauge rail line led to a rolling door, sufficiently damaged to permit them to squeeze in. Tunnel rat clipped his flashlight to his shoulder strap and squeezed between the torn corrugated metal of the door and the frame. He gave himself a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior light, and then motioned to the others to follow. They hugged an interior wall and waited for a minute to listen for any noise. Nothing. Tunnel Rat glanced at his companions, already noting that their yellow and orange coveralls were streaked with grime and rust from entering the building. Airtight took a quick look at his air quality monitor and nodded. Tunnel Rat set off along the rail tracks until they forked. Along a siding sat a dozen empty wooden coal carts. A conveyer belt ran alongside the siding and towards a furnace. Bob, dressed as Blowtorch, was already sweating heavily in his coveralls. The condemned SCUBA tanks rigged to look like a flamethrower were a lot heavier than he’d first thought when he made the costume, and he was having doubts about how long he could really carry them. He un-slung the pack, which hit the ground with a resounding clang, and motioned to Steve, who was dressed as Barbeque. “It’s too heavy. I need to drop one of these here.” They unscrewed hoses, adjusted the single tank to place it centrally in the harness, and Blowtorch re-slung the pack. He studied the thick layer of dust on the floor and in the carts and scooped a sample into plastic bag. “I’d say there’s a dust explosibility hazard here if any of this were disturbed. Barbeque had taken off his backpack, the five-pound fire extinguisher making a muffled clang as it hit the ground. He pulled out a binder of MSDS sheets and flipped through it, tagging the page marked ‘coal.’ The walls were lined with numerous corroded cast iron pipes shedding thick rusty scales. Every few feet there were control wheels painted a variety of colours. The main line branched off towards a furnace, and a door opened into the turbine room. The massive chamber housed silent semi-cylindrical turbines and was open to the rafters, the walls under which were lined with rectangular windows. The floor was a series of walkways overlooking a lower floor. The slope of the surrounding ground meant the rail line actually entered the second floor of the plant. Tunnel Rat checked the schematics and oriented himself, spotting the metal-grate staircase across the room. He scanned the catwalk running along the walls above him and, not seeing anyone, waved the others forward. The spread out into an extended line and quickly crossed the floor, passing the turbines and crouching in the cover of a bank of squat instrument panels. The rows of unlit lights, their plastic fading and cracked, the heavy switches, and the analog dials and gauges spoke of the faded glory of the industrial age. They quickly climbed the stairs and moved along the catwalk, glancing at the turbines below them. A row of doors opened into empty offices. Tunnel Rat peeled into the first office, which was bare, the outside wall lined with windows. Airtight moved past him into the second office, Barbeque into the third, and Blowtorch to the fourth, by which time Tunnel Rat was back on the catwalk. He moved into the fifth and final office, with a table bolted to the floor in the centre of the room. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and paint chips, and an odd-looking phone sat on one side, with a speaker and a pair of dials indicating specific rooms to call. It was disconnected. In the far corner of the room sat a briefcase. Tunnel Rat scanned the room once more, then squatted to examine the case. He glanced over his shoulder. “Airtight – keep watch.” He picked up the briefcase, laid it on the table, and opened it. A set of Zeiss binoculars lay inside along with a slim folder containing a list of financial figures, an aerial photograph, and a various other documents. Tunnel Rat pulled out a camera and took several photos of each page. He replaced the briefcase and took several more photos of the room, while Barbeque scooped paint flecks into a plastic bag. Barbeque looked up and cocked his head. “Look at that window.” He pointed to one of the panes. The grime had been smeared around, revealing a small clean patch. Tunnel Rat glanced through it. “There are a couple of cars and a van down there.” He looked out the door and pointed to a staircase descending two levels. He pointed towards it, and the three fell in behind him. The stairs passed below the turbines, revealing their massive bulk. To their left was a red door with “fire door” stencilled on it in white letters. They continued to the next door, opening to a loading bay. A van was backed against a dock and half a dozen men in blue-grey coveralls, face masks and blue hard hats loaded crates into the back. A man in a suit stood to the side, flanked by another three men in black coveralls. Tunnel Rat froze, then ducked back against a wall. He motioned to the others. “Get back. Hide down the fire escape.” Airtight checked his schematics. “No – we’ll go to the roof. We can film these guys leaving.” He turned and they set off. Tunnel Rat crouched by the doorway and slowly slipped behind a stack of corroding barrels. He pulled a length of burlap from his pack to further break up his silhouette, and started taking photos of the van, the crates and the men. After several minutes their job was done and the van doors slammed shut. Two men in blue coveralls climbed in and drove away, while the others in blue walked out the bay door. The man in the business suit muttered something to the men in black, and then smacked his thigh in frustration. “I left the briefcase upstairs. Go fetch it for me.” One of the men in black trotted towards the door. Tunnel Rat shrank under the burlap and leaned against the barrels. **** Airtight, Barbeque and Blowtorch ran up the stairs, down a catwalk and up a ladder to a small landing with a door to the roof. They spilled through it and stepped onto the pebbled roof of the plant. They doubled over and pulled the respirators from their faces, gasping for breath. “I am not in good enough shape for this,” wheezed Bob. “Stay low,” whispered Andy, who crawled to the edge of the roof. He peered over and started taking photos. The others passed the black chimneys and leaned against the bulky cylindrical air exchanges. Steve pulled a canteen from his pack and took a long swallow, passing it to Bob, who drank and then poured some on his face. Andy took several photos of the vehicles and men, noting that the business-suited man waited fifteen minutes after the blue group left before getting in his car and driving off in the opposite direction. He too took a long swallow from his canteen, and jumped when the roof door opened. He bent over in relief when Tunnel Rat stepped through. “They’re gone. Let’s go.” Back at the comic store they downloaded their helmet cams on Wade’s computer. “You guys stink,” laughed Roxy. “Those costumes are way too hot for that kind of work,” grumbled Bob, pulling the filthy coveralls away from his body. “You just need to get in better shape,” said Rick, opening a box of comics and sorting them for shelving. Wade caught Grant’s eye. “I think we got some good footage, although those Cobra costumes were a bit too SPECTRE in my opinion.” Grant frowned. “What Cobra costumes?” Wade stared at him. “The guys in the loading bay.” There was a long silence. “Hey man, don’t mess with my head,” said Bob. Grant shook his head. “I didn’t plan any opfor for this. It was a dress rehearsal so you could get used to exploring in costume on your own. I’m not setting up the other cameras until next weekend.” Wade flipped the computer around so Grant could see the screen. “So then who the hell are these guys?” ____________________ Poll added - if the answer to any question is 'yes,' then vote. Otherwise, leave blank. Last edited by LowTech; 05-22-2013 at 03:29 PM.. |
05-20-2013, 09:13 PM | #2 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Wade hunched over the workbench, threading a wire through a length of plastic.
“Ok, got it.” There was a sudden squealing sound of grinding metal, and a shower of sparks. “Gotta tell you Wade, I’ll be happy when you get your own workbench.” “Yeah,” replied Wade, “but I’m a software guy. I’m not set up to do anything more complicated than swapping out boards.” Terry nodded and examined the metal lattice on his bench. “You know,” continued Wade, “you should really consider coming out with us. It’s actually pretty fun, though like I said, the last time out was a little weird.” “Wade, I stock shelves, I do night watch at the mall, I teach a couple of karate classes a week, and I sell metal work jobs whenever I can, usually to intrepid gardeners. When do I have time to go exploring old buildings?” Wade glanced at the shelves, covered in VHS tapes and DVDs of martial arts movies and seminars. His gaze then fell on the cabinet full of custom knives, made from varied scrap metal: old chainsaw bars, motorcycle chains, files and chisels. The damascened steel was beautiful, and the blades were a far cry from the wrought iron railings Terry was currently working on. “The last place we visited was full of potential materials,” Wade said. “You could score old narrow gauge rails, copper wire from control panels, maybe a turbine blade.” Terry put down his tools and placed his hands on the bench. He stared at a point midway between his feet, and a million miles away. “No, I can’t spare the time. You bring me the materials, and I’ll make you something for a discount,” said Terry. He paused. “Though you’d probably just hurt yourself,” he muttered to himself. He stared up at the walls. “Besides, you said there were some weirdos there.” Wade nodded and turned back to his work. “Hence the parabolic mic and the laser mic. We learned a couple of lessons about checking sites out from that gig.” Terry shrugged. “And if you’re that worried I’d hurt myself with a knife, you could always teach me some moves.” Terry laughed. “Once again Wade, it takes money. I’ll give you a discount for the first few lessons, but it’s not my club, and anything beyond that comes from my pay.” Wade grunted, and Terry laughed. “Hey man, while you were collecting comics and rolling dice I was wrestling and boxing and scrapping with the various expat communities. You gotta ways to go before you’re ready to contemplate taking a knife to someone.” “Yeah. “ Wade nodded, and cracked a Monster. He took a pull and stared at the mics on the workbench. “So out of morbid curiosity, you mentioned getting some intel from that plant. You ever follow up on it?” Wade smiled. “You remember Roxie?” Terry nodded. “She’s come to the gym a few times. More frequently, actually, in the last few weeks.” “Huh.” Wade frowned, then shrugged. “She did some digging, but just turned up more questions. She asked me to hunt a little on the nets.” He took another sip. “Haven’t done anything yet.” He looked up at Terry. “Frankly, I’m afraid of what I might find.” __________________ Poll added - if the answer to any question is 'yes,' then vote. Otherwise, leave blank. Last edited by LowTech; 05-22-2013 at 03:30 PM.. |
05-22-2013, 03:12 PM | #3 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
“They’re on their way back,” said Bob, adjusting his USMC utility cap and fingering his fake moustache.
Wade, dressed in Mainframe’s grey fatigues, nodded and collapsed the parabolic mic. “Nothing.” Rick, dressed as Flint, and Ash, dressed as Lady Jaye, scrambled over the rubble and lay down beside Wade, Bob, Andy and Roxie. “We checked the perimeter and there’s no sign of any vehicles or other traffic,” said Rick. Ash, gasping for breath, nodded in agreement as she unscrewed a canteen cap. She took a long swallow. “I don’t remember seeing Lady Jaye with moon pie sweat stains,” said Roxie with a laugh. “Screw you, Ginger,” muttered Ash, flipping the finger. “Not all of us have time to practice Tae Bo.” There were a couple of snorts. “So, when did you start training with Terry?” asked Wade. “It was something I’ve always wanted to do, and playing Scarlett was the push I needed,” said Roxie, rubbing dust off her tan boots. Rick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and Terry’s such a tough guy, having run with the Cobra Kai.” “Hey!” Andy held up his hand. “Enough! Let’s focus on the target.” He smoothed out a hand drawn floor plan of the abandoned factory. “The target is on the lower level in what I assume was a storage room. We avoid the door and go in through this window,” he paused to shift his attention from the plan and pointed across the open ground to an empty window frame. “Yeah yeah, got it. Let’s go,” said Bob, scrambling to his feet and shouldering his airsoft M16/203. Wade shrugged, shouldered his backpack carrying a netbook and cameras, and followed. Ash and Roxie glared at each other, and Rick picked up a Kevlar helmet with a small mounted camera and tossed it to Andy. “Come on Footloose. Gear up.” The six ran across the cracked concrete perforated by long grass and weeds, and stacked against the dirty, graffiti-tagged wall. Bob and Rick stepped to the window and swung their weapons across the empty space. “Clear.” They stepped climbed through the window and stacked by the door. “You know what we could use?” said Rick. “One of those fibre optic cameras you can stick under doors.” Wade rolled his eyes. “I’ll add it to the list.” Andy turned the doorknob and pushed, with the others flowing past him into one of the factory’s long, wide work room, punctuated by a row of supporting pillars down the centre. The right wall was lined with broken windows, and the floor was covered in garbage and animal droppings. Midway down the left wall, a series of windows opened to a courtyard. A startled pigeon fled as they fanned across the room and started advancing the length. A cardboard target popped out from behind one of the pillars. “CONTACT CENTRE!” shouted Bob, firing off several rounds. Three small tears appeared in the target. They ran past the target, scanning the room. Roxie approached the target and pulled a package that was taped to the back. She thumbed through it quickly and then stuffed it in her pack. “Where’s the door?” called Rick. Andy ran his hands along the far wall. “Sonofa . . .It’s been bricked up.” Ash scanned the courtyard. “If we go through these windows we can approach the target room from a different angle.” They found a window where the glass had been sufficiently removed that it no longer presented a hazard and climbed through, scanning the upper stories. Broken pallets lay in one corner, and an overturned fridge lay in the middle, surrounded by metre-tall grass and weeds. Andy oriented them on the sketch and pointed to another row of windows. “Through those, and to the right.” Rick poked his head through and took a quick scan. “Looks like they bricked up that door too.” “You’re kidding!” Andy stuck his head through the window. “What the hell is going on?” A firecracker fell into the courtyard and exploded in a shower of sparks. “Crap crap crap crap!” The six piled through the windows and scanned the rooftops. “What the hell was that?” Bob ran a hand down his legs. “I ripped my pants.” He stared at his hand. “I don’t think I cut myself.” Andy nodded to Ash. “Better get the first aid kit out just in case.” “I don’t have it,” she replied. Andy stared at her. “You were tagged to carry the kit.” “No I wasn’t.” “Hey guys, it’s ok. I’m not bleeding. Let’s get back to figuring out how to crack this one.” Andy shook his head and pulled out the plan. “Ok. It looks like there’s a stairwell up ahead. If we get to the second floor, maybe we can approach the room from above.” Rick stomped his foot. “What, we’ll drill through the floor? I left my jackhammer back home.” Roxie punched him in the rib. “Got a better plan smartass?” “Lets move before this stops being fun,” muttered Bob. They stepped over scattered cinder blocks and made their way to the stairwell, which was littered with asphalt shards. Access to the second floor was clear, but the roof had collapsed, blocking access any further up. They flowed into the second floor workspace. “CONTACT!” Rifles spat pellets at the half dozen targets set up around the room. They ran forward clearing the chamber, with Roxie collecting packets from each target. “CONTACT RIGHT!” Andy crouched by a hole in the wall and poked his rifle between twisted rebar, shooting a pair a targets. “Looks clear. Let’s keep moving.” “Wait!” shouted Bob, pointing through the empty doorway. They stepped to it and looked up and down. The roof had collapsed around twisted and corroded I-beams, as had the floor above and on this level. The chamber below was a mass of rubble. In the middle lay a briefcase. “Anyone want to climb down to fetch that?” asked Ash. “Only if I was wearing a steel jock,” said Rick. “I was tagged to carry the rope,” said Bob, glancing at Ash and pulling it out of his pack. “Seriously – do we climb down to get that case?” Andy pulled off his pack and fished out some tools. “I was tagged as the breacher if any doors were jammed. Maybe I can jerry-rig a hook.” He lashed a crowbar to the end of the rope, which they tossed down. It took three attempts before they hooked the case’s handle. “Gently,” said Rick as they pulled it up. Andy glared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d already turned to Wade. “You know what we could have used?” “A fibre optic camera?” “No. A UAV. Can you rig up a remote control helicopter with a camera? We could fly it over targets to check them out.” Wade rubbed his eyes. “I’ll get right on that Rick.” Andy laid the briefcase on the floor. He tried opening it, but it was locked. He shoved the crowbar under the snaps and twisted, popping the lid. Inside lay a picture of a Cobra officer with heavy scars on his face. He flipped the picture over and saw a string of numbers. “Those are GPS coordinates,” said Roxie, who was flipping through the packets she’d recovered. “There’s not too much here. A couple of pages with what looks like Morse Code, and an email address.” “Hmm. Well, it’s probably all details of the next place to hit. Let’s go home.” They picked up their gear and turned. A rattle of gunfire made them jump. Grant stood in the middle of the chamber, holding an airsoft rifle. A couple of small cameras lay at his feet. “Not bad, but you have a ways to go. Remember your security. You were lax in the courtyard and you’re lax here.” He looked at his watch. “Come on. I ordered a couple of pizzas. We can eat while we debrief and reviewing the footage.” He picked up the cameras and turned towards the stairwell. He paused and looked back at the group. “Oh and Andy, Bob, those moustaches are crooked.” ________________ Poll added - if the answer to any question is 'yes,' then vote. Otherwise, leave blank. Last edited by LowTech; 05-22-2013 at 03:30 PM.. |
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