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08-08-2010, 07:26 PM | #1 |
The truth is liberating.
Join Date: May 2010
Location: San Diego, CA
Posts: 2,422
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*********
Premise: So I've decided to post up some short fan-fiction for this forum just for kicks. The Beginnings Stories are not necessarily an origins story but more of a back story for some characters. These stories take place long before G.I. Joe and focus on the individual characters and how they became part of not the G.I. Joe world, but the characters that flourish in the Joe Universe. Some of the stories may have already been put to print or related in other media. My goal isn't to overlap nor undo any other written stories. But to expand on them. Perhaps give some more insight or the possibility that long before the legend started, they were people with story to tell. These are their stories... *********************************************** My first story is one that has had many interpretations. Again, I'm not trying to displace any theories or rewrite history. But simply expand on it... Beginnings: Snake-Eyes Wandering the streets of Okinawa a boy roams. His complexion is fair, but not as fair as those who are native to the island. And unlike the other ten year-old boys who roam the streets here in Okinawa, he has light sandy colored hair and blue eyes. He is not from the island nor is he even from the region on which he seems much displaced. The boy has been panhandling all day for mere change and is hungry. His donations are usually from the likes of those in uniform who only come out during the day to shop and pretend to take in the culture in the foreign land. The uniforms remind him of his father. His father was a strong and honorable man. He was a man who joined the Marines in the heat of the Vietnam War to support his wife and unborn child. And although, the boy doesn’t remember much about his homeland he remembers his mother whom cared for him while his father had left so many times when he was a child. She was a beautiful woman. A woman who would nurture him for the next few years, that is until she got a letter from the base commander. Her husband had been killed in combat fighting the Battle of Khe Sanh. The tragedy threw his mother into a serious depression. But she managed to keep her bearings for others. She taught at the base schoolhouse and would often bury herself into the work as a means to keep her mind off the sorrow of her husband’s death. Even at the young age, the boy would do his best to not let his sorrow show in fear that his mother would break down even more. Once a week, on Thursday, she’d clutch her husband’s picture and weep. This ritual continued on for three years until one Friday morning. The boy had woken up as normal and dressed for school. Normally, his mother was already in the kitchen making breakfast and preparing for her class’ session. That day it was extremely quiet. Not even the sound of the Armed Forces Radio Network news of world politics and presidential scandal blaring through the small transistor radio. The boy walked through the Western styled duplex of the American armed forces military housing and to his mother’s bedroom. On her bed, she lay in a nightgown, clutching the picture as she normally does on Thursdays. Next to her, an empty bottle of prescription pills rest neatly on the bedside table. The boy approaches his mother to find that she isn’t breathing. Her face looks pale as a ghost and the once gushing tear ducts have been dried out. The boy slumps over his mother and cries. For the next year and a half, complications in finding a suitable next-of-kin would keep the boy from returning to the United States. He is placed in foster homes on the base of which the last is that of a rather stern Gunnery Sergeant. The boy would ditch school to play the Pachinko machines in the Kabukicho District. He would often be gone for days on end, only to return to the lashings of his strict caretakers. Until one day, the boy left with his winnings from the previous evening and clothes on his back. He simply walked out to through the base front gate and never returned. But begging for money and gambling for profit comes tough when you are a blond-haired, blue-eyed gaijin. If he was lucky enough to garnish winning with some courteous charity, it wasn’t uncommon for some of the local thugs to strip him of this money. And although the boy was a fierce fighter in his own right, these thugs were often trained to fight in dojos rather than in the base’s gymnasium boxing ring. And tonight, on his way to the noodle house a block away from the Kyo Shousha Pachinko Palace, he is attacked by those local thugs. They took all but a few coins which wasn’t enough to buy food and not enough to turn into profit back and the Pachinko Palace. And in the process, they gave him two black eyes, making it even more difficult to beg for more change. Even the drunken Americans who carelessly walk about at this hour will avoid the boy; if anything in fear that they will fall victim themselves to an attack. So the boy roams the streets for what seems to be hours and finds himself at the doorstep of a temple. Hungry, cold, and without money to feed or clean himself with, the boy rings the bell by the door. The bell chimes loudly, but there is no answer. The boy rings it again and he waits a few minutes. The door slowly creaks open and the boy is greeted by another boy. This boy is wearing a white ghee with a brown sash. His black hair is messy as if he just woke up from sleeping. In broken English the greeter, who appears to be only a few years his junior, answers the door and addresses the visitor, “You’re a little early for a tour.” “I’m not here for a tour,” the gaijin returns. “The temple opens at 9-in-the-morning. Prayer services being at 9:30,” the greeter responds rather sharply. “Listen, I’m not here for either of these things,” the gaijin pleads. “I just want…” From behind the door an older man grumbles in Japanese to the greeting boy, “Who is it Storm Shadow? And why do they bother us at such an odd hour?” In his native tongue, Storm Shadow responds to his Master, “It’s nobody, Master, just some scruffy looking gaijin inquiring about prayer services.” The visitor speaks loudly past the young sentry and through the door to the man whom Storm Shadow is speaking with, “Sir, I’m not inquiring about services. I’m her asking for charity.” The Master approaches the door and opens it. Storm Shadow gives the gaijin a glare, “Pardon my English, as it’s very weak. So what is this charity that you ask?” The gaijin looks at the Master, “As you can see, I’m without food and in need of a place to rest. I don’t plan on being a bother. Just a bowl of noodles and warm place to sleep for a few hours.” The Master is quizzical, but has already made his decision, “And why, sir, should I grant you this? Don’t you have a family here? Perhaps a Sergeant or Corporal or something?” “No sir, I do not. My parents have passed away and I have no others to care for me,” the boy pleads. “I’ve been on the streets for some time. And tonight, I’ve fallen victim to local thugs who stole what money I’ve acquired,” the boy continues. After a few seconds, the Master motions the guest to pass through the door. Storm Shadow is reluctant but obeys his Master’s wish. As they pass through the main room, the Master asks the boy, “Do you have a name?” For fear that the Master might turn him into the authorities and force his return to the foster family, the boy opts for silence. “Fine then,” the Master continues. “We must call you something, then.” The Master turns to look at the boy whose ghostly pale face surrounds blackened eyes and it comes to him, “We shall call you, Kuro Metsuki then. In English it means, Snake Eyes.” The boy nods and accepts, “Thank you. So now may I have a meal?” “We are not in habit of taking in outsiders, Snake Eyes. Nor do we hand out charity. This is a school. A place of learning,” the Master explains. “If you are willing to become a student of the Arashikage, then I may be more obliged to give you the services you need.” Storm Shadow jumps in, “NO!!!... Master, he is far too old to learn the ways and he lacks the blood lineage to the ways of the Arashikage!!!.... I protest.” “Storm Shadow, you may protest all you want. But this is my school and whom I bring into it as a student is, and always will be until my death and a successor named, my decision,” the Master exclaims. “You would be wise, nephew, to be reminded of your place. Prepare the new student some noodles and when he is finished eating, give him a blanket to sleep. His training begins in the morning.” “Thank you, Master,” Snake Eyes says as he bows. “There is no thanks to be given, son,” the Master states. “You will surely be working for your meals and training here. No I must retreat.” As Snake Eyes sits himself on the bamboo bench and awaits the meal, Storm Shadow serves up some heated noodles with some rice. In broken English, he leers at the intruder and gives him a stern notice, “Gaijin, you are not of the Arashikage blood line and will never be. Do not let my servitude displace your thoughts of who I am. I am my Master’s nephew and most accomplished student. I will soon be complete with my training and the Master of this dojo and when I do, you will surely find your death.” ************************************************** *
As always I welcome comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism. These stories are presented for the fans on HissTank.com. If you're a publisher or editor and are interested in my works feel free to contact me via email: [email protected]
__________________
Code Name: One-Stop *IT1(SW/AW/FMF)* My B/S/T list. My Feedback Some of my written musings: Some G.I. Joe lore written by Dallas Martin Last edited by Sailor_Joe; 08-09-2010 at 01:31 PM.. |
09-14-2010, 03:23 PM | #2 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
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Interesting. I like your take as a spin off the ROC movie. It never really made sense that he could become a Ninja at 23. That takes years of training.
Now I wonder how he makes it back to the States and joins the Military? Maybe he would never go back? Just see the recruiter when he turns 18. Although I imagine he would have a hard time proving his citizenship. These are great Dallas!
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Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome. |
09-14-2010, 03:28 PM | #3 |
The truth is liberating.
Join Date: May 2010
Location: San Diego, CA
Posts: 2,422
|
Quote:
Interesting. I like your take as a spin off the ROC movie. It never really made sense that he could become a Ninja at 23. That takes years of training.
Now I wonder how he makes it back to the States and joins the Military? Maybe he would never go back? Just see the recruiter when he turns 18. Although I imagine he would have a hard time proving his citizenship. These are great Dallas!
__________________
Code Name: One-Stop *IT1(SW/AW/FMF)* My B/S/T list. My Feedback Some of my written musings: Some G.I. Joe lore written by Dallas Martin |
04-21-2013, 05:18 PM | #4 |
Code Name:`~Matrix
Join Date: Jan 2009
Location: Army Base Ft Belvoir
Posts: 227
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oh wow that is very good and I guess if make sense that he would be a child lost to system yet again.
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